I Can't Help It

     If you are in the vicinity of me at a playground, you will hear me before you even lay eyes on me. You will hear my voice over all the other background noise. Oh, it will come through loud and clear. For a second, you may even think that someone has knocked a needle off of a record ---why on Earth would a record player be at a playground? That's just silliness....Back on point! --- or that a song is on repeat. But no. No, no, no....it is just little ol' me. Yep, just me saying, "Be careful, okay, slow down, be careful, hold on tight, don't slip, be careful, okay, slow down, be careful...." You get the point. And you know what?

I can't help it.

     And don't worry, I can already see you smirking as you sit, reclined back on the bench, looking so relaxed, watching your child play. Good for you!  And I'll notice as you lean over to your mom friend and whisper, "Helicopter-Mom Alert."  And you both have a nice giggle. I'll politely smile at you, and promptly go back to reminding repeatedly, I mean, watching my children. Do you know what I'm thinking at that moment? I'm so jealous of them.  Jealous, you say?  Yes.  Jealous that you can relax. Jealous that you are reading a book, or playing a game on your phone, taking time for you. That is awesome and I applaud you! I would give anything for a single ounce of that. The way I am wired makes it so that I cannot physically or mentally relax. And you know why?

I can't help it.

     I actually despise the phrase, 'Helicopter Mom', if I'm to be completely honest.  I've been known to refer to myself as that, because I hear it so much. It used to just be called, 'Overprotective'. Simpler days I guess, when it was okay to be neurotic. Kidding! I'm ((kind of)) kidding....  Anyway.... 

Yes, I am an overprotective mother. I come from a long line of overprotective mothers and looking back on it, there is nothing wrong with it. Unless you're the innocent child, of course. My grandmother used to tell me that I couldn't ride my bike around the corner, "because I can't see you."  (She lived one house away from the corner.)  I'd roll my eyes, agree, and huff off on my bike, thinking the whole time just how unfair she was. (To my mother and grandmother, I wholeheartedly apologize. I get it, and I am one of you now.) I'd say to myself, "I'll never be that way with my kids." Whoops!  Sorry about that kids!  Miss G went riding her bike down our hill the other day, and the words, I kid you not, came out of my mouth: "Don't ride around the corner.  I can't see you."  Oh hell, it has happened, the metamorphosis  is complete.  My husband turned to me and said, "I told her she could go around the corner."  I swear he grew three heads by the way I was eyeing him. Anyway..... you see, some of this is just in our DNA, or the way we grew up. I try to be relaxed, I really do, but you know what?

I can't help it.

      Yes, some of us hover for fear that our babies will topple off of a slide, while others like to let their children explore and if they fall, they learn to pick themselves back up. Neither is wrong and neither is better. We are all our own types of parents and we're all doing our best. Whatever parenting style you do is by far the best one if your kids are happy and safe.  

I'm an Overprotective Mom, and if you could feel my anxiety, see all of the worst case scenarios race through my head any given day, you'd understand a little better why some moms (or dads) hover.  I have actually asked my husband, "Why am I this way?  Why does my mind automatically go the worst thing that could possibly happen?  I work myself up before the kids can even step foot out of the door."  And if my kids are running around with cousins or friends and I'm out of view talking with other adults, you better believe that one ear is perked up, listening for any crying, or worse, silence.  I do very well at seeming like I'm paying attention to someone talking, and for the most part I hear everything they say because that's rude not to pay attention, but one part of my mind will not shut down. It is supercharged and honed in. I just....

I can't help it.

     I've seen and heard far too much 'Mommy-Shaming' lately. I wanted to give you all a clearer insight into one type of mother, a small crash course if you will, since it is the only one I know how to be and know way too much about: Overprotective, Helicopter, Needs to Cut the Umbilical Cord, It Must Be Exhausting- type of mom. And yes, it is exhausting. I can't escape the thoughts in my head, and believe me, I'd love to.  I can't outrun the urge to put my arms up when my kids are climbing on playground equipment.  

Some days, I will let my kids run and climb the dome at our park. They try to climb so high, and I will sometimes force myself to stay where I am, at a distance, and just watch.  I will stop myself when I feel the need to yell, "Be careful!"  I cross my arms so that I do not run over to reach for a leg that has slipped through. It's baby steps for me. I've become a little more relaxed with Miss G, but Li'l B is still a baby to me, and it will take just a little more time. Hopefully he can learn patience....and I'm referring to with me. Someday, they may look back and I hope they realize that...

I couldn't help it.

     Maybe the next time you see a mom out who seems to be a little nervous, running here and there, repeating herself, arms outstretched, just give her a smile. If you see her race to her child who has tripped and stumbled, just give her a nod. She's not purposefully trying to 'baby' her child, she's merely doing what her mind and instincts are willing her to do. Rather than laugh at or tear each down for our different parenting styles, let's embrace and lift each other up. And if it's me you see at the park, well, Heaven help you, you may need to go to another park before I drive you insane.  No, I'm ((kind of)) kidding. Just please know that deep down, I'm trying to relax. In so many more ways than you can even realize. I'm trying to step away.  I'm not trying to hover over my kids.  But also remember - 

I can't help it. 

After The Hardest Goodbye

     

It has been a year since my dad passed. 

 

     It is still so foreign to think this, to realize this, to say it out loud. I will admit that, surprisingly, this has been the quickest year of my life. Maybe it rushed by because this was our year of 'firsts', so every first holiday or birthday without him seemed to loom ahead, which made it arrive that much quicker.  It wasn't that I dreaded the occasions, but it was the fact that someone who was always there, suddenly wasn't going to be.  No walking in to see his smiling face, hugging him tightly, inhaling his cologne.  No more hugs.  No more smiles.  Gone.  

     As time passes, I feel that people think grief should subside, as if there is a time table and, miraculously, the wound should heal, leaving you whole again. Losing a loved one, to me, is truly like losing a piece of yourself.  You will never regain it, but you will learn and adapt to how to live without it.  And it never for a second means you do not miss it.  That doesn't mean it gets easier, just different.  Life is change, is it not? Between you and me though, sometimes change really sucks.  

     On my first birthday after dad, my mom called and played me The Beatles' 'Birthday Song'.  Dad did this every year when I lived at home.  He would crank it up and we would all dance and sing in the living room together.  I started doing it for Miss G and Li'l B on their birthdays.  They love it as I did.  And this year, when I would play it for them, I would close my eyes and dance with dad.  

     

     For ALS Awareness Month, I posted a picture everyday promoting a movement which I had created in honor of dad called, Moving Out ALS.  It didn't really catch on the way I had hoped, but I put myself out there.  Dad was worth it.  I think he would've been proud of my effort.  

