The Waiting Game

My sister is having her baby today. She went in for induction this morning. I had to be induced with both of my late babies, too, so I'm feeling both her figurative and literal pain. Luckily, my sister isn't late and didn't have to endure that unique form of psychological torture, but due to some minor complications, they did not want her to go past her due date.

The part that's killing me is that she's 400 miles away. I already have plans to go up for a week soon to help with the baby, but the fact that I can't be there for her right now is driving me crazy. Of course, even if I was there, what would I be doing? Hanging out in the waiting room with my mom and my sister's mother-in-law? I love them both, but drinking stale coffee from Styrofoam cups and watching bad TV while hoping my brother-in-law comes out with an update? Let's just say, I'm okay with waiting for the occasional text while enjoying my weekend with my family.

Waiting on this side of things, however, does bring back a lot of memories. Peanut, my first, was 9 days late when I was induced. Our families both made the trip from North Carolina to Atlanta, arriving in the afternoon of the morning I had started my pitocin drip. By the middle of that night, with no real significant progress being made other than the fact that my water managed to break on its own, I was feeling guilty. I honestly felt bad that all those people were waiting and I wasn't delivering. Talk about added pressure. I was inconveniencing all these people. They must be so irritated with me.

Finally, 30 hours after my pitocin started, I finally delivered my 8 pound, 13 ounce Peanut. Whew. Because my labor had taken so long, most everyone left town before we were even checked out of the hospital.

When it was time to have Pumpkin and the midwife decided we should go the induction route again, I was disappointed to not experience spontaneous labor, but was also able to call my parents to come down to look after Peanut without having to call in plans A, B, C and D of the what if I go into labor at this time or that time or when the moon is in the seventh house and jupiter is on vacation?

The second time around, there wasn't anyone waiting. The rest of our families stayed in NC and my folks were occupying Peanut for the day. When the baby arrived, we had no one to go tell. It was a relief during the labor process to only have to make a few quick phone calls without having the hubby leave my side to visit a waiting room, but it was a bit of a let down not to have a room full of excited people. We did, however, get to spend a beautiful night just the three of us, moments that I still cherish.

Of course, today, my sister is doing all the hard work. Her latest text indicated that things were heating up, but there is still a ways to go. Me? I'll just be waiting. Waiting to hear that everything is okay. Waiting to hear the news that my little niece is finally here. Waiting to see pictures and learn this little one's name.

And I know that my waiting pales in comparison to the waiting my sister is enduring. But the payoff, that inexplicable moment when those strange little limbs that poked and prodded you the last several months from the inside are snug in your arms as you look into your child's eyes for the first time? Totally worth the wait.

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

The Peanut has a birthday party to go to this afternoon and in true where did the week go fashion, we were standing in our local, totally awesome variety store trying to pick out a gift this morning between mama's workout and lunch. Was I pushing it? A little bit. Did I have much of a choice? Not really.

Unfortunately, I was stroller-less having swapped the single stroller to the hubby's car last week. As a result, I was attempting to wrangle a very curious 18 month old while also trying to focus a four year old into selecting a gift for his friend. Pumpkin became more and more touchy feely and thought it was a fun game to run down one aisle to hide in another. I had to pick him up.

Cue the screaming and the screeching!

Pumpkin has found his voice and when he's angry, it's typically on loud. The good news: he's developmentally right on schedule with his tantrums. I tried my best to distract him, to shush him, to rush his brother along. But the screaming, the flailing. Oh, it was all just so public.

I placed him on the floor, occupied by a display of pinwheels so I could sign my receipt. He quickly found the candy display and began relieving it of roll after roll of bottle cap. I quickly scooped him back up as Peanut put the candy back and the screaming recommenced. Two older ladies were looking at cards between the register and the door giving shocked and awed looks at this screaming child. One muttered, "Oh, he's hungry." I responded, "Nope, he's just 18 months old." And we left.

But as I left, I realized I was in a lose-lose situation. Let the child free to do what he wants and I would have been the bad mommy who can't handle her children. Keep the child from destroying the store and I was that mommy with the screaming child disrupting every one else's shopping experience.

I try to be conscientious when I take my children out in public. I provide snacks, distractions, whatever I can do to keep them engaged with the task at hand and have perfected the art of a full week's grocery shop to a slim 30 to 45 minutes (depending on the speed of the cashier). If I'm doing all that I can to make sure everyone else isn't having to endure my sometimes cranky children, I wish all those ladies would give me the benefit of the doubt. Instead of "Oh, he's hungry," maybe a sympathetic, "We've all been there," would have been more appropriate. I would have settled for "Can I get the door for you?" while I juggled a squirming 18 month old, a diaper bag, a gift and a four year old's hand.

