Alright folks, I am writing to tell you all about my new hobby. You aren't even going to believe me when I tell you. Get ready...
Is the anticipation killing you??
It's EXERCISE!!!
I know, right?!?! You can all stop giggling now. I am serious. Let's discuss.
So my BFF Antoinette started this new workout regimen last spring. It is called Baby Boot Camp. It is basically exactly how it sounds...bootcamp (as one would expect it, with pushups and running and squats and situps, etc.) while you push your baby around in a stroller.
Genius, or disaster?
Well I will be the first to admit I was skeptical. Not only was I skeptical, but I mocked the BFF. She packed up her kids every day, threw on her running shoes and went at it. She kept telling me I should come try it with her. Telling me how fun it was.
And all I could think was, I hate exercise and I hate listening to whining kids....not only does it NOT sound fun, it sounds like the equivalent of getting a root canal.
But, I really like hanging with Antoinette. We have two kids the same exact ages, like weeks apart from each other. And before you ask, "Did we plan it like that?" I will answer you the same way I answer everyone else...
The world may never know.
So anyway, I was feeling a little lost without the bestie to hang out with. And frankly, doing kids activities without another adult is just plain boring. So I decided to give the Baby Boot Camp thing a go. I mean, how hard could it be?
OH
MY
GOD
It was freaking HARD.
But after that first class, where I dragged my sorry ass around huffing and puffing all the while, I actually felt good. I noticed I had more energy. So I decided to go back and give it another try. And I went again and again and then I realized it was becoming routine and I actually enjoyed going.
Now, I have never been the exercising type of girl. I do not have an athletic bone in my body. I am not a runner. And I am not very strong. But for the first time in my life, something has clicked. I can't quite put my finger on what it is. Maybe it is the group mentatlity. Being with a group of other women, other mothers who are all in the same place in their life is very motivating. Maybe it is the amazing instructors who know just the right thing to say at just the right time. Also, the fact that they all have children and are rocking smokin' hot bodies makes you want to do whatever it is they do to look like that. Whatever it is, it is amazing. And I am for the first time in my life experiencing a "runner's high" as they put it.
And who knew kids could be so motivating? They say the darndest things, those little angels. Some of my favorite words of encouragement from the little cherubs: "Run faster, mama! We're always losing!" or how about "Wow, Mama, your bum is shaking a lot when you run."
Yeah, that one stung a little.
I also love, love, love that I feel like this is instilling good habits in my kids (especially Grace). She sees me working out, and being healthy. And she loves to run around and mimic the boot camp moves. I have mentioned before how scared I am of not being able to do the right things to ensure that Grace has a healthy body image...sadly something I have (and continue to) struggle with. The fact that she can look up to her own mother (me!) as a role model is so empowering.
Warning: I will say, baby boot camp is as much of a mental workout as a physical workout. Patrick doesn't necessarily love being strapped in the carriage for an hour. And, as we all know, Patrick is not shy about letting his feelings be known. But I have gotten very skilled at throwing various snacks and toys into the stroller, while running and trying not to die.
Multi-tasking at its finest.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Sniffles and Coughs and Sneezes...OH MY!
Ahhh, here it is. The season we all treasure: Flu/cold season...
Balls.
So last winter was pretty brutal for sickness in our house. Grace was spared mostly. But any little sniffle she picked up turned into a full fledge crazy nastiness that took up residence in poor little PBunk. That boy was sick more than he was well for probably the first year of his life. And we all paid dearly. ALL of us...like, including my neighbors.
So turns out, that whole theory about men being big fat BABIES when they are sick is true even when they are, in fact, babies. Let me ellaborate:
When Gracie is sick, she is totally mellow. I mean, yeah sure, she whines and is a little crabby. But for the most part, she lays on the couch, watches TV and really just wants to be left the eff alone (which is totally OK with me). Throw her a popsicle and fill her sippy cup now and then and you hardly know she's there. I never even knew when she was getting her teeth as an infant. One day I would just discover a new tooth in her mouth. That girl is tough. She is a hard core gangsta beatch...
And then there's Patrick...oh my sweet little Patrick. Now when Patrick is sick, in true male fashion, he is about to bring the pain to everyone around him. If he is miserable, you best believe you will be too. That boy basically crawls around wailing, whining, screaming and carrying on. Dear Lord...the carrying on!!! Now of course, if the midst of it all, I feel terrible. I HATE when my kids are sick (as I have mentioned a million times before). I feel awful and helpless and want to take away all their pain.
But in P man's case, I want to take away his pain, partly to relieve my own pain.
And when he was cutting teeth...literally people in the town over were well aware of the apparent torture that was happening inside his mouth. I am sure it pretty low on the fun scale to have a sharp object erupt through your gums. You would think evolution would have taken care of this predicament after gazillions of mothers have ranted and raved about being tortured by their teething babies. Come on, science. Or God...whoever is in charge of this stuff. What the hell??? Throw us a bone, would ya??
But I digress.
So today when I picked up Grace from school and the teacher told me she was complaining about a sore throat you can just imagine my reaction...
AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
Then I proceeded to talk myself down off the ledge. Here is the brainstrom that took place in my head :
"SHIT, FUCK, GODDAMNITALLTOHELL!!! Ok, maybe she just had a dry throat. Juice will help. I will have her lay low today and load her up with Tylenol and cure her. I wonder if it is safe to make her take 25 Flinstone vitamins? Would it be wrong to quarantine her? Her room is fun! And I would bring her food (obviously). She'd be fiiinnnne!"
Then I realized that with this being Grace's first year of preschool, I am pretty sure it is safe to predict that we are all going to be sick A LOT this winter. It's no use. We are doomed.
So I did what any rational person would do. I bought bulk of Purell and Clorox wipes. This momma isn't going down without a fight. Be warned.
Balls.
So last winter was pretty brutal for sickness in our house. Grace was spared mostly. But any little sniffle she picked up turned into a full fledge crazy nastiness that took up residence in poor little PBunk. That boy was sick more than he was well for probably the first year of his life. And we all paid dearly. ALL of us...like, including my neighbors.
So turns out, that whole theory about men being big fat BABIES when they are sick is true even when they are, in fact, babies. Let me ellaborate:
When Gracie is sick, she is totally mellow. I mean, yeah sure, she whines and is a little crabby. But for the most part, she lays on the couch, watches TV and really just wants to be left the eff alone (which is totally OK with me). Throw her a popsicle and fill her sippy cup now and then and you hardly know she's there. I never even knew when she was getting her teeth as an infant. One day I would just discover a new tooth in her mouth. That girl is tough. She is a hard core gangsta beatch...
And then there's Patrick...oh my sweet little Patrick. Now when Patrick is sick, in true male fashion, he is about to bring the pain to everyone around him. If he is miserable, you best believe you will be too. That boy basically crawls around wailing, whining, screaming and carrying on. Dear Lord...the carrying on!!! Now of course, if the midst of it all, I feel terrible. I HATE when my kids are sick (as I have mentioned a million times before). I feel awful and helpless and want to take away all their pain.
But in P man's case, I want to take away his pain, partly to relieve my own pain.
And when he was cutting teeth...literally people in the town over were well aware of the apparent torture that was happening inside his mouth. I am sure it pretty low on the fun scale to have a sharp object erupt through your gums. You would think evolution would have taken care of this predicament after gazillions of mothers have ranted and raved about being tortured by their teething babies. Come on, science. Or God...whoever is in charge of this stuff. What the hell??? Throw us a bone, would ya??
But I digress.
So today when I picked up Grace from school and the teacher told me she was complaining about a sore throat you can just imagine my reaction...
AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
Then I proceeded to talk myself down off the ledge. Here is the brainstrom that took place in my head :
"SHIT, FUCK, GODDAMNITALLTOHELL!!! Ok, maybe she just had a dry throat. Juice will help. I will have her lay low today and load her up with Tylenol and cure her. I wonder if it is safe to make her take 25 Flinstone vitamins? Would it be wrong to quarantine her? Her room is fun! And I would bring her food (obviously). She'd be fiiinnnne!"
Then I realized that with this being Grace's first year of preschool, I am pretty sure it is safe to predict that we are all going to be sick A LOT this winter. It's no use. We are doomed.
So I did what any rational person would do. I bought bulk of Purell and Clorox wipes. This momma isn't going down without a fight. Be warned.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Dear Gracie,
Tonight is the night before your first day of preschool. Right now, you are laying in bed next to me. You are such a beautiful girl. But, I cannot believe you are the same baby I had only three years ago. You are looking so grown up to me these days. You are getting so long and lean. Your beautiful curly hair is getting long. And yet, there are traces of that baby I held. I can still see her in there behind that grown up face, that independent will of yours.
I always think back to the night you were born. How long I labored, how much I had to fight for you. But you were worth any battle. I looked into your eyes and fell madly in love. Heaven and Earth moved when you arrived. I would never be the same. I loved you more than words could ever describe and there aren't enough moments in this lifetime to show you.
So I hope you'll just believe me. You are so special, so smart, so sweet. You make me so proud every day. You and I...we were made for each other.
This is a day I have dreaded since you were born. Selfishly, I want to keep you all to myself. But you have to go, my dear. You will learn so much. Have so many new experiences. And you deserve all the happiness and fun this world can offer you. I know there will bumps along the road, and some tears are inevitable. And this kills me. I have spent every day of your life trying to shield you from any pain, discomfort, hurt feelings that may come your way. And even though I can't be by your side every second, I am always standing right beside you, and I will always be there to catch you.
