Get Me Out of This Beehive

So I’m just over here in Pittsburgh, living the dream.

You know: Working three days a week from home, enjoying two days home alone with my boys and then partying up the weekends with the hubby and kids in the new city where we just settled.

Poppin’ bubbly every night, yo.

Six months ago, I would have told you that the situation I’m currently in would be perfect. A golden opportunity to embrace a fine balance of career, time with my kids, home management and exploration of our new town. I thought this was exactly what I wanted…and I got it!

But I’m lonely. My heart aches. I miss SO much. And I want things to be different.

Call me nuts, but I yearn to be in a workplace setting with other people. I want to have a time I have to should be at work so I’m forced to get up and (gasp!) take a shower and fix my stringy hair. I want to wear my cute summer work dresses and pink peep-toe pumps. I actually want to converse with strangers in the elevator about the stupid, mundane weather.

I miss my coworkers and — dare I say it? — MEETINGS. I miss knowing everything that is going on in our department and being part of a team and ‘getting stuff done.’ And feeling that sense of accomplishment at the end of the day when, although I undoubtedly didn’t get to everything, I at least chipped away at the mounting heap of never-ending projects.

I miss impromptu lunches, ‘Ah-ha!’ moments, walking amidst the hustle and bustle on the city streets and feeling that surge of I’m really good at what I do when someone calls or stops by my office to say, “We need you.”

Trust me, I know that working outside the home is not always peachy. I’ve done it for 13 years, since three months after college graduation. I don’t miss the crappy days when I royally screw up something, or a coworker is annoyed with me and talks behind my back, or there are a dozen fire drills thrown in my face before 10 a.m. (not literal fire drills — those only happen once per year and require us to walk down 32 flights of steps.)

No, I’m talking about the fire drills where someone bursts into your office with smoke coming out of their ears and their hands are all shaky, and they don’t know what needs to be done, but SOMETHING better be done within the hour to fix SOMETHING seemingly more important than the conversation I was just having with a coworker about the next season of Downton Abby.

And I don’t miss deadlines. And I don’t miss those people who wear ungodly amounts of perfume. Or those women who wear white sneakers all day because getting up from their desk to go to the bathroom apparently requires superior athletic skills. And I don’t miss office cattiness.

...or do I?

I think what this move with my family has taught me…well let’s be honest, I could go on for WEEKS about what this move has taught me about myself, my kids, my marriage, my priorities, my sanity…but in regards to my career, I’ve realized just how important it is to me. Yes, I’m currently still working — for the same company and people, just from afar and at reduced hours. But it’s so different not being there.

So at this point in my life, I know for certain that I love to work, and I want to work and I will choose to work. Outside of the home. With a scanner down the hallway, and humans walking down the hallway, and the need to sometimes yell profanity down the hallway.

And enjoy free Diet Coke whenever I want.*

*Please note that it is a prerequisite for any job I have. Each place I’ve ever worked has provided free soda. And I drink it. Not gallons of it like Rita downstairs, but it serves as my afternoon pick-me-up. (And I totally made up 'Rita,' but I know you know someone like her where you work. I think it’s Wal-Mart that sells those coolers cups the size of Graham’s head…which is about the same size as my adult head.)

What’s so freaking awesome about being a mom in 2014 is that there isn’t just one way to do it. Because that would be horribly, detrimentally boring. Whether we work inside or outside the home, with or without a pint-size crew in tow, we should own what we are doing and why we are doing it — and be darn tootin’ proud of it.

Because God knows wherever we are and whatever we’re doing — and if the kids are there or not — we’re all working. We’re always working. It’s a slight issue all of us moms have.

We’re worker bees.

And this little worker bee just can’t wait to buzzzzz around an office again. With a cold, sweet D.C. in hand.

-Melissa  

Maybe My Kids Will Be Jugglers

I feel if I don’t get my kids into a sport or activity soon, they will be doomed to be losers forever.

They are only three and a half and eighteen months, and already I am feeling pressure to ensure they are good at something by the time they are…well, NOW. Or God forbid they may not make the Varsity team of something amazing by age eight.