I, in no way, think that bad behavior by children should be tolerated in public. But when you see a mother doing the best she can do, maybe cut her a little slack. After all, her ride home and lunch preparation time will be filled by the same screaming that you endured for maybe 2 minutes. Trust me, that's punishment and self-flagellating judgement enough without your dirty looks to add to her bad morning.

Okay, rant over. Off to find something to wrap this gift with since I left before buying any.

Filling in the Blanks

This morning was my oldest's annual Muffins for Moms day at school. We were presented with hand made art, cards and the ubiquitous silly questionnaire - you know the one. How old is your mom, what is her favorite food, what does she say all the time, etc... Hilarity typically ensues.

Earlier in the year, since Father's Day falls outside the school calendar, the class celebrated Donuts for Dads. I self-righteously commented at the time that I bet the mom's questionnaire wouldn't include the "What does Dad (or in this case Mom) do at work" question. Well, how wrong I was. In fact, today's form did include a "When Mom goes to work, she..."

Peanut's answer?

"Nothing."

Wow. Talk about a wake-up call. I've tried to explain to Peanut that when Mommy writes that's her work. He has a hard time understanding the concept since Daddy leaves every day and goes to an office for work at a company. I also don't do a large amount of writing in front of him, so there are fewer opportunities to reinforce the idea of writing as Mommy's work.

What bothers me, I realized, is less that Peanut doesn't think I work, although that is part of it - I do want my son to grow up seeing both his mother and father contributing to the household as well as to society. Rather, the part that bothered me is that if I had to answer that question, I might say that I'm a writer, but am I?

In the past year, I have decided to put more focus on my writing. The problem is that I'm the only person to hold me accountable. When it gets hard or I get busy, it's really easy to put the writing on the back burner. The fact is I have very little to show for my "work" right now. So the "nothing" on Peanut's questionnaire was a bit of a slap in the face. A little too much truth from the mouths of babes.

A friend told me that no matter what, I am still a writer. Being a writer is something you just are, like being a runner (her excellent analogy, not mine). But that doesn't mean that the words write themselves. Looks like it's time to focus more seriously on making sure I have something to fill in that blank.

In the meantime, I am enjoying the fact that Peanut said I was 25 and when it was the hubby's turn? He was 78. Like I said, hilarity ensues.

One Less Bad Guy

Last night, I watched in near disbelief as the networks reported in advance of President Obama's remarks that Osama bin Laden was dead.

I admit, my initial internal monologue was a technicolor flashback to "The Wizard of Oz" and the munchkin coroner singing:

"As Coroner I must aver, I thoroughly examined her.

And she's not only merely dead, she's really most sincerely dead."

Then a more complex set of emotions set in as the news became less speculation and more final. I felt elated and victorious for the troops that pulled off such a dangerous mission without casualties of their own or innocent bystanders. I felt sadness for those families whose loved ones perished in the very cause of searching out bin Laden and can't share in the relief of this day. I felt fresh pain for those who lost loved ones on 9/11. And today, I am experiencing a profound loneliness that I am not in DC. I wish I could reunite with my former colleagues at 1909 K Street who huddled around TVs for days, sharing stories, offering comfort, walking in silence to church services, providing tissues for tears, filling the hours together as our work came to a standstill. It would be nice to be there with them today, closing the circle.

Jubilant crowds and burn, baby burn comments on Facebook pages have taken me aback. Taking a life is serious business - didn't we all see that on 9/11? Rejoicing seems a bit too similar to al Qaeda trainees stomping on American flags, machine guns raised, celebrating the deaths of innocent Americans.

I'm not saying Osama was innocent. Far from it. In fact, I'm relieved that he isn't sharing the same oxygen as the rest of the planet. Justice was served. And everyone is entitled to process today's news in their own way. But justice and joy are two different things for me, and I'm not feeling particularly joyous.

Maybe that's what's bugging me most today. Shouldn't I be happy that he's dead? Shouldn't I share in this swell of patriotism?

Instead, I'm having a hard time shaking the cloud that rose from the Pentagon, the silence that enveloped DC in the days following, the lump of fear that lodged itself in my gut that although diminished has never really disappeared. I feel that lump today more acutely. I feel the fresh loss of all those lives. I feel the heaviness of the knowledge a day like 9/11 provides.