     My brother Chris, his family, mom, and our family of four went to the beach for a little vacation this summer.  It was Miss G's and Li'l B's first time ever seeing the ocean.  As they ran towards the surf, arms spread out as if they were flying, giggling at the wonder of the vast waves, I watched them through blurry eyes.  All I could think was how dad would've absolutely loved to see their reactions. Dad was in awe of the sea.
     We went out one night, divided up dad's ashes in sea shells, and laid them in a hole that we had dug in the sand.  We all stood there and watched as the ocean made its way in, sank into the hole with its watery fingers turning up the ashes, and withdrew back out.  We all said goodbye as dad left us one last time.  

     One occasion in particular was extremely tough because dad really was the reason for it - Our ALS walk.  Our captain was not among us, and the feel of the walk was completely changed. Something as simple as checking a box to indicate why you're walking was enough to bring on tears. In Honor to In Memory.  I think a lot of us never thought we'd be checking that box.  Now everything is In Memory.  During that day and throughout the whole walk, when I felt like breaking down, when the void became overwhelming, I smiled. In Memory. 

 

       We created a new tradition.  Every year, around dad's birthday, we go to a Browns' game together.  The stadium felt electric.  We cheered loudly, we clapped until our hands hurt, and we missed the reason we are all Browns' fans. Sundays are not the same when watching our Brownies play.  But dad's love for the Browns taught us about loyalty, picking yourself back up when you've been knocked down, to never give up on anything, and that Brown is Beautiful.   

     Another tradition that the kids and I started is celebrating Day of the Dead.  Gabby in particular has had a hard time with her Pop-pop's passing.  She knocks the breath out of me a lot with her questions and observations.  We decided to print out pictures, collect all of Pop-pop's (and other family members who have passed) favorite foods, mementos, and decorations, and say what we love and miss about them.  Gabby missed everything. She stole my answer.  

     Christmas was last on our list in our year of firsts.  I know all of us were not looking forward to it as dad loved Christmas.  I made mom her traditional 'Grandma's Brag Book', and dedicated the last page to dad.  The book was one of the hardest things to create.  Mom mentioned that this was the last book that he would be in, and she began to cry.  Gabby also cried.  She had asked me why God couldn't just let Pop-pop come down for Christmas so we could give him hugs and presents.  I had no answer for her.  It was becoming my usual response to her questions because I, too, have many questions with no answers.  Most times, that's what death brings us.  But we all celebrated and smiled and laughed at Christmas, because that's what dad would have wanted, for us to celebrate.   

     I had someone who had just lost a parent ask me if it got easier as time passed.  "No," I answered without hesitation, "it just becomes different."  I still think I hear him clearing his throat, smell his cologne, or hear his voice when I'm visiting mom.  Then the harsh realization swoops in, and I have to remember that he's gone. I've learned that a heart can break over and over again, and we survive it.  I dream of him, but in those dreams, I know he's not supposed to be there, and I find myself crying.  And when I wake, I have two opposing feelings jockeying to be dominant; joy, because I just got to see dad again, and sadness, because I know it wasn't real.  Sadness always wins.  Stupid sadness.

     The year after our hardest goodbye has been rough.  I'm not going to sugarcoat it.  Many times I've wanted to tell dad about things going on, have him reassure me about a decision, or laugh at our latest debacle. It's true that our favorite moments ultimately become memories.  But that's also one great thing I've come to realize this year; we have a ton of wonderful, special memories to share with each other and with our children.  I find myself telling Miss G and Li'l B lots of stories about their Pop-pop, to which I am welcomed with squeals of delight and, "Tell it again, mommy, tell it again!"  And I do.  As long as we keep dad in our present, he will forever live with us.  In Memory.  







      

 

  

"Death smiles at us all; all we can do, is smile back."

The Hardest Goodbye

     When we lose someone to death, we believe we know where they go.  We hope we know where they go.  It's unspoken; a community of people with their own beliefs, but ultimately, we know that we will never see this person again in our lifetimes.  Aside from an Afterlife (for those who believe in one), in this life, they are wiped away, left only as memories.  Now imagine trying to explain this to a little one, when sometimes you're not even sure of what you believe, or as you yourself are trying to come to grips with it.

Miss G and her Pop-pop.

     My dad died.  Wow....it still seems unreal to type or say.  Although we knew it was coming, (I mean, no one gets better from ALS, and believe me, a small part of me hoped), it still did not make it any easier knowing I would never speak to him or hug him again.  His smile is no longer present, but is now seen in pictures and in my mind.  There are moments when I am at peace with this because I know he is at peace now, but there is also another side of me that is so lost that it scares me.  On top of this, we had to explain it to our daughter, being that she is 5 and would notice Pop-pop not being around.  Li'l B is 3, so we knew he wouldn't understand.  I had tried so hard to shield her from death and would make up super nice stories of people "going to the Ball" and dancing, but she was 3 then and it was just magical to her, and no other explanation was needed.  I knew my dad passing would be different.  Plus she saw me constantly crying or wiping at my eyes, so she knew something wasn't right.

Li'l B and his Pop-pop.

     My husband did the honors, because frankly, I just couldn't without breaking down.  He sat Miss G and Li'l B on his lap and told them how Pop-pop went to this place called Heaven, where he can walk, run, bike, and swim like he used to.  Miss G squealed with delight.  It was heartbreaking.  Then my husband looked at her and said, "But where he is, he can never come back.  He can watch over us, but we cannot see him anymore, but he is all better there, but sadly he has to stay there."  She smiled and said, "Okay, daddy," and Li'l B asked to play with his ball.  Go figure.  I told her as I patted my chest, "He is in here now and we can take him wherever we go.  He is a part of us always."  She smiled and went back to playing.  So, I guess this story was magical to her as well, but from time to time, either as we are traveling in the car or playing Uno, she'll look at me and say, "Mommy, I'm really sad that I can't see Pop-pop anymore, but I'm happy that he isn't in his wheelchair."  I can only choke out that she's sweet and that her Pop-pop loved her very much.

     At night, I do a 'Dream Bubble' for both of the kids, as they believe it protects them from bad dreams.  I have started asking them what a great dream may be to have, basically to get their minds off of anything scary.  The other night I said to Miss G, "Let's think of some nice dreams we could have tonight.  What would you dream about?"  She thought for a moment and then smiled at me.  "I want to dream about Pop-pop," she said.  "He'll walk up and open his arms and I will run and jump up and he will hug me." 
               "That sounds like the most wonderful dream," I smiled at her, my eyes burning, "I hope to have that dream tonight too." 

     Like others who have lost someone, I will never go a day without thinking of and missing my dad.  I will always speak about him to the kids and show them many pictures.  I will share stories from long ago and those that they may remember.  We will keep his fight going and will never give up.  We may have had to say our hardest goodbye, but that does not mean that he does not live on in each of us.  Although he is no longer physically with us, it does not mean he will ever fade away.  His zest and spirit are just too strong for that. 