My kids have not had a single swimming class. No tumbling, either. They have not participated in any “mommy and son” sing-a-long, dance-a-long or act-like-a-ding-dong-a-long classes. We aren’t yet members of a rec center or the local Y.

Okay, so I’m lying. Mac has tried soccer. We paid a stupidly high amount for 10 indoor sessions up in psycho-soccer territory (aka Dublin, Ohio), and he seemed to kind of like it. But there were plenty of tears, too. And it was too early on a Saturday morning when also trying to manage a one-year-old. And many of the other parents were just waaaaay too into it.

In our backyard, we have soccer balls and a net. We have baseball gear and a basketball hoop. We have balls of every size and color and type. Mac can hit, kick and throw them all pretty well--or so his dad says; I'm no coach.

We’ve talked about what we’d like to get Mac involved in. Martial arts, for sure. Maybe wrestling (just like daddy). He said he wants to play baseball…or soccer…or basketball.

So what’s the problem? We just need to sign him up already. And buy the overpriced gear and show up at silly times for chaos and tears and “I wanna snack!” and “I need to pee!” and just sit and enjoy the misery with the other parents. It’s a rite of passage for young parents. I get it. Now we need to up and JUST DO IT, all Nike-style.

But I’m scared. I’m worried for them. Because…what if my kids suck at sports like I did? I’m worried that they will be totally uncoordinated and laughed at by others and not “make” the team one day. It’s devastating. And you never forget it.

I tried out for cheerleading multiple times, which was dumb, because I couldn’t even do a cartwheel. I did a LOG ROLL for the gymnastics portion of the try-outs. The judges weren’t even looking at me. Why would they? I was never going to make it.

(And please, do laugh out loud that I did a log roll at the tryouts. It is pretty damn funny. My lanky, stick legs, rolling around on the floor – what was I thinking?!)

I’ve never had good endurance (and I now blame sickle cell trait). I came in last on field day…in all the competitions. Remember the ribbons that were handed out? Yep, I had a huge stack of the 5^th and 6^th place orange and brown ones. I was always the last one picked for any sport during gym class. Basketball, soccer, tetherball — even four-square. As my brother will gladly tell you, I couldn’t even push a decent “shoe-shiner” my opponent’s way.

I can only imagine that it stinks for boys even more if they are not good at sports. That’s what they are built for, right? It’s a natural talent; they have muscles, they can pick up stuff easily and hit the ball over the fence…right? But what if my boys can’t? What if they try out all the sports and they aren’t good at any of them and they refuse to play anything because they are embarrassed and end up carrying around a heap of hurt and rejection for decades?

What if they really want to be good – like I did so badly – but they simply are not?

On the other hand...what if they find out they are really good at something? That they truly enjoy and love playing something, because they are so good at it? Or maybe they will be good at multiple sports. What if they meet their best friends in those circles at a young age and it keeps them engaged in their studies and out of trouble through their high school years, and they ultimately experience breathtaking moments of success and confidence and excitement and joy?

Of course, I would want that for them both!

I don’t care much for most sports, because I was never good at them. I couldn’t really try to participate anyway (until high school) because my parents were divorced, and traveling to Cincinnati from Dayton to see my dad and family every two weeks was much more important. For my kids’ sake, I need to shake off my past resentment and start cheering for them on the sidelines. I need to let them try different sports (and stick to it through the season’s end even if they don’t like it) and then let them determine later on which ones they really want to pursue. I need to get my butt up early on the weekends and push them (not crazily) to try hard and practice their tails off and to get better and to not give up.

Sports aren’t for everyone, but being involved in some way, with other kids, and learning how to work together as a team and just being active — period — undoubtedly is necessary for raising healthy, respectful, determined children. And I want that more than anything for my boys.

And, I think they may have a good shot at being good at something. Because thankfully, I represent only half of their DNA.

*And for the record, I did become involved in something fantastic in high school that kept me practicing and active 30+ hours per week in addition to school, and I fully recognize how much it shaped who I am today. I just want a positive experience – like I ultimately had – for Mac and Graham, regardless of whether it’s through sports, the arts or even backpacking with friends through the wild.

