But Why?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=3np0DMxXKzM

I was watching all the 9/11 remembrance programs today and getting chills up and down my spine every five minutes. I began crying in the middle of commercials and practically broke down at Paul Simon’s “Sound of Silence” performance and all my daughter simply came up to me and asked was, “Why?”

This was the heaviest “why” my daughter who asks “why” 18 million times a day has ever uttered. She sees all the people gathered at Ground Zero crying, holding flowers, and signs with photos of their loved ones. “Why are they crying, Mommy?”

They show the giant fountains where the Twin Towers once stood. “What are those for Mommy? And WOW, those are deep!”

They show people rubbing the names off the monument and she asks, “Why are they doing that, Mommy?”

I am left with an immeasurable lack of words for my four-year old daughter who is old enough to know about death and pain to a certain extent.  She also knows that these images she is seeing are not “fun.” However, she isn’t old enough and I don’t know “how” to explain that day to her.

I turn the channel before she can see any images from that day. Those images are not something you can ever explain to anyone, let alone a four-year old. It is like trying to explain the Internet to a 70 year old or a record player to a child born in the last decade…there is no comprehension.

If you would have explained it to me on September 10, 2001, I personally would have given a puzzled look and wouldn’t be able to wrap my mind around a plane crashing into a building and bursting into flames, followed by another plane crashing into the identical building next to it not long after. Then, the thought that in another part of the country, yet another plane was crashing into the Pentagon and another plane crashed into a field. Then coming to the realization that all of these planes, regardless of where they crashed, had one purpose in mind…to destroy the United States. Regardless of whether they chose buildings with the largest number of people or a building that held great symbolism, the message was clear; Whoever or whatever was responsible was filled with hate for all that our country represents.

To think that all along we felt “safe” here, and to suddenly have that “safety” taken away. To know that we would all walk around looking over our shoulders wondering "What next?" We would now realize that the notion of  "anything is possible" meant something completely different than what we had been taught up until that point. Because being an American always meant that we could do ANYTHING. The American Dream meant if you put your blood, sweat and tears into something, you would succeed. This was the land of opportunity and then they took that away.

There is certainly a pre 9/11 part of our lives and a post 9/11 part of our lives. We could never travel the same; the security measures in place were a constant reminder. We could never go to work the same; we’d have to go through a metal detector just to enter our own office building. We would never look at the most notable skyline the same; part of it would be missing. We’d wonder what else they could have gotten away with that day? Where exactly was that fourth plane headed? What other landscape could have been destroyed? How many other lives could have been taken?

And ten years later, watching the ceremonies commemorating the events of 9/11, why does it seem to hurt more now? While the pain and the fear are still there, from it grows a different kind of “National confidence.” We used to walk tall knowing we lived in the country that afforded us the most freedom, the most opportunity and the most success. Now we’ve been taken down a few notches and humbled. But now we’ve seen our Nation take steps to fight for that again, take back some of what was lost and most importantly realize that we are not defeated, but stronger for knowing we should never take anything for granted…EVER again.

I look at my children and I don’t even want to begin to explain that day to them. I don’t want to think about our family if something like that were ever to impact us directly. I don’t want to explain that kind of evil and the kind of pain it caused. It is certainly one answer I don’t have for my children. It isn’t something I can look up on the internet like why are the moon and sun out at the same time sometimes? No, this is an answer I don’t think any of us can answer. I hope that some day the history books can begin to explain all the events that as a parent not only do I not want to, but that I just can't. I dread the day my kids come home from school seeking answers. 

Here’s a clip of my favorite commercial commemorating 9/11. To me, it encompasses the optimism that comes out of such a hardship on a nation.  After watching this, Maddie simply said she wanted to sing at the Fire Station without know the significance.  I am so jealous of her innocence and if I could bottle it, I would give it to all the people who lost loved ones that day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJzUxVKLgMk

Bouncy-Bounce, Backwards Dresses, Febreze and Robert Goulet: It Could Only Be My Sorted Life

I don’t really have a “theme” for this entry…just three days strung together not too different from any others, but definitely worthy of writing down.

Day One:

It was a typical Saturday in the Stien house. I woke up early with the kids, fed them breakfast and then headed to the gym for an early morning Spin class. Since Colin isn’t allowed in the childcare center at the gym for a week since his third write-up for biting, I am taking full advantage of Tom being home to go to the gym instead of finding creative ways to get my workouts in. I came home and as soon as I did, Tom left to get his oil changed. I took the kids to do some back-to-school shopping and to capitalize on Borders going-out-of-business sale. After chasing Colin around Children’s Place, I wasn’t real sure what I actually purchased, but I had a 30% off coupon and managed to get a bag full of clothes for $100. One thing I knew for sure, it was nap time. We had a birthday party that started at 3 pm and I wanted to make sure I got Colin down at a reasonable time so we weren’t too late for the party.

I got the kids home, fed them a quick lunch and tried to put Colin down. I realized at about 2:15 pm that he still wasn’t asleep and was calling out my name. I went to check on him and he asked me to sleep with him. I tried tough love and told him to go to sleep and shut his door. After about 10 minutes I was pretty sure he was going to kick the door down. I went in and tried to get him to settle down and sleep, but Maddie kept coming in to check out the situation causing further distraction for Colin. It was almost 3 pm and Colin didn’t look like he was going to take a nap anytime soon. I finally just gave up and we got the kids ready to go to the party. I told Tom I’d rather get going since I was pretty sure Colin would end up having a meltdown at about 5 pm since he hadn’t had a nap.