    
    
    

Can't Never Could

     "I just want to become a child's favorite story," I told my husband.  "I'm not doing this to make millions of dollars or for fame. Sure, I'd love for it to pay some bills, but just the act of telling a story and having a child request my book to be read over and over, it blankets me in a feeling I can't describe.  It's a passion, a calling."
      His response, "Then do it."



     My husband.  I truly have never met anyone like him.  Knowing that I've always wanted to be a writer, (which is why I received a B.A. in English that no one asks for) he says to me, "Just think, when the kids start school, you can stay home and write. There'll be peace and quiet, and you'll really be able to concentrate, research, and write."  I laughed, thinking he was joking.  Nope.  He was serious.  I said, "Wouldn't you rather me get a job, preferably one that consistently pays?" 
     He replied, "If writing is what you want to do, then you should do it."
     Nobody needs to tell me how lucky I am, I've realized it on multiple occasions. 

     When I thought of being a writer, novels were the first things to come to mind.  Children's books were not even in the picture.  I told my husband this and he said, "Your priorities changed.  You write your children's books now, and when you have more time, you focus on those novels." 
     "What if I stay home, write my books, and nothing ever comes of it?" I challenged back.
       He looked me right in the eye and said, "Well it won't if you go into it thinking that way."  He had a point.  Where else had I heard that similar phrase?  Oh yeah, my parents. 

     That's the scary thing though for people who are putting themselves out into the world in a very raw way; you're setting yourself up for ridicule, judgment, the crushing of dreams, and very real failure.  But first, you have to muster up the strength and courage and put yourself out there.

   I received my first rejection via email today from an agent.  I'll admit, it stung, and they were actually pleasant about it.  It's like someone saying, "Your kid's just not good enough."  Because that's what an edited manuscript feels like; your baby.  But something else occurred to me.  How many of The Greats were turned down by agents?  It's not going to happen overnight.  I am excited for this work to be in the hands of children; the cover and pages being worn and torn from repeated readings. "Just once more, mommy, pllleeeease!"  This book being taken on road trips, shoved under the arm of a child, right along with their favorite blanket.  Knowing that there are squeals of laughter at all the funny parts.  That's the vision I need to keep with me, not the rejections or possible failure.  You only truly fail if you never try. 

 I keep hearing my dad's voice saying, "Can't never could."  And it used to drive me mad when he would say it.  But he was and is still right.  And I'm not "Can't".

 I just want to become a favorite story.



    

White Flag Flying

    

     Oh, you know those days.  We've all been there so don't even think about lying.  Take your hand away from your chest and wipe the "Me?" look off of your doe-eyed face. You know the ones. Those days when you think to yourself, "If I have to raise my voice one more time, I'm absolutely going to lose my freaking mind!"  Those days when you have absolutely convinced yourself that your darling little angels have become possessed by Satan himself.  (Okay, maybe too far.  We'll say demons.)  And if you're a stay-at-home mom like myself, those days when you have threatened, dare I say daycare on your kids and are already pulling up CareerBuilder and slamming down the Search button.  Well, let me tell you my friends, we have had a lot of those days lately here in our homestead.  I'm pretty shocked that:
                a. I haven't lost my voice yet
                b. I still have most of my hair. 
                Oh, and c. That I haven't run screaming from our house.
The white flag has been waving proudly! 

     As a mom (or any type of caregiver, really) I am always dubious about how well I am actually doing.  All. The. Time.  "Could I have handled that situation better?  Did I necessarily have to yell about what just happened?"  And that's another thing I've discovered about myself; I am not a yeller. I actually despise yelling!  Yeah!  And amazingly enough, it feels like it's what I do for 70% of the day when these two transform into their monster counterparts.  I swear I open my mouth to tell them to pick up toys or put their coats on and their little "Mommy Radar" beeps in their head to shut down the ears.  I'm not actually yelling because they're misbehaving, I am yelling just to be acknowledged.  My throat actually hurt today from trying to get Li'l B's attention.  *Enter a growl here because frankly, I physically can't scream*  Then I start to think, "Maybe they're doing this on purpose. Clever little devils."  And the veteran moms out there just say, "They're testing you.  Trying to see how far they can get."  Well.  I can tell you, I feel like I'm about to fail this "test" and as far as they're going to get is to their rooms. 

     I never wanted to be that mom who yelled all the time; I'd always been this laid-back, calm person so naturally I was under the impression that it would flow over into motherhood.  When I envisioned motherhood, it was me standing in a meadow, sunbeams cascading down over my shoulders, my hair blowing gently in the breeze, my arms outstretched towards my children as they ran laughing and smiling into my embrace, all of us falling over as one big giggling mess.  *slap*  Yes, that was reality slapping me right across the face.  My eyes are watering a tad.  Reality is...we yell just to be heard, we silently scream in our heads, we wonder if anyone is ever listening, and we talk to ourselves because we're the only ones who'll listen to ourselves.  (Did that make sense?  My brain feels fried, apologies.)

     Just as I'm waving my white flag high above my head yelling, "Uncle! Uncle," my little man comes up, wraps his arms around my legs and says, "I love you, mommy."  Then his sister takes the hint and hugs me, telling me how pretty I am.  The little devils drive me to the brink of insanity and the little angels bring me right back.

     Guess they don't want to go to daycare.  *wink*



    

Life Is Good

     So, a short while ago,  I went to the craft store to find some things for the wall I'm decorating behind our couch (it's only taken me 6 years, yes years, to do this; News Flash, I am no Martha Stewart) and found this script that reads, "Life Is Good".  I stared at it for a bit, envisioning how it would look where I thought it would go, but then realized that my mind had wandered (as it does a lot) to how our lives certainly are good.  I guess my mind figured, "Why put this saying up if it isn't true?"  Yeah, I'm weird like that.  You'll come to understand the madness.  Just give it time.

     I bought the script and as I ran other errands, I got to thinking about life; the good of it, the bad of it, how we got to where we are, the paths and roads we chose that got us to this point, how things could've been different had we chosen different options.  No one in this world is without worry.  I don't care who you are, there is something that matters to someone, everyone.  We do not know what others go through or are currently going through in their lives.  We wish for bigger houses, more money, better jobs, shiny cars, love, babies, the list is endless.  Do we ever just stop, look around and say to ourselves, "Look at all I have that makes my life good,"?  I did just that today, because I am guilty of wanting just a little more out of life or worrying about what may happen in the future, and not taking the time to look around at what I've already got, and truly appreciating it all.