The wild south side of Pittsburgh, only, of course.

-Melissa

Grieving My Ohio Life

My “happy place” is an evening stroll outside, after dinner, with all my boys. I’ve been looking forward to getting back to these daily walks, all Polar-Vortex-winter-long. I just want to smell the air, feel the sun and watch as the kids find a new bug to poke around on the ground.

In all the craziness that has been the last few months of my life — moving to a new state, buying and selling houses, finding new childcare, dealing with poo water coming out of the ceiling of our new home (for realz) and taking care of two little men who are either throwing up chocolate milk or Amoxicilin all over me — I was even more looking forward to a good, hardy walk once we had a few days to settle in. (And fix the #pooceiling.)

So last week, after packing 60 pounds of boys in our double-jogging stroller, we headed out toward what (someday) will be their elementary school. It’s just one half mile away. And it has a super cool playground. “Paradise at the end of the journey,” I told the boys.

“Push faster, mom,” they said.

As we started out on that warm(ish) day, I noticed that no one else was out pushing their kids around. In Dublin, you’d pass another family on every block. But not here. Because, as I quickly learned, only stupid people attempt to trek the hills with an obnoxious, sidewalk-hogging stroller.

I’m not exaggerating; there are no flat areas here. You are either going up or down a pretty darn steep hill at all times. It’s not like there is one hill that you gear up for at the end of the walk. No, it’s ALL hills. Crazy hills. Hills most people only run up and down purposely for a workout — by themselves. And definitely not while pushing 75 pounds in the process.

I had to stop about half-way up every hill; it was miserable. And all the neighbors likely heard my kids yelling at me each time I stopped:

“Push faster!”

So there went my happy place. After that, no more evening strolls. A large part of what we typically do as a family each day (when it is over 50 degrees) would need to be stricken from our schedule.

Just punch-me-in-the-face lovely.

And then I thought, “How the heck are kids supposed to learn to ride bikes around here?”

Add this little hiccup to the larger issue at hand — that I’m in a new city, in a new home, with no personal network for myself or my children, and I have no clue where I’m going or what I’m doing — and I honestly feel like I have lost my identity. I mean, I’ve always wanted to move out of Ohio and try something new, but I never knew it would be this hard, especially with two young children.

And we are just three hours from Central Ohio. But yet, it is so very different here.

Sound extreme? I would think so as well if I weren’t going through this myself. I’d probably look at someone like me and say, “Stop being so pathetic!” and “Move on already, loser!”

Stop whining! Stop pouting! PULL IT TOGETHER, WOMAN!

And I will. Eventually. But as a good friend just told me (who has lived all over the world and will be moving again soon — this time with a child), “I believe it takes two years to feel settled. Give yourself and your family two years. It may not take that long, but allow yourself the time to grieve the loss of your life in Columbus and find a new one in Pittsburgh.”

We are lucky in that we do have three fabulous family members who live close-by (and who likely are moving even closer), and one of them is Mac’s newest partner-in-crime. This past weekend, at the amazing “Welcome to Pittsburgh” meal they prepared for us, Mac and Afton dug into multiple bottles of nail polish (while we ignored them and sipped wine, of course) and painted all over fuzzy Mr. Gorilla. Now he is a dazzling Silverback.

Literally. With sparkles. And he reeks of acetate.

Recently, another great friend implored that each of us should “Make Every Day Count.” Her father is battling the yucky “C” word and, although my petty daily concerns pale in comparison to hers, I want her outlook and attitude to resonate as I go about each day. I need to look at the bright side of things: I am blessed to have more time with my kids right now, I get to decorate a new home, my husband has started a fantastic new job and my neighborhood Target is brand new and attached to a mall. How amazing is that? (Did you really think I would write a post without incorporating a shout-out to Target?)

Yes, I am attempting to work from home with a 19-month-old on my lap, our garage is still packed with boxes and bins and tubs, car insurance is twice as expensive here, Mac reminds us every night that “This house is old; I want to move back to Dublin” and I have a stress zit the size of Mt. Pinatubo on my chin. But our fridge is full, our kids are healthy and spring most certainly is upon us, friends.

