Six Things That Are Good Right Now

1. Making bacon and fried egg sandwiches for Jackson in the morning.

He likes to make the toast, put the mayonnaise on it, and crack the eggs into the skillet. It's pretty cute.

2. Swimming, swimming, swimming.

I don't think I'll ever live somewhere by myself that has a pool I'm responsible for, but I don't know how we ever lived without one two doors down, that we didn't have to pay for or maintain.

Hallelujah.

3. Roasted chicken flavored couscous with diced tomatoes and cucumbers, and hella minced garlic.

My addiction.

4. Sister Wives.

I've binged watched four seasons. I do not want to be a sister wife, I can not stop watching the damn show.

5. This song:


6. These kids:

Happy Friday

A Letter To My Children: On Adulting

Lainie and Jackson.

You are both so cute, and still so little.

Almost 10 and half way through 5, you both have the wildest ideas of what being a grown up is like.

You talk about it like it will be the best thing ever, like you'll be large and in charge, like you'll have it all figured out and all the best come backs for bullies and great shoes and no one can tell you that you've had enough ice cream.

This is all true, sort of, but it's true in the way "It's a free country, I can do what I want" is true.

There's downsides, consequences, and bad days.

There are responsibilities and chores and something you're forgetting every time you leave the house.

No one really prepared me for all this when I was your ages....or ever, really, so I would like to impart some knowledge that I wish had been given to me at some point:

 

There will be days, once you're an adult, where you feel like an absolute fucking fraud.

Like you're wearing your mother's heels and pearls, playing dress up.

You won't feel like an adult yet, but you'll be standing in front of all kinds of grown up shit that people think you're capable of handling.

You'll think to yourself on those days "How did this happen? When did people decide I was a grown up? Whose fucking mistake it this?!"

You will feel it when you take NyQuil later than you should and sleep through you're alarm, waking up only when your boss calls to find out where the fuck you are.

You will feel it when you run out of gas, even though the little gas light had been on for days, and you just kept saying "I'll stop for gas after this errand" and then after said errand, thinking "fuck it, I'll do it later, I'm exhausted."

You'll feel it the first time you send your kid to school with a Lunchable because remembering to buy bread just doesn't seem to be something your brain has the capacity to do right now.

You will feel it when you have more pizza boxes and wine bottles in the trash than vegetable containers {don't do that}.

There will be hard days.

Really hard days.

There will even be weeks or sometimes months, where the hours in the day and the shit you need to do, and the amount of people counting on you just don't balance out.

You'll think "I can't do this. My life is a mess. I'm a mess. I am failing. I'm a shitty adult."

The truth is, you might be a shitty adult and your life might be a mess, but more than likely you're really not, or if you are, it's temporary.

You'll struggle sometimes, but the important thing is to keep trying.

Keep trying to keep your shit together, and eat more vegetables.

Remember, every time you fail you most likely did not invent that mistake. Someone else likely made it before you, and {hopefully} fucked it up even worse than you did.
But for the days when nothing goes right, and you feel like the absolute worst version of yourself, remember that a clean pair of underpants and a snack covered in cheese can do wonders for your outlook.

Keep going.
Keep failing.
Keep trying.



Throw Back Tuesday: 2009

These pictures were from 2009, sometime in the Spring. 

Jackson wasn't even one year old yet. Lainie was the same age Jack is now. 

We lived in the Willo district in downtown Phoenix.

I had just met Bill.

Jackson's dad had just moved to Minnesota.

It was a weird time.

But on this particular day, the kids were playing on the floor, scattering toys everywhere, making a huge mess, and I was sitting on the couch snapping pictures of them, and laughing at Jackson trying to eat a banana the wrong way.

It was a good day. 

Do Parents Have Favorites?

 

People who do not have children, ask me all the time if I have a favorite child.

When my sisters and brother and I were growing up, we asked all the time if our parents had a favorite.

The correct answer that you give your child, always, forever, is no. I do not have a favorite. I love you all the same.

The truth of course, at least in my opinion, is yes.

Parents have favorites.

The caviat to this uncomfortable truth, is that favorites change over time, depending on the age and the stage that your kids are in.

When your 16 year old daughter is screaminig that she hates you from the top of the stairs, as she throws the expensive shit you bought her around the bedroom in the house you pay for, over something as trivial as what you made for dinner, she is probably not your favorite.