So, my love, now I have to share you with the world. Have fun. Learn new things. Be kind. Try your best.
I love you,
Mama
Summertime and the living was easy...
well...as easy as it could be with a preschooler and a toddler.
I know, I know...no posts for a while. But honestly, I was off having one of the best summers I can remember in a long time. I think that maybe I was just so happy to not be pregnant or recovering from a C-section this summer, that frankly, my standards were pretty low. But, nontheless, it was a fantastic summer filled with long sunny days by the pool, a few lazy weeks at the beach, fresh dinners hot off the grill with icy cold margaritas to wash it down (remember, I was pregnant last summer. I was due for a few beverages by the pool this summer). Here are few highlights from Bunker Summer 2011:
1.) OK...let's get the negative stuff out of the way first. So as I have said before, my little Patrick can have, how do you say... a tough personality (see previous blog "Our First Family Vacation"). Well, his little quirks became glaringly obvious this summer. So this may not be a popular statement, but Patrick has earned himself a nickname as of late. Since some days he is an absolute terrorist, we call him Osama. I didn't say it was tasteful, but you sure do get the idea don't you? There are some days that kid gets into everything humanly possible. He actually emptied out a cabinet, threw a box of Cheerios on the floor making a nice crunchy carpet in my kitchen and crawled INTO the cabinet, giggling all the while. Other days he literally crawls around the house holding onto my leg and crying. For what, you ask? Is he hungry, is he tired, does he want me to play with him? No, mostly he just wants me to pick him up so he can slap me and squirm out of my arms. So, yes sometimes I call him Osama. One morning I am pretty certain I am going to walk into his room to find him crouched in front of a video camera, holding a severed Barbie head, addressing his followers as to how to make their mother's twitch, punctuated with screams of "PRAISE ELMO!" Now most days, we sign a peace treaty and all is right in Dedham. But you can never let your guard down.
2.) There was a brief period in early summer where, unfortunately, my car air conditioning broke. Now you all know I already consider my car a torture chamber on wheels. Add 110 degree stagnant air to the incessant talking, whining, screaming, and requests for food from the back seat and I was pretty sure I found a new interrogation method for the government.
3.) So our Cape vacation was a success! I know you all were a little nervous after our mini vacation in the spring. But it was fun and relaxing and we made some awesome memories. My secret weapon ("the troops" aka Nana, Papa, Nana B., Grampa and all the aunties and uncles) made the vacation possible. Do you really need 25 people to take care of two kids? Yes...yes you do.
OK, guys...funny story...so the first night there all four of us were in the same bedroom (me, Pat, Grace and Patrick). We had Grace on a cot, P man in the Pack and Play, and Pat and I in the bed. So, you can see where this is going, right? Inevitably, Patrick wakes up, realizes we are all in the room and proceeds to scream his little lungs out. We try to bring him in the bed with us, try giving him a bottle, promised him a pony...nothing. It went on for about a half hour, until Gracie finally whimpers from her cot, eyes still closed "Mama, he's never gonna stop!" I hear ya, sister. Don't worry..Gracie's aunties took mercy on her poor little soul and let her sleep with them.
Aside from some minor bumps in the road, my kids had the time of their lives! They were true little beach bums and I cried crossing the bridge back to Boston.
4.) I realized that there is nothing better than dirty, tired kids at the end of of a long summer day. It just means they had a great day. Diapers full of sand, muddy feet, chlorine streaked hair - bring it all on! Feed them, give them baths and everyone is asleep by 7pm.
5.) Grace also earned herself a new nickname this summer. She is now Dr. Doolittle around these parts. That girl freaking loves her an animal. Or insect. She won't discriminate. She made friends with some ants that took over my kitchen. I found her crouched down on the floor whispering to the ants "Oh, hi little fellas. You know you're not supposed to be in here. You belong outside, sillies!" We spent many an hour at the zoo or stalking neighborhood animals (because you bet your ass there is not an animal joining the chaos in this house. Hell to the no!).
6.) Popsicles solve all the world's problems...this is a fact.
7.) Something miraculous also happened this summer. Grace started to actually LIKE Patrick. She, like, PLAYS with him. Without me begging her. She actually seeks him out. You have no idea how much easier this makes my life. To hear them giggling together, see them playing and loving each other is literally my reason for exisiting.
And now...summer is coming to an end. The days are shorter, the nights are chillier. I am pretty sure I still have post traumatic stress from our last winter. It was like living in a goddamn snow globe. So for now I am hanging on to these last few weeks where I am not a prisoner in my home and can soak up just a little more sun with my kiddos. Our days are getting busier and we are all getting back to routine. But, alas, the summer cannot last forever.
There you have it! Bunker Summer 2011 - the highlights!
I know, I know...no posts for a while. But honestly, I was off having one of the best summers I can remember in a long time. I think that maybe I was just so happy to not be pregnant or recovering from a C-section this summer, that frankly, my standards were pretty low. But, nontheless, it was a fantastic summer filled with long sunny days by the pool, a few lazy weeks at the beach, fresh dinners hot off the grill with icy cold margaritas to wash it down (remember, I was pregnant last summer. I was due for a few beverages by the pool this summer). Here are few highlights from Bunker Summer 2011:
1.) OK...let's get the negative stuff out of the way first. So as I have said before, my little Patrick can have, how do you say... a tough personality (see previous blog "Our First Family Vacation"). Well, his little quirks became glaringly obvious this summer. So this may not be a popular statement, but Patrick has earned himself a nickname as of late. Since some days he is an absolute terrorist, we call him Osama. I didn't say it was tasteful, but you sure do get the idea don't you? There are some days that kid gets into everything humanly possible. He actually emptied out a cabinet, threw a box of Cheerios on the floor making a nice crunchy carpet in my kitchen and crawled INTO the cabinet, giggling all the while. Other days he literally crawls around the house holding onto my leg and crying. For what, you ask? Is he hungry, is he tired, does he want me to play with him? No, mostly he just wants me to pick him up so he can slap me and squirm out of my arms. So, yes sometimes I call him Osama. One morning I am pretty certain I am going to walk into his room to find him crouched in front of a video camera, holding a severed Barbie head, addressing his followers as to how to make their mother's twitch, punctuated with screams of "PRAISE ELMO!" Now most days, we sign a peace treaty and all is right in Dedham. But you can never let your guard down.
2.) There was a brief period in early summer where, unfortunately, my car air conditioning broke. Now you all know I already consider my car a torture chamber on wheels. Add 110 degree stagnant air to the incessant talking, whining, screaming, and requests for food from the back seat and I was pretty sure I found a new interrogation method for the government.
3.) So our Cape vacation was a success! I know you all were a little nervous after our mini vacation in the spring. But it was fun and relaxing and we made some awesome memories. My secret weapon ("the troops" aka Nana, Papa, Nana B., Grampa and all the aunties and uncles) made the vacation possible. Do you really need 25 people to take care of two kids? Yes...yes you do.
OK, guys...funny story...so the first night there all four of us were in the same bedroom (me, Pat, Grace and Patrick). We had Grace on a cot, P man in the Pack and Play, and Pat and I in the bed. So, you can see where this is going, right? Inevitably, Patrick wakes up, realizes we are all in the room and proceeds to scream his little lungs out. We try to bring him in the bed with us, try giving him a bottle, promised him a pony...nothing. It went on for about a half hour, until Gracie finally whimpers from her cot, eyes still closed "Mama, he's never gonna stop!" I hear ya, sister. Don't worry..Gracie's aunties took mercy on her poor little soul and let her sleep with them.
Aside from some minor bumps in the road, my kids had the time of their lives! They were true little beach bums and I cried crossing the bridge back to Boston.
4.) I realized that there is nothing better than dirty, tired kids at the end of of a long summer day. It just means they had a great day. Diapers full of sand, muddy feet, chlorine streaked hair - bring it all on! Feed them, give them baths and everyone is asleep by 7pm.
5.) Grace also earned herself a new nickname this summer. She is now Dr. Doolittle around these parts. That girl freaking loves her an animal. Or insect. She won't discriminate. She made friends with some ants that took over my kitchen. I found her crouched down on the floor whispering to the ants "Oh, hi little fellas. You know you're not supposed to be in here. You belong outside, sillies!" We spent many an hour at the zoo or stalking neighborhood animals (because you bet your ass there is not an animal joining the chaos in this house. Hell to the no!).
6.) Popsicles solve all the world's problems...this is a fact.
7.) Something miraculous also happened this summer. Grace started to actually LIKE Patrick. She, like, PLAYS with him. Without me begging her. She actually seeks him out. You have no idea how much easier this makes my life. To hear them giggling together, see them playing and loving each other is literally my reason for exisiting.
And now...summer is coming to an end. The days are shorter, the nights are chillier. I am pretty sure I still have post traumatic stress from our last winter. It was like living in a goddamn snow globe. So for now I am hanging on to these last few weeks where I am not a prisoner in my home and can soak up just a little more sun with my kiddos. Our days are getting busier and we are all getting back to routine. But, alas, the summer cannot last forever.
There you have it! Bunker Summer 2011 - the highlights!