 

     As I thought of everything that I have that I should rejoice about, being able to stay home with my kiddies topped the list.  And don't get me wrong, I loved working, and yes, still long to feel like a professional, but how many times while I was at work did I think, "God, I'd just love to be home right now, playing with my kids or discovering with them,"?  Too many times to count.  Now, I make our schedules (or am run by the kids' schedules), I get to go outside on warm days and have picnics in our backyard, create masterpieces on the front porch in chalk, become a monster that makes the kids join forces to defeat (during playtime, well, same may go for when mommy's having a bad day), full-time on-call boo-boo kisser, Play-Doh sculptor extraordinaire, and the best giver of hugs, all day long.  Sure, I don't get to punch out and call it a day or take off when I'm sick, and my income contribution is zero, but the good days far outweigh the bad and no amount of money could replace the memories being made.  And on those before mentioned "mommy bad days" when the kids are driving me to the very brink of insanity, I step back and think, there are people out there in the world who would just love to be able to have the kids to drive them crazy.  It's all about perspective. 

     Another thing I am grateful about is the fact that we have a roof over our heads and food on our plates.  Do we live in a huge house?  No.  (Plus, I shudder at the thought of cleaning a house that size.)  Do we go out to eat every night at fancy-schmancy restaurants?  Nope.  I make our meals, and due to the picky eaters, I sometimes even do special orders.  But we're very fortunate that we have these things and we know it.  We watch our finances and don't have all the cool, hip new gadgets out there, and that's fine. We are rich beyond measure in our own eyes. We know life can change on the turn of a dime. 



     What if for one whole day, we all thought, "Life is good"?  Really looked at the things we are blessed with in our lives and for one moment forgot about the negatives.  Friends, family, significant others, children, jobs, food, health, happiness, whatever matters to you, actually think about it and appreciate it.  Big things, small things, whatever matters most. Some people won't have what others do, but what means something to one person may not mean the same thing to another.  Take in the little things like watching the sunrise, hearing a bird call, smelling the fragrance of a Fall day, embracing someone in a hug, making someone smile with your kindness.  So many times people say, "I wish I could go back to when life was better, things were easier," etc.  Well, embrace these days, and let this time be the time and moments you'd like to go back to.  Because Life Is Good, you just have to step back and notice it.





    

Just a Swingin'

     I personally find myself always feeling like I'm in a rush, so in turn, I rush my kids.  No matter what they are doing, I find myself uttering, "Hurry up, will ya?"  Now, sometimes, the rush is warranted, like if we are running behind getting to preschool, dance, or a play date and one (if not both) kiddies decide that they want to try and strap themselves into their car seats.  (I literally picture my hair graying and the wrinkles forming as they take their sweet time trying to figure out the contraptions.)  On many occasions I've had to basically tell myself to slow down.  Why am I in such a hurry anyway?  Where's the fire?  (As if I could put it out.) We could have all the time in the world and yet for some reason I feel like we have to go a million miles an hour.  I blame society really for all the hustle and bustle just to actually get nowhere.  *wink*  Today however, I had a slow down moment.  And it was glorious.  I shall do it again soon.

     One of the memaws took Li'l B to storytime (which was a trial run that surprisingly went great, I think he's growing up!), so that left Miss G and me to ourselves.  She loves the park near our house but I am apprehensive to take both kids there as it is tailored more towards bigger kids, i.e. Miss G's age and older, and long falls for Li'l B. (The last time we went there, daddy was with us and had no fear about B climbing all over these skyscraper-height playlands and all I could picture was him tumbling through an opening....*shudder*.)  Okay, so maybe they're not "skyscraper" height, but to a mother, they are monstrous. So, I told her that we would go to the "Big Park", which brought on numerous squeals.

     We get to the park and G wants to climb up the dome, hang, drop down, climb again, hang, drop down, climb again, well, you get the gist.  So, I stand there, watching her, looking around, thinking of what I need to accomplish this afternoon.  While marking off "things to do" in my head, I hear G saying, "Mommy!  Mommy!  Let's go swing!"  And off she runs.  I walk towards her and decide to sit on the swing beside her.  She starts kicking her legs out and in, slowly getting higher and higher exclaiming, "This is FUN!"  I decide to partake.  As I get going higher and higher, I lay back so that I'm looking at everything behind me upside down. I started to feel like a kid again.  Free, no worries, just fun and giggles.  Miss G screams, "Mommy!  That looks like fun!"  I say to her, "It is!!"  The higher I go, the freer I feel.  Swinging isn't getting chores done around the house, it isn't getting us anywhere except for back and forth.  But the sun was shining down, we were both laughing, and I just relaxed and let the sunlight and warmth bask over me.  Right in the moment, lists disappeared from my mind, worries dissipated, I only concentrated on going higher, feeling the breeze on my face and through my hair.  I closed my eyes, seeing the red of the sun and gave all of it to flitter away in the wind.  I smiled. 

    Something as simple as swinging got me to thinking, we are so used to rushing around in this world: to the store, to doctor's appointments, to work, home, running errands, that we may unintentionally be rushing our children's childhoods too.  When they are trying to buckle their seat belts, we immediately rush in to do it for them instead of standing back and letting them learn.  Or when they are trying to tie their shoes, we want to swoop in as to save time.  When they are outside playing we may find ourselves bored because we feel it is not productive.  But it is.  Maybe if we followed a child's example, we'd all learn to slow down a bit, let go, and jump on the swings. 



     Miss G and me on our first swing together, 4.10.10.

When a Fishy Jumps Ship (aka, 1st Day of Preschool)

   



      I was surprised really.  I thought there would be lots of tears, constant hugging, grabbing onto ankles while crying out, "Don't leave me!"  But no.  I was brave.  Miss G had been so excited about starting preschool and I for sure thought, "Yeah, until the day of, then we shall see."  There were no tears, lots of hugging though (I just couldn't let her go, give me a break!), and strong smiles to cover up the heartache.  Okay, it was mainly myself that I was worried about because I realized one day that she is already a very strong, independent child, and while I'm extremely proud, it still scares the sh*t outta me!  Aren't I needed anymore?  Aren't I wanted?  It's just that easy to turn and walk away with a wave over her shoulder?  Oh the humanity! 

     Her little brother and I walked her into the building, G excitedly holding onto the straps of her book bag, eyes wide and full of excitement, big smile plastered on her face.  I held out my hand for her to grab and she politely said, "No mommy, I don't need to hold your hand, I want to hold onto my book bag."  I just looked down at her, bewildered, as if someone had come up and sucker-punched me in the stomach.  She proudly looked straight ahead, not noticing my shocked face.  "O-kay," I said slowly and held onto Li'l B a little tighter.  We got to her classroom and I thought, "Alright, this is where she'll realize what is going to happen.  That her brother and I will be leaving."  But instead, she ran right in, said hello to her teacher and started playing with the toys.  Her brother also slid out of my arms and ran off.  As we were leaving, G ran up to me and said, "Bye, mommy.  I'll miss you."  And gave me a big hug.  I told her to be good, gave her a kiss, and picked Li'l B up (after prying him off of her. We both had a tough time leaving).  He and I made our way from the room and as we were started down the hall I heard G's voice yelling, "Mommy!  Mommy!"  I turned around, ready for her to come running, crying out, "Don't leave!"  But instead she had Li'l B's blanket that he had forgotten in the classroom.  "Here mommy, B forgot this and I knew he would want it."  And just like that, she turned and ran back to her classroom.  I gave Li'l B another big squeeze. 

