New Rules

I’m good at rules. It’s what I do. Answers are due in 20 days. Rule 9006 says a request for extension of time must be filed before the deadline runs. I’m good at rules. Or, I thought I was until I joined the ranks of school moms.  

Today was his Fall Party. We used to call this a Halloween party, but Halloween has been increasingly freaky, so now, it’s a Fall party. The rules for the party were as follows: 

Rule No. 1: No scary costumes. RJ went as a farmer. He wanted to be a harvester--the actual machine that harvests the wheat, but I’m a mom, not a miracle worker. Steel blades and tires were not in my costume arsenal.  Farmer made the grade as non-scary. So did Bible-Man (purple cape. gold mask.).   Batman made the grade for the school party, but RJ was scared of him. I know because he told me, “Batman worried me.” I assumed Batman was an adult in costume. Batman was in fact three-years old, three-feet tall, and apparently very, very scary at recess. As RJ’s teacher told me today, “He’s very sensitive.” (He’ll make a great husband someday. He’s learning to load the dishwasher, fold laundry, and set the table too. Little ladies, take note.). 

Rule No. 2:  RJ’s school is a Nut Free Zone: 

(I’m planning to have this sign commissioned and hang it in my office and on my front door--I need more nut free zones in my life). 

What I learned today: All M&M’s have peanuts.  In a parking lot panic after reading the ingredients on the bag, I dumped my secret lollipop stash into the candy bag for the Fall Party parade. (I keep a pound of suckers in the trunk of my car--makes rewards easy and bribes easier. I have no shame. I bribe my child with pure sugar--makes him sweeter). 

What else I learned today: Nut Free Zones do not count at the Fall party. Snickers galore. M&M’s, yes please. And, the crazy lady with 200 lollipops has some pure sugar for you too. There are exceptions to the rules--even at three year old pre-k. 

Rule No. 3:  Moms attending the party should bring treats. 

I did not bring treats. I was not on the sign-in sheet to bring cups, napkins, plates,  or treats. Neither were four of the other moms. But they knew the unwritten rule: bring treats. RJ had a marshmallow pumpkin, a bouncy ball, pumpkin s’mores, cheese lovingly crafted into a pumpkin shape, and various gummy body parts (apparently “no scary costumes” doesn’t translate into “no freaky food.”).  I am grateful for the moms who know the rules; fortunately, RJ is at a Christian school, and judgment is slow to come--particularly when the small ones have just sung their blessing song (to bless the gummy body parts, among other things). 

I’m good at rules; I was in the top of my class. I'm in a whole new classroom now. So, I’m learning the exceptions and the unwritten ones. I’ll be ready for the Thanksgiving feast next month. I’m downloading instructions for a marshmallow turkey, and I’ve already signed up for cheese sculpting classes. 

A Very Good Day

I believe in family. I believe in God. And, I believe that some events give us a rare opportunity to see how the two come together. Today was one of those days. We were blessed to celebrate GiGi's baptism today.

I tormented myself over what I would (could) wear (fit into).  I ironed RJ's trousers and tightened his suspenders. My mom made the most beautiful christening gown I've seen, and she faced her fears, driving 100 miles in blinding fog to deliver the dress.  My dad braved the same blinding fog and hoisted a heavy "wheelchair ramp" for his aging best friend (a boxer dog) into the truck so that he could come too. GiGi didn't barf on the dress (it's the little things).  And, RJ was  a perfect gentleman during the service.

My lifelong friend celebrated with us along with my mother-in-law, aunt, uncle, cousins, and dear friend.   We welcomed GiGi into the church family, and we welcomed our family into our home for a slightly homemade meal. (2 jars of Ragu with my friend's "secret seasoning" baked in a crockpot for 2 hours for those who are interested).

What I will remember about today is not my dress. Or the fact that the camera flashed right through the skirt leaving me with pictures not for public viewing. I won't remember RJ's creased trousers or the "lunch break" GiGi had to take mid-service requiring me to spend some quality time in the ladies room. (Dresses are not feeding friendly; you'd think I would know this as a second-time mom).

I will remember the christening gown with GiGi's name lovingly embroidered along the hem. I will remember GiGi's godparents promising to pray for her. I will remember RJ promising to teach his sister about Jesus.