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Our First Family Vacation
So last week, Pat had to take a business trip to the Cape. He convinced me it would be super fun to bring the kids down and treat it as a "mini vacation".
Mommy lesson #8 - There is no such thing as a "vacation" with kids. The two just can't coexist. Well, not without two or three live in nannies and an excessive amount of alcohol.
So I decide to be a good mama, and give this whole vacation thing a try. Even though my sensible, logical side SCREAMED out in rebellion as I spent SIX hours packing for only two nights. But the side of me that wants to be supermom, and give my kids beautiful memories of a fun-filled childhood won. And I totally blame her for the chaos that ensued.
I woke up early that morning, ran down my lists of things that needed to come with us - bottles, formula, toys, clothes, snacks, medicines in case of emergency, the Pack and Play, extra blankets, cell phone chargers, pacifiers, lovey blankets, valium for mommy...etc. etc. etc. I fed kids, packed the car, packed said kids in the car and took off for our family vaca.
Much to my delight, the kidlets passed out in the car. I actually rode most of the way in silence. This was a wonderful beginning to my vacation. I could totally deal with this. After about an hour and a half and an extra large ice coffee later, I had pulled off the highway and was en route to our hotel. And then it happened....
Holy shit...I had to pee. It was the worst I had ever had to pee in my entire life. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I was sweating, about to pee my pants and I was driving frickin' back country roads. There wasn't a gas station, not a restaurant, nothing! Even if I did find somewhere to pull over...the kids were sleeping. And if I woke them up, they would be crying. Then I would have to drive another 30 minutes with screaming kids. And quite frankly, even if I did find a public restroom, the pee situation was so severe, I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to get the kids out of their carseats fast enough before I peed my pants. But I did have a travel potty....
Do I really have to spell it out for you people??!?! Yes, I peed in my daughter's travel potty while pulled over on the side of the road. No big deal! And, no, I am not ashamed. It's called improvising, people. And I was relieved (physically and emotionally) and rode the rest of the way with sleeping kids.
Anyway...after another half hour or so, and with kids who are now awake, hungry and crying, I pulled up to our hotel. Actually, I pulled up to our COUNTRY CLUB!!! A country club?!?!?! This can't be right. That stupid navigation system must have malfunctioned. Did I seriously just pull up to a ritzy country club in a ten year old car filled with McDonalds wrappers, dirty diapers and two babies? A man came up to the car, and said "Welcome, ma'am. I'm Eddie and I'll be taking care of you today. May I take your bags and valet your car?" as he peers into the backseat at my mountain of bags and screaming demon children.
"Oh, Eddie...do yourself a favor and just run."
The very nice people at this country club showed us to our room and that is when Patrick lost his mind. My poor baby just didn't know what to do with himself. If I took anything away from this trip, it was a fresh new insight into the personality of Patrick. Apparently, P man doesn't dig new places. He actually just crawled around the room wailing and looking downright pissed. The crying and whining got so bad that Grace was actually crawling around on the floor and preteding to cry. She totally mocked him.
While Patrick was busy being a terrorist, Grace actually had a really good time. She loved the hotel, the beach and all the new adventures we had. So that made me feel like I did something right. She is at the perfect age for travel and Patrick is at the worst. Ah well...such is life.
Anyway, the next three days are a little bit of a blur. There were 4:45am wake up calls from Patrick, an attempt at the beach (which ended with a very sandy and unhappy Patrick), some restaurant visits that I'd rather not talk about, some whining and tears (from me this time) and finally me packing up the kids a day early and throwing in the towel. I had had enough.
Now go ahead and ask me what my plans are for July...
a vacation down the Cape...for two weeks. Yes, seriously. But this time I am bringing reinforcements. Pat and I can't go it alone. I am bringing the troops, aka aunties and uncles :-)
Mommy lesson #8 - There is no such thing as a "vacation" with kids. The two just can't coexist. Well, not without two or three live in nannies and an excessive amount of alcohol.
So I decide to be a good mama, and give this whole vacation thing a try. Even though my sensible, logical side SCREAMED out in rebellion as I spent SIX hours packing for only two nights. But the side of me that wants to be supermom, and give my kids beautiful memories of a fun-filled childhood won. And I totally blame her for the chaos that ensued.
I woke up early that morning, ran down my lists of things that needed to come with us - bottles, formula, toys, clothes, snacks, medicines in case of emergency, the Pack and Play, extra blankets, cell phone chargers, pacifiers, lovey blankets, valium for mommy...etc. etc. etc. I fed kids, packed the car, packed said kids in the car and took off for our family vaca.
Much to my delight, the kidlets passed out in the car. I actually rode most of the way in silence. This was a wonderful beginning to my vacation. I could totally deal with this. After about an hour and a half and an extra large ice coffee later, I had pulled off the highway and was en route to our hotel. And then it happened....
Holy shit...I had to pee. It was the worst I had ever had to pee in my entire life. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I was sweating, about to pee my pants and I was driving frickin' back country roads. There wasn't a gas station, not a restaurant, nothing! Even if I did find somewhere to pull over...the kids were sleeping. And if I woke them up, they would be crying. Then I would have to drive another 30 minutes with screaming kids. And quite frankly, even if I did find a public restroom, the pee situation was so severe, I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to get the kids out of their carseats fast enough before I peed my pants. But I did have a travel potty....
Do I really have to spell it out for you people??!?! Yes, I peed in my daughter's travel potty while pulled over on the side of the road. No big deal! And, no, I am not ashamed. It's called improvising, people. And I was relieved (physically and emotionally) and rode the rest of the way with sleeping kids.
Anyway...after another half hour or so, and with kids who are now awake, hungry and crying, I pulled up to our hotel. Actually, I pulled up to our COUNTRY CLUB!!! A country club?!?!?! This can't be right. That stupid navigation system must have malfunctioned. Did I seriously just pull up to a ritzy country club in a ten year old car filled with McDonalds wrappers, dirty diapers and two babies? A man came up to the car, and said "Welcome, ma'am. I'm Eddie and I'll be taking care of you today. May I take your bags and valet your car?" as he peers into the backseat at my mountain of bags and screaming demon children.
"Oh, Eddie...do yourself a favor and just run."
The very nice people at this country club showed us to our room and that is when Patrick lost his mind. My poor baby just didn't know what to do with himself. If I took anything away from this trip, it was a fresh new insight into the personality of Patrick. Apparently, P man doesn't dig new places. He actually just crawled around the room wailing and looking downright pissed. The crying and whining got so bad that Grace was actually crawling around on the floor and preteding to cry. She totally mocked him.
While Patrick was busy being a terrorist, Grace actually had a really good time. She loved the hotel, the beach and all the new adventures we had. So that made me feel like I did something right. She is at the perfect age for travel and Patrick is at the worst. Ah well...such is life.
Anyway, the next three days are a little bit of a blur. There were 4:45am wake up calls from Patrick, an attempt at the beach (which ended with a very sandy and unhappy Patrick), some restaurant visits that I'd rather not talk about, some whining and tears (from me this time) and finally me packing up the kids a day early and throwing in the towel. I had had enough.
Now go ahead and ask me what my plans are for July...
a vacation down the Cape...for two weeks. Yes, seriously. But this time I am bringing reinforcements. Pat and I can't go it alone. I am bringing the troops, aka aunties and uncles :-)
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Dear God, how did I survive that week??
Last week was one of the hardest I have faced as a mommy to date. Let me just make this one point perfectly clear..there is nothing more distressing, more heart-breaking than staring into the face of your sick baby. I count my lucky stars that the sickness that plagued the Bunker house was treatable and manageable. It always makes me think of those poor parents whose babies may not be alright after a quick course of antibiotics, or a little Tylenol. Dear God...I cannot even imagine.
Let me also admit, I don't handle it well when my kids are sick. Yes I know I am a nurse. I have medical training. I take care of patients. But those patients aren't my kids. There is a little part of me that (irrationally) panics whenever my kids are sick. I think it is the overwhelming desire to take their pain away. I would take on every illness they will ever encounter just to spare them the common cold...
I didn't say it was logical! Just another of my neurotic attributes I suppose.
Alright...so let me fill you in on this fun filled week we had here in our house.
I had worked a double shift on Sunday (7am-11pm). Towards the end of said shift I was starting to feel a little crappy. Sore throat, achy.
"Shit...I am getting sick!" was all I could think. It totally sucks being sick when you are a mom. There are no such thing as sick days. Those kids could give a shit that you feel like you got hit by a truck..they want their goddamn waffles...and make it snappy, woman! But you know what is worse than feeling like shit and being a mother?
Feeling like shit and simultaneously having KIDS that feel like shit. Because let's face it: your well being doesn't matter that much on a GOOD day. But on a sick day...pffft
So I drag my sorry ass home after my sixteen hour shift and crawl into my bed. Only to be awoken in the wee hours of the morning by a feverish little P man. I give him some Tylenol, feed him a bottle, rock him until we both fall asleep in the rocking chair.
The next morning, he is still slightly feverish, but the Tylenol seems to be keeping him comfortable. I make a pediatrician appointment for later in the day and we all hang out in our pajamas all day. Not too bad.