     When we went to pick her up, I asked her teacher how she'd been.  I fretted over her not getting her way and throwing a tantrum or that she had transformed into Miss Bossy-Pants.  Her teacher told me that my Miss G was most likely going to be her special helper as she is so "motherly".  A little boy in her class was crying after his parents left and G walked over to him, attempted to put her arm around him, and sang him a song about how "grown-ups come back".  Her teacher was extremely impressed, as was I.  I've seen how she can be with her brother but to go up to a boy she just met and try to console him, my heart swelled 5 sizes with pride.  I then realized again just how grown-up she was; no longer a toddler, void of how others feel, but a little girl filled with so much compassion and a caring spirit.  She did not need me to remind her to be nice or considerate, she stepped up without hesitation, and I couldn't be more impressed. 

     Whenever we leave our little ones (pretty much) to their own devices, without us around to guide them, or hover, they're really interchangeable, we wonder, "Are they making the right choices?  Are they behaving like civilized human beings?  What have I unleashed into the world?"  Everyday, and I'm aware I've said this before, I realize that they truly are watching our example, not just listening to the words we're spitting out at them.  They are learning compassion, sincerity, leadership, grace.  I know there will be misunderstandings, tantrums, anger issues, etc., but her first day truly exceeded my expectations.  And my own actually, for I absolutely thought I would bawl like a baby.  I guess that comes when Li'l B starts school because he is the last. And you know what?  She can't wait to go back. She has asked every hour, everyday and she only goes two days a week. (I better emotionally prepare myself again...this is exhausting!) 

    

    

Mike Check, One, Two...Is This Thing On?

                                                              

                                                             
                                  Li'l B checkin' the mike. Yup! It works, sometimes.


      I know you parents/caregivers have gone through the "I may as well talk to a wall" routine.  Some days I feel like all I do is yell at my children, and by that I don't mean yelling at them because they are misbehaving, but yelling just to be  heard.  I can say, "No," until I feel like if I say it one more time, I'm going to go running and screaming from the house.  Or just speaking loudly a lot to avoid injuries from them not understanding exactly why they cannot jump from the couch onto a chair.  *Oi Vey*  And was everyone aware that we are responsible for the people these little people become, was everyone aware of that?!  The things we teach them are the things they will carry through life; it will be how they live their lives!  (Please take a moment to grab that brown paper bag with me to breathe into.  Inhale, exhale. Repeat.)  Okay, moving on, shall we?


     Everyday our little ones are learning.  And a big way they learn is by watching us.  (Yes, you constantly have eyes on you, every moment of everyday. Just a tad disturbing, isn't it?)  Always watching, always taking in how we respond to circumstances.  But another way they learn is by what we are teaching them.  Now, this is where a lot of times, I almost walk over to the same wall I feel I should be talking to, and envision ramming my head into it.  Especially with Li'l B.  Now, it's not his fault, and his big sister went through this phase, but seriously.  Don't children learn by repetition?  By this point, Li'l B should know just by me raising my eyebrows that the next word out of my mouth is going to be, "No!"  But he doesn't.  Or should I say, the little monster is testing me.  And yes, he's very, very good at it.   

      Recently, my angel of a mother kept Li'l B so that Miss G and I could have some "mommy-daughter" time.  I fretted every second of every minute of everyday because I know how he can be lately at home, or especially in a store.  I call her up to check in on how he's been.  Very cautiously I ask the question...."So.......how's he been?"  I grimace, waiting for her to say, "Maybe you should come get him, he screams constantly and I can't get any grocery shopping done."  Instead, she exclaims, "Oh, he's been great! Such a little helper and when we went to the store, he helped me push the cart."  I sat stunned.  "You are talking about Li'l B, right?"  She laughed and said, "Honey, kids are more likely to misbehave with their parents.  You did it, and now they are doing it."  I had been trying to get this kid to hold onto the grocery cart for I don't know how long and he would always scream in the store, "Mommy, hold me!"  I received looks, oh yes, those looks.  And here he goes and acts just like I wanted him to for someone else.  So, wait.  Why exactly am I upset by this?  He is behaving how I have showed him is the acceptable way to behave.  He is helping, he is not throwing tantrums.  Eureka!  He was listening this whole time!!  *Happy dance, pat myself on the back*  Score one for momma. 

     The hubby and I are also trying to instill healthy eating habits with our children.  Not a lot of sugar, no pop, snacks are fruits and their drinks are milk, water or occasionally juice.  Now yes, they do get candy from time to time or ice cream, I mean come on, we're not heartless, but there is no harm in having your child make healthy choices.  Miss G was with friends one day and they decided to stop for lunch.  Some kids had pop and asked her if she would like some.  (Warning: Proud Momma Moment ahead...) Miss G said, "No thank you.  I don't drink pop."  Wwwhhhaaatttt?!  She listened and stuck to her guns.  She ordered water.  I have always feared the Peer Pressure, especially with her because she is a "follow the crowd" type of girl already.  *sigh*  So this was a monumental moment for me in Parenting. 

     A funny story that happened just this past week was when Miss G was at Vacation Bible School with my aunts.  All the kids were singing and naturally, God was mentioned in the song.  But Miss G refused to sing.  My aunt asked her why she wasn't singing and she replied, "I'm not allowed to say that."  My aunt, puzzled, asked, "What are you not allowed to say?"  G responded, "I'm not allowed to say 'God'."  Here is why Miss G refused: One day, she did something funny and the phrase, "Oh God" slipped out of my mouth.  (I know, I am to be banished.) Well, she repeated it, naturally.  So I sat down with her and said, "Sweetie, mommy's sorry, I shouldn't have said that.  We don't say, 'God'.  You can say, 'Oh my gosh,' or 'Oh my goodness,', okay?"  She said, "Okay, mommy, I'm sorry."  And that was that.  Low and behold, she listened!  And took that lesson with her and refused to say the word that she knew she could not say.  I am still astonished by this.  And I cleared up with my family that we are not devil-worshippers or anything like that. 