In that moment, the child who is sitting quietly at the table coloring you a picture, probably looks like they're sitting in a golden ray of heaven's light. Perfect.

But, when that lovely angel baby who was coloring you a picture yesterday, throws a screaming tantrum in Walmart over a water gun today, and your bratty 16 year old daughter is the one to calm them down and distract them, you would suddenly give anything to bathe in the glow of your precious teenage cherub's spirit energy.

Sometimes favorites change by the day, sometimes they change with the beginning or end of a new phase, or particularly difficult age group.

 

I don't like the fact that this isn't something we can admit to, at least among other adult parents, far from the prying ears of our sensitive children.

Of course I would never say to my lovely son that because he has been acting like a meth addicted lab monkey for the past 6 weeks, and making my hair fall out in crazy, horror movie stress clumps, he is not my favorite right now.

But I wonder why we're so scared to admit it to one another, as parents.

Are we scared to admit that our children are not perfect?

Is it uncomfortable to look at them, and our relationships with them, that nakedly?

Does it feel wrong to admit that there are aspects of our children's personalities that are hard for us to deal with or accept?

As parents we're supposed to love completely, 100%, and unconditionally.

Does admitting that we sometimes don't like every single thing about our kids every day of their lives, feel like we're not loving them like we're supposed to?

Maybe we're being too hard on ourselves.

To be fair, we don't get a lot of say in who our children are, in the most basic aspects of the personality anyway.

When we have kids, we have as little control, if not less, over what kind of personality they will have, than we do what eye color they're born with or if they're right or left handed.

There is no guarantee that we as human beings, will mesh perfectly with every aspect of their ever evolving and changing personalities and unique identities, all the time.

We will love them, we will cherish them, but we may not always harmonize with them.

There will almost definitely be times where our relationship with one child is requiring more work, while simultaneously our relationship with the other is in an easier phase, a period of closeness and harmony that just happens to be coming more easily at that exact moment.

And that's ok.

And, if we're being honest, there will almost definitely be qualities or traits to our children, that we would not like very much if we encountered them in a perfect stranger, and therefor will require more effort from us in order to be patient and accepting of those things all the time.

And that's ok.

 

I don't believe this means I love either of my kids less than the other.

I think it means that I recognize their differences.

They are two completely individual and unique people. Both have their own wonderful set of charms and blessings that they've bestowed upon my life. Both children also have their own unique set of challenges and struggles, and both children go through their own phases of growing up that are hard on me in different ways.

 

And maybe it does even mean that I love them differently.

Not different amounts, but in different ways.

Love is not a blanket that can be blindly tossed over everyone in the same way.

It's a unique and precious bond between two people, a commitment that takes work, and flexibility.

My children are not identical to each other,

they are not identical to me,

they will not be the same people for the rest of their lives.

They have to be loved in different ways.

 

In the end though, when we have kids, it's like entering a marriage that we can't ever get out of.

It won't be a honey-tinted Pampers commercial all the time, any more than marriage is a rose colored Zales commercial all the time either.

It will require work, it will get hard, it will sometimes be your least favorite thing to do.

There shouldn't be anything wrong with admitting to that.

 

What gets us through raising little humans, is not that its all roses or that our children never irritate, infuriate, or disappoint us.

It's that unlike a marriage, you can't ever fall out of love with your kids.

No matter how much they scream they hate you and your tasteless chicken, from the top of the stairs.

 

 



1st Days

The kids started school yesterday.

Lainie in fourth grade, Jackson in Kindergarten.

Both the kids being in school at once, has been a milestone I've waited for for a long time. 

Now that it's here, it's surreal, sad, wonderful, and scary.

I forgot how much you fear for your kids on their very first day in school, which even though it's just Kindergarten, feels very much like "the big bad world".

I forgot about how I laid awake at night and wondered "What if she goes to the bathroom and can't find her way back to her class and just sits in the hall crying all alone?" and "What if she can't get her juice box open at lunch and no one is there to help her so she's thirsty?", when Lainie was first getting started.

We had four years of school under our belts. She was a pro, and aside from the usual girl drama and other-people's-kids stuff, I didn't do much laying awake at night worrying.

Now it's Jackson's turn, and the fear is all coming back to me.