I bring my little man into the pediatrician's office and we proceed to see the only pedaitrician in the entire practice that I can't stand!!! They were running on holiday hours, so you get what you get (and you don't get upset...as I tell Grace). She looks in his ears..."Oh there is some fluid, but no infection." She looks in his throat..."It's red, but highly unlikely to be strep". She looks at his poor little crusty eyes..."I think it is just allergies". Then Dr. Dumbass proceeds to send us on our merry way with the brilliant diagnosis of "VIRUS".
We go home, get back into our pajamas and hunker down. Patrick and Grace go to bed. I head out to Target to buy Easter basket stuff...because you know what is a barrel of laughs? Going to Target on very little sleep, feeling like ass and fighting crowds at 10 o'clock at night after taking care of sick kids all day. I was still wandering through aisles at closing. They turned the lights off on me. I remember when I used to close down bars and they turned the lights ON to tell you to hit the road. Let me assure you, both are equally upsetting. Happy frickin' Easter.
I get home. I decide I want to check on Patrick before going to sleep. I walk into his dark room, he is snoring like a little bulldog. I put my hand on his little face. He is absolutely burning!!! I pick him up. He is bright red, with eyes crusted shut and looks like a wet noodle. I take his temperature...104.5. ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR POINT FIVE. Every rational nurse thought that I had once had in my head went flying out and I turned into a hysterical mother. I page Dr. Dumbass who proceeds to be (surprise, surprise) useless. I strip him down to his diaper, give him medicine, a cold bottle and held my poor sick baby. We, again, fell asleep in the rocking chair and I knew he was safe.
I must have made it back to my bed at some point that night. It is all a little hazy. But the next morning I awoke to Gracie gently tapping me and saying "Mama, my eyes feel funny". Nothing like a raging case of pink eye to start your morning. What's that you say, Dr. Dumbass? Allergies, huh? I ought to sneak into your house and have my kids rub their faces all over your pillow. What? It's just allergies, so it can't be contagious.
Stupid.
Anyway, after the night from hell and a full day of ridiculously high fevers, we are back in the pediatricians office. Thankfully, we did NOT see Dr. Dumbass, but a lovely doctor who apparently actually passed medical school and could easily diagnose in a mere 2 minutes what was a very obvious double ear infection ("raging" was the way he described it, I believe) and pink eye (for both kids). We walked out with drugs and lollipops and stickers. I was now armed against the plague.
So we headed back to our petri dish to do some more marinating and begin the healing process. And then I had a little bit of a psychotic break...
So I sent the hubster out to pick up the kids drugs. Amoxicillin for P and eye drops for both. It takes FOREVER (or in my head what seems like forever as I am carrying around a very sick and miserable boy who is waiting for his meds so he can just go to bed and sleep this all off). I am up in Patrick's room, rocking him in the rocking chair. Pat comes back from CVS, hands me the bags of drugs. I open them...there are only eye drops. Where are the antibiotics...where are the %@#ing DRUGS???
You guys...I spazz out. I basically throw the baby at my mother (who was there to help...poor thing). Throw on sneakers and walk out of the house, braless, in a t-shirt and puke stained sweat pants. I raced to the pharmacy and I was out for blood. I cut the line. I so totally had crazy eyes and I am pretty sure they pushed a panic button or something. "MY HUSBAND WAS JUST HERE AND YOU DIDN'T GIVE US WHAT WE NEEDED AND MY BABY IS SICK AND..."
And then a petite little pharmacist in a feeble voice says "Ma'am...your husband is on the phone."
In my rage I had forgotten my cell phone. My husband called the pharmacy to get in touch with me. I can only imagine how the opening of that conversation went. "Hello. I am looking for my wife...yes, that crazy screaming woman who is threatening violence over Amoxicillin." Through the receiver I hear "Jill, the medicine is here in a separate bag in the counter". I close my eyes, hand the girl the phone, and slink out of CVS.
Yeah. Not a shining moment.
Anyway, the fever raged on for another 12 hours or so (we actually hit 105.4). But when we woke up that next morning, everyone seemed to be on the upswing. I finally took my own self to the doctors. While listening to my lungs, she asks "what took you so long to get yourself here?"
Because I am a mother...I don't have time to be sick.
Let me also admit, I don't handle it well when my kids are sick. Yes I know I am a nurse. I have medical training. I take care of patients. But those patients aren't my kids. There is a little part of me that (irrationally) panics whenever my kids are sick. I think it is the overwhelming desire to take their pain away. I would take on every illness they will ever encounter just to spare them the common cold...
I didn't say it was logical! Just another of my neurotic attributes I suppose.
Alright...so let me fill you in on this fun filled week we had here in our house.
I had worked a double shift on Sunday (7am-11pm). Towards the end of said shift I was starting to feel a little crappy. Sore throat, achy.
"Shit...I am getting sick!" was all I could think. It totally sucks being sick when you are a mom. There are no such thing as sick days. Those kids could give a shit that you feel like you got hit by a truck..they want their goddamn waffles...and make it snappy, woman! But you know what is worse than feeling like shit and being a mother?
Feeling like shit and simultaneously having KIDS that feel like shit. Because let's face it: your well being doesn't matter that much on a GOOD day. But on a sick day...pffft
So I drag my sorry ass home after my sixteen hour shift and crawl into my bed. Only to be awoken in the wee hours of the morning by a feverish little P man. I give him some Tylenol, feed him a bottle, rock him until we both fall asleep in the rocking chair.
The next morning, he is still slightly feverish, but the Tylenol seems to be keeping him comfortable. I make a pediatrician appointment for later in the day and we all hang out in our pajamas all day. Not too bad.
I bring my little man into the pediatrician's office and we proceed to see the only pedaitrician in the entire practice that I can't stand!!! They were running on holiday hours, so you get what you get (and you don't get upset...as I tell Grace). She looks in his ears..."Oh there is some fluid, but no infection." She looks in his throat..."It's red, but highly unlikely to be strep". She looks at his poor little crusty eyes..."I think it is just allergies". Then Dr. Dumbass proceeds to send us on our merry way with the brilliant diagnosis of "VIRUS".
We go home, get back into our pajamas and hunker down. Patrick and Grace go to bed. I head out to Target to buy Easter basket stuff...because you know what is a barrel of laughs? Going to Target on very little sleep, feeling like ass and fighting crowds at 10 o'clock at night after taking care of sick kids all day. I was still wandering through aisles at closing. They turned the lights off on me. I remember when I used to close down bars and they turned the lights ON to tell you to hit the road. Let me assure you, both are equally upsetting. Happy frickin' Easter.
I get home. I decide I want to check on Patrick before going to sleep. I walk into his dark room, he is snoring like a little bulldog. I put my hand on his little face. He is absolutely burning!!! I pick him up. He is bright red, with eyes crusted shut and looks like a wet noodle. I take his temperature...104.5. ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR POINT FIVE. Every rational nurse thought that I had once had in my head went flying out and I turned into a hysterical mother. I page Dr. Dumbass who proceeds to be (surprise, surprise) useless. I strip him down to his diaper, give him medicine, a cold bottle and held my poor sick baby. We, again, fell asleep in the rocking chair and I knew he was safe.
I must have made it back to my bed at some point that night. It is all a little hazy. But the next morning I awoke to Gracie gently tapping me and saying "Mama, my eyes feel funny". Nothing like a raging case of pink eye to start your morning. What's that you say, Dr. Dumbass? Allergies, huh? I ought to sneak into your house and have my kids rub their faces all over your pillow. What? It's just allergies, so it can't be contagious.
Stupid.
Anyway, after the night from hell and a full day of ridiculously high fevers, we are back in the pediatricians office. Thankfully, we did NOT see Dr. Dumbass, but a lovely doctor who apparently actually passed medical school and could easily diagnose in a mere 2 minutes what was a very obvious double ear infection ("raging" was the way he described it, I believe) and pink eye (for both kids). We walked out with drugs and lollipops and stickers. I was now armed against the plague.
So we headed back to our petri dish to do some more marinating and begin the healing process. And then I had a little bit of a psychotic break...
So I sent the hubster out to pick up the kids drugs. Amoxicillin for P and eye drops for both. It takes FOREVER (or in my head what seems like forever as I am carrying around a very sick and miserable boy who is waiting for his meds so he can just go to bed and sleep this all off). I am up in Patrick's room, rocking him in the rocking chair. Pat comes back from CVS, hands me the bags of drugs. I open them...there are only eye drops. Where are the antibiotics...where are the %@#ing DRUGS???
You guys...I spazz out. I basically throw the baby at my mother (who was there to help...poor thing). Throw on sneakers and walk out of the house, braless, in a t-shirt and puke stained sweat pants. I raced to the pharmacy and I was out for blood. I cut the line. I so totally had crazy eyes and I am pretty sure they pushed a panic button or something. "MY HUSBAND WAS JUST HERE AND YOU DIDN'T GIVE US WHAT WE NEEDED AND MY BABY IS SICK AND..."
And then a petite little pharmacist in a feeble voice says "Ma'am...your husband is on the phone."
In my rage I had forgotten my cell phone. My husband called the pharmacy to get in touch with me. I can only imagine how the opening of that conversation went. "Hello. I am looking for my wife...yes, that crazy screaming woman who is threatening violence over Amoxicillin." Through the receiver I hear "Jill, the medicine is here in a separate bag in the counter". I close my eyes, hand the girl the phone, and slink out of CVS.
Yeah. Not a shining moment.