     Just when you think no one is listening, just remember, they are; they really are.  The hills may have eyes (get it?  If not, it's a movie), but the Walls Have Ears.  And every now and then, they perk up, even for a moment.  So remember this; the kiddies are watching, they are listening, and they are waiting to shock the hell out of you when you least expect it.  Always be on your toes.
    

The Art of Smart Defense

     When I was younger, heck, who am I kidding, even now that I'm mostly grown, I was/am an extremely passive person.  I was told the following phrase when I was younger from someone (and if they read this they will instantly know it was them, *wink wink*) and please, pardon the language, "You wouldn't say s*^t if you had a mouth full of it."  Yup, that pretty much summed up my personal defense skills to a "T".  I remember thinking, first of all, that was the grossest thing I'd ever heard, and two, it was very accurate.  I was a doormat for quite a few people. Walked all over because I was too nice, made fun of, poked fun toward, and yes, mostly right in front of me.  You know how some people can be, they want to impress someone or appear funny so it's aimed at your expense since hey, let's face it, you'll just stand there and take it.  But with my mentality, I just shrugged it off because I knew they were only trying to be "cool" and in my mind it was immature.  Less I digress and I really don't need to go back to aspects of childhood right now.  I was always better at standing up for others than for myself.  I have no idea why, it was just easier I guess.  I've never really experienced such an emotion as being aggressive or outspoken.  And why would I?  It wasn't in my nature.  But let me tell you, and many parents/caregivers, etc., will most certainly agree; it doesn't matter if you're the aggressive type, passive, quiet, reserved, don't give a hoot what anyone thinks; someone, anyone is rude or degrading to your babies, you go from zero to Incredible Hulk in point two seconds.  And I'm letting little bits of my Hulk out more and more lately.  Scared?  Boy, I know I am.

     Miss G is a social butterfly; she's sweet, friendly, calls kids she just meets her "best friends".  It makes my heart swell, truly.  For a little person to be so affectionate, it just blows me away.  I know where she gets her compassion from- moi.  As for the outgoing-side of her?  That is all her father.  (I was shy and passive, remember?)  Now that the temps have risen and the sun is shining in all it's glory, we are going to the park more often.  AKA, everyday.  Miss G of course desires to play with other little girls, because well, the only other kid around is her little brother.  She will actually chase girls around calling out, "Wait up, friend!"  And usually they run from her.  It honestly breaks my heart into a million pieces to where I want to physically hold those girls down and yell, "Would it kill you to let her play?!"  But, I restrain myself and nicely call out, "Sweet-Pea, why don't you come play with Mommy and Brover?"  The girl is resilient though, I must give her that. 

     So anywho...the last time we were at the park, I was with Li'l B at a slide and Miss G had asked a little girl if she could play and the little girl said yes.  (I did a fist-pump in my head.)  After about fifteen minutes or so of Miss G being fine enough to play with, the little girl's friend shows up and they start running away from my daughter; hiding on top of structures, laughing and pointing as they see her looking for them.  I, naturally, start feeling like I'm on fire.  Miss G finds them at one point and they again start running from her and she of course follows.  I hear the one bleach-blonde girl turn and yell, "STOP FOLLOWING US!"  The look on my beautiful, innocent, lovely daughter's face.....I can't even visualize it without my eyes misting up.  She was truly hurt down to her very core, and confused.  I will admit here that I held my tongue no longer.  I did not speak directly to the girls, but turned in their direction as I spoke to Miss G (very loudly) about not having to take little girls' rudeness and how she was fine to play with until someone else came along.  After that, the two girls kept eyeing me and I glared right back. 

     On our walk home, I tried telling her to stick up for herself and to not let others make her feel inferior.  Then I had to describe inferior because, well, she's three.  One of my exact sentences was, "Sweetie, have a voice.  Please don't sit back and let others make you feel bad.  Mommy never stuck up for herself, but know that I will always stick up for you.  I want you to be better than mommy was when she was little.  I want you to be strong, but smart about it too."  Then we went into nice ways to tell people if they are being rude or hurtful.  While chatting with her, it hit me.  She is three.  It deeply saddened me to even have this type of conversation with her so early in the game, but I realized it was necessary.

     It's funny what person you turn into when you have a child.  Personally, I went from extremely passive to Momma Bear in the blink of an eye.  These are my babies and no one, I mean no one, better make them feel an ounce of hurt or sadness.  At the same time, I also need to realize that it is inevitable that at some point, they will.  It is our job as their guides, protectors, mentors, to show them what they can do to resolve the problem, but not add to it by mirroring others' negative attitudes.  From the beginning of time, some kids have been just plain cruel; we've all either been a target or been the bully.  With bullying being a hot topic lately, all I could envision was these three girls grown and in high school; the two throwing their hair back and laughing, my daughter slinking her shoulders and hiding her face out of embarrassment. 

     I may not have the capability to travel back in time and slap myself into speaking up, but I sure as heck can speak up for my children and show them the proper way to react; how I wish I would've reacted so long ago.  The meek-era will end with myself.  It's a new era for my children.  Smart and Strong.  Strong and Smart.

    

                                                               

                                                               Miss G and Li'l B

A Mother Was Born

     With Mother's Day approaching, I wanted to take a moment to thank my babies (well, and my husband) for making me a mother.  It's really all I ever wanted to be.  (Besides a marine biologist, teacher, veterinarian, actress, writer, less I digress.)  It was one of those things I actually yearned for, and as I became older, I knew it was something I had to be.  For some people, they have no desire to have kids and that is perfectly fine, but for me, I knew children had to be a part of my life.  I felt that I was born to be a mother.  I've always said, I'm better with children and the elderly, and I can't give birth to an 80 year old, now can I. 

       When I became pregnant with our daughter, I was over the moon.  And to feel her move and kick, wow, utterly amazing.  I read all sorts of books about pregnancy, knew how big she was at certain gestational ages, the works.  Then she was born.  Wait a sec, I forgot to read what to do after they're born!  The nurse placed her in my arms, I looked at her squishy face...and I panicked.  If I remember correctly, I cried.  There were tears of joy, sure, and tears of "what the hell do I do now".  Wasn't this that magical moment I'd waited for?  My hair plastered to my face with sweat, sheer exhaustion taking over, her screaming about the fact that she was pushed out of her home.  Then, she stopped crying, and she opened her eyes.  She looked right at me and made these cute little sounds.  I played with her fingers and whispered, "You have long fingers like mommy."  She just stared back at me, knowing exactly who I was.  And I stared back at her, smiling, knowing exactly who I was too. I was her mommy. 