I will remember my promise to pray for GiGi, just as I promised to the same for RJ three years ago. And I do. I pray that he will love his sister. (He does). I pray that he will understand that I have to take care of her sometimes during our snuggle time. (He's getting there). And, I pray that I will always have the memories of today with friends and family gathered around my table--standing room only.  Chocolate sheet cake and shared stories.  RJ promising to learn to speak Japanese. Conversations with my dad at standing at the kitchen counter. GiGi sound asleep on the shoulders of her grandmas, her poppy, and in her brother's lap.

I believe in the power of family.  And I believe in God. I believe in God because of days like today, where my family and friends, who are all very different, all gather around the family table and celebrate a new life.  We welcomed GiGi into the church family today, and today, we welcomed our family into our church.  A very good day.

Time to Tame Lions

I’m shopping for velvet pants and a topcoat with tails. I am a ringmaster, and a ringmaster of my caliber needs a uniform that commands respect.  For the first act of my personal three-ring circus, I successfully packed a three-year old and a three-week old for a three-day trip to my hometown. Deep sea fishing could not require more equipment. We took 57 cars, 2 balls, a case of Huggies, a fistful of Huggies overnights (sized to fit a large dog or small toddler), swim Huggies (in case we decided to visit my favorite family dressing room at the YMCA), 5 hair bows (because GiGi might change her mind and want to wear lavender instead of pink),  and of course, Fluffy--RJ’s blankie.  The magic of Act I is in the fact that I managed to forget the one bag containing (1) things I need as a nursing mom; and (2) GiGi’s anti-gas Mylicon--which stops crying like nothing else--and both I and GiGi survived.  I keep a case of Mylicon on hand in my hometown and at home. RJ is an addict. He asks for it by name. It's disturbing.

For Act II, I survived night number 20 (20!) with GiGi feeding every two hours. And I didn’t skip changing her pants once. Hence, magic again--her raging diaper rash has reached a pleasant pink rather than angry red. As RJ says, “She don’t cry no more!” She doesn’t. She stares at me wide-eyed and wavy armed when I change her pants. And sometimes she clearly thinks I get too personal. But she doesn’t cry. 

And so, for my final act, I plan to tame lions. I therefore must have the velvet pants and topcoat. I will be successful in my lion taming venture. I know this because I have already tamed a wolverine. My beautiful, sweet, precious little girl is a wolverine. Hungry, she bangs her head on my shoulder and attempts to chew my collar bone off my body.  She eats every two hours. At least. She is a wolverine in pink party pants. I have tamed her. She is sleeping (in pink party pants). So, tonight I will shop for my velvet pants, and tomorrow I will learn to tame lions. I am sure to be a success. 

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Retail stores are telling me it's the most wonderful time of the year. Christmas trees are lit, tinsel lines windows, and despite 80 degree temperatures, store windows promise colder days ahead with darling wool jackets that are speaking my language right now. Home life, on the other hand, is not speaking the most wonderful time of the year. In the past 48 hours, I have been reacquainted with three "P's" of parenting: Poop, Pee, and Puke. I'd like to say that my reacquaintance has been solely the result of bringing a newborn into the house, but it's not. My three-year old still has accidents, and the accidents seem to be more intentional than not these days. I've been peed on, pooped on, and puked on. Twenty-four hours between showers is far too long, but a shower a day is the best I can manage.

GiGi eats every two hours at night. And, her brother still sleeps with me (we're still putting the functional in dysfunctional--it's the only way we can get a reasonable night's sleep). In short, I am exhausted, smelly, and crossing my fingers that at some point in the next few weeks, I will lose the spare tire around my waist--currently I suffer from jiggle belly, but much to RJ's relief, my belly button has returned.*  I have been cross with my little boy and seen the way he deflates when I am.

A few days ago, we ventured through Sears. And the elves had visited. Trees sparkled. Fluffy "snow" covered the ground (with polyester puffiness seen only in Christmas claymation specials), and the animatronics were in full force. As usual, I was on the GiGi timer (every two hours--no more--perhaps less, but definitely no more). So, I tried to hustle RJ through. He's a sweet boy, and he asked, "But we can look on the way out?" "Yes, yes," I replied, in a hurry.