Anyway, the fever raged on for another 12 hours or so (we actually hit 105.4). But when we woke up that next morning, everyone seemed to be on the upswing. I finally took my own self to the doctors. While listening to my lungs, she asks "what took you so long to get yourself here?"
Because I am a mother...I don't have time to be sick.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
True Confessions
I realize it has been a while since I have thrown some of my mommy ideas out there. Well, for those of us here in the Northeast, it was a brutal winter. Frankly, I think my brain is just now thawing out and I am actually able to have cohesive thoughts. We were literally buried in 10 feet of snow, with blistering cold weather. I had an active toddler and a clingy baby. Let's just say we did a lot of movie watching. I think my brain is permanently damaged from the amount of Wiggles I was forced to watch. And I will start twitching at the opening notes of "Fruit Salad...yummy yummy".
In better news, we have had a few 60 degree days, the sun is out, the snow is gone and my winter fog is clearing. Being able to get outside and breath some fresh air has done wonders for my outlook on life. So, onto the blogging.
As Spring arrives, I feel the need to do a little mental spring cleaning. A little spiritual purging, if you will. I am ready to get some stuff off my chest and share it with all of you. Here are some Mommy Confessions from me to you...
1. My kids watch TV...I won't go into specifics about how much TV, but it is a decent amount. In fact, now that Grace has given up her afternoon nap, I actually encourage TV watching in the afternoon for a break.
2. Grace eats sugar. Candy and ice cream and cookies. She is a lollipop addict. Oh...and she eats McDonalds...probably once a week. Sometimes she eats McDonalds, immediately followed by candy and all while sitting in front of the TV.
3. I do things with Patrick that I would never have even dreamed of doing with Grace. Case in point - I let him sleep on his belly as an infant. Come on...he freakin' loved it! It was a move of sheer deperation one night. After listening to him scream every time I lay him in his crib, I finally flipped him on his belly, rubbed his back and we all slept like babies. I also propped his bottle on pillows/blankets or whatever else I deemed appopriate when he was in his car seat to keep him quiet. Because of this he learned to hold his bottle for himself at 6 months. Poor guy realized at an early age he was going to have to just do some things for himself.
4. I feel as though I don't read to Patrick enough. I try to make the effort. Really, I do. But usually, me trying to read to him, turns into him clawing at and chewing on the book, and, frankly, I just don't have the time.
5. I love Grace. I love that she is so smart and well spoken. But sometimes I just want to look at her and politely ask her to SHUT THE *#$% UP!!!! I didn't realize it was possible for a human being to speak so much. She talks from the minute she wakes up to the minute she falls asleep. And she basically begins every sentence with "Mama..." Have you any idea how many times I hear the word "Mama" on a daily basis??? Let me break it down for you. Last week on our way to the mall, I counted how many times she said the word "Mama" in the car. It was 29 times. 29. And that was in a 20 minute car ride. You do the math.
6. I am very lucky that my job allows me the flexibility to be home with my kids and take care of them. And I do love being with them. But there are some days I literally skip out the door to work. My twelve hour shift, on my feet, taking care of people is a welcome BREAK.
7. I hate playing make believe. More specifically, I hate playing Barbies (which just happens to bne Grace's favorite game). I fantasize about burning those goddamn Barbie dolls.
8. As hectic as my life is, and as much as having kids is really hard work, I still feel like I want more babies (eventually).
So there you have it.
Now accepting nominations for Mother of the Year.
In better news, we have had a few 60 degree days, the sun is out, the snow is gone and my winter fog is clearing. Being able to get outside and breath some fresh air has done wonders for my outlook on life. So, onto the blogging.
As Spring arrives, I feel the need to do a little mental spring cleaning. A little spiritual purging, if you will. I am ready to get some stuff off my chest and share it with all of you. Here are some Mommy Confessions from me to you...
1. My kids watch TV...I won't go into specifics about how much TV, but it is a decent amount. In fact, now that Grace has given up her afternoon nap, I actually encourage TV watching in the afternoon for a break.
2. Grace eats sugar. Candy and ice cream and cookies. She is a lollipop addict. Oh...and she eats McDonalds...probably once a week. Sometimes she eats McDonalds, immediately followed by candy and all while sitting in front of the TV.
3. I do things with Patrick that I would never have even dreamed of doing with Grace. Case in point - I let him sleep on his belly as an infant. Come on...he freakin' loved it! It was a move of sheer deperation one night. After listening to him scream every time I lay him in his crib, I finally flipped him on his belly, rubbed his back and we all slept like babies. I also propped his bottle on pillows/blankets or whatever else I deemed appopriate when he was in his car seat to keep him quiet. Because of this he learned to hold his bottle for himself at 6 months. Poor guy realized at an early age he was going to have to just do some things for himself.
4. I feel as though I don't read to Patrick enough. I try to make the effort. Really, I do. But usually, me trying to read to him, turns into him clawing at and chewing on the book, and, frankly, I just don't have the time.
5. I love Grace. I love that she is so smart and well spoken. But sometimes I just want to look at her and politely ask her to SHUT THE *#$% UP!!!! I didn't realize it was possible for a human being to speak so much. She talks from the minute she wakes up to the minute she falls asleep. And she basically begins every sentence with "Mama..." Have you any idea how many times I hear the word "Mama" on a daily basis??? Let me break it down for you. Last week on our way to the mall, I counted how many times she said the word "Mama" in the car. It was 29 times. 29. And that was in a 20 minute car ride. You do the math.
6. I am very lucky that my job allows me the flexibility to be home with my kids and take care of them. And I do love being with them. But there are some days I literally skip out the door to work. My twelve hour shift, on my feet, taking care of people is a welcome BREAK.
7. I hate playing make believe. More specifically, I hate playing Barbies (which just happens to bne Grace's favorite game). I fantasize about burning those goddamn Barbie dolls.
8. As hectic as my life is, and as much as having kids is really hard work, I still feel like I want more babies (eventually).
So there you have it.
Now accepting nominations for Mother of the Year.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
The "F" word
And no...it is not the word you are thinking of.
It is a dirty little three letter word that is banned in our house.
F-A-T
As soon as I found out I was pregnant with a girl, I decided that this word and all it's counterparts (chubby, chunky, plump...you get it) would be banned from my vocabulary. To be perfectly honest, I would rather hear you say the actualy four letter "F" word, than "FAT" around my kids. Let me explain.
I have ALWAYS had body issues. As the chubby girl raised in a family of thin women, I have always struggled with my body image and self confidence. I have struggled with my weight my entire life. I can't remember a time when I wasn't on a diet. I am a little like the Rain Man in the sense that I can look at a meal and tell you how many calories it is, how many Weight Watchers points it is worth, or whether it is Atkins friendly. It is exhausting, and consuming and I never want my daughter to live this way. I know I can't control it for her entire life, but I can now.
Words burn. Somebody can say one tiny, meaningless thing not realizing it can shape your whole idea of yourself and how you will portray yourself in the future. Stinging little zingers - "Oh look how chubby you're getting." or "Wow, you're really filling out" or "Don't worry, it is just a phase, you'll sprout up and thin right out". Well I am 5 feet tall...that last one didn't quite pan out. And I can't even tell you how many times I have heard "You have a such a pretty face". Well let me say, that is a such an ass backward compliment.
So, needless to say, I am a little sensitive about how people talk to my daughter. It makes me cringe when I hear someone tell her she has "chubby little legs" or a "fat little bum". I know people can think it is cute and playful. But I also know my daughter absorbs everything and is already analyzing the crap out of every little thing she hears. Today she was "exercising" with her daddy. He was doing his workout regimen and she tries to copy him. When they were done, she came into the room and announced to me "Momma, look...I was exercising and now my belly is smaller!" Where the hell does she come up with this stuff? I realized in this moment it is going to get harder and harder to shield her.
"Exercising is really healthy for you, Grace. I am so proud of you." This is the route I am going. Focusing on the positive. She has been really into talking about what is "healthy" to eat and what isn't. So we talk a lot about that. Luckily, she really loves her fruit and veggies, so that makes my life a little easier. Because let's face it, trying to sell the whole "healthy living" thing would be a real bitch if the only fruit or veggies she was into came in the form of gummy bears and potato chips.
Now here is the upside to this whole rampage. Trying to teach my daughter healthy living and having a positive self image has made me, for the first time in my life, not so obsessed. I have decided the only way I can really teach her how I want her to live is to actually live that way myself. I don't obsess about food. I eat when I am hungry and try to make smart choices. I try to keep healthy options in the house. I do not make her clean her plate, or eat if she isn't hungry. And I don't let her pick on junk all day. When I feel she has had enough sweets I don't let her have anymore. But if she is hungry I will never deny her food. She is welcome to pick on fruit, cheese, veggies, yogurt. She is active and bouncy and obviously loves to run around (as all three year olds do).
So this is a part of my parenting job that is very important to me, and scares the hell out of me. So far it is actually pretty easy. But the thought of parenting a teenage girl at some point is so freaking daunting (for a variety of reasons). Guess I will cross that bridge when I come to it. And hopefully I will become a little wiser along the way.
It is a dirty little three letter word that is banned in our house.
F-A-T
As soon as I found out I was pregnant with a girl, I decided that this word and all it's counterparts (chubby, chunky, plump...you get it) would be banned from my vocabulary. To be perfectly honest, I would rather hear you say the actualy four letter "F" word, than "FAT" around my kids. Let me explain.