After the president spoke and before I went to bed last night, I checked on the boys. I adjusted their covers, pushed their sweaty with sleep locks of hair off their foreheads and whispered my I love yous in their ears. I spent more time by their side than usual, relieved, as a mother, that there is one less bad guy out there to threaten my children.

And that's something.

In the absence of my ability to buy a beer for all of the armed forces serving our country or to travel door-to-door to hug every family member of each fallen soldier and 9/11 victim, I will pray that our children never know the fear of 9/11. May they never choke on the ash of a disintegrating building. May they never have the horrific images of a plane disappearing into a building burned into their brains. May they always see heroism in helping one another. May they always see patriotism in dissenting opinions. May they always have hope in the face of any challenge.

May they sleep more peacefully at night knowing that there is one less bad guy.

When Headlines Happen to People You Know

In my past life, I was a media junkie. Granted, working in media relations meant that it came with the territory, but I was happy I found a job that allowed me an excuse to read that many newspapers, trade journals and websites, not to mention watch countless hours of broadcast news programming. Monitoring media trends and auditing coverage of issues was fascinating to me. Working with former reporters and editors was an added bonus that has influenced my reading and writing to this day.

Unfortunately, news has taken a big back seat in my stay at home mom life. I'm lucky if I read the newspaper on Sunday, the only edition we actually subscribe to now. I catch a few minutes of the morning news on television and am typically horrified by the amount of royal wedding coverage that I end up turning it off right away. I see headlines through Twitter and Facebook and will occasionally click a link to read a whole story, although not as often as I would like. Most of my news is gathered from NPR headlines at the top of the hour during preschool pick up and All Things Considered while I'm cooking dinner.

Although I have a handle on the news environment, I am woefully uneducated on the details of an issue, the nuances of a story, the details of a disaster. The earthquake and tsunami in Japan were so devastating that I couldn't bring myself to seek out information on them. In fact, I actively avoided coverage. I have, to this day, not watched a single frame of this terrifying footage. I know that I'm sticking my head in the sand, or rather burying my denial in the sweet smelling crooks of my children's necks. I'm not proud of it, but have justified it to this point as simply a season in my life - that soon enough, I'll be back to reading papers, engaging in national issues and educating myself on the latest discoveries/wars/debates.

And then I wake up one unsuspecting morning to the following conversation:

Hubby: "Did you see about those journalists killed in Libya?"

Me: "I saw something last night, but didn't click on it."

Hubby: "One of them was Dean's brother."

And there it is. Chris Hondros was one of the two journalists killed in Libya yesterday. Tim Hetherington was the other. I found myself immersed in this story, feeling the pain of my husband's college friend now mourning his brother. I spent time looking through Chris' compelling photographs, all from some of the most dangerous areas of the world, in awe at the emotion they capture.

It was then that I realized I can't sit idly by anymore. Chris, Tim and thousands of other journalists risk their lives each and every day to bring a story to light. How dare I ignore the work they so dangerously dedicate their lives to? How can I NOT be engaged in these stories? Sure, Libya is a world away and seemingly doesn't impact my day of preschool Easter parties and children's dentist appointments. But don't the mothers of the world deserve to feel annoyed that their children aren't behaving at lunch, not worried that their sons are being killed fighting for what they believe in?

From now on, in memory of Chris, Tim and all the others who have perished to tell a story, I will pay more attention to the media world around me. I don't mean the partisan blow hards that seem to fill up our television screens pitting neighbor against neighbor, but the real journalists who are researching, photographing and telling the hard stories that otherwise might not be told.

I ask that you all do the same. Take a moment. Read a story under the headline. Learn about something you didn't know about yesterday. I'm not saying I'll be throwing down a breakfast of the Wall Street Journal, New York Times and Washington Post like I used to, but taking a moment to read a story and engage with it for a few minutes, I think I can handle that.

Meanwhile, I'll pray for the safe return home of Chris and Tim so that their families might begin the long process of learning to live their lives without these two extraordinary men.

April Showers Bring May Babies!

High Heeled Sis is due with her first baby in mid-May. She is expecting a baby girl and it is no secret that I might be more excited about the fact that she is having a girl than anyone else. I suddenly have an excuse to wander into the baby girl section of a store again, relishing in all the ruffles and pink and softness. Our oldest niece on the hubby's side is six and sadly no longer in need of fruffy bloomers or tiny tutus. Instead, I've had fun sharing my crafty side with her by finding fun toys/activities that she will hopefully enjoy as much as I did at that age.

