Clarity

Hello again from the land of outspoken toddlers and runny nosed babies. Sounds like a fun place to visit, doesn't it? Tickets are free. Donations of wine and mild tranquilizers are welcomed and appreciated. Step right up and enjoy the freak show.

Actually, the freak show has gotten somewhat less freakish. I took several days off last week and I don't know if it was the extra sleep or what but, damn I swear I saw rainbows and heard birds singing just about everywhere I went. That's even weirder than it sounds considering that it's been raining for what seems like the last month.

Some things have been wonderful, like seeing the Bug enjoy school more and more, hearing her excitement about new discoveries in the classroom and seeing her test her strength on the playground. I pick her up from school everyday. On my days off, I take Dos with me and the three of us spend some time playing in the classroom together after the other kids leave for carpool. I love seeing what Bug finds so fascinating about her classroom. "Mommy, look! These are called Lincoln Logs." she says, revealing her new discovery. "This is the reading corner! And we have puzzles!"

On the days I work, I leave the office and go straight to Bug's school. Waiting in the carpool line, I sometimes see her with her classmates on the playground. There's something weird about seeing your child moving through the world without you. It's different than taking them to the park and watching them run and play with their friends. They're still conscious that you're there. They're depending on you. You know they're your responsibility and you're on alert, so to speak.

Watching her on the playground, away from me, running and playing without a care in the world...it's a partial out of body experience. She's part of me, but completely independent of me and growing more so every day. It's wonderful and frightening at the same time. I'm still on alert. What if she falls? What if someone is mean to her? What if she needs me and I'm not there? It's hard not to rush to be by her side just in case but that's not what she needs now. What she needs is to learn to be her own person away from Mom, Dad and little sister. So I sit in my car, watching my little girl grow up right before my eyes.

When it's our turn in the pick up line, I'm reminded again that she's still a little girl. My little girl. She climbs into the car, wide-eyed and smiling at me. She has a new painting or project she can't wait to show me. Her teacher buckles her in and we're off. We stop for smoothies and she begs me to hold her hands while we twirl around the room. The room spins and my eyes are focused on her. Her eyes are shining and she's smiling. We stop and she stumbles into my legs, hugging me. "Mommy" she says, giggling, "you're my best friend."

Give Me a Home

Our favorite babysitter went back to college and I have a niece and two nephews who are college freshmen as of last week so there has been a lot of talk about college and college life around our house lately.

Grinch and I have been talking about our own journeys to college, being away from home, going wild, feeling lost and free at the same time. We've talked about how my sister, a single mom, must feel, sending her daughter 444 miles away to go to university. How hard it's going to be not to have her daughter around, to not be able to protect her, guide her, have fun with her.

Grinch is already twitchy about the idea of sending the bug away to college. You should have seen how we hovered over her pre-school when first started there. She was only gone for a few hours, two days a week, but we sat in the parking lot and waited just in case she needed us. I got weepy just thinking about next year, when she'll be in school *all* day! Five days a week! How are we supposed to just drop her off, drive away and not see her for....ohmygod months?!

It's a good thing we have 14 years to think about all this. Which, given how quickly the last four years have gone, doesn't seem like that much time at all. Ohmygod.

I don't worry about Dos too much because she's still so baby-like that I have a hard time imagining her ever growing up. She'll just be my baby forever and we'll leave it there. K? I'm trying to avoid a full-on emotional meltdown here, y'all.

Bug has overheard all this college chit-chat and has started asking questions. "What's a college? What's a professor? What's tuition?" With everything, we're straight forward and honest which is pretty easy to do with a subject like this. (Drowning and dying came up recently. That's a whole 'nother post.)

We've talked about studying hard, choosing a school, joining clubs and making new friends. I thought I was doing pretty good until "...and we'll take you to your dorm and help you get everything you need and...."

"What's a dorm?"

"That's where you live when you're away at school."

