A Tale of Two Bears

On a recent evening of books and cuddles (which is far better than an evening of dumping buckets of bath water out of the tub, followed by yelling, and ending with no books and no cuddles), Will asked me what I was like as a little girl.

He wanted to know about my clothes (I described a watermelon dress), what I liked to do (I talked about cabbage patch kids), and what I looked like (to which I could only answer, "Like you, buddy," because he is my twin). 

He asked if I had a Blue Bear, his security blanket of choice since about the age of one, and I told him about Big Bird.

"Big Bird was about this big, and he was super dirty, and he had a bare spot on his head where I would rub my finger to fall asleep, and he only had one eye left because I loved him so much and grandma had to wash him so many times," I described.

"Where is he?" Will asked.

"Actually, he's in our basement." 

Well down to the basement we went, right then and there of course, and up Big Bird came. The boys and I took a photo of us and our security blankets: Jingle Dog, Blue Bear, Big Bird. 

 

Like any parent who is willing to keep the peace no matter the price, Greg and I purchased a back up Blue Bear right after we realized Blue Bear was it for him, and we kept the second on stand by should something happen to Blue Bear Version 1.0. 

My mom also had a back-up Big Bird, but I never fell for him. He had two eyes, all of his fur, and was too clean for my three-year-old tastes.

Will, however, took right to Blue Bear 2.0 without batting an eye, and this was especially handy when 1.0 needed a bath, or got left in a car, or stuck under a couch for a few days, which is precisely what happened this past week. 

Will found 1.0 last night under the couch. I thought nothing of the fact he'd been missing for a couple of weeks.

We headed up to bed, 1.0 tucked under his arm, and there on the floor was 2.0.

Will's mind was blown. 

Dumbfounded.

We may as well have taken the opportunity to tell him about Santa, and the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy, and the Bengals having ever been to a Super Bowl. 

How could there be TWO of his very best friend?

He furiously examined both--their ribbons, where there had been a hole sewn up, their tags--and he noted every difference and told me which one was  the real Blue Bear. 

I told him the truth, that we never wanted him to be without his best friend, and now they were so excited to be together--that they hadn't been able to be with each other since they were on the shelf at the store, and now they get to BOTH love the kid who loves them so much.

This seemed to appease him, although it would be days before the shock of having two Blue Bears wore off. He told everyone at pre-school about it, grandparents, aunts and uncles--like it was the best office gossip ever. 

I tucked them both into his arms that night and pulled up the covers. He kissed both Blue Bears on their heads.

And then he handed one to me. 

"You sleep with this one. Now we both have one forever." 

So last night, I slept with Blue Bear 2.0 in my arms. 

**

I wrote this post three months ago. Since then, Will has made sure nearly every night that I have a Blue Bear to take to bed. There was even a night at 3 a.m. when he came into our room and tucked Blue Bear 2.0 into my arms and ran back to bed.

Two weeks ago when Greg was out of town, and the day had been long and the evening rough, I tucked Will into bed and went downstairs to just sit. And breathe. When I returned to my room to sleep, there on my pillow was Blue Bear. Will had snuck in to lay him there. I melted onto the bed in a puddle of exhaustion and tears--so attuned to my needs and so willing to share the one thing he loves the most.

It is my belief that our children are hand-picked for us and given to us to teach us exactly what we need in any given moment. Although on most days for me that thing is patience, I find myself sated in knowing that I have a boy who just maybe sometimes puts the needs of others above his own. It gives me moments of thinking I'm doing okay, that I'm not totally failing at this parenting adventure. 

The Light-Up Shoes Lesson

I was certain that my boys would never like Superheroes. They wouldn't wear Superman t-shirts, or Spider-Man rain boots, or Batman Halloween costumes while shopping at Target...in July. I also said they wouldn't watch TV, or eat hot dogs, and most importantly, they'd never own those ridiculous shoes that light up when you walk.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, and much to my dismay, wrong. 