What if he gets asked a question and he doesn't know the answer?

Did we practice the ABC's enough? Oh God, what's enough?

What if he gets lost?

What if he gets distracted and they leave him on the playground after recess and then someone walks up and just takes him?

What if the sky falls?

What if he's not ready?

What if I'm not ready?

Why did I want this day to come so badly?

I wish he could have stayed four forever.

Of course I don't really want him to be four forever, just like I didn't really want Lainie to stay home with me forever.

I want them to both grow up, find their feet and their wings, and go have great big lives.

But with every new milestone, with every new transition into another phase of their life, and the way it inevitably separates from mine with time, I feel myself holding on, and wishing I could stay in control a little longer. 

Wishing I could always be there to open every juice box, to wipe every tear, to hold every hand on every walk to the bathroom.

To always make sure they won't be alone and confused and scared.

I feel myself secretly wishing for that, while I outwardly smile, kiss their cheeks, and gently push them toward the door of the school.

Because I know they have to be alone

And confused

And even sometimes scared

In order to have a great big life.

So I kiss their cheeks, and let go of their hands.

The Talk

As most of you know, Jackson's father is not in the picture. 

He hasn't been since he moved to Minnesota when Jackson was just a tiny baby.

For the most part, Jack hasn't ever really asked about his dad. 

He's said things here and there, when other kids talk about their dad, or when I talk about my dad, he'd casually say "Do I have a dad?" and I'd answer "Yes. Everyone comes from a mommy and a daddy."

He would seem satisfied, and the conversation would end there.

He's little, and I didn't want to force a whole 'talk' on him before he was ready, let alone before he was even so much as very curious.

Last Sunday though, it finally came up.

I was making dinner, and he was sitting at the table watching me, when all of a sudden he said

Can I see my dad?

My heart caught in my throat, and for a second in was like time stopped.

It was a moment I've been waiting for, expecting, knowing would some day come, but completely unable to really, really, prepare for.

It was just a talk I knew we'd someday have, and I knew deep down inside that when that moment arrived, I'd figure it out.

I caught my breath and turned to Jackson and very simply said

I wish you could, buddy. But I don't think that will happen any time soon. I'm sorry.

I knew he wouldn't drop it at that, and he didn't.

Why? Why can't I see him? I just want to see him and talk to him. Who is he? Didn't I ever meet him before?

At this point he was still calm, and not upset, so I didn't let myself be upset either.

You met him when you were just a baby, I said. But then he moved away, and he didn't come back, and I'm sorry that he didn't come back. I'm sorry you don't get the chance to know him. 

Tears welled up in his perfect blue eyes, and I wanted to burn down the entire world for the unfairness of this moment.

So I went on.

I said I loved him. I said I was here, and I was never going to go anywhere. I said that there were a lot of people in the world who loved him and would always be there for him. I said it might be hard to not know your dad, but that doesn't mean you don't have a family. You don't need a dad to have a family.

He looked at me, a little confused, but his face had changed. He looked hopeful.

You don't? He asked.

No, I said. You just need people who love you.

At that, Lainie nearly killed me by reaching over and touching his shoulder, and saying "Yeah, like me. And mommy. And the kitties. We're a family."

I could've died. It was the sweetest thing I'd ever seen her do. And that's saying a lot - she's a very sweet kid. But she's also very much a big sister to her baby brother, and she would sooner lick a toad than kiss him or hug him or let him know she would be lost without him.

I don't know at what point Jackson will start making long-term memories. 

I don't know if he's already made his first memory or not. The first one he'll still recall when he's 30 for no good reason.

But I hope if he does save any of this in his heart for later, that Lainie touching his shoulder and telling him he has a family, no matter what, makes it into his heart and mind forever.

It takes a village.

When You're Outnumbered in the Morning

In the morning, I have three people to get ready: me, and both the kids.

I remember when Lainie was two or three, thinking "God it will be so nice when she's a couple years older and can dress herself in the morning." 

Flash forward six years, and I'm still picking out her clothes, and dressing five year old Jack like he's a damn toddler.

It's hard.

Luckily I've never been one to care too much about how I look, so going to work every day looking close to homeless because I was the last to get ready, and I was subsequently out of time, is nothing new to me.