We got to the party and there was a face painter. Maddie got pretty pink swans around her eyes and Colin of course asked to be a monster. (go figure!) He was doing a pretty good job playing with other kids without beating someone up until he entered the bouncy-bounce. That’s when I heard, “Hey! That boy just pushed me!” I knew there was only one “boy” she could be referring to and I was right. I climbed in there and grabbed him out and he had to sit out for awhile. (F.Y.I., if you want to see something America’s Funniest Home Video worthy, just record me sticking my head in the bouncy-bounce yelling at Colin to get out, him laughing at me and running away, me trying to climb in after him, all while 10 kids are jumping and making me look like a human jumping bean.) He wasn’t real happy about it and was like a bucking bronco on my lap until Tom grabbed him and got an upper body workout from holding Colin down. We finally let him go and he played at the water/sand table with some other kids. We watched him carefully as he pushed a boy older than him. The boy promptly smacked Colin with a shovel and we secretly cheered.

We realized that Colin was starting to hit his limit and decided it was time to gather the kids together and make an exit. Colin wasn’t happy with that idea tried bolting towards the bouncy-bounce. Tom was able to wrestle him up and got bit in the process. He promptly dragged him to the car before I could even turn around to get Maddie to leave. I felt bad because she had made a “swiend” and was playing nicely and having fun when her brother ruined it for her. I told her there were goody bags and she was out the door. We hugged everyone goodbye as fast as possible, grabbed the goody bags and did a bee line for the door. I saw Tom struggling with a kicking, screaming, crying Colin with the tracks of his tears in his monster face paint. He looked a lot less cute and truly scary at that point. I handed Maddie her goody bad and she began to unearth her treasures. When I looked down at Colin’s bag it said, “Carson Steen.” I told Tom I wondered if we go back in and get “Carson,” he was probably more well behaved than the psycho path in the backseat of our minivan spitting, kicking and spewing.

We got home and since we had to leave so quickly, we missed dinner at the party and I had to whip up a quick meal. Of course, Colin fell asleep on the couch while I was doing that and we managed to wake him up enough to eat. I wasn’t sure how bedtime was going to go, but luckily bedtime went much smoother than naptime. Just as I got the kids in bed and poured myself a glass of wine, my mom called to say that her iPod wasn’t working despite the eight hours I had previously spent transferring her music from her old computer to her new one. Unfortunately this was the first time she was syncing her iPod to her computer and only 100 of her 800+ songs came over. She was having a conniption fit because she wouldn’t have any music to listen to going to bed. I talked her off the technology edge and explained there was nothing I could do to fix the situation that night and she would have to wait until I talked to my friend Tony who offers assistance to people with issues with electronics (Shameless Plug for Everything Electronic (847) 350-9091--ask for Tony). Ok, I could finally relax and enjoy my Saturday night and prepare for the next day.

Day Two

Sunday morning does not involve sleeping in for me. It is like every other morning where the kids wake up, I make breakfast, try and do some things around the house, but on Sunday I usually go to church. We determined that the church might go up in flames if Hellboy went, so was just going to take Maddie. I am a lector once a month and this was my Sunday to do a reading. I got myself dressed, which is more challenging when you have to actually look nice rather than wearing a tank top, jean shorts and flip flops (they frown upon their lectors wearing that to church). I managed to pull out one of my old biz-cas ensembles from the inner depths of my closet, threw a dress on Maddie, some Goldfish crackers and we were on our way.

Maddie is now super brave and goes to “Church School” or to the basement for Children’s Liturgy each week. She hopped up to join the other kids at the front of the church and that was the first time I noticed that she had her dress on backwards. How I did not notice that up until that point, I have no idea, but there I was sitting at the front of the church ready to do a reading and there was my doe-eyed little girl with a giant flower on her butt. I am glad I got through my reading without thinking about it and laughing.

We dropped my mother-in-law off after mass and Tom and Colin were there waiting for us. We all decided to go out to lunch and then I headed off to a barbecue at a friend’s house, sans family. I was happy to have some time away without hearing my name being called, which by-the-way I have decided to go from having my kids call me Mom, Ma, Mommy to Nancy. I just can’t stand hearing it called every 5 seconds, especially since every time we put Colin on timeout (which is A LOT lately) he screams “Mommy!” over and over again. I don’t know why he thinks I am going to be the one who saves him when I am the one who put him there most of the time and I am one timeout from sending him to an orphanage. (Surely, I jest) Anyway, I thought Nancy might be a nice alternative.

I got home from the barbecue feeling relaxed and ready to cook dinner. The house was all picked up and that was when I noticed that the area rug in our living room/toy room was missing. That could only mean one thing…Kira peed. Not only is she thirteen-years old, but she gets stressed out when we leave, especially me, and Tom didn’t lock her up while he and Maddie were out front and Colin was napping. There was also a Barbie dress that had an indescribable odor that left all of us a little baffled.

We sat down to our steak dinner, which would have been much nicer if Colin stayed in his seat rather than running to play at his train table and mock us. After three timeouts, he finally came back to eat three more bites of potatoes and two more bites of meat. We survived the remainder of the evening, kids went to bed and we watched Entourage.

Day Three

It is now Monday morning and normally I would go to the gym, but we are currently banned for a week because Colin bit a boy last Thursday. Since it was his third write-up, we got a longer suspension. I took the kids for a run in the jogging stroller and then we got back, cleaned up and went to my mom’s to fix the previously mentioned iPod. I started work to work on it while the kids played. My mom had a lunch date with some friends, so she left shortly after we arrived. I finished re-transferring everything fairly quickly and was about to sync her iPod to her computer when I realized she hadn’t left me the cord to do so. I went in to her room to find it and by the time I had come out 3 minutes later, Colin had found a blue crayon and colored my mom’s stark white walls and the grout in her kitchen tile.