Our routine is completely different here, along with everything else. I miss my workplace. I miss friends. I miss family. I miss what I’m used to. What I knew so well. What I enjoyed so much. 

Including those coveted evening walks. I miss them terribly. But instead, we’ll now head into the (flat) backyard and throw around dozens of plastic balls and toys and watch crazy Roxy dog run like a cheetah from corner to corner with her tongue flapping out.

Or if we're really feeling crazy, maybe we’ll just drive to the park…Duh.

Yes, tonight we will drive to the park. It is what we will do to make this day count.

-Melissa

Make New Friends, But Keep the Old

“...One is silver, and the other is gold.”

Thank you, Girl Scouts, for emblazoning this little ditty on my seven-year-old mind back in the 1980s. AND for making the most delectable, chocolaty mint cookies in the whole, entire friggin universe.

As a young girl, I wasn’t able to fully understand the lesson behind this brief rhyme, but as an adult I appreciate it with all my might. In fact, I’ve taken it as my mantra in life right now as our little family braces for quite a big, new adventure.

We are moving from Adventure Drive in Ohio (ironic, eh?) to Mt. Lebanon, Pennsylvania, an older neighborhood just south of Pittsburgh. It’s only three and a half hours east of where we live now, but given what we have gone through over the past month to prepare for the move, you would think we are embarking on a life-changing trip to the moon.

But then again, this is life changing for us. Three weeks ago, Brian accepted a new position with Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh. We then sold our home in just 24 hours, spent three days looking through 20 homes near the ‘burgh, finally went into contract on a home, started the loan process, held a home inspection on both properties, hired movers and by-the-skin-of-our-teeth landed (I think) a daycare option for the boys once we get there so I can work remotely for my current job.

Can I just say, #mentalhealthbreakdown?

The only things keeping me going through this insane time is my faith in God and my enormously supportive group of family and friends. From our sweet Columbus friends hosting a happy hour to send us off, to our parents watching the boys so we can travel and pack, to friends introducing us to their Pennsylvania contacts, to co-workers doing everything in their power to make the transition smooth, to our babysitter offering to take Mac to Chuck E.Cheese's next week (God bless you)... encouragement and assistance and love and goodwill has greeted us at every crazy turn.

It is going to be so hard to leave our network here in Central Ohio. We’ve lived here for 13 years and have found everything that made us completely comfortable: a beautiful home in a great community, good jobs, fantastic friends, wonderful child care, two Targets within five miles. I mentioned on Facebook the other day that it is going to be unbearable to leave my OBGYN — the woman who bravely dealt with me in delivering my two little peanuts. (Please note, they were not the size of peanuts when they emerged from my body.)

A good friend (and the yogi of this blog) recently asked me the date of our move. I told her it was scheduled for March 21st, and until that very moment, I hadn’t recognized the significance of that day.

She wrote, “Spring equinox is all about unearthing our roots and hauling ourselves up from the dirt. It is the quintessential time to dust ourselves off and make room for change. That’s you this year...you get to live it!”

Oh that girl, she has a way of making me feel good about all of this. And I do feel good about it — but also, I’m scared. Scared of leaving everyone and everything that feels so good and so right. Like every change in life, big or small, it’s just the unknown that worries us and leaves us with a feeling of discomfort. But when it is time to face the change head on, we somehow muster the courage to embrace it, settle into it and gain our bearings in a new space, a new light, a new place.

Everything will be just fine. We will soon move and get comfortable in a new home, in a new community, with new jobs and a Target just three and a half miles away (nine minutes in current traffic). And we will find new friends who will be added to our current support team that we won’t dare let slip away. (Oh no, dear friends, don’t think for a second you are going to hide from me!) The old tried and true friends are the golden friends, the ones that will be there no matter the distance, no matter the issue. They are the friends that will toast our new beginning and remain just a phone call away.

And those friends will be there for us, year after year. Just like the Girl Scouts with their amazing cookies.

Thank you, friends. You have been unbelievable through all of this, and you are worth more to me than you will ever know. Undoubtedly, more than silver or gold.

-Melissa

The One Year Mark: A Very Happy Place

Right now, I’m in a funk.

