I Asked For It

Every Christmas, birthday, Mother's Day or anniversary, I answer the hubby's gift inquiries with the same stock answer: "I want a vacation!"

Friday night at our most fantabulous date night ever (seriously, Atlanta, if you want a fantastic date night, check out the chef's table at the Four Season's Park 75. Eight courses, wine pairings, chatting with the chefs, insanely great service. Call now and make your reservations. You can thank me later.), the hubby presented me with an early birthday gift. He had organized a dual trip - a trip for me and a trip for us.

Saturday morning, I will board a plane for Raleigh and spend the day and night with my sister helping her register for baby and planning a shower. Sunday, the hubby will bring the kids up where we'll deposit our children into Grandma and Grandpa's care and head to DC until Thursday.

I know, I know. DC in January. But DC was our grown-up home. We spent the early years of our marriage there, disposing of our income at nice restaurants, spending afternoons in front of Monets, wandering through shops with steaming cups of coffee. The fact that the hubby knew to give me that is almost more impressive than the coordinating of the child care and girl time with my sister.

Yet somehow, here I sit trying to make lists of things to pack for me and the kids, terrified. We have left Peanut before, but haven't left both boys. I'm not even sure if that's what I'm nervous about. I know it's important for the hubby and I to have time together. I know it's important for the boys to have time without us. I will be able to sleep in, see friends, visit my Monet, enjoy some of our favorite restaurants, relax.

Motherhood is so pervasive. Once you have children, you are forever a mother. There is no going back. And that is a wonderful, wonderful thing. The only difficulty is when faced with time to spend with the non-mom-me, I'm worried I won't know who she is anymore. Is she still fun? Can she still participate in an intelligent conversation? Can she still pack a pair of heels and spend a day in them? Can she eat in a leisurely manner instead of throwing down her lunch before someone melts down?

Maybe I should be more excited than nervous. After all, meeting new people is one of most interesting parts of travel - I just never thought I would be one of them.

It's Over

I was lucky enough to not have trouble nursing either of my kids. They both took to it easily, few painful side effects (other than stretching my poor little Bs to Fs (seriously, Fs!)), and both boys thrived. When Pumpkin proved allergic to milk based formula when we attempted a bit of supplementation, I was bummed by the inconvenience, but wasn't too worried since everything else was, um, flowing.

As we delayed introducing milk products for fear of Pumpkin's reaction, I clung to nursing even as his first birthday came and went. The doctor assured me I needn't feel guilted into nursing, there were other ways to provide my little dude with the nutrients he needed during this transition period. Easier said than done. I most definitely felt guilted into it when Pumpkin's only other liquid was water. So I kept going, even if it was just twice a day. And honestly, I wasn't ready to give it up. Our days are so busy, that it was nice to have that quiet time, to have those moments when Pumpkin needed me with a primal desire that no one else could fulfill. Maybe it was selfish, but he didn't seem ready to give it up either.

Until he was. And I kept attempting to hold onto that pre-bedtime feeding. It was shorter and shorter every night. Friday night, we went out for dinner and decided that would be it. Our sitter put the baby down, obviously without a feeding, and I decided I would not try to nurse him again.

And the little guy hasn't noticed. Part of me is overjoyed that weaning was so successful. The other part of me is a little insulted that he's taken this step away from me so unceremoniously. But that's what we do as mothers, isn't it? We nurture them, provide for them and raise them to be independent and to take those steps without us.

So why does it feel so hard and a little sad?

Some Days the Stars Align

Lately, taking Peanut to a public shopping venue has been more than this mama can handle. The grocery store typically involves hands swiping items off the shelves and into the cart when I'm trying to find the right product or bargain. With the behemoth race car carts built for two kids (please oh please someone at Publix read this and give me a better, more maneuverable cart) taking up most of an aisle as it is, I can't really avoid having the shelves out of his reach. Oh, and did I mention that said shopping cart built for two leaves my boys in entirely too close proximity for the surreptitious bop and bonk? Target, where the carts built for two aren't quite amenable to my 14 month old, typically involves me chasing after Peanut, fussing for him to stay near the cart. I mean it, stay where YOU CAN SEE MOMMY!