For the most part Lainie can physically dress herself, and Jack can too if we all have 5 hours to sit around while he takes 1 hour to put on each item of clothing, allowing for 10 minute play breaks in between each thing, and as long as I don't mind Lainie being too lazy to get clean underwear out of her drawer, or trying to leave the house in a sundress in February or a sweatsuit in August.

At any rate, mornings can be a fucking mad house around here, and while I'm not by any means perfect at navigating them calmly, these are my tips for any one else who ever has to get more than one kid ready early in the morning by themselves, and still also put their own clothes on before leaving the house:

1. If one of your kids is not a morning person, but another one of them is, always get the morning person up first. Let the morning grump ass sleep a couple more minutes, and use this time to like, brush your teeth or wash your face, or any of those other "little things" that are always done in the last half second before you ABSOLUTELY MUST LEAVE NOW OR BE SUPER LATE.

2. Pick clothes out the night before. I say this, yet I'm terrible at it, so I do one of two things: I either pick out the outfit for the morning grumpy kid {Jack} during those couple extra minutes I gave him to sleep, or I if I do remember to pick out his clothes the night before, I try dress him in them after his bath and before bed.

I know that sounds lazy and terrible, but hear me out: I usually only put the shirt on him, and only if it's a t-shirt, and obviously the clean underwear and the socks. He HAS to wear gym shoes to daycare, and finding socks in the morning for three people is similar to dismantling a bomb in the rain with someone giving you instructions in Japanese. I put his bottoms at the foot of his bed, and throw those on him as soon as he gets up, before he can argue.

3. Relax about TV in the morning. Once you've dressed both kids, or at least provided the ones that are old enough to dress themselves with clothes, let them read or watch TV or play a video game, or WHATEVER, so you can have a couple minutes alone in the bathroom to get ready. The mornings I get the most pissed off and stabby are the mornings when both kids are under my feet in the bathroom while I'm stumbling around trying to get ready. Also, you can use TV as a reward, for say, putting on your Goddamn shoes. "Put your shoes on in the next 30 seconds, and not only will I not leave you at a fire station, but I'll also let you watch TV for 10 minutes before we leave"

4. Give warnings. I like 15, 10, and 5 minute warnings. I announce that we are absolutely leaving in X amount of time, and I stick to it. If you aren't done getting dressed or getting your stuff together in that amount of time, you are getting in the car as you are, period. I have definitely taken kids to school in pajamas, without backpacks, or clutching Ziploc bags of dry cereal because they screwed around and didn't get ready until there was no time for breakfast. If you have to put your shoes on in the car on the way to school, fine. 

Trust me, it only takes a couple times of this for kids to really pay attention to your warnings.

5. Do it together. I've learned that once the kids are all dressed, it's sometimes easier to do stuff like face washing, teeth brushing and hair combing all together at one time. Sure the bathroom is super crowded, but you can go through in one swoop and do all those quick tasks at once, and nobody's teeth or hair gets forgotten. Yes, I've done that too.

6. Last but not least, coffee.

For the love of all that is good and sacred in this world, motherfucking coffee, please and thank you.

How do you get your minion army out the door on time?

Shit My Kids Say When They're Supposed to be in Bed

"I have to go potty"

"I'm thirsty"

"I wanted ice in my water"

"I want to find my baseball glove from last summer and sleep with it."

"I need more stuffed animals to sleep with"

"I have to go potty again"

"When was Harry Potter written?"

"How much ice cream can I have tomorrow?"

"I'm hungry again"
"Last time I promise"

"What noise does a Zebra make?"

"Where does the moon go when the sun is out?"

"I'M THIRSTY AGAIN"

"I'm just getting a snack"

"Do we have any more frosted flakes?"

"When can I go swimming again?"

"I'm not tired"

"I promise I'll still get up in the morning, but let me stay up five more minutes"

"Why can't I watch the movie with you?"

"YOURESOMEANIHATEYOU"

Someone told me once that raising kids is similar to being pecked to death by chickens.

How I Do It, Pt. 3: What Its Worth

I think parenting, especially single parenting, can best be described as a very precarious juggling act.

You are constantly monitoring several spinning plates, and making sure-or trying to make sure that nothing falls and breaks.

You're also spending more time than you ever imagined wondering if you just stepped in water or pee.

People ask me a lot how I do it, and I honestly don't know how to answer that question in a neat, concise way, other than to say I just do it.