Her eyes filled with tears and her mouth turns down. "But I don't want to live away from you and Daaaaaaddeeeee...."

I made my sweet girl cry. I feel like a jerk. Oh! But she loves our home so much, she loves Grinch and me so much she never wants to leave! We're awesome!

"Aw, bunny... You don't have to go away to college. You can stay at home. You can stay at home for as long as you want." She's smiling again. Giggling.

Wait...did I just tell her she can live at home forever? I did. Which is OK with me.

Still Here

Well, there it is. Proof positive that I suck as a blogger AND a mommy. I haven't updated in weeks and I didn't wax poetic about my bug's 4th birthday to the internets. Since I've turned 40 I've learned that I suck at a lot of things. When I was 20, I thought I was awesome at EVERYTHING. 20 years makes a big difference.

So yes, the Bug turned four and I can hardly believe it. (I waxed poetic privately. Just because it didn't happen on line doesn't mean it didn't happen. ) We're probably giving the kid a massive complex because Grinch and I keep staring at her. We don't expect her to spontaneously burst into flames or give us the winning lottery numbers, though that would be cool. (The numbers, not the flames.) We just can't stop looking at her because....well...she's four.

"Are you sure?" Grinch asked me as the bug and dos giggled over one of her birthday presents.

"Sure of what?" I asked.

"That she's four."

"We must have miscounted."

"How'd she turn four?"

(counting on my fingers) "2006, 2007...yeah...that's four years."

"She's a little kid. She went from a baby to a little kid, like...." Bug's ears perked up at this.

"I'm not a little kid! I'm a big girl! I'm four! Four, four, four!" and off she hop, hop, hopped like a bunny, hugging her new dolly.

Our little girl. Our baby bug. She's four.

Different is Good

"Is she a good baby?" a friend asked after the Bug was born.

"She is. She's a good baby." I told her. I wasn't sure what she meant by "good baby" but I meant that Bug was cute, nursed well, let other people hold her and didn't cry without reason. Don't get me wrong. She cried. Lordy, lord did she cry. I cried, too. Big, heaving sobs of "This sucks! I want my life back!" and then she started sleeping through the night and I no longer felt like gray matter was seeping out of my ears. Things got better. We figured each other out. I stopped trying so hard to be The Perfect Mom and concentrated on being a really good mom to my little girl.

I was dumb enough to think everything would be exactly the same the second time around. Everything was different from the start: Bug took her time getting everything in place before she would think about being born. Dos came five days ahead of schedule and nearly made her entrance in the hospital parking lot. Bug barely made a peep during the first few diaper changes. Dos screamed bloody murder, to the point that a nurse poked her head in during one diaper change to ask, eyebrows raised, "Is everything ok?" Bug looked around, wide-eyed with wonder on her first ride home. Dos clamped her eyes shut and screamed for 5.5 miles. In rush-hour traffic.

Bug slept through the night on her own at 8 weeks. Dos finally gave it a try at 8 months and didn't care for it too much. She was over a year old before she slept through the night on a regular basis. I don't think she's all that fond of sleeping, but she does it reluctantly because she knows a whole buncha fussin' isn't going to get her much more than a cursory pat on the back and another stuffed bunny tossed in her crib. There are only so many bunnies one kid can take.

Grinch and I fretted and lamented the differences between Bug and Dos. We questioned everything we had done, I, had done during my pregnancy. Wondered if genetic anomalies, chromosomal aberrations, even brain damage could explain her apparent unhappiness with seemingly everything. We fumed and cried, cursed and raged. What was wrong with this baby?

Then one day, it hit us: nothing is "wrong" with her. She's just different. She's a healthy little girl who has her own personality, her own likes and dislikes, her own quirks and curiosities. She's not Bug, she's Dos. All new. All ours. Ours to figure out, to learn from and enjoy.