Superheroes? To say the boys are obsessed is an understatement. You name it, we've got a costume, mask, action figure, sticker, fruit snack, puzzle, vitamin, sleeping bag, or underpants with one on it. Last week, Jack got in trouble at school for pushing his friends. When we talked about it in the car on the way home, he looked at me, in complete sincerity, and said, "But I'm Hulk." Sigh.

TV? My three year old can operate Netflix with more efficiency than I can. I think our bookshelf is getting a little dusty because of the lure of Phineas & Ferb, Scooby Doo, and Super Why.

Hot dogs?  We might as well own stock in Hebrew National. Grilled, boiled, microwaved, or on a stick...always painstakingly cut into tiny bite-size pieces.

Which brings me to light up shoes. Up until last Thursday I had avoided them like the plague. In fact, I avoided shoes stores in general. Giving them the option to choose their own shoes? A complete recipe for disaster. Instead, I guessed their shoe size and ordered from Amazon. Cheaper, no possibility for public shoe store meltdowns, and I was in complete control of brand and style. Plus, I loathe shopping at the mall. 

Shortly after Christmas (and by shortly, I mean December 26th) Colin started talking about his birthday (which is on April 1st). He's constantly revising his wish list, with the exception of one thing: light up shoes. Apparently everyone who is anyone in the Sapphire room at school has them. And I suppose I should count my lucky stars that he didn't ask for light up cowboy boots like one of the kids in his class.

Seriously, they actually make those. OMG.  

As he was jabbering away about the shoes I had a flashback to my childhood--remember Keds? I wanted a pair so badly, and everyone who was anyone had them. But instead my mom bought me the generic version, with a little green rubber emblem on the back. I was mortified. 

So, with the newly surfaced memory that I had repressed from my youth, and the fact that Colin's toes were smashed into his size and a half too small shoes, I caved. After careful research on the Stride Rite website, I found a pair of light up shoes that weren't completely hideous, and we trekked to the mall. When we got there, I remembered why I only shop online. A few deep breaths, a squirt or two of hand sanitizer, and we continued on our journey to the mecca of light up shoes.

As we entered the store, Colin and Jack's eyes lit up, just like the overpriced shoes we were about to purchase. I guided them over to the orange shoes I had carefully selected, and by the grace of God, they loved them. So much so that Colin started squeezing his 11.5 foot into the much smaller display shoe in excitement, declaring that they fit!   

Over $100 later we left the store with two very satisfied customers, and four very bright orange light up shoes. I watched the boys happily stomp back to the car admiring their new shoes, giggling and shrieking in pure delight the entire time.

The lesson here?  Maybe the running shoes I've been buying for the last few years that don't light up are like the generic Keds I wore as a child. I needed to get over myself. In the grand scheme of things, does it really matter if they have light up shoes? They make them happy. Colin even took his shoes to bed with him the first night to use as a "flashlight." They get ready in the morning easier and faster. And to me, that is priceless.

Our preconceived notion of what our children will do, like, and be is often very different from reality. Trust me, I know. And it's okay. In fact, I'm the one at Target pushing the cart with the child dressed up as a Superhero (in March).

Luckily summer is around the corner, which means one thing: Croc season.

They don't make light up Crocs do they?!?

-Laura 

Mommy's Time Out

Every now and then, one of my friends will blurt out the phrase that all parents have uttered at one time or another:

"I don't remember my life before kids!"

::raises hand::

Um, I do!

Vivid memories dance in my head of a time filled with less stress, MUCH more sleep, more carefree outings, and fewer responsibilities than my life calls for at this very moment.

Think back to how your Friday evenings were typically like BEFORE having children. Go ahead. Hop in the Delorean and make sure your Flux Capacitor is fluxing...88 mph...You're there!

Friday nights probably involved meeting up with friends at a favorite watering hole to take advantage of Happy Hour specials. You'd laugh and chat about the highs and lows of the work week. Dancing was always required. After drinks and dinner, you decide to see a new movie or go Downtown to watch live music. Your fun night would end at some ungodly hour and you'd sleep off your one-too-many cocktails in a dreamless slumber only to wake up the next morning at 11 a.m., feeling carefree and probably a tad hungover.