During the holiday rush and with school out, these trips have been painfully unavoidable.

This past weekend, the hubby and I braved a trip to IKEA with the boys. Part of my new year's reorganization requires new storage in the kitchen and a possible new book shelf. The only thing to make this trip bearable was IKEA's fabulous child play area - toys, ball pits, walls far away from breakable items, responsible staff. As a result, we were able to browse at a leisurely pace, finish sentences while discussing options and enjoy our shopping experience.

After picking Peanut up from 45 minutes of play time, we hit up the IKEA cafeteria (hello - lunch for four for $13.00!). A mom and her grown daughter were eating across the way from us and the mother approached us as they were leaving.

She leaned in close and said that we had the most well behaved children she and her daughter had ever seen. PAUSE. Wait. What? Really, she went on, they were absolutely delightful to watch during lunch and I must be a great mom.

Huh?

Some days, I suppose, the stars align and your children behave at just the right moment and just the right person happens to notice and says just the right thing to remind you that maybe you aren't so bad at this mothering thing after all.

Thank you, mysterious IKEA lady. You have no idea how much your random comments of kindness mean to me.

Now, please, just don't go to Publix.

If You Can't Beat 'Em, Join 'Em

Christmas has been crazy. The boys had a great time with all their family, as did we. There was Santa excitement, five inches of snow (in NC!), visits with cousins, toys, toys, Christmas cookies, and more toys.

Whew.

Christmas was all about the kids. As it should be. So when we received an invitation to celebrate New Year's Eve with some adults, we jumped. Especially when it was an invitation that included the kids spending the night eliminating the need for a babysitter.

So, New Year's Eve night, we watched our kids play, ate some yummy take out and managed to get a four year old boy and three year old girl to sleep in the same room (by 9:30pm - oh yeah, we totally earned parents of the year JUST under the wire!) as well as two infant-toddlers to bed. Then something happened. The bubbly was opened. The laughter began. And for a few hours, we were just two couples ringing in the new year. Granted, I haven't been to bed that late in a long time and when Pumpkin woke up at 4am a mere hour and a half after I had dropped off, I was back to reality.

During the remainder of the holiday weekend, we have continued to dig out from Christmas craziness, thanks in large part to my let no closet, shelf and cabinet go unorganized mantra to make room for all the new toys. The fridge has been stocked with "regular" food and snacks. The tree is by the curb. The bubbly buzz long gone and a list of 2011 goals is starting to formulate in the journal by my bed.

One of the top items, like every year, is to make the non-mom-me a priority. Thanks to our lovely friends, I think I'm off to a good start.

Next on the list, wipe off the dust that's collected on some of those heels in my closet and take them for a walk outside. Date night this coming Friday should take care of that - for one pair, at least.

Sounds of the Season

At our house, the sounds of the season have included someone falling (twice) through our ceiling that wasn't Santa, the sounds of the tummy bug, mama's frustrated yelling at cranky children, stomping feet by said cranky children and the crunch of being rear ended. Despite my best attempts at perspective, I was starting to think agoraphobics are onto something.

And then, there are my babes, constantly reminding me (in their brightest of moments) of the joy and humor of the season. There was the uncontrollable giggling in the back seat from both boys when the dogs barking jingle bells song came on the radio, Pumpkin's eyes lighting up as he helped me shop for his gift (ah, the beauty of a 13 month old memory) by testing out toys in the store, Pumpkin screaming and crying when we attempted the sit on Santa's lap, riding the infamous Pink Pig, watching Peanut "sing" (and pick his nose) during his school's Christmas performance.

As I pack up the clothes, gifts, Santa, car activities and snacks for our trip to North Carolina later this week, I will do my best to remember that my kids, playing with the wrapping paper instead of the gifts while decked out in their matching Christmas pajamas, will more than make up for the crazy that was the rest of December.

Never doubt the power of the matching Christmas pajamas.