Now, let me explain something about my mom and her condo. My mom and I are nothing alike when it comes to our level of organization and tolerance for mess, clutter or blue crayon on the wall. She never has anything unnecessary on her counters, or kitchen table. There is never a newspaper or magazine left out. Granted, she lives on her own and doesn’t have two tornadoes to put up with, but even still, she is a neat freak. So when I walked in to find Colin’s artwork, I got that warm nervous feeling you get when you get pulled over. I felt like a teenager who had a party while her parents were away and there were cigarette burns in the couch, bong water spilled on the carpet and someone had puked in a potted plant. (Not that I was ever in that situation, but I am sure that I would have felt the same fear).

I grabbed as many cleaning products as possible and started scrubbing. I knew I was taking the finish off the wall, but I also knew my mom was planning on painting at some point, so I figured I had nothing to lose. I was sweating and swearing under my breath trying to keep the kids away from the HAZMAT situation all the cleaning chemicals had created. I found the only worse thing than frantically scrubbing the floor before your mom gets home to bust you is doing it while Robert Goulet is playing (a la mom’s iPod music library that was playing--See YouTube video below).

I finally got most of the crayon along with the paint finish off the wall, floor, ledge and the grout was merely “tinted” blue at this point. My mom got home and was talking on her cell phone when she entered to find me mouthing “you need to get off the phone.” She quickly ended her conversation with her sister and reluctantly asked what was wrong. I started by asking where her iPod cord was so I could explain what I was doing when Colin redecorated her house. She was actually pretty cool about and said she uses Mr. Clean scrub pads on her walls all the time to keep them white, so apparently she’s ok with taking the finish off her walls. She also said that she had to paint anyway. I told her Colin thought she should chose blue. She found her bleach pen and went to work on the grout. Man, I wish she had been that understanding when I was two and I colored on the family portrait with purple crayon because it was taken before I was born and I was mad I wasn’t in it. Or the time I poured nail polish remover on the linoleum floor in our kitchen leaving a yellow stain. She certainly has chilled over the years.

Rather than have Colin nap there, I was able to successfully sync all 811 of her songs from her computer to her iPod. I got the kids ready and we headed home. Colin fell asleep in the car and luckily I was able to bring him upstairs so he got another hour of nap…and so did I.

Just when I thought all my clean-up duties for the day were done, I made dinner and then began cleaning up the epic mess in our toy room. I picked up a handful of Barbie clothes and shoes and went to grab the princess carriage shaped bin we use to store miscellaneous Barbie and doll clothes. I opened lid and the familiar smell of piss and shit x 1,000 hit my olfactory. What the hell is going on? I realize it wasn't Kira who had peed the day before. I quickly began pulling the items out of the bin and realized they were damp. I knew full well there was only one explanation for this, Tuna. She’s our cat and as I have mentioned requires the least maintenance of anyone or thing in our house. However, since we moved her litter box upstairs, she has gotten confused 2 other times. Luckily both times were strategically on bath mats. This time, while strategic, she happened to use a princess bin full Barbies and clothes as a litter box. Unfortunately, there were two American Girl outfits and two American Girl pairs of shoes, which if you know anything about you know cost more than what most people spend on their own clothes…for a year. Since everything marinated in the make-shift litter box for a whole day I ended up tossing half the stuff, including three Barbies, one of which had a turd in her hair. As for the American Girl stuff, I washed the shoes with three different household cleaners and soaked them in Febreze and the stench still remained so I threw them out.  Luckily the clothes were saved after I washed them two times, sprayed with Febreze and washed again. As bad as this clean up was, at least I didn’t have to do it to Robert Goulet.

Robert Goulet: Checkout YouTube link below to feel my pain...but I have to say he was pretty handsome in his day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A58x8BN6o6U&feature=related

Hellboy

I really hope Colin isn’t the type of kid where we say, “Wow, they say terrible-twos are bad, but with Colin, he was a terrible-three!” because quite frankly, I’m not sure he is going to make it to his third birthday.

I’ve already discussed that he is a “biter,” which luckily has subsided and he hasn’t drawn blood in several weeks (knock on wood). The problem now is he has resorted to full out pile drives, headlocks and pinning children down by sitting on their face. He doesn’t discriminate either; he will go after his sister, boys and his favorite, baby girls at the daycare at the gym.

 

I got called down to the daycare yesterday and the first thing I saw was one of the caregivers holding a little girl who was no older than two and she was sobbing so hard there was snot flying out of her nose. I hoped that the reason that child was crying was not the reason I was called down, but I was wrong. I went to grab a tissue for the little girl and out of the corner of my eye spotted a little lump of trouble sitting in the corner. I heard “Mommy” and realized it was Colin on timeout.

I grabbed him and strongly scolded him for hurting the little girl. Clearly my lecture before we left the house, in the car on the way to the gym and right before he entered the childcare center didn’t sink in. I brought him over to the little girl he pummeled and made him apologize. I also made him say what he was sorry for. We are trying to avoid having him just say, “sorry” so maybe at some point he will realize what he is actually doing to get in so much trouble.

The woman at the childcare center assured me that this was just a phase and that he will grow out of it. “After all, it isn’t like he is going to go off to college and still be doing this,” she laughed. Then the thought of my middle brother popped into my head. He actually did go off to college beating the crap out of people. Granted, he left the girls alone at that point, but he was known to throw a few punches at other drunk dudes at the bar who looked at him wrong and he usually just punched trees when girls were involved.