Time to refuel the Delorean with bags of fruit snacks, animal crackers and Capri Suns, because now our journey is bringing us back to the present: Friday nights as a parent.

Before leaving school on Friday afternoon, I pile my enormous stacks of papers to grade in my bag, drive over to the sitter's to pick up the girls who have morphed into crabby and tearful tots after an exhausting week. The music selection in the car MUST undoubtedly be the Frozen soundtrack ("MOMMY! Put on the song where Elsa sings on the mountain top!"). The girls scream/sing the lyrics for the two millionth time, and I have no choice but to sing along, the songs emblazoned in my memory like a hot, searing brand.

We arrive home to the eternal predicament that is dinner and squabbles ensue about which show will be viewed (Sofia! Curious George! Word Girl!) so that Mommy can attempt to cook said dinner. Play time, baths, and stalling at bedtime will all occur before 8 p.m. When the girls are finally asleep, my husband and I collapse on the couch, trying to stay awake with glasses of wine and minimal conversation before passing out at nine o'clock.

#Parenthood

Before my daughters were born, otherwise known as Life Before Kids, I read devoured books and magazines. It was not uncommon for me to finish a novel in one day if my schedule permitted, and I would often sprint to the mailbox to grab my latest issue of US Weekly magazine.

 

I know, I know...you're thinking this is a gossip rag. And you would be right! Ridiculous, mindless celebrity entertainment, but I would be engrossed from the first scandalous photo to the last hideous outfit on the red carpet. 

I can't remember the last time I read a magazine from cover to cover (Highlights High Five, excluded.) Two novels rest on my nightstand, collecting a thick layer of dust from not being opened in months. I don't remember the plot or characters any more. Something got in the way of my love for reading. 

That something would be this crazy, thrilling, awesome, rewarding, exhausting adventure called Life With Kids. But even Mommy and Daddy need a Time Out. If only to regain their sanity, for the love of Pete!

My Time Out was unexpectedly granted last Friday thanks to the lovely folks at my district's Board of Education.

I had Parent Teacher Conferences Wednesday and Thursday evenings which made for excruciatingly LONG days at school. Luckily, high school teachers had Friday off and the promise of no school to look forward to. In my attempt to reheat some leftovers for dinner on Wednesday,  my droopy eyes spotted something odd printed on my daughter's school calendar hanging on the fridge.

School for elementary students would be in session on Friday.

Whaaa???!!! I could hardly contain my excitement.

Mommy's Time Out would finally be possible!

What's the first thing I did after learning about this weird twist of fate, you ask? Did I make a mental note to catch up on those enormous stacks of grading with my free time? Nope. Did I decide to tackle the mountains of laundry? No way. I did what any sane Mom would do.

I jumped into my proverbial Delorean and thought about what activity I would do on a whim, in those fuzzy years known as Life Before Kids.

I called my favorite spa and scheduled a pedicure for Friday.

On Thursday, I received an e-mail at school from my husband. He surprised me by asking for the day off on Friday, too!

It's almost unheard of: a completely kid-free day for Mommy and Daddy.

We drove our youngest daughter to the sitter on Friday morning, then treated our oldest daughter by driving her to school instead of having her ride the bus. After we dropped off Madelyn at school, my husband and I had a delicious breakfast à deux where we tried our hardest NOT to talk about our girls. We drank cups of steaming hot coffee with no chance of it turning cold due to someone's need for a diaper change, snack, or different princess dress.

After breakfast, we drove to Target and listened to music from our iPod that we hadn't heard in forever. (Well, let's be honest--music we haven't listened to since Frozen came out in theaters!) We ran errands at Target and strolled through the aisles with ease to find the items we needed. No kids around to pick products off the shelves to inquire if we could buy them. No demanding that the kids stay close by. No migraine upon check-out.