I have ALWAYS had body issues. As the chubby girl raised in a family of thin women, I have always struggled with my body image and self confidence. I have struggled with my weight my entire life. I can't remember a time when I wasn't on a diet. I am a little like the Rain Man in the sense that I can look at a meal and tell you how many calories it is, how many Weight Watchers points it is worth, or whether it is Atkins friendly. It is exhausting, and consuming and I never want my daughter to live this way. I know I can't control it for her entire life, but I can now.
Words burn. Somebody can say one tiny, meaningless thing not realizing it can shape your whole idea of yourself and how you will portray yourself in the future. Stinging little zingers - "Oh look how chubby you're getting." or "Wow, you're really filling out" or "Don't worry, it is just a phase, you'll sprout up and thin right out". Well I am 5 feet tall...that last one didn't quite pan out. And I can't even tell you how many times I have heard "You have a such a pretty face". Well let me say, that is a such an ass backward compliment.
So, needless to say, I am a little sensitive about how people talk to my daughter. It makes me cringe when I hear someone tell her she has "chubby little legs" or a "fat little bum". I know people can think it is cute and playful. But I also know my daughter absorbs everything and is already analyzing the crap out of every little thing she hears. Today she was "exercising" with her daddy. He was doing his workout regimen and she tries to copy him. When they were done, she came into the room and announced to me "Momma, look...I was exercising and now my belly is smaller!" Where the hell does she come up with this stuff? I realized in this moment it is going to get harder and harder to shield her.
"Exercising is really healthy for you, Grace. I am so proud of you." This is the route I am going. Focusing on the positive. She has been really into talking about what is "healthy" to eat and what isn't. So we talk a lot about that. Luckily, she really loves her fruit and veggies, so that makes my life a little easier. Because let's face it, trying to sell the whole "healthy living" thing would be a real bitch if the only fruit or veggies she was into came in the form of gummy bears and potato chips.
Now here is the upside to this whole rampage. Trying to teach my daughter healthy living and having a positive self image has made me, for the first time in my life, not so obsessed. I have decided the only way I can really teach her how I want her to live is to actually live that way myself. I don't obsess about food. I eat when I am hungry and try to make smart choices. I try to keep healthy options in the house. I do not make her clean her plate, or eat if she isn't hungry. And I don't let her pick on junk all day. When I feel she has had enough sweets I don't let her have anymore. But if she is hungry I will never deny her food. She is welcome to pick on fruit, cheese, veggies, yogurt. She is active and bouncy and obviously loves to run around (as all three year olds do).
So this is a part of my parenting job that is very important to me, and scares the hell out of me. So far it is actually pretty easy. But the thought of parenting a teenage girl at some point is so freaking daunting (for a variety of reasons). Guess I will cross that bridge when I come to it. And hopefully I will become a little wiser along the way.
Friday, February 11, 2011
The New Man in My Life...
He's short and chubby. He sports a mean fauxhawk. He's controlling and demanding, but he makes up for it with big, wet toothless kisses and cozy cuddles. He can be a little embarrasing in public, but then again so can I.
Easy there, folks. This is a G-rated blog (kinda). I am talking about my squishy, cuddly, drooly, little baby boy - Patrick Daniel. He is seven and a half months old now. I can hardly believe it. Time always flies, but I feel like things are moving especially fast with him. Maybe it's because most days I barely have a second to catch my breath. So those rare days when I do have a free second and I actually stop to look at him...he is getting so freakin' big!!
I cannot even explain how much I love this kid. I actually have to restrain myself from biting his little face. Yes, really.
I feel like I am finally starting to understand Patrick. I do think it took me a little longer to get acquainted with all of his likes, wants and needs. I would say we weren't really on the same wavelength until he was about six months old. I know all kids are different, and believe me...I have heard it. "Don't expect the same baby twice." Guess I had to experience it for myself to actually understand. Because never were two babies as different as Patrick and Grace.
Grace was a pretty mellow baby, but she was intense and serious. It took a lot to get a laugh out of her. She didn't ever really have stranger anxiety. She slept through the night at 8 weeks old.
Now scratch that, reverse it...and you have Patrick.
He is the happiest little guy you will ever meet. He is full of giggles and grins. As far as the stranger anxiety, it is a new experience, indeed. He needs to always have me in his sights. He will cry if I put him down and walk out of the room. And when other people hold him, he will only tolerate it if he can visualize me. Really, kid...where do you think I am going? Although, I will admit, I kind of like that he needs me the way he does. It's sweet (and totally exhausting all at the same time).
Sleeping...sleeping? What's that? OK...I guess it is not that bad. He probably sleeps through the night once a week. The other nights are a total crap shoot. You might be up once, you might be up four times. Thank God he is cute.
So far, here is what I have figured out about my little man:
Likes
- His sister...he loves that girl. All she has to do is walk in the room and he squeals. She is totally a rock star in Patrick's world.
- The Fresh Beat Band. If you don't know who they are, congratulations. If you do, I sympathize.
- Bananas
- Peek-a-boo
- His paci and his lovey blanket (named Raffi, cuz he's a giraffe...cute, right?). In this way he IS like his sister.
- The baby carrier. That kid would spend 24 hours a day attached to my person. Best money I ever spent.
- Cuddles (lots and lots)
- Biting things.
DISlikes
- Loud noises...if you ever want to see the saddest lil' boo-boo face ever...just clap really loud around Patrick.
- Being left alone. How dare I try to step away from him to pee...the nerve!
- Peaches
- His car seat (although he is getting much better about this one). The first three months of his life he strongly protested car rides. S-T-R-O-N-G-L-Y
So, we are still figuring each other out. And I suspect I will be discovering new things about my little man each day. And each day I will try to remind myself not to bite him (even though he is so freakin' edible)
Easy there, folks. This is a G-rated blog (kinda). I am talking about my squishy, cuddly, drooly, little baby boy - Patrick Daniel. He is seven and a half months old now. I can hardly believe it. Time always flies, but I feel like things are moving especially fast with him. Maybe it's because most days I barely have a second to catch my breath. So those rare days when I do have a free second and I actually stop to look at him...he is getting so freakin' big!!
I cannot even explain how much I love this kid. I actually have to restrain myself from biting his little face. Yes, really.
I feel like I am finally starting to understand Patrick. I do think it took me a little longer to get acquainted with all of his likes, wants and needs. I would say we weren't really on the same wavelength until he was about six months old. I know all kids are different, and believe me...I have heard it. "Don't expect the same baby twice." Guess I had to experience it for myself to actually understand. Because never were two babies as different as Patrick and Grace.
Grace was a pretty mellow baby, but she was intense and serious. It took a lot to get a laugh out of her. She didn't ever really have stranger anxiety. She slept through the night at 8 weeks old.
Now scratch that, reverse it...and you have Patrick.
He is the happiest little guy you will ever meet. He is full of giggles and grins. As far as the stranger anxiety, it is a new experience, indeed. He needs to always have me in his sights. He will cry if I put him down and walk out of the room. And when other people hold him, he will only tolerate it if he can visualize me. Really, kid...where do you think I am going? Although, I will admit, I kind of like that he needs me the way he does. It's sweet (and totally exhausting all at the same time).
Sleeping...sleeping? What's that? OK...I guess it is not that bad. He probably sleeps through the night once a week. The other nights are a total crap shoot. You might be up once, you might be up four times. Thank God he is cute.
So far, here is what I have figured out about my little man:
Likes
- His sister...he loves that girl. All she has to do is walk in the room and he squeals. She is totally a rock star in Patrick's world.
- The Fresh Beat Band. If you don't know who they are, congratulations. If you do, I sympathize.
- Bananas
- Peek-a-boo
- His paci and his lovey blanket (named Raffi, cuz he's a giraffe...cute, right?). In this way he IS like his sister.
- The baby carrier. That kid would spend 24 hours a day attached to my person. Best money I ever spent.
- Cuddles (lots and lots)
- Biting things.
DISlikes
- Loud noises...if you ever want to see the saddest lil' boo-boo face ever...just clap really loud around Patrick.
- Being left alone. How dare I try to step away from him to pee...the nerve!
- Peaches
- His car seat (although he is getting much better about this one). The first three months of his life he strongly protested car rides. S-T-R-O-N-G-L-Y
So, we are still figuring each other out. And I suspect I will be discovering new things about my little man each day. And each day I will try to remind myself not to bite him (even though he is so freakin' edible)
Friday, February 4, 2011
Grace-isms (Part 2)
Back by popular demand...here are some more "Grace-isms". Yes, this is my life, you guys.
- During a conversation with Pat about what kind of bugs she enjoys...
Pat - "Grace, do you like bugs?"
Grace - "Ummm, sometimes."
Pat - "What kind of bugs do you like?"
Grace - "Well, I got no beef wit ladybugs."
- Grace likes music, which makes me so happy. And she certainly has her preferences already. She tells me from the back seat of the car "I only like girl songs, Mama." And when a song comes on that she does like, she hollers "Mama, dis is my jam!!" as she bops along to the music with her eyes closed like Ray Charles.
- In the mornings, Grace has gotten into the habit of asking "How you feewin today, mama?" And if I am looking a little disheveled (which, let's face it, is most mornings), she will ever so lovingly tell me "You look a wittle tired". She does wonders for the self esteem.