He doesn't forget. And, on the way out, we made a trip through the Sears Christmas department. It is, in fact, the most wonderful time of the year. There is magic in an animatronic Snoopy. RJ will tell you. His eyes sparkled, and he visited each and every pre-lit tree. "Oh!" he cried, "Look at that!" It was, for a few minutes, magic.

In those few minutes, I realized that it is the most wonderful time of the year. I have a healthy little girl and a sweet, sensitive little boy. I may smell like sour milk and the three "P's," but I have a hot shower to go to every morning. I have the ability to put aside my exhaustion and find the fourth "P" of parenting: Patience. I am reminded that this most wonderful time of the year will go too fast. RJ will be six, and GiGi will be three in the blink of an eye. I know this for a fact. I saw it happen with RJ. And so, I will slow down and focus on the fourth "P." I will slow down and appreciate that RJ wants to hold baby sister every morning and every evening. I will slow down and appreciate baby sighs and snuggles. I will slow down and remember the way GiGi drapes her tiny body over my shoulder, milk drunk and satisfied. I will slow down and remember the way RJ wakes me at night to ask for a snuggle.

It is, in fact, the most wonderful time of my year.



*Just days before GiGi was born, RJ saw me get out of the shower. His reaction? "Aw man, you no have no belly button. Bummer."

Chapter New: GiGi

A week has passed since my last post--a week measured in days, a lifetime measured in events. We welcomed our baby GiGi this week. And, there are things I had forgotten about being a mom. I should have some hugely philosophical thoughts on birth, life, and the journey called motherhood. But I have a three-year old, and I'm sleep deprived to the point of forgetting my new daughter's name from time to time. (in my defense, she's the new kid, and I'm terrible with names).

I had forgotten that baby smell: soured milk, fresh Huggies, and baby shampoo. The way a newborn's downy little head lolls from side to side, looking for the crook in my neck that's just right for a snuggle. They way her mitted hands reach like teddy bear paws to find a spot to rest on my shoulder. And, the little smiles and chirps in her sleep. (experts may say it's just gas, but I'm her mommy and I know the little smiles mean she loves me).

I had forgotten baby sighs and baby cries. Her first night, GiGi didn't so much cry as she wailed. Like a fire truck. With a calm voice and a panicked heart, I said, "She's a talker..." I sighed with relief as the second and third nights revealed a much calmer newborn.

I had forgotten those adoring baby eyes, staring deep into mine. Searching desperately for food. GiGi looks at me the way John Candy looked at the Old 96-er in "The Great Outdoors"--like she can't believe the goodness that has been put before her...and that she's expected to eat it all.

Some things, of course, are new to a second time mom. I have a three-year old who gleefully tells everyone, "My baby sister drinks num-num milk." (Note to other nursing moms: get a sense of humor. fast.).

And, I have a three-year old who desperately needs to know that his mommy still loves him. He's pushing every boundary, but so far, the lines are holding.

Nothing could have prepared me for the unmatched joy of seeing my little boy hold his little sister proudly and kiss her fuzzy head. "Awww, she so cute," he said upon meeting her. Seeing his expression, I finally understand the true awe and wonder of a child.  "Can we show her my Cars movie?" he asked, wanting to share the thing he loves almost most of all. He covered her with his blankie, and I knew, R.J. loves his baby sister. And then, he looked at me, my belly, and said, "Hey! Your belly isn't fat anymore!"

I  always knew I'd be a mom. I kind of always knew I'd have more than one. But, as the nurses tried to start the i.v. the sixth (sixth) time, I questioned the wisdom of this baby number two. What if something happened to me? I have a little boy who depends on me. What if he hates her? What if he hates me for bringing her home?

The operating room stereo played "Old Time Rock and Roll," as I panicked over needles and questioned the inevitable birth of my little girl. And then, then the doctor held up this chunky, screaming little being. And I knew, absolutely without a doubt, everything will be alright. And it is. More than alright. I remembered GiGi's name when the neighbor asked tonight. Modern painkillers are a wonder. And, as baby GiGi sleeps soundly in the floor beside me, her brother sleeps soundly beside his daddy. New bonds are forming in our family. R.J. snuggles GiGi every chance he gets (to the detriment of daddy's daughter time).  I'm finding that modesty is overrated as R.J. jumps in the chair beside me while GiGi has her num-num milk. And, without a doubt, I know that this Chapter New, will be the best so far.