So far in this series we've talked about my village, and how important support is, and we've gone over the hectic and messy day in the life of me and my kids.

But maybe you're wondering how I do all of that.

Logistically, literally, and emotionally.

The truth is, I don't know.

I guess its sort of like a constantly running check list in my head.

I know I have two little people who cannot dress themselves 100% on their own, so I need to get up earlier than I would if the only person I needed to get ready in the morning were me. Ok, set the alarm for 6. Check.

I know I need to get three people dressed, so I start with the hardest one first, which is Jackson. Lainie is 9 now and can {mostly} dress herself. I know Lainie moves the slowest in the morning though, so she needs to be woken up first. Check.

I know that we have to be out of the house by 7:10 and no later, so I should get as much ready the night before as I can. Lay out their socks, clean underwear and Jackson's outfit because he'll usually let me pick for him. Check.

I know they need to fed, and they can't eat pizza every night, so I plan our meals two weeks in advance and plan accordingly for what will keep for two weeks, what needs to be frozen and what I should just buy later. Check, check.

I know I have two kids who both need to feel special and important and wanted and loved and attended to. I know that Jackson will seek me out when he wants a hug or a kiss or someone to play with, but Lainie will wait for you to come to her so she feels like the love is genuine.

So I seek Lainie out, kiss her face and ask her to read to me.

I know I can't always give them both what they want at the exact same time. Sometimes one of them needs to try to wait a minute and be patient. Because Jackson is younger, Lainie is usually the one who has to be patient. It breaks my heart, but I only have two hands. I try to make it up to her, but I'm sure I fail a lot.

I know that their needs have to come before my own. I know I can't yell and scream even when I am so close to yelling or screaming that its almost unbearable. I know I have to step back and breath for a second, even if that means locking myself in the closet for five minutes while they tear the house apart.

I know that they need to take baths and eat all their veggies and follow through with the things they ask to do outside of school, and always be polite and share as much as possible, but I also know that sometimes being the perfect parent just isn't worth the blood on the floor. Exceptions need to be made, grace needs to be given, and battles have to be carefully chosen.

I know they're going to fight, and I struggle with when and how much to intervene. I struggle with the line between encouraging them to play together and forcing them to just get along and stop fighting.

Sometimes that feels like forcing a square peg into a round hole.

I know the house needs to be clean and the laundry needs to be done, and as badly as I want to go to bed right now, I can't. Sometimes though, I do anyway.

I know they need a roof over their heads and clothes to wear and food to eat, and those things cost money, so I work my ass off whether I like the job I have or not, and I've taken a lot of shit from a lot of petty bosses, and I've had to leave them with family members when they were sick because I could not miss one more day of work or I'd get fired, and I know they don't understand, but I hope someday they will.

And I know that at the end of the day I'm exhausted.

I'm tired and I'm over it, and most of the time the day ends with me sitting on the couch alone, watching TV and its lonely.

I wish I had a partner, I wish I had someone here to just be exhausted with me at night, but I don't, and part of the reason is I'm so hesitant to let my kids get to know someone else, after so long of it being just me and them and occasionally Bill.

I know all of this, and sometimes its too much.

I want to cry or scream or go to bed for a week.

Sometimes I want to walk out the front door and just be by myself for an entire weekend.

But I know that when I drag my tired ass to bed, Jackson will instinctively scoot closer to me in his sleep, and Lainie will be softly breathing beside him, and the bed will be so warm, and I will know that this is my home.

This is where I belong, and these kids are just perfect for me.

They are the very best parts of me, combined with aspects of such wonder and beauty, that I know they couldn't have gotten it from me, and in those moments where it all shines through, I know I didn't make them alone.

Whoever God is, however we got here, I see it in my babies when I slow down and really pay attention.

I know its all worthwhile.

No matter how many times I step in pee.

How I Do It, Pt. 2: A Day In The Life

6:00 am - Alarm goes off. Struggle for the snooze button. Five more minutes, please.

6:05 am - Ok, now we really need to get up. Get up Jack, get up Lainie. Come on guys, its time to get up and get dressed. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SOMEONE MAKE COFFEE.