One minute I’m excited, the next I’m anxious. Our house is waiting on some pretty big news, and quite honestly, I’m just not good at waiting.

I know you have been in a similar place in life... just waiting. And I know that you know it simply sucks. All we can do in these moments is surround ourselves with those we love, and have faith that the best outcome will happen. And pray, pray, pray.

And eat lots of chocolate chip muffins (my current weakness).

In the meantime, I want to share a brief piece I wrote but never posted to my personal blog this past summer. A time when it was scorching hot (I wonder what that feels like?) and my second (and last) child was turning one.

It was right after I spent all of my waking moments planning the fanfare surrounding his first birthday celebration. And I knoooooow you can relate to that. 

________________________________________________________________

Sept. 9, 2013

One year old! One year old! HOT DOG, one year old!

A lot of moms lament the one year mark. They “can’t believe” a year has passed since they birthed their sweet baby. They “can’t believe” their precious one is already so big. They “can’t believe” they are already done with the first year of sweet snuggles and coos and turtle-like movements.

Well, I can believe it. It’s been a little over 365 days since Graham-Man was born and it’s been a crazy year. Yes, a crazy awesome year filled with both tears of adoration and frustration. I love my second little man with every. single. fiber. of my being. I sometimes cry when I watch him sleep, I yearn to hug him in the afternoons when I’m at work, and when he looks at me with those big, beautiful, blue eyes, well... I just melt.

But I can’t explain how happy I am to be at the one year mark. No more bottles. No more runny, messy baby food. No more guilt over not being able to breastfeed. No more carrying him around everywhere and planning around nap times and bedtimes. (Well, that continues a bit depending on the day.) And soon he will be talking. Walking. Exploring and playing with his brother. Watching and listening and beginning to voice his opinion in our family.

And I can’t wait.

We are done with having kids. For sure. In fact, Brian will be a little incapacitated right around Halloween for a few days to seal that deal. We feel complete as a family of four. And we cannot wait to see what the next year holds in store. (Ah, poetry.)

Camping. Hiking. Biking. Hitting up every festival, family event, and community experience. Not that we couldn’t this past year, but it’s just so much harder to lug bottles and baby food and thirteen extra outfits and worry about blowouts and spit-ups and tantrums.

Oh wait. Yeah, not out of the woods on that last one, yet!

But you get the point. Things are going to be easier from this point forward. Some wouldn’t agree, but I wholeheartedly believe it to be true. I already love to go shopping with Mac. To watch his face light up at the zoo. To see how excited he gets for birthdays and parties and seeing his grandparents and going to Target. It’s fun. He has fun. We all have fun. Discussing silly things. Making silly faces. Singing silly songs.

Babies are unbelievable. They are blessings. They are amazing. And I had two, and now I’m ready to move on.

I am ready to toss the bouncy seat and baby swing and infant car carrier. Ready to never snap another onesie or buy another tub of Similac or have to ensure that absolutely nothing possible can come into contact with my child's face and impede proper breathing through the night.

I’m killing some of you, aren’t I? I promise I’m not heartless...just being HONEST!

Seriously, though, I’m excited. I can’t wait for this next chapter of life with my now non-baby boys.

Because I know this "party of four" party is just getting started.

Note: Due to scheduling conflicts, Brian has attempted to have that darn surgery three times now. Still hasn't happened...

The Lingering Holiday Hangover

We're well into January now. And that can only mean one, glorious thing — the holidays are officially O-VERRRRRR! (Belted out just like Oprah.)

Hip, hip freakin hooray... with a cartwheel and fireworks and silly string.

Call me Grinch. Call me heartless. Call me odd. But this past Christmas season just about knocked the sense, sanity and patience out of me.

Like most of you, my family didn’t stop moving since before Thanksgiving. We first held a baptism for Graham (16 months), and then my beautiful sister came into town for turkey day. Then more visitors and meals and gatherings and cutting down a tree all Clark Griswold-style, and then enjoying the lights at the zoo — all within one brief weekend. Then there was the shopping (mostly online), wrapping, eating, traveling, congregating, celebrating a baby shower, more eating, crying, whining, melting down, peeing on the couch. I think I accomplished the most crying myself.