I had an hour or so to kill at home before heading to my pedicure, so we relaxed and chatted about our plans for the weekend.

A minute later, Eric asked:

"Hey. Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" I replied.

"Silence," he whispered.

It was glorious. Truly. We both sat in silence like huge dorks for a few minutes just to soak it all in.

My pedicure was wonderfully relaxing and oh-so necessary. I scanned the magazine selection during my second coat of OPI polish and what do you think was staring back at me, practically begging me to open the cover?

You got it.

US Weekly.

The universe was speaking to me. It was then that I realized the importance and value of Mommy's Time Out. As parents, we work SO hard every day to be the best Mommy or Daddy to our kids. We give, give, give, and rarely ever take in return. There is no flashy award for being a great parent. We just DO IT, from sunrise to sunset, because it is our job. Our kids and family are our life.

That being said, let's remember that it's okay and absolutely necessary to set time aside for ourselves. Mommy's Time Out. Read, exercise, meet friends for coffee or drinks, do a craft that you enjoy, go shopping for YOU, not for your kids. Plan something FUN without the kiddos.

I promise it will help you be a better parent.

Maybe I should renew my US Weekly subscription, after all?

-Amber

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

Things I Love Right Now

Sometimes you just have to dwell in the good, so in no particular order, the things I love in this moment (which happens to be a Sunday afternoon):

1. The week or two in between tantrum phases of my kids, when I actually breathe and enjoy them, and I don't fret when we go out in public, and I stop feeling like I'm tiptoeing across eggshells on thin ice around them. (And yes, it took that many metaphors to describe what I feel like when we are in the throws of those phases!)
2. Sweet family photos. Because usually they aren't sweet.

3. Dinner tonight required lots of things "roasting," which feels all "slow Sunday afternoon," the way a Sunday should be.
4. The smell of my kids' heads when I kiss them after they wake up: the scent of clean mixed with sleep and dreams and cozy.
5. Not laundry.
6. When I lay in bed tonight, Greg and I will look through his iPhone notes and find my timed contractions from March 2nd and 3rd, 2012, and re-live Reid's adventure into this world, as we do on the eve of both of our kids' birthdays. It's this sweet little memento that gets fuzzier with each year and yet still feels like yesterday.
7. The promise of Spring.

What things do you love in this moment?

-Kristin

Tough Stuff

Whenever I read the words "tough stuff" together, I immediately think back to my love of Chicken Soup for the Teenaged Soul books. I had a whole bunch (that I always put on my Christmas list), and I would sit in my room on a down day at the age of fifteen and cry about broken hearts and triumphant comebacks.

I want to take this post in so many different directions, but my thoughts are everywhere, and so to streamline, I simply offer this:



That's right. A bowl of chicken noodle soup.

I have scrolled through my IG and FB newsfeeds every day this week and I have wept--for friends who have lost family, for family who have lost jobs, for acquaintances who's jobs in life have lost their luster--from business to motherhood to love and all facets of ourselves in between.

My heart is breaking for each and every one of you, and the best I can offer you is soup.

Virtual soup.

I have a friend who, during our Chicken Soup years, would be eating something delicious during late night phone conversations. For me, it was always some sort of ice cream, and for her, some sort of delectable brownie goodness her mom whipped up. I would have rathered the brownies and she would have rathered the ice cream and so we'd say, "Here, let me send you some through the phone." We'd fake "Mmmmm"s that would turn into giggles and then on to the next topic of conversation, usually which cute guy we would marry as the latest BoyzIIMen ballad played in the background.

So here, I'm sending you some soup through the blog.

It's okay to laugh and think "Really?"

Yes, really.

With it, I offer a side of this:

On the days where it hurts, and our emotions are strong, and we feel like we've been hit by a truck; on the days when you think "I can't possibly," and it all feels like too much; on the days when the expectations fall short and you find yourself muttering the word "fail"; on those days, allow yourself to experience every emotion that comes to you. Don't hold back.