Later in the day, the kids actually played nicely together while I got part of the house cleaned. I was hoping Colin got all his aggression out early in the day. However, after his nap he regained some steam and started Hellboy Part 2. It started with the usual pushing and shoving match with Maddie, followed by kicking her and a few scissor moves to pin her down. After I separated them and went back to cooking dinner, I heard Maddie crying again because Colin threw a plastic hockey puck at her head. After timeout number 114, Colin arrived in the kitchen saying, “Look at me mommy!” He had drawn all over his arms with brown, yellow and blue marker. Visions of a tattooed, bar room brawler popped into my head and I am thinking maybe instead of 2-year old preschool, we should be looking at military schools.

When Tom got home from work (earlier than usual, thank God) I had him deal with the situation and took Maddie to get a haircut. Tom said he was going to make him do calisthenics in the garage to teach him some discipline and burn off some of his energy. However, when I arrived home Colin looked like he had been crying the whole time I was gone and was instructed to apologize to me for the way he acted before I left. Apparently Colin spent a good portion of my time away on the bench in our entryway that acts as our timeout place. Tom had a “come to Jesus” talk with him and he was sweet as pie the rest of the night, but woke up the next morning full of piss and vinegar all over again.

He began by spreading a spoonful of peanut butter all over the kitchen table and then sticking Cheerios on it. Then he had the brilliant idea to get his bulldozer to clean up the Cheerio mess. Finally, instead of eating breakfast he went and took one of Maddie’s toys and when she tried to get it back from him, he smacked her. I will admit he got a smack on the ass for that, but it hurt me more than it hurt him. And besides, he just got up and continued with the WWF wrestling match he started the night before. While he was on time out for yet another infraction, he pulled his diaper off. Awhile later I was talking to Tom on the phone who asked how my morning was going. I was recounting the events of the morning to Tom, Colin heard me say “butt” as in “I smacked him in the butt” and he began running around the house saying “I got poo poo in my butt!” Another fun phase…potty talk.

Finally, both of them decided to push me to my limit by playing their new favorite game “Angry Birds” where they run along the sectional couch and then fling themselves either into each other or on the cushions. I finally got them to stop and we vacated the premises to go to the petting zoo and park with a friend of ours. I was hoping to burn some energy so he will spare me a little for the rest of today.

It is funny because he can be so sweet and smart, which is good because I think otherwise I would sell him to the gypsies. The other day I walked in the room to find my Swiffer by his train table because he had stolen my brown eye shadow and crushed it up to make dirt for his bulldozer. Apparently he felt remorse and wanted to try and clean up after his mistake. He always gives big giant hugs and kisses and tells me he loves me. He loves to cuddle and has a phenomenal sense of humor. People keep telling me he will change and this is only a phase, but I can’t help but wonder if his behavior is a sign of things to come. Am I going to be the parent who constantly gets phone calls for “disruptive behavior” at school? What will his report cards say? Will he punch kids at the bus stop because he wants to be first in line? Will he pin kids down in the back of the bus and steal their lunch money? Can I expect bar room brawls? Should I start saving money for bail instead of college? I keep thinking that once he is old enough martial arts classes, football or wrestling will help him channel some of his aggression, but I worry that it will also encourage it.

I know it is my responsibility to guide him in the right direction, but so far no form of discipline is sinking into to his fat, bald head. I bought a book about how to discipline your child without yelling and spanking and he happened to tear it up. I’ve even tried to use my mom’s favorite tactic; good old- fashion Catholic guilt, and tell him God is watching. His response reflected that he thought he wouldn’t get presents on Christmas. No, God and Santa are not the same, Colin, and any efforts to discuss the devil and hell would certainly be lost on him. He can say the “Our Father” prayer when prompted, never mind the fact that his favorite part is “and deliver us from evil,” with an emphasis on EVIL. Is he evil? Am I raising the spawn of Satin? (which would make Tom or I Satan, I guess) So, I can only hope that this truly is just a phase and that he will find an outlet for his aggression that isn’t a person’s face or something breakable…or both and that we won’t be seeing his face on “America’s Most Wanted” 20 years from now.

Happy Anniversary WTSD!

On August 21, 2010, I wrote my first blog. One year later so much has changed, but one thing remains the same… I love writing it.

When I first starting writing it, it was merely a way to be creative, keep my brain moving to avoid mental atrophy and to share my stories with others. What I found is that not only did other people like reading my blog, but they could relate to it and then would tell me their stories. In the end, I think we all feel better knowing we’re not alone on this crazy ride called parenthood.

When I look back on the last year and read some of my previous blogs, a few things cross my mind. The first is that I should really do a better job editing. I have found so many typos and errors in grammar, but in my defense I usually write them at 5 a.m., during nap time when I am trying to accomplish several other things and in situations like what just happened…

Picture this, Lake In The Hills, July 2011.  Tom is away on a camping trip...drunken debotchery known as Country Thunder.  The kids are playing nicely while I try jot some ideas down. Suddenly Colin walks up to me and I realize he has his second dirty diaper in 20 minutes. As I try to finish my thought and then change him when Maddie proclaims she has wet her pants because she was concentrating too hard on making her Barbies talk to each other. Luckily it was a leak and not a flood. I got her to the bathroom before any major cleanup was in order and grabbed her wet underwear and wet shorts and threw them in the laundry room and they landed behind the dryer. I got a kids hanger that was in there, crawled on top of the washer and dryer and tried to fish the articles of clothing out. I determined I needed a larger hanger and then proceeded to drop that behind the washer. I used the kids hanger to fish out the larger hanger and then was finally able to save the shorts and underwear from becoming a laundry casualty. Keep in mind the whole time I am doing this maneuver, Colin is behind me kicking my feet and pushing my head and neck that is already lodged in a precarious position between a shelf and the dryer. I hopped off and at that point he had moved on to playing in the dog’s water bowl. I grabbed him to change his diaper and unbeknownst to me, he had the diaper cream and by the time I noticed, he had smeared it all over himself.