- She is my mini-me. I get it. But sometimes it is kinda scary to see yourself mirrored in a little person. She definitely throws out some crazy sayings, and when I find myself asking...where the hell did she hear that???...oh yeah, it was me. And poor Patrick usually bears the brunt of it. Point in case: "Patwick, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, I can't hear my show!" Luckily, the kid is happy to receive any attention from her and just laughs.
- Lately, we have been experimenting with what words are, and are not appropriate to say. "Shit" being one that is most definitly INappropriate. When she was told this was a bad word, she totally outsmarted me and figured out a way to get away with it. "Mama, we never say shit, right. Shit is a bad word. You should never say shit. Patrick, did you know shit was a bad word. It's naughty, naughty, naughty. Mama, did you know I heard Auntie Beth say shit once. We should tell her it's a bad bad bad word." To cap off her speech and really drive the point home she sings a little tune about it. "Shit is a bad word, a bad word, we never say shit, no we never say shit."
- Instead of saying "no" in response to something, she has made a habit of responding "not actually".
- Now that she is potty trained, the amount of potty talk has really become too much. I will leave you with one golden highlight. And for those of you who are offended, I apologize. But you can't even argue with the creativity:
- During a conversation with Pat about what kind of bugs she enjoys...
Pat - "Grace, do you like bugs?"
Grace - "Ummm, sometimes."
Pat - "What kind of bugs do you like?"
Grace - "Well, I got no beef wit ladybugs."
- Grace likes music, which makes me so happy. And she certainly has her preferences already. She tells me from the back seat of the car "I only like girl songs, Mama." And when a song comes on that she does like, she hollers "Mama, dis is my jam!!" as she bops along to the music with her eyes closed like Ray Charles.
- In the mornings, Grace has gotten into the habit of asking "How you feewin today, mama?" And if I am looking a little disheveled (which, let's face it, is most mornings), she will ever so lovingly tell me "You look a wittle tired". She does wonders for the self esteem.
- She is my mini-me. I get it. But sometimes it is kinda scary to see yourself mirrored in a little person. She definitely throws out some crazy sayings, and when I find myself asking...where the hell did she hear that???...oh yeah, it was me. And poor Patrick usually bears the brunt of it. Point in case: "Patwick, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, I can't hear my show!" Luckily, the kid is happy to receive any attention from her and just laughs.
- Lately, we have been experimenting with what words are, and are not appropriate to say. "Shit" being one that is most definitly INappropriate. When she was told this was a bad word, she totally outsmarted me and figured out a way to get away with it. "Mama, we never say shit, right. Shit is a bad word. You should never say shit. Patrick, did you know shit was a bad word. It's naughty, naughty, naughty. Mama, did you know I heard Auntie Beth say shit once. We should tell her it's a bad bad bad word." To cap off her speech and really drive the point home she sings a little tune about it. "Shit is a bad word, a bad word, we never say shit, no we never say shit."
- Instead of saying "no" in response to something, she has made a habit of responding "not actually".
- Now that she is potty trained, the amount of potty talk has really become too much. I will leave you with one golden highlight. And for those of you who are offended, I apologize. But you can't even argue with the creativity:
"Mama, today I pooped and it looked like a fat carrot."
Thursday, January 27, 2011
It Was the Best of Times, It was the Worst of Times...
Pat looked at me the other night and asked me "How long can we keep up this pace?.
I was in the middle of cleaning up dinner and keeping Grace entertained. Pat was feeding Patrick his nighttime bottle after scarfing down his own dinner. I was running on a couple of hours of sleep after working the overnight shift the night before. It was a rare night that Pat was actually even home. His travel schedule has been so crazy, it feels like he is gone more than he is home. And I am trying to fit in three shifts at work all around the kid's and my husband's schedule. Oh yeah...and sleep for a few seconds here and there.
Was it Sir Paul McCartney that said "All you need is love."? Awwww...how sweet Paul. But let's all remember you are a freaking bazillionaire. Now here's a big can of shut the hell up. Some of us have to work to make a living. Work hard, and make sacrifices.
So, how long can we keep this pace up...who knows? But we will as long as we have to. I have gotten used to the fact that I am going to be chronically enhausted for the forseeable future. I look around at my shit-pit of a house that is cluttered with toys and various other baby crap, the schedule I keep, the bills that pile up and I'll admit it..I totally throw myself a pity party now and then.
Then I have a day like I had yesterday. A day where both of my beautiful babies woke up smiling and happy. There was minimal whining, lots of hugs and kisses and bellows of laughter. Some days, the pieces all just come together. I didn't try to clean everything in my house like a madwoman. I didn't check my email or even go on Facebook (gasp!). I played with my kids. We went to Grace's art class, had lunch with some friends at McDonalds (fancy, I know). And then Grace, Patrick and I all piled into the big bed and napped, all snuggled together. Patrick and Gracie fell asleep holding hands. It brought tears to my eyes.
P.S. - I know the whole cute hand holding thing likely started off as Grace fending off Patrick's swats to her face, but it's the end result that counts, right?
I laid there staring at my two babies who are growing so damn fast. Grace is such a little lady. She is potty trained now, her favorite things to play with are no longer Sesame Street plush toys, but Barbie dolls, and she has all but given up her pacifier (almost). Patrick gets longer and chubbier everyday! He is starting to say "Dada" and "Baba". He is sitting up and eating food and I see his babyhood slipping out of my grasp too. I know it goes all too fast.
I spend my days running in circles, treading water and barely scraping by.
Honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.
I was in the middle of cleaning up dinner and keeping Grace entertained. Pat was feeding Patrick his nighttime bottle after scarfing down his own dinner. I was running on a couple of hours of sleep after working the overnight shift the night before. It was a rare night that Pat was actually even home. His travel schedule has been so crazy, it feels like he is gone more than he is home. And I am trying to fit in three shifts at work all around the kid's and my husband's schedule. Oh yeah...and sleep for a few seconds here and there.
Was it Sir Paul McCartney that said "All you need is love."? Awwww...how sweet Paul. But let's all remember you are a freaking bazillionaire. Now here's a big can of shut the hell up. Some of us have to work to make a living. Work hard, and make sacrifices.
So, how long can we keep this pace up...who knows? But we will as long as we have to. I have gotten used to the fact that I am going to be chronically enhausted for the forseeable future. I look around at my shit-pit of a house that is cluttered with toys and various other baby crap, the schedule I keep, the bills that pile up and I'll admit it..I totally throw myself a pity party now and then.
Then I have a day like I had yesterday. A day where both of my beautiful babies woke up smiling and happy. There was minimal whining, lots of hugs and kisses and bellows of laughter. Some days, the pieces all just come together. I didn't try to clean everything in my house like a madwoman. I didn't check my email or even go on Facebook (gasp!). I played with my kids. We went to Grace's art class, had lunch with some friends at McDonalds (fancy, I know). And then Grace, Patrick and I all piled into the big bed and napped, all snuggled together. Patrick and Gracie fell asleep holding hands. It brought tears to my eyes.
P.S. - I know the whole cute hand holding thing likely started off as Grace fending off Patrick's swats to her face, but it's the end result that counts, right?
I laid there staring at my two babies who are growing so damn fast. Grace is such a little lady. She is potty trained now, her favorite things to play with are no longer Sesame Street plush toys, but Barbie dolls, and she has all but given up her pacifier (almost). Patrick gets longer and chubbier everyday! He is starting to say "Dada" and "Baba". He is sitting up and eating food and I see his babyhood slipping out of my grasp too. I know it goes all too fast.
I spend my days running in circles, treading water and barely scraping by.
Honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
The Sears Fiasco
So I am a little late in posting about this. Frankly, I am pretty sure I am suffering from some sort of post-tramautic stress disorder from it and it was too painful and fresh to write about. But, now...I am ready...deep breaths, deep breaths...
I am pretty sure that my kids and I are permanently banned from Sears Portrait Studio for life. After the scene we caused, our picture must be hanging in some temper tantrum hall of fame or something. So here's how it all went down...
I love sending out Christmas cards. I love sending out picture updates of my kids. I am a proud mama. I decided this year to go all out. Get a professional picture taken of the kids to put on the card. I bought new outfits, scheduled the appointment at the perfect time (when I knew the kids would be happy and fed and not tired), and pictured the perfect Christmas card in my head. It would be magical...
So as you can suspect...it did NOT go that way.
I got the kids all dolled up in the cutest matching outfits you have ever seen. Fed them a nutritious breakfast, packed the Mary Poppins diaper bag with snacks, drinks, bottles, diapers, wipes, toys and a wardrobe change for the kids. We headed out to the mall and everyone was happy. We met my grandmother at the mall ("Nana Babs" as we call her). She agreed to come help me. Little did she know she was about to be in for the experience of a lifetime.
We walk into Sears. The photographer seemed nice enough. Grace loves attention, so I figured she would eat this up. We walked into the room. It was bright, small and at least 150 degrees. Grace looks at me. "I'm not goin in dere!"