And then let it go. Find something good--anything will do--and shake off the bad. Trust the bigger picture. Accept a hug, kind words, smiles. Let them fill you up with the idea that there's love in your world, and it's beautiful and bigger and stronger and brighter than any of the dark that often feels overwhelming.

I'm going to heed those words, too.

To quote an honestmom who sends me texts of encouragement when I need them the most: You got this.

-Kristin

Tick Tock

I swear, I used to be on time. I used to be annoyed by people who always ran late, running in to meetings flustered, gripping their Starbucks cup like a lifeline. I remember thinking, "They don't respect my time." That would never be me.

And yet somehow, I have become one of them, against my every instinct.

Every Sunday night, I sit down in front of my comically huge calendar and contemplate the week ahead. This practice is meant to find those hidden traps--days where the hubs, or I, will both go insane as they are currently scheduled, the times in which we are guaranteed to be late.

These are the days where tears are certain at bedtime (mostly mine), where there is a hidden land mine waiting to explode all over my perfectly color-coordinated schedule. And yet I seem to truly have the knack for setting those off, despite all the planning in the world.

Last week, instead of getting up before the boys to shower, I snoozed once (once!) and they woke up early. We raced around the house to get the day started while L whined for "one more show!" Every time I glanced at the clock, twenty minutes had passed. By the time I dropped L at preschool and got on the highway, I was (only!) five minutes late. Then I watched as traffic in front of me ground to a halt. Ten minutes late. New traffic lights by the hospital all turned red as I approached. No parking spots in the doctor’s parking garage. New construction in the hallway to the Emergency Department. Fifteen minutes late.

Did I mention that I'm also the queen of over planning? If I have a free morning then I can definitely make homemade pancakes, run to the grocery store, stop at the specialty place on the way, drop off a package to return, run down to see a friend, exercise and shower, and still make it to late brunch with friends.  Except I can't. Ever. And all of a sudden, I'm mad that I've failed--even though I clearly was never going to succeed.

On top of that, my margin of error is gone. I don’t have an extra five minutes to deal with a chatty neighbor most mornings (just reading that makes me hate myself--jerk!). A spontaneous stop at Starbucks? Ha! That could throw off the entire day unless it is diligently planned. Insert a slow cashier at Target or an unexpected wait for lunch and the entire schedule is gone. I find myself impatiently tapping my foot while my heart races and my thoughts are just me counting, "You’re now five...eight...ten minutes late." Anxiety builds, I feel myself breathing faster, and I'm going through the possibilities of how, ten years from now, I hear how I would’ve gotten that promotion, would’ve been considered, “But you were always late." I was never late pre-babies. Still wouldn’t trade them for the world, but my punctual nature is in full revolt now.

And remember the days of nursing/pumping? Oh my. I remember willing A to “nurse faster” as I watched the clock tick towards a shift start time. I lived life in three hour blocks of time, and all I could think about was when he last ate and where that put me. I was filled with hope that I could nurse when I got home, as my boobs felt like exploding during my commute, and as I walked in the door the sitter would say, "Oh, I just gave him a bottle." I would burst into tears in the middle of the kitchen as a stunned 21-year-old stared on in horror. I don't miss those days at all.

What is it about parenthood that makes time so elusive? Whether it’s grabbing ten minutes to unload the dishwasher (again), five minutes to throw in a load of laundry (again), or twenty minutes to exercise (not necessarily again), finding those tiny chunks of time seems impossible. And yet, those moments when I’m not running running running, when my schedule isn’t held together by a hope and a prayer (and seven different multicolored pens detailing when everyone needs to be where down to the five minute interval), those are the times my brain goes into hyper speed and I try to do twelve things all at the same time. 

Is this the definition of mother? Multi-tasker extraordinaire? If so, I reject that. I want to learn to live in the moment, enjoy what I'm doing, stop and smell the roses...and yet my brain just won't cooperate. 

My next post will be on mindfulness. How do we slow ourselves down? How can we focus on this moment and not the to-do list? 

-Julia