She's different from her sister in another obvious way: I used to rock Bug to sleep, singing campfire/Beatles/Johnny Mercer medleys. When I tried to lay her in the crib, sometimes she'd wake up, clamp her arms around my neck and cry as I pried her off. Dos nurses happily until she's calm and sleepy but hates to be rocked almost as much as she hates my singing. I stand with her cribside, swaying to the music and patting her back. She pats my back, leans in for a kiss or three, then dives for the crib, clasping a bunny to her chest. I hear her cooing and giggling as she falls asleep.

She's different from her big sister, alright. What a great thing.

The Bare Facts (or "The Naked Truth)

Ok, OK! I'll post something. You people are slave drivers! I swear.

I haven't posted anything lately because I've been in a bit of a funk and looking back on my blog, it seems like one long whine with a few giggles in between. I've been waiting for something funny or happy or silly to happen so I could write about it. But funks, especially those that seem to permeate the family unit, are not especially conducive to episodes worthy of funny, happy or silly blog posts.

I could tell you about my run-in with an idiot in the grocery store parking lot who insisted on calling police because she was sure I had scratched her car with my shopping cart. That doesn't seem so much funny as infuriating.

Hmmmmm.....

Ah, here's a good one:

Nudity. It's gotten quite popular in our family. At least among the under-four set. Bathtime is particularly joyful because of all the pre- and post-bath nudity required. Did you know that if you're naked, you're supposed to run around the house, screaming that you are, in fact, naked? Try it. From my observations it really adds to the experience.

Here's a chance for me to explain to my non-southern friends the difference between the common English word "naked" and the southern "nekkid." "Naked" is used to describe someone who is not wearing any clothes. "Nekkid" is used to describe someone who is not wearing clothes and is doing something they ought not to be doing. Variations on "nekkid" include: butt-nekkid, stark-nekkid, nekkid-as-the-day-you-was-born and nekkid-as-a-jaybird.

Giggling children who are running around the house without clothing would generally be referred to as naked. The bug prefers to pronounce it "NAY-ked!" Dos goes for the more modern "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEheeheeheehee!" Both pronunciations must, MUST come at a precise volume of about 120 decibels, or roughly the same volume as a fire truck siren.

Grinch and I haven't followed the girls in their naked example. Their running around naked and yelling about it is cute. Our running around naked and yelling about it might be seen as psychotic.

There's only so much nakedness we can support around here until everyone gets reliable control over their bladders. So the naked party usually only lasts about 10 minutes or until someone pees on the floor. Then diapers and pajamas go on, paper towels are dispensed and wet hair is combed out. The volume decreases considerably and giggling goes down to tittering or snickering at least.

There is always the promise of future nakedness, much to the bug's excitement. "Mommy," she whispers as she snuggles my shoulder, "I can't wait to take a bath again so I can get NAY-ked!"

Mother's Day

I never expected to be a mother. It's not something I was raised to do. As a little girl, I didn't play house and I didn't carry around baby dolls. I played "Love Boat" and pretended I was a famous businesswoman who Gopher fell in love with on a cruise to Acapulco. I had high aspirations, obviously.

I didn't take Home Ec in high school. My sisters took it and it sounded like fun: baking cookies and cake and learning to sew. I expected to take it, too. When I brought it up to my counselor, she looked over her glasses at me and said, "But you want to go to college, don't you? Don't waste your time with home ec. That's a class for...for girls who won't be going to college."

In fact, I was steadfastly against having children until about two years before I became pregnant. Working years in retail will turn anyone against children. I watched too many temper tantrums unfold in the toy aisle near my cash register, saw too many parents reduced to red-faced, sweaty messes as they juggled bags, checkbooks and screaming children.

My own mother didn't seem to like being a mother very much so there wasn't much to interest me in joining the ranks.

But here I am. I'm a mother. I'm not the first. I'm not the best. I'm not the worst. But here I am.