And she stuck to her guns, that girl. I begged, I pleaded, I bribed. I will buy you candy, take you to the Disney store, buy you a freaking pony!! We did get her to sit for a few shots. Although, she wouldn't smile. And then when she smiled, Patrick wouldn't be smiling. The photographer tried to prop Patrick up against her. She moved away so he fell to the ground and squealed "He's TOUCHING me! Don't touch me, Patwick!!" Keep in mind, I am squatting on the floor, under a sheet, holding Patrick in the sitting position. I am sweating and on the verge of tears. I kept hissing through gritted teeth "Grace, cooperate. Sit still. SMILE goddamnit". Nana Babs stared in horror. The pinnacle moment was when Grace slapped the hand of the photographer away from her and yelled "I said don't touch me!!!" Seriously...I couldn't make this up. MORTIFYING!!!
OK, so here is where I probably could have made a better, more mature decision. After the torturous task of getting, like 2 decent shots in their outfits, I decide I want to change them into their Christmas jammies for a Christmas pic. I was there...I had already been through all this...might as well get what I came for. I was not going to lose this battle. So I took the two kids into the waiting room and wrestled pajamas on them. Nana Babs and the photographer both looked at me with a little fear in their eyes. This whole time I had not lost my cool. I never yelled. In fact, I was eerily quiet. I knew if I talked I was going to absolutely lose my shit. We had to keep some shred of dignity, right?
The photo shoot was over. I threw the kids into the carriage and booked it out of the store. Grace says..."Whew! Dat was ridiculous! Wet's go get some yunch." Amen, sister...amen.
Anyway, we got the Christmas shot and the Christmas card came out just as I had imagined. But not without a few battle scars. So if you got a Christmas card from the Bunkers this year, know that my blood, sweat and tears went into that bitch...literally.
I am pretty sure that my kids and I are permanently banned from Sears Portrait Studio for life. After the scene we caused, our picture must be hanging in some temper tantrum hall of fame or something. So here's how it all went down...
I love sending out Christmas cards. I love sending out picture updates of my kids. I am a proud mama. I decided this year to go all out. Get a professional picture taken of the kids to put on the card. I bought new outfits, scheduled the appointment at the perfect time (when I knew the kids would be happy and fed and not tired), and pictured the perfect Christmas card in my head. It would be magical...
So as you can suspect...it did NOT go that way.
I got the kids all dolled up in the cutest matching outfits you have ever seen. Fed them a nutritious breakfast, packed the Mary Poppins diaper bag with snacks, drinks, bottles, diapers, wipes, toys and a wardrobe change for the kids. We headed out to the mall and everyone was happy. We met my grandmother at the mall ("Nana Babs" as we call her). She agreed to come help me. Little did she know she was about to be in for the experience of a lifetime.
We walk into Sears. The photographer seemed nice enough. Grace loves attention, so I figured she would eat this up. We walked into the room. It was bright, small and at least 150 degrees. Grace looks at me. "I'm not goin in dere!"
And she stuck to her guns, that girl. I begged, I pleaded, I bribed. I will buy you candy, take you to the Disney store, buy you a freaking pony!! We did get her to sit for a few shots. Although, she wouldn't smile. And then when she smiled, Patrick wouldn't be smiling. The photographer tried to prop Patrick up against her. She moved away so he fell to the ground and squealed "He's TOUCHING me! Don't touch me, Patwick!!" Keep in mind, I am squatting on the floor, under a sheet, holding Patrick in the sitting position. I am sweating and on the verge of tears. I kept hissing through gritted teeth "Grace, cooperate. Sit still. SMILE goddamnit". Nana Babs stared in horror. The pinnacle moment was when Grace slapped the hand of the photographer away from her and yelled "I said don't touch me!!!" Seriously...I couldn't make this up. MORTIFYING!!!
OK, so here is where I probably could have made a better, more mature decision. After the torturous task of getting, like 2 decent shots in their outfits, I decide I want to change them into their Christmas jammies for a Christmas pic. I was there...I had already been through all this...might as well get what I came for. I was not going to lose this battle. So I took the two kids into the waiting room and wrestled pajamas on them. Nana Babs and the photographer both looked at me with a little fear in their eyes. This whole time I had not lost my cool. I never yelled. In fact, I was eerily quiet. I knew if I talked I was going to absolutely lose my shit. We had to keep some shred of dignity, right?
The photo shoot was over. I threw the kids into the carriage and booked it out of the store. Grace says..."Whew! Dat was ridiculous! Wet's go get some yunch." Amen, sister...amen.
Anyway, we got the Christmas shot and the Christmas card came out just as I had imagined. But not without a few battle scars. So if you got a Christmas card from the Bunkers this year, know that my blood, sweat and tears went into that bitch...literally.
The Old Days
Mommy lesson #3 - you will miss your husband (or significant other, to be politically correct)
The first night we were home with Grace, I remember looking across the room at Pat and bursting into tears. I thought to myself "it is never going to be just the two of us ever again". Don't get me wrong. I was so happy to be a mommy. I loved that little girl more than life itself. But my world was rocked. Everything was different and it would never be the same. That's one hell of a pill to swallow.
So as happy as you are, you most definitely go through a little mourning period. You have to mourn the loss of your kidless self, the loss of the relationship you once knew, and the loss of sleeping peacefully through the night. OK, that last one is a little shallow...but screw that! I miss my sleep.
On the bright side, you do realize a whole new level to your relationship. Between the exhaustion, hormones and crying infant I think it is safe to say that the first few weeks of having a newborn are a trying time in your marriage. But you get through it, you make it to the other side. You gain patience. You enjoy the adult company. You learn to appreciate each other. And you become a team. It was after having my kids I realized that not only did I have a husband, I had a partner. Child rearing had become our business and we were in serious negotiations.
However, there are still nights that I sit across the room from him, holding crying babies, trying to wind down from the day and just stare at him. I miss him. I miss who we used to be.
But then I think about how far we've come. I think about the man he has become. How his daughter melts him and how he is so in love with his son. He loves us unconditionally. I mean, Christ, the man has seen me naked, strapped to a table and sliced open to birth a child...and he still loves me. So I guess that old adage is true...one door closes, another opens. Relationships change.
And in time...those kids will grow up and leave us (God willing). And we will have each other again. Until then, we will keep having conversations over screaming kids, cross paths during our morning craziness, and savor our very rare date night.
The first night we were home with Grace, I remember looking across the room at Pat and bursting into tears. I thought to myself "it is never going to be just the two of us ever again". Don't get me wrong. I was so happy to be a mommy. I loved that little girl more than life itself. But my world was rocked. Everything was different and it would never be the same. That's one hell of a pill to swallow.
So as happy as you are, you most definitely go through a little mourning period. You have to mourn the loss of your kidless self, the loss of the relationship you once knew, and the loss of sleeping peacefully through the night. OK, that last one is a little shallow...but screw that! I miss my sleep.
On the bright side, you do realize a whole new level to your relationship. Between the exhaustion, hormones and crying infant I think it is safe to say that the first few weeks of having a newborn are a trying time in your marriage. But you get through it, you make it to the other side. You gain patience. You enjoy the adult company. You learn to appreciate each other. And you become a team. It was after having my kids I realized that not only did I have a husband, I had a partner. Child rearing had become our business and we were in serious negotiations.
However, there are still nights that I sit across the room from him, holding crying babies, trying to wind down from the day and just stare at him. I miss him. I miss who we used to be.
But then I think about how far we've come. I think about the man he has become. How his daughter melts him and how he is so in love with his son. He loves us unconditionally. I mean, Christ, the man has seen me naked, strapped to a table and sliced open to birth a child...and he still loves me. So I guess that old adage is true...one door closes, another opens. Relationships change.
And in time...those kids will grow up and leave us (God willing). And we will have each other again. Until then, we will keep having conversations over screaming kids, cross paths during our morning craziness, and savor our very rare date night.
Grace-isms
Grace is one of the funniest people I know. The things that come out of that kid's mouth are awe inspiring. She is a 60 year old woman trapped in a three year old body. She's an old soul, I do believe. There are really too many funny Grace-isms to go through right now, so I will try to periodically update this. Here are a few for now...enjoy:
- She talks to her brother like I do..."Hey little guy! How you doing, buddy? Who's my good boy?" (in a high pitched sing song voice)
- "That makes me kinda nervous"
- "This is unbeweevable!"
- Pat is running around trying to find his misplaced keys. "Well, Daddy, they didn't just get up and walk away."
- Grace: "Mama, I love you. You will be my wife". Me: "What does that mean, Grace?" Grace: "It means we love each other and dance together."
- "Mama, you had me so worried!" - she told me this when she couldn't find me for five minutes. Yeah, I was in the basement doing laundry.
- "Let's go to the jungle" - this is in reference to the zoo.
Don't worry folks...there will be much more to come! The Grace-isms are endless.
- She talks to her brother like I do..."Hey little guy! How you doing, buddy? Who's my good boy?" (in a high pitched sing song voice)
- "That makes me kinda nervous"
- "This is unbeweevable!"
- Pat is running around trying to find his misplaced keys. "Well, Daddy, they didn't just get up and walk away."
- Grace: "Mama, I love you. You will be my wife". Me: "What does that mean, Grace?" Grace: "It means we love each other and dance together."
- "Mama, you had me so worried!" - she told me this when she couldn't find me for five minutes. Yeah, I was in the basement doing laundry.
- "Let's go to the jungle" - this is in reference to the zoo.
Don't worry folks...there will be much more to come! The Grace-isms are endless.
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