Ok, so now that we have established why I lack technical writing skills, I’d like to take this opportunity to do a “Year In Review.”

1) Maddie is now 4 and Colin is 2.

2) I still hate grocery shopping and despite my vow to never use the cartoon cart EVER again, I occasionally cave and 99.9% of the time regret it.

3) I still do all the “dirty work.”

4) I can’t wait until November when I can bring “Bubble Pop” our "Elf On A Shelf” out so I can start using him to threaten my children again.

5) Maddie has taken dance class consistently since last fall and does not try to kick a soccer ball during dance class like she did pirouettes during soccer.

6) We have not had any major stomach bugs (knock on wood) since February.

7) Maddie has expanded her eating repertoire by adding cheeseburgers and the occasional raw broccoli. The good news is that whatever she doesn’t eat, Colin moves over to her plate and finishes.

8) I continue to be late for everything, but received vindication when my mother-in-law came to pick us up to go to American Girl and saw Maddie freak out over wanting to change outfits while I was trying to get Colin to our neighbor’s. When I returned, Maddie had on a pair of pants that were two inches too short, a shirt where her belly was hanging out, socks and sandals. By the time we got her in suitable outfit that wasn’t out of the Goodwill bag, we missed our train.

9) Colin’s incidents of getting kicked out of the daycare for biting have decreased, but he did just get kicked out for pushing a baby to the ground on Wednesday.

10) I am dreading when the bees, wasps and hornets come out in full force.

11) Cowpants only comes up every so often now.

12) Colin is doing great in his big boy bed while Maddie continues to struggle with her transition into “No Naps.” She still needs the light on every night, door open just a crack and her Cinderella CD on repeat all night. We have developed a very unique system where she gets two quarters when she goes to bed; one to use to pay for a question, a drink of water or whatever excuse she has to leave her bed once we put her down. The other is for the middle of the night. If she can avoid sleeping in our bed, she gets to keep the quarter in the morning. The first night she came into my room at 3 a.m. crying, threw the money on my night stand and said, “I don’t want your money!” Thankfully things have improved since.

13) Maddie is still the boss of me.

14) Colin still licks inappropriate things and has even been known to put a handful of dirt in his mouth in the yard and then proceed to throw it up all over himself.

15) I still haven’t found that magic wand I’ve been hoping for, but have become better at realizing my house is just a perpetual mess and that I have little, saggy boobs.

16) I have not gotten on a plane since February and I plan on selling my Sit ‘n Stand stroller in an upcoming garage sale.

17) I am down a dog because Taz bit Colin. There is a blog about it that I never finished and never posted. Maybe someday I will. I can tell you Colin still asks about him to this day and Maddie has been the strongest of all of us through the whole experience.

18) I’ve discovered a few other things I don’t like playing with my kids and they involve sitting in a kiddy pool talking like Little Mermaid’s mom and pushing the kids on the swings with the sprinkler on.

19) I have received my Group Fitness Certification despite trying to study in the yard while the kids played and was asked 415 times if I could talk like Little Mermaid’s mom, 244 times to push them in the swing and had my name called 4,531 times. And I thought college provided a lot of distractions.

20) I now post a weekly blog on a local community website, but it is called "Write This Stuff Down."

21) I write a monthly column for Kane County Magazine.

22) I've been told I'm too vulgar and to that I say, "Tough shit."

23) I now own the URL www.writethishitdown.com, .org, .net. etc. But they are under construction until I can cut the apron strings from blogspot.com.

24) I have written 34 blogs and have only posted 32. One is the aforementioned blog about losing Taz and the other is about Sex and Marriage that I couldn’t get approval to post (from Tom). Maybe someday I can edit it to make it suitable for posting.

25) Just when I think I have nothing else to write about, these two knuckleheads provide me with inspiration. They are a bottomless pit of blog fodder and enjoyment.

26) I have received so many comments, compliments, words of encouragement and general sympathy for my blog that I cannot even express how thankful I am that people are actually reading my writing and enjoying it.

So, who knows where this writing thing will take me. I never in a million years thought I would run into a guy at my college homecoming, who I haven’t seen in 12 years, and have him tell me he and his wife read my blog all the time and love it. For all of you who have given me encouragement and positive feedback, I cannot even tell you how much it means to me. Putting your writing and your life out there puts you in an extremely vulnerable position. It is all this support that keeps me writing and sharing my little world of Madelyn and Colin. All this for a bunch of stories about my crazy life and my crazy kids who are likely just like your kids. Oh, and my mom wants everyone to know that she never said “shit,” but I have to tell you my first word was “shit” and I will give you one guess who I learned it from.

Ode To My Minivan

Oh minivan, how I love thee. I know what you are thinking... I’ve completely lost it. You should know, I wrote my high school graduation speech about my 1986 Dodge2.2 Charger, so paying homage to my vehicles is nothing new for me.

I took the time to wash my beloved minivan yesterday, and I started to feel a little sentimental about my old pal Odessa the Odyssey. (I just came up with that name, what do you think?) I really took the time to vacuum out all the crumbs, sucker sticks, stickers from the doctor’s office, ponytail holders and stray M&Ms that have collected over the last several months. I scrubbed the floor mats and every other sticky surface with Clorox bleach wipes and then suds up the outside of the van, hosed it down and dried it carefully as to not leave any streaks. With every crispy, sticky and crunchy “discovery” I found myself feeling like a guy tinkering with this classic car remembering all the “good old days” and time spent with his vehicle.