I'm trying. It's hard. I don't have great examples to follow and I wasn't trained to do this. There's no pay check, no big jackpot. The payoffs come when you least expect them: a midnight nuzzle on your neck as you carry a sleeping child to bed. A messy kiss after a shared surprise ice cream cone. Feeling your baby grow heavy on your shoulder as she shudders, sighs and gives in to sleep. The sunlight on your child's hair as she runs happily through the park, her giggles ringing in the air. The fistful of dandelions offered to you as though they were a bouquet of roses. Watching your children hug each other tightly, then open their arms to invite you in.

There are payoffs, sometimes so small, that if you blink, you might miss them.

Here I am. I'm a mother.

Thank goodness.

Tag Team 101

When Grinch and I decided to do this goofy tag team parenting schedule, we were surprised by the number of people who told us it couldn't be done. People who had never worked an overnight schedule. People who weren't dependent on two incomes. People who didn't even have children. They all told us we were looking at certain failure. A co-worker said we'd be lucky to last six months. Others gave us less than a week.

Nearly four years later, we're more than glad to tell them they were wrong, wrong, wrong.

It CAN be done. It's not always fun and it's not always pretty. Get a look at me after a painfully short nap and you'll understand just how un-pretty it can be. But it CAN be done.

Here's what you need to make it work:

-Team work. You both have to commit to this plan and be in it for the right reasons. If one of you isn't sure why you're doing this or isn't enthusiastic about the tag team concept, you're not going to weather the ups and downs very well. And there will be a LOT of ups and downs: the normal ones associated with having a child and the new ones that are unique to the tag team.

-The Right Partner. You have to be able to trust each other implicitly. Grinch and I had been together nearly 20 years before we took on the tag team schedule. We knew each others strengths and weaknesses. We also knew we could depend on each other to do the right thing, be the adult, be dependable and put our child first. If you're with a man-child, princess, stoner or general knucklehead, this is not going to work out for you. You might also want to reconsider having a child with this person, but that's a whole 'nother subject.

-Supportive employers. They may surprised by your choice and doubt your ability to make it work, but if your employer is willing to work with you on your schedule, that's a big part of making the whole machine click. Give them plenty of advance notice that you want to do this. Don't spring this on them as you're walking out the door for maternity leave.

-Experience. If your tag-team schedule requires one of the partners to work odd hours and you've never worked odd hours before, it's going to be 500 times harder than you ever imagined. I've worked late night and overnight schedules on and off for nearly 20 years. I've managed it well, but I've seen other people who just can't do it. You don't want to find out that you're not suited to the overnight shift when you've structured your family's life around it.

-Help. Grinch and I were committed to doing the tag team 100% on our own, no help whatsoever. It worked great for us at first, but it was pretty exhausting. I recommend having some kind of help at least one day a week, just to ease your load a little. That help can be a sitter, a meal delivery service, yard service, or a friend or relative who comes over just to hold or play with the baby while you do laundry or chop vegetables. After Dos came along, our tag team hours changed and we had to hire a sitter three days a week. It's drastically increased the amount of time we're able to spend together as a family and gives us a little more wiggle room in the schedule. It was hard for me to accept help at first, but it really has improved things for us.

-Dedication. If you're going to do this - do it. Don't try it for a week and give up. Plan on doing it for six months at least. After six months, sit down with your partner and talk about how the tag team is working for you. Make some adjustments if you need to and try it for another three months. If it's still not working, think about what else you can do to fix things and come up with a Plan B. Try three more months. After baby's first birthday, take a good look at how things are going. If it's working, then have another slice of cake and toast your tag team. If it's not working, have another slice of cake, toast your hard work and dedication and move on to Plan B.

When someone hears about our schedule, they usually say, "Wow, how do you do it?" "It's hard," I say, "but it's worth it." And that's the truth. It is VERY hard. News flash: life is hard. But you keep going and you keep learning and doing the best you can for yourself and the people you love. Things get easier and new challenges come along. If you do it right, you have some great teammates beside you, cheering for you every step of the way.