The fact of the matter is, we are not a couple that feels the need to try for a girl. We have our two boys and our family feels complete. I think part of the reason it feels that way is because we already have some little ladies in our life. Little ladies I can spoil or take shopping or to tea as they get older and then leave their tween-girl drama to their mamas.

With that being said, when it was time to throw my sister a baby shower, I wanted it to be baby girl fantastic. Thanks to some seriously lovely ladies as co-hostesses and helpers (K, K and V, you gals ROCK!), I think we succeeded. Since the small world of the Internet provided me with some inspiration, I wanted to share some of the highlights.

Our colors were pink and green, and yes, we managed to make all pink and green food. Sounds kind of gross at first, but we had shrimp salad, honeydew & watermelon salad, tortellini pasta salad, cucumber sandwiches, prosciutto, arugula & pesto crostinis, iced green tea, raspberry lemonade, wine and a signature Mommy Mocktail (Baby Bellinis: apricot nectar and sparkling grape juice garnished with a fresh raspberry - surprisingly yummy!). Delish!

For dessert, I took a risk and some inspiration from a Google search that landed me here. I modified the cupcakes to look like the baby face that was on our invites. They came out pretty cute, if I do say so myself:

They were cute, but is there anything better than freshly made buttercream frosting? I'm still dreaming about it.

My sister's nursery has a very garden-meadow feel to it, so I wanted to tie something into that for the shower decor. I decided to do a play on a family tree by using real branches and tying photos of all the family that will love and support the baby - a sort of "it takes a village" theme. Just as I was beginning to wonder exactly how I was going to pull it off, I found some fabulous inspiration here. Here is my finished product:

It's not the best picture, but you get the idea. It was also a little breezy when I shot it.

It was a beautiful day and a beautiful occasion. Her friends and family thought so, too:

Is there anything cuter than a big pile of gifts in baby paper? Didn't think so!

Meanwhile, I just want to move into K's screen porch. This is only half of it, I'm shooting the picture from the eating area of the porch - such a beautiful room (DISCLAIMER: My dad is the residential designer who created this space for K, so I suppose I am a little biased! Anyone need a custom home, renovation or addition design in NC's Triangle area? I've got the man for the job!)

We had a lovely time and somehow I realized a week later that I didn't take a single picture of High Heeled Sis and me together. Too bad, too.

We were both rocking some sassy heels!

The Post Where I Complain About Complaining

I have a friend who was so disheartened by the negative attitudes she was encountering on Facebook that she actually deactivated her account for awhile and now approaches her interaction with the site completely differently. I have to agree that there are certainly times a contact's status message has given me pause - did s/he really just say that?! In print?

Has social media really just given us all a medium for a giant b*tchfest where it's suddenly okay to publicly complain about our job, spouse, kids, whatever?

I admit, I periodically scroll through past Facebook statuses and posts as well as my tweets to get a glimpse of what I'm saying about myself. Am I complaining too often? Too kid-heavy? Sharing too much? Posting just to post or actually sharing something valuable? I think this is the PR training in me - what do the individual statements when taken as a whole communicate about me?

Granted, this space is probably where I am most guilty of complaining/venting/ranting, but I also have endless space to explore and explain and dig and since it's my therapy space, I tend to allow those things to evolve. The good thing is that I tend to reflect and grow as a result and hopefully don't bore you all with the same old rants each time I post.

I admit that I was recently guilty of tweeting a complaint about how I had nothing to wear to a mom's night out. It was trite and vain and a post just to post. Once I typed it and hit enter, I instantly regretted it. I know people whose babies are still stuck in the hospital weeks after being born, folks struggling through a death in the family, people fighting cancer, problems much more worthy of a vent than my petty inability to find a cute pair of pants that fit and matched the top I wanted to wear. And I promptly apologized for my vanity.

So, are we under an obligation to tell folks when their negativity has gone too far? Or do we simply ignore it, skipping over those negative messages along with the Farmville updates? Or, should we all just take a step back and reread that status message before we hit the enter button?

I suppose all I can do is worry about myself and do what I always strive to do (not always achieve, mind you, but try nonetheless) -- and that's be a good example to my kids. Sure, they aren't reading Facebook or following me on Twitter, but just like all my interactions - online, face-to-face or otherwise - they all represent me. And from now until eternity, that me is a mother with two boys who hopefully will show them how to be caring, empathetic, optimistic citizens of the world.

Whether it's in 140 characters or not.