Classic car the Odyssey is not, but it is part of my identity. I know many women who refuse to drive minivans for fear they will fall into the stereotype of a “soccer mom” or suburban housewife. Before I had kids I saw many a woman with a hat, a pony tail and no makeup, driving her minivan and I vowed I would never become “one of them.” I admit I had a bit of a hard time when we bought our van right before Maddie was born. After all, I was 8 months pregnant, turned 30 and became the owner of a minivan all within a week. I knew deep down that this was the most practical thing we could buy. But me, in a minivan? Ugh! I even went so far as to pick out a black one thinking it made it slightly cooler. Once we bought it, I realized how snazzy it was. It came equipped with a DVD player, GPS, satellite radio and leather seats that also had seat warmers. I mean this thing was sweet…for a family truckster.

Once I had Maddie, I really began to appreciate how great this thing was when I would lug the carseat carrier to the car and all I had to do was hit a button on the remote and the door would open up. I didn’t have to hoist her up into an SUV or crouch down into a car with the 45 pound thing either. I realized that if I was out and she needed to eat I could nurse her in the third row of the van, watch a DVD and no one would see me! I could even plug my pump in the back as long as I had an adapter so I could take the kids to Disney On Ice and give Colin a fresh bottle of breast milk inside Allstate Arena.

I knew that the van would not stay clean forever. There are usually fingerprints and smiley faces drawn on the outside of the car. There are a million toys sliding around the floor in the second row. There are often crushed up Goldfish, melted cereal bars and the above mentioned things I scrubbed out of the car yesterday. But that is why I got this thing, so I could transport my kids who happen to make a mess because they are kids.

Of course, now I am often “that mom” with my hair pulled up in a messy pony tail, no makeup and wearing a t-shirt stained with spaghetti sauce driving around town. I certainly am not anywhere near Christy Brinkley in “National Lampoons Summer Vacation” driving her Ferrari. I do not turn any heads and I rarely feel sexy or powerful in my car the way we all know a cool car can make us feel. I suppose if I closed my eyes and tried real hard I could muster up some inner Christy Brinkley, but closing your eyes while driving is completely unsafe and crashing your car is completely unsexy.

There have been times when I am driving my van and a tune from my college days comes on and I feel like I am thrown back to being 21; carefree and without a worry in the world except what party I was going to that night and what I was going to wear. Then, I catch a glimpse of my car seats in the rearview mirror and I am thrown back into reality. Next thing you know Maddie asks if we can listen to “her songs” and I am forced to turn off Rusted Root “Send Me On My Way” and turn on a collection of Disney Princess songs.

But let’s cut to the chase, while I understand the power of cars and how they can make you feel, I have to be realistic. Yes, it would be nice to drive a car that makes me feel like a super model, but I am certainly NOT a super model, so why pretend? I could buy a car that probably costs as much as my minivan that would make people think we are well off, but then I could never actually let my kids in the car for fear they would mess it up. I could drive a less “mom-like” vehicle, like an SUV or cross-over, but I’d rather give up my qualms about driving a minivan and enjoy the extra room, convenience and practicality.

When I stop and think about the stigma surrounding minivans I am reminded of a few things. First of all, before I drove a minivan, I drove a Honda Civic. It wasn’t like I gave up a Mustang or a BMW or some sort of fancy schmancy car. Second, I’ve never been particularly cool so why try pretending I’m cool now. Finally, let’s face it, cars are a status symbol and my status is a mom. Granted, when we purchased the minivan, I still worked, so I hadn’t completely crossed over to total momdom, but I knew before long I would have another kid and be at home and well, the minivan just seemed to fit. Now, there have been times where I feel like I am not accomplishing enough as a stay-at-home-mom, but then I remember what my dreams and aspirations were as a child. I pretended to wear a wedding gown. I played with dolls, dressing them up, feeding them and burping them. I wanted to get married and have babies. I wanted to be and knew I was destined to be a mommy. There was a point in my life when I was single that I actually feared that I would be the work-a-holic, well-off aunt who pulled up in her Jaguar up on Christmas with annoying and expensive toys for my nieces and nephews. Then went home to my lonely penthouse in the city and drank dirty martinis alone.

That’s not to say that I thought my entire purpose in life was to be a mom and wife and that everything else I did was worthless. But if I want people to see what I have accomplished in my life, pulling my minivan up to the valet is fitting. I love being a mom. I love my minivan.

This Is Your Brain On Motherhood

This is your brain. (Holding up one large uncooked egg)

This is your brain on motherhood. (Egg cracked into hot frying pan.) Popping and sizzling ensues.

Any questions?


This Is Your Brain On Motherhood...overeasy and scrambled all at the same time.

 

Yeah, I have a question. How much more can women take? As if they don’t leech enough off of you, turns out they steal your smarts too.

People told me that when I got pregnant I would get stupid. While I certainly have my “blond moments,” I have always thought of myself as a relatively intelligent person, so on one hand I figured losing a few brain cells was no big deal since I had some to spare. Plus, I have always had a great memory. I could tell you what I was wearing on my first day of school each year of high school. I remember details of my childhood and I am fantastic and remembering faces. On the other hand, I had visions of me waddling through the Target parking lot frantically hitting the buttons on my car remote until my I could hear my horn honking because I forgot where I parked my car 20 minutes earlier.

I was working at the time and my biggest concern was that I would start screwing up at work. My job required remembering contract rates, deadlines and at the very least customer’s names. I had also just taken on extra work and had to learn a new part of my job. I was worried I had lost my capacity to learn. Turns out, I managed not to get fired over my inability to think.