More Perspective

Nearly two years to the day, I wrote about getting a little perspective. Funny, but I'm back in the same place.

We spent November sharing a nasty cold from one member to the next. It hung on at least two weeks per family member and it spared no one. Then, last Wednesday, a freak chain of events led to a flooded crawl space and a therefore flooded water heater. From Wednesday until Friday we had no hot water. None. The hubby and I were showering at the Y. The kids were getting sponge baths that we told them were space baths like the astronauts do it (hey, it worked). I was heating up water on the stove to fill the sink to wash our dishes. Thankfully, we got the pilot light relit Friday on a fluke...only for it to go out again today. Looks like our glee at avoiding a several thousand dollar new water heater expense around the holidays was short lived.

Friday, I got a stomach bug. And although it could have been much worse, I was really not myself until Sunday afternoon. Monday, work began in the house to remediate mold found in our crawl space and attic. I can't tell you how stressful of a project that has been to ensure the kids are safe during the process not to mention having to turn our heat off during some of the coldest days Atlanta's seen in December in years while they cleaned the HVAC (um, Brrr?). Then, Peanut got the stomach bug Tuesday night.

Luckily, on the brink of falling into my own pit of self-indulgent pity, I was hit again by the perspective stick. Tonight, I'm making dinner for a neighbor's family. A neighbor who at 46 was struck by heart failure and a series of set backs that laid him out so badly in ICU he was given a one percent chance of survival forcing his wife to prepare their two daughters for daddy's death. That was several weeks ago and through the power of love and prayer and sheer determination, he is coming home soon. He has miles to go, but he's alive and ready to take those miles on.

Then, there was the mail today. The arrival of a Christmas card. From my aunt. Signed with a single name. The absence of a name on the card speaking louder than my aunt's neat, nun-taught script.

As I filled the sink for tonight's primitive dish washing episode and planned tomorrow's schedule around an early work out just to earn a shower at the Y, I took a deep breath. Although my problems are still annoying. Although the sicknesses and the caring of the sicknesses have left me exhausted. Although our wallets are not enjoying the Friday installation of our new (tankless!) water heater. I have my boys. I have the hubby. I have the promise of our blank Christmas tree awaiting trimming.

And I will enjoy all of them a little bit more thanks to this year's perspective.

30 Days of Thanks: Day 31

I got pretty slack there at the end with my 30 days of thanks. Sorry about that. It's not that I wasn't thankful, I was just tied up with NaNoWriMo and taking the time to enjoy our trip away to the NC mountains for Thanksgiving. It was a lovely trip and unfortunately, I came back woefully behind in my word count. It took some serious buckling down to complete it before yesterday's deadline, but I did it.

That's right. In 30 days, I wrote 50,860 words that included a beginning, a middle and an end. I can now claim for all eternity that I wrote a book. WHAT?! Seriously, this still amazes me. Okay, it's got some serious flaws, needs some major continuity help, and I already want to cut a whole character's point of view and develop another character more fully, but those are all things I didn't have 31 days ago.

I learned a lot about my own process during this experiment and how I work best. More importantly, I learned that inspiration is a fickle mistress, but most of the time all you have to do is sit down and start. I battled my fears and proved that yes, I can do it. It's not impossible. And despite all its problems, there are parts of this book I wrote that are darn good. All in all, it was quite the rewarding experience.

That being said, today I am supremely thankful for my family and friends. I made my journey public to my family and was quite vocal about it on Facebook as well as in this space. I can't tell you how the words of encouragement and questions throughout the month of November helped me. Having a personal cheering section made all the difference. So to all of you out there who offered a virtual high five when I was feeling successful, who offered a word of encouragement when I wasn't, asked me how it was going when we ran into each other and who helped me celebrate my victory last night and today now that it's complete - THANK YOU!

So, what's next? Christmas. Catching up on a month's worth of DVR programs. Sleep.

Then, come January, I'll print this sucker out and read it to see what I've truly got. Then the real work begins. After all, it takes most writers years to write a book, not a month. Thanks to the experience and all of the fantastic people in my life, I'm confident that I can handle it.