Within 10 days alone, we celebrated Christmas six different times at six different homes. And stuffed our faces at every single one.  

During all the hoopla, no one really slept...and we drove for hours...and it snowed a lot and got really stupid cold. At one point someone forgot her purse after a family visit hours from home, so we had to turn around and drive back to get it. Oops. Brian (baby daddy) mightily refrained from making any snarky comments. Hey, at least I didn't forget a kid or an animal.

Really, it was a great Christmas. Honestly. Much better than last year when I was postpartum and wanted to smack each person for simply being alive and happy (hormones are very discriminating). But this year, we eagerly visited family we hadn’t seen in years, held new babies, learned of pregnancies and upcoming adoptions, and received the most adorable holiday photo cards in the mail. The “husky one” finally started to walk. And to watch Cormac “Mac” (3.5 years) and Graham (yes, the husky one) light up at every twinkling light and wrapped gift and sugar-filled, gluttonous treat was, well, pretty joyful.

And sometimes even tearful. It really does all go by so fast.

I tried to take it all in. To enjoy the brief moments of wonder and excitement and smiles, but it’s so hard when most moments are taken up with taking care of others. As moms, we first plan, prepare and pack, and then we drive to our destination or have everyone arrive at our own home, never with enough time to spare. And then we’re either stuck in the kitchen all day or we spend every moment ensuring the kids aren’t using makeshift weapons against each other.

Or in our case, aren’t tipping over one of Grandma Shirley’s 13 antique hutches full of vintage china. She and the Mister literally live in an historic home, and on Christmas Eve there were eight children, five and under, jumping on their beds, getting into their pill drawers and playing with glass collectibles from the early 1900s. The woman has six grown children of her own, so she barely batted an eye at the commotion and craziness. God bless her.

The fact is, it’s hard to find the time to truly enjoy the small moments. Because there is always something to do. Some disaster to avert. Some nasty foreign substance to wipe off a hand. Someone to pick up and carry into another room because they keep swirling their arm around in the toilet.

But I do try.

Although, there were some moments I didn’t mind rushing by quickly so I could forget them. Like Roxy dog (6 years) eating all of Mac’s Christmas lunch and subsequently puking it back up on the dining room floor. Or turning 35 years old, a week before Christmas, with a horrid cold and lost voice. Or Brian shattering a framed 5x7 of Grandma Jean during the most insane game of “link your arms and dive for the gift in the LA Gear box” I’ve ever witnessed.

Oh, and this past festive season Mac started to “cry wolf” by acting like he was sick with various ailments, from his stomach hurting to his back itching to his legs aching. He seriously acts like he is dying while laying in a heap on the floor. All in efforts to get out of whatever I ask him to do (or eat) so that he can go back to playing.

#hesagenius

#itworkedthefirstfewtimes
#imasucker

*Sigh*

But all is said and done now. It’s over. (Hallelujah.) We have a few blurry photos and dark videos from the past few months. There is some documentation on Facebook and Instagram, and of course we have our Christmas card to remind us of our mindset this past value-packed season:

“Let’s not take life too seriously... except for family and pizza.”

 And I definitely need a few more good pizzas to help me get over this lingering holiday hangover.  

-Melissa

Meet the Team: Melissa

Humor keeps me sane. If I weren't able to make fun of myself or make light of how crazy my kids are acting, I would not be able to fully enjoy parenting. I might be a little Type A, but I strive to find a light-hearted work/life balance with two young kids.

First name: Melissa. Mel. Mom. Sissa.
Kids: Mac (3), Graham (1). And Roxy.
Five random things you like: Iced Tea. The Today Show. St. Patrick's Day. Las Vegas. Glittery nail polish (I'd make it rain glitter if I could; too bad I only have boys!).
City: Dublin
Jobs: Legal Marketer. Mac & G's mom. Writer & Grammar Aficionado (but I still make plenty of mistakes).
Vices: Target. Designer jeans. Malbec.
Your Superhero power, if you could have one: Obliterate childhood hunger.

Look for Melissa's posts the first week of every month!