I will say that there were certain things that I did that, whether they were because I was pregnant or not, made me think I was losing it. For example, letting the dog out in the morning before I left for work and leaving him out there in the rain all day. I came home to him barking at the back door, wet, muddy and ready to ring my neck if he had arms and hands.

When I decided to quit my job and stay home people said I would get stupid. They said that I would forget how to have adult conversations and when I did, I would fall into baby talk. They said my mind would turn to mush and I would go crazy.

Fast forward three years and I can still carry on a coherent conversation, even though it is usually about my kids. I am not big on baby talk to begin with, so I think I am in the clear on that one. I think it is pretty apparent that I was already crazy before I had kids and as far as my mind being mush? Well, more like a well ripened banana at this point. It seems as though my memory is the real casualty. I sometimes think I need to pin notes to the front of my shirt that say, “Dear Checkout person at Jewel, Please, tell me I need to buy stamps…and don’t let me walk away without them after I buy them.” Of course, this would also require remembering to buy the birthday card for my brother that actually reminded me I needed stamps. I should also include a note that asks them to remind me to use my coupons and did you get ricotta cheese so you can make lasagna tonight? Because most times I go to the store for 3 things and I walk out with a cart full of things I didn’t intend on buying and forget the three things I went there for.

I constantly forget where my car keys and cell phone are. I’ve found the only thing positive about getting a home phone line again is that I can call my cell phone when it is missing and chase the ringing around my house or out to my car. I often stand in front of the pantry knowing I went to get something and simply cannot remember what. The upshot is sometimes while I am staring aimlessly at my pantry trying to figure out what I went there for, I realize I put the milk in there instead of the fridge.

So, what causes this mind-suck? "There is 15 to 40 times more progesterone and estrogen marinating the brain during pregnancy, and these hormones affect all kinds of neurons in the brain," says Louann Brizendine, MD, director of the Women's Mood and Hormone Clinic at the University of California. In addition to the progesterone and estrogen surges, there is the lack of sleep and the shift in priorities. The lack of sleep and shift in priorities certainly carries over once the baby is born and the surge in oxytocin that occurs can also short-circuit the brain.

Unfortunately, I’m not battling pregnancy or post-partum hormones and I am still a little dense so I guess the multi-tasking and lack of sleep is really what has kept me in a fog for the last 4-plus years. I usually have a hard time falling asleep if I wake up in the middle of the night, because that is the only time it is quiet enough to think about everything else that I couldn’t focus on during the day.

I also have noticed that there are a lot of things from my pregnancies and the kids’ milestones during their first year that I simply just cannot recall. My friends ask me questions and try as I may, I just can’t remember. You would think I would, but the brain protects us from remembering otherwise no one would ever have more than one child. There have been numerous studies regarding forgetting the pain of childbirth, but I seemed to have blocked out my entire pregnancy and the first year of my kids’ lives! Although if you ask me, both pregnancy and the first year are pretty traumatic, so I guess it falls in the “painful” category. Of course, I also just mentioned that I forget to essential items at the grocery store and have also been known to go a whole day without realizing I have my underwear on sideways, so I guess it isn’t all that hard to believe after all.

Let’s not forget to mention who our company is all day. When you surround yourself with children whose focus is how to get a treat without eating their grilled cheese and grapes, twirling around in a princess dress while singing to herself or ramming matchbox cars into each other, you tend to get a little batty. Then there is the incessant calling of your name, usually for no reason. Finally, I think I could probably complete a task or remember to send a birthday card if I wasn’t always on high alert waiting for something to break, someone to get hit or bit or for Colin to open the back door and run out to the swing set and start climbing up the slide. Of course, this usually happens when it is raining, I have a white tank top with no bra on or both, so I am hoping that me screaming “Colin get back here!” does not prompt the neighbors to look out their window.

I’ve gotta say, TV tops the list as main cause of brain degeneration. I really appreciate some of these shows for their creativity, ability to teach my children and give me a chance to make dinner, like WordWorld, but some of the other ones just rot the brain...both the kids’ and mine. For example, Yo Gabba Gabba, Wow Wow Wubzy (the names alone indicates you will get stupider after watching them) and Backyardigans. The worst is listening to these movies or shows in your car when all you can hear is their voices. I’m worried that I might crash my car if I hear Barbie Princess and the Pauper one more time.

I knew I was in trouble when I started doing character analysis on the gang from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. You know, Mickey is the happy-go-lucky optimist. Donald is a self-centered, stubborn S.O.B. who is always complaining. Minnie is the doting maternal type who is also a bit of a worry wart. Daisy is a confident, no-nonsense kind of gal and as far as I can tell is trying to edge out Minnie for Mickey’s attention. Pete is greedy and gluttonous and usually uses deceptive measures to get what he wants. He does have some redeeming qualities, especially when it entails dressing like a bumble bee or a princess, but I’m pretty sure there is a deeper psychological issue there.

Then, there is the issue of children’s books. They say to turn off the television and make your kids read, but based on some of these ridiculous excuses for literature, I’d rather read them US Weekly. I am fairly certain that most of these authors sit around and smoke weed, drop acid or hit the crack pipe when they write these things. Especially Barbie books, most of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse books and anything Disney for that matter. And when you read these books over and over and over and over again, sometimes 15 times in a 30 minute span, you might as well smoke some crack yourself. I even try to make it more exciting by acting out the characters’ voices, but then I have to do it EVERY TIME and I my critics are merciless. Apparently, my Mater needs some work.