     With our son, he actually tried to arrive seven weeks too early.  I remember my OB saying, "You're in preterm labor, you need to go over to the hospital right now because this little guy can't arrive this early but he sure is trying."  I was scared, so scared.  My husband met me at the doctor's office and we sat in the waiting room while the nurses got my paperwork ready.  I was so silent, worrying, wondering, and he looked over at me, grabbed my hand and said, "He'll be alright."  I tried to hold in my emotions but being pregnant and frightened, that wasn't going to happen.  I started sobbing and apologizing.  My husband put his arms around me and just held me.  He said, "He's just in a hurry to meet his mommy."  That of course made me laugh and I started calming down.  Li'l B decided to stay put until one or two weeks before his due date.  (They kept changing it on me for crying out loud.)  Then, his shoulders became lodged making his birth a little more difficult.  After he was born, I was holding him in our room.  When he opened his eyes to look at me, I smiled and remember saying, "Well to be in such a hurry, you sure took your time getting out, little man."  After he was born, I felt complete, as if our little family was whole. 

     Mothers are born when their children are.  I think with each child, we grow a little more.  Everyday we wonder if we're getting it right; and we're really just winging a lot of it, but I think a lot of us are following our own mother's/parent's/caregiver's examples.  (I know I am.)  Giving love, encouragement, discipline when needed, and lots of hugs and kisses.  These are the little people we created.  They watch us and how we deal with life.  We can't scream at things not going our way and then wonder why they do the same thing, or get upset when they do.  They are little people just trying to figure this crazy world out.  And we are big people, also still trying to figure this crazy world out and the world of Parenthood.  I always say about my children, "From a dream, a reality."  And I couldn't feel more happy and blessed to have my dream come true. Yes, they may drive me to the brink of insanity some days, but I also smile a lot, watching them discover, grow, knowing I wouldn't have it any other way.  They are my babies and I am their mother.

    Have a wonderful Mother's Day fellow mommies.  Now go hug those babies!


                                                             

    

Letting Go

 "A mother holds her childrens' hands for a while, but their hearts forever." 

     Um, in regards to the whole "hand holding for a while" meaning a short time, apparently not me and not if we're at the pool.  Sorry, but I didn't get that memo.  And especially if one of those children is not even two-years old and is already a self-proclaimed "Evil Kenevil".  I thought I was a hovering momma at the playground, well, you ain't seen nothing if we're at the pool.  I actually had a man laugh at me because I couldn't let go of my son at one point, although Li'l B was pushing me away and saying, "Let go, mommy!", but we'll get to that in a moment. 

     The kiddies wanted to go to our local YMCA to go swimming, and my hubby and I thought that this was an excellent way to wear them out before naps, er, I mean a very good family outing, making special memories and all that.  We get there, get everyone stripped down to their bathing suits in the family changing room and proceed to the pool.  Miss G of course runs into the shallow end and by shallow, I mean to her knees..  (I know this child will not do anything that would make her head or hair even touch the water, so I watch her while trying to hold Li'l B's hand to guide him slowly into the water.  He is not even two, so his balance is not that of a trapeze walker.  Naturally, or should I say, instinctively, he says, "No, mommy," as he pushes my hand away.  Lately, I've become so accustomed to this gesture that the tears have finally ceased to exist.  I say, "Okay," and put my hands up in front of me in a "I surrender" gesture and he proceeds to walk out into the water.  Now, my hubby has been taking him for swim lessons, or them just playing in the water, for a little while now while I watch our daughter at ballet class, so he is in the know of what Li'l B is capable of handling, aquatics-wise.  I am still right behind Li'l B in case he falls.  My stomach at this point has moved to my throat with every little misstep.  I look over at my hubby and say, "Maybe we should get him one of the life jackets to wear, you know, in case he slips or something."  My husband laughs and says, "Seriously?  The water is to his shins, he's fine.  We do this all the time in his lessons.  You need to calm down a little bit."  He was lucky that all he got was a glare for that. 

     We proceed to where it is a little deeper, making our way to a water playground where they can slide, play under the shooting water, etc.  *Stomach still in throat as the water has now gone over his trunks* He's on a mission though, sure to get out to the stairs that lead up to a *gulp* water slide.  This water slide is not very extravagant, but to a mommy of a little guy, it looks like something at an actual water park.  Li'l B proceeds to climb the stairs, me right beside him, fighting with him to hold my hand.  Naturally, he refuses.  And, I'm the only parent going up with her small child.  I really couldn't have given two flying, well, you know how that phrase turns out.  Anywho, he makes it to the top only to then be overtaken by the stage fright.  *Mommy exhales and does a happy dance internally*  Then his father at the bottom yells, "Come on, bud!  You can do it!"  Again, he got a glare.  So Li'l B decides, "Yes, I'm going to do this."  He sits down and I'm holding onto his arm.  He says, "Let go, mommy."  And I reply, "Honey, mommy can't."  This kid literally went down almost half the slide with me clinging to his arm until he got to a point where I couldn't reach without going down the slide with him....and I let go.  I think my heart stopped while watching him slide down by himself, imagining him toppling backwards and the water that pools at the bottom covering him like a blanket, him not knowing how to hold his breath underwater...I have an overactive imagination as if you couldn't tell by now.  Instead, he sat the whole way down, squealing, his daddy catching him at the bottom, and he turned to me and yelled proudly, "Mommy!! Again!"  *Stomach, back up  into my throat.*

     See, as parents, we always see our children as babies, helpless without us, not knowing what to do in life without our guidance or protection.  (And mine are only toddlers, this is magnified I'm sure for those with older children.)  "They need me, I must protect them, what if they get hurt, what if they don't know what to do?"  I guarantee all these question cross my mind daily, and yes, sometimes I think, "Maybe extremely nervous Nellie's are not meant to have children, some days, it's torture!"  But I have to realize that if I hover over them and make their decisions or hold them back from exploring, they're not going to experience beautiful things in life.  Yes, they may even fall *gasp* and get hurt, but that's also an experience and a learning opportunity that they must go through.  I can protect them for so long, but I must stop overprotecting.  And for the record, mom or dad, if you're reading this, I totally get what you went through now, and I have nothing but the up most love and respect for you.  (Quit grinning.) 

     My favorite part of today was when I let go.  Because the utter joy and excitement that I saw flash across my little man's face, well, you couldn't have put a price on it.  He was so proud. And if I had held on, it never would have been. 
    

The Toddler and the Tough Stuff

     How do you describe to a toddler just how unfair life can be?  What words would you choose to use?  What tone of voice?  One big question I face, and I'm sure other parents/caregivers do also is, do I really want them to know right now?  Won't they learn soon enough, and when do we subject them to the wicked ways of life; that sadly not everyday is filled with sunshine and lollipops?  Should I prepare my toddlers before they start school or go over it with them the night before?  *Insert scream here* In their minds, everything is right and fair in their little worlds, and I must admit, I'm jealous of their naivety.  I am aware of children out there affected by disease and my heart aches for them and their families, to have to go through that hell but also have to come up with words and an explanation for a child that does not understand what is happening to them or more importantly, why. This can go for any "unpleasant" circumstances in life, really.  My daughter, by asking a simple question about her pop-pop (who was diagnosed with ALS in 2005), diverted me from "what will I say", to "what do I say".  I was not prepared for her statement that she made to me, and in a quick instant, I had to decide what to do about my toddler, and the tough stuff. (I will admit now that, at the end of our discussion, I was smiling and laughing and filled with the most peaceful feeling, which I haven't felt in a long time when discussing my dad's illness to anyone.)  Put a check in the "Win" column...this time. 