Whatever the cause of my ditziness may be, at the end of the day I am “fried.” (see 1980’s Say No to Drugs commercial reference above). It took me awhile to write this blog because I couldn’t remember all the things I forget on a regular basis. Of course, I am sure it doesn’t help that my coping mechanism for the insanity is drinking wine after the kids go to bed. But hey, what are a few more brain cells, right? I’ll just blame it on the hormones.

Happy Father's Day

I have decided to put  by blogging on hold to start writing greeting cards. I am going to start writing cards for Father's Day for the dad  who we once had a restraining order against, who I didn't have any contact with for 15 years of my life and is now in a mental institution.

To say that my relationship with my dad is atypical is a gross understatement.  My parents split up when I was 10 years old after several years of inappropriate behavior on my dad's part.  He acted recklessly, was abusive, unreliable and down-right crazy.  I could go into greater detail, but once I complete my greeting card line, I plan on writing a memoir chronicling my childhood and I certainly wouldn't want to spoil that.  For a long time, I didn't realize my dad wasn't like all the other dad's.  I thought his behavior was normal until I got older and got to know some of my friend's dads.  They all had jobs, dressed nicely, didn't take them to homes for the mentally retarded and nursing homes "for fun." 

My mom worked weekends, so we spent a large portion of our time with him.  Not everything we did was bizarre.  He worked for a travel agency for awhile and was responsible for delivering airline tickets at the airport back before e-Tickets and computerized check-in.  It was also at a time when we could go to the terminals without having to be frisked by the TSA.  We spent hours looking at planes and I used to pretend that I was taking a flight somewhere fun like Disney World.  Of course after our field trip my dad would claim his blood pressure was really high and as most professionals will tell you, the best remedy for that is to go have a beer.  I spent many a Saturday afternoon at a bar with my dad while he treated his acute blood pressure problem.

Due to my dad's lack of "focus," he had a hard time holding down a steady job, which meant we had to live with my grandparents from the time I was 2-years old.  My mom's parents were a godsend and made sure we were taken care of.  It was my grandpa's ultimate way of taking care of us when he told my mom that my dad needed to move out.  We had suffered through so much turbulence between my dad's crazy antics and the fighting that went on, it was almost a relief when he left. However, just because he didn't physically live with us, the abuse and erratic behavior continued.  When my parents first divorced my middle brother Mark and I had a choice of whether or not we wanted to continue to see my dad, but it always had to be in the presence of my mom.  These meetings were usually torture and ended in someone crying.  We finally decided that it wasn't worth it to see him anymore.

My dad made several efforts to try and "track us down," but that usually involved stalking us and had laws been stronger then, we would have had a real case against him.  As time went on, we never saw him unless he showed up somewhere uninvited.

Like I said, I could go on and on with the details of what we went through growing up, but it literally will take a book to accomplish this.  The bottom line is that it took me a really long time and for my dad to be officially put into a facility for both his physical and mental illness where I could forgive him and have some sort of relationship with him.  I decided to finally see him when I was 25-years old and working through a lot in my life.  Seeing him made me realize that regardless of his past, he was ill and was still my dad.

 I continue to struggle with my relationship with him and at have visited him about half a dozen times over the last several years.  I feel guilty when  don't visit him more or call him more, but I can only feel so much for him especially after having my own children.  I also think about how much my mom took on and how much she struggled to make a good life for us.  It is hard to make my dad a priority when I have so many other people in my life who have given me so much more than he has.

I also try to explain him to Maddie, who now understands that her grandparents are her parents' mommy and daddy. She sometimes gets confused about my dad as to whether or not he is heaven or not.  She has never met him and I honestly don't know when that day will come.  He is not exactly grandpa material in his current state and seeing as how she is scared of pretty much everything right now, I don't think taking her to a coo-coo's nest of crazy people is the best idea.

Father's Day is a tough day for me.  I'm not gonna lie.  I see people posting pictures of their dad's on Facebook and I know full well I could never do that.  I still send my dad a Father's Day card, but it is hard to read all the cards with jokes about all the things kids learned from their dad or pictures of a dad lifting his little girl in the air, etc., etc.  I have to find a non-discript, sometimes the one's labeled "For Anyone" or "Simply Stated," because I can't thank him for being a good role model or always being there when I needed him.  I can't say he supported us or laugh about funny jokes.  What I did learn was to be a stronger person.  I learned that every family is not perfect and there are a lot of people out there who don't fit the Hallmark vision of a family.

What I have learned is that while I lost the presence of one dad, I gained a bunch more.  So, today I am thankful for all the "stand-in dads" that I had in my life.  First and foremost is my grandfather.  He was my rock.  He supported us.  He was strict, but loving and kind.  He taught us about hard work and discipline.  The second person is my mom.  I try to remember to wish her a "Happy Father's Day" each year because she was both mom and dad to my brothers and I.  Then there are my brothers who were the one's who walked me down the isle at my wedding.  They were my protectors and my friends.  They explained what life was about and made me suck it up and not be weak.  They made sure I was O.K. no matter what.

Then there are the countless men in my life who have taken me under their wing when they knew I needed a father figure.  Those people know who they are and I am eternally grateful for them.  And finally, last but certainly not least is my husband.  He is the dad to my kids that I never had.  He truly is was Hallmark cards are made of.  They say that women marry men just like their dad's.  Well, in this case this couldn't be farther from the case unless Tom snaps and contracts a nasty case of Schizophrenia.  All joking aside, he is rock and support that I always longed for.  He is the person who holds a mirror up to me and shows me who I truly am.  When I really think about it, he is most like my grandpa.  I guess I took the closest thing to my dad and found a guy just like him.  For that, I can truly say, "Happy Father's Day."