     As we traveled back from the store, my daughter told me out of the blue, "Mommy, I can't wait for when pop-pop is not in his wheelchair anymore."  I was actually shocked by her exclamation and slowly responded, "Oh, honey, pop-pop will always be in a wheelchair."  She asked me why and I thought very hard about how to describe his illness to a 3-year old.  She tries so hard to understand, but I know she can't grasp it, heck, sometimes I don't even grasp it.  She said, "I wish he could fly a kite with me like my other pop-pop and build snowmen and go sledding and go swimming.  Will he be able to when he's not sick anymore?"  This is when I had to take a moment to regain my composure, and also think of what to say to her.  So, instead of talking about the "right now" or the "what may happen", I decided to tell her all about how pop-pop used to be. 

     I started off by telling her that pop-pop used to lift mommy and mommy's brothers real high as we hung from his arms.  To this she said, "Mommy, pop-pop is so strong!"  I smiled and said, "Yes, honey, he is."  Then I told her how pop-pop used to go swimming with mommy and how he dove off of the high dive, barely making a splash when he entered the water.  She said, "So he put his face in the water? I can't do that."  I laughed and answered, "Yes, and he would swim under the water with his eyes open and grab mommy's legs!"  She giggled and for the first time I heard her say, "I want to learn to swim underwater."  I smiled and proceeded to tell her that pop-pop was mommy's soccer coach and how we would go down to our local park and he would practice with me so I could get better.  She of course said, "I want to play soccer like you, mommy!"  (I swelled with pride at that a little.) I told her how pop-pop used to water ski, (which she didn't understand), how we went camping, how pop-pop rode his bike all the time, and how he made mommy laugh a lot.  She was quiet for a while and I wondered if what I had said made any sense to her, when she said, "I wish pop-pop could do all that with me."  At that, my tears broke free and I quickly wiped them away, knowing that he wished he could too. And then she started talking about something totally unrelated, Strawberry Shortcake or something, and I knew her inquisition was over. 

     The thing is, toddlers do not understand the injustice or evil happening in our world, and why would they?  They are the essence of purity and goodness.  So, I decided that instead of trying to explain a situation to her that is negative, I would take her back to when things were good and pure in my eyes.  She will no doubt, no matter how hard I attempt to reflect it, experience pain and hurt and see just how cruel life can be.  But not today, or as long as I can prevent it.  Today, she will hear of happiness and goodness.  And I will be the same way with my son.  I want them to promote peace and understanding throughout their lives, and although they will see or be affected by things in this world that they shouldn't have to, I want them to take in the knowledge that they do not have to give in to the unpleasantness; but they can be aware of it, yet decide to see the positive and be the positive, whether it be looking ahead, or in some cases, glancing back.

                                                      Miss G with her Pop-pop  June 2010




    

    

    

Down to One Fish

     It's funny, when you have two children, four, or eight, when one goes to stay with Grandma and Grandpa (or anyone really), it feels like you've suddenly been given a vacation.  You are down one child, time to par-tay!  It doesn't seem like anything should change because you still have the remaining, or in my case the one, to deal with, but it certainly does change your days.  One less kiddy to strap into their car seat, one less kiddy to take out of their car seat, one less to haul into the grocery store, one less to chase in the store, one less to argue with, well, you get the drift.  Don't get me wrong, I miss my absent child terribly when they are not with me, but I love that I can give the existing child more attention that they've been sharing with their sibling.  (And, of course, errands are a tad quicker. Score!)  The negative- it also makes you realize just how much you can actually get done around the house when the younger child has the older one to play with.  And if that child is removed from the equation, all that's left is you. Oh, no. *slowly removes party hat*

     My daughter has gone to stay with her Memaw and Pop-pop for the week so that leaves just me and her little brother, getting to have one-on-one time to throw (or "frow" in Li'l B's terms) his basketball back and forth and back and forth and back and forth, honestly this could go on all night, and no, I am not exaggerating.  It gives us extra time to play cars and bang on instruments and play cars and chase each other around the house and play cars and shoot his basketball and play cars and wrestle which is really him just choking me...did I mention play cars?  Good, I thought maybe I forgot that activity.  It also gives me a chance to realize just how much I depend on his big sister to help me out.  She is a fellow kiddy so she has relatively the same amount of energy as he does.  I am an adult.  I do not possess this much energy anymore.  After a few activities I'm ready for a break, whereas he is rip-roaring to go and get into something else.  I think his new favorite game to play with me is, "Mommy, wake up!"  This little bugger won't even let me rest my eyes for crying out loud!  And try to sneak into the kitchen to make dinner?  Ha!  Forget that, Jack.  He comes running in yelling, "Mommy, where are you?! Play!" And off he runs back into the living room expecting me to follow. 

      Our daughter has become such the helper with her little brother and I realize this even more when she's not around.  I will tell her, "Now, mommy needs to call *insert who I need to call* and I need it to be quiet, can you play blocks with your brother?"  And she does.  I'll even hear her trying to quiet him down if he squeals or yells, telling him, "Brover, shhh, mommy is on the phone so we need to be quiet."  This just truly amazes me to no end.  So when she's gone and I try to make a phone call, my son is staring at me, screaming "Mommy" over and over to the point where I hang up before anyone answers.  And Heaven help me if they already have and I have to apologize repeatedly. So. Embarrassing. 

     Now this all may be very different for those who have more than two children so when one is gone, you are still left with playmates for the remaining kiddos.  This is when I wish we had stuck with our plan of having three, but after two, I threw in the towel. (But that's for a different blog.)  On days where I am my son's sole companion, I could kick myself at times.  Hard.  Oh wait, he does that for me.  He's such a sweetheart. So this week, I get to spend some quality time with my little man, the house gets to be neglected, the bills will be paid at night after he is in bed, we will pretend that there are no such things as phones and we will play.  We will run.  We will throw the ball back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. Now, I feel like I'm forgetting something. Oh yes, we will play cars, multiplied by 1000.  And you know what?  I will most certainly enjoy every minute of it.  Until I get to pass out onto our bed from exhaustion.  Well, bring it on little man. Bring. It. On.

Wait, how many days until Miss G comes home?!