6:30 - Lainie, you wore that yesterday, go change. Jack are you wearing clean socks? Do you want the dinosaur shirt or the trucks shirt? No, the Star Wars shirt is dirty, dinosaur or trucks? I'M SORRY I WILL WASH THE STAR WARS SHIRT TONIGHT, NOW PLEASE PICK BETWEEN DINOSAUR OR TRUCKS!

6:45 - Does everyone have their shoes on? Lainie, where are your shoes? Jackson those are on the wrong feet. Ok I will help you, let me finish throwing my hair up into a messy ass bun and I'll help you. Yes, Mommy has to get dressed too, I cannot go to work in my bathrobe.

7:00 - OK guys, time to go! Wait, why do you still not have shoes on? Where is your jacket? I told you to put it in the closet! Where's your backpack? Do you have your homework? What about lunchmoney? Shit, has anyone seen MY shoes?!

7:10 - And we're off. Shit I need gas. I always need gas. Rushhour traffic, fight the freeway, change the radio station, kids fight over which song to listen to, Lainie looks half asleep still.

7:30 - At the daycare, hustle the kids to class, force them to hug me goodbye, run back to the car.

8:00 - Work time.

5:00 pm - Time to go, so many things didn't get done, not enough time in the day. Hop in the car, race to the daycare, fight rushhour, avoid the freeway.

5:40 pm - Hi kids, how was your day? Jack put your coat on. Lainie where's your backpack? What'd you eat for lunch? Do you have homework? No we're not ordering pizza for dinner. Why are you crying? Oh my God, just get in the car.

6:00 pm - Finally home. Lainie start your homework, Jackson, no movies until after dinner. Who wants to help me cook?

7:00 - Sit down to eat, Jackson eat your food. Lainie I know you don't like spinach but its good for you. Jackson, eat your food! No, no more milk until you eat. Sorry we're out of juice. If you don't finish dinner you don't get popcorn with your movie. No you cannot just have a Lunchable. Lainie, come on, eat your spinach. I'll give you a dollar if you eat your damn spinach.

7:30 - 8:30 - Playtime.

8:30 - Bathtime, storytime, brush your teeth and get in your jammies.

9:00 - Finally, the kids are in bed.

9 - 10:30 - Me time. Grey's Anatomy, write a blog post, do some laundry, clean the kitchen, episode of Parenthood, cry like a baby because Parenthood is ruining my emotions, check my email, be incredibly witty on social media, then time for bed.

10:30 pm - If I'm lucky, pass the fuck out.

There you have it.

A day in the life.

This is not including things like sick kids, fighting kids, trips to the grocery store, nights when there are errands or mornings where we wake up late.

This is a day where everything, for the most part, goes as well as we could've hoped.

This is how, this is how, this is how we sleep.

{bonus points if you sang the title of this post to the tune of 'this is why I'm hot'}

Sleeping in this house must be either hilarious, or super weird to people who don't know us, or parents who had their babes in their beautiful nurseries and thousand dollar cribs from the day they were born. As many of you know, I'm a co-sleeper. My kids slept in my bed with me from the time they were babies, and Jackson still hasn't given it up.

Often times Lainie comes in to sleep with us too, and since I moved Jackson's bed into my room between my bed and the wall, there's plenty of room, so why not.

Plus her and I read after Jackson falls asleep, and I just love glancing over at her in between chapters, us looking at each other over the tops of our respective books and sharing a late night readers smile.

It's a sweet moment.

Co-Sleeping is not all cuddles and books and giggles in the dark though.

Some of it is downright unglamorous, and if you don't do a sweep of the bed for small trucks and Lego pieces before hopping in, it can get pretty ugly.

Co-Sleeping is probably more accurately described as a hot tangled mess of knees, elbows, and heavy, solid as a rock toddler heads that they throw around the pillow space like confetti.

Have you ever taken a four year old cranium to the nose at 2 in the morning? 

The other night while the kids were sleeping amid a pile of twisted sheets and blankets and cuddlies and stuffed animals and God knows what else, I snapped a few shots with my camera because I was practicing using it in Manual.

The next day, the bed was made and the room was clean and I couldn't get over the stark contrast of everything when there weren't three people crammed together, snoring away.

This is the bed in the daylight hours when it's made and the room is clean and no kids have set foot near it yet:

Yes, that is a pile of kid laundry on Jackson's bed. That's not the point. Observe the calm serenity of my bed, with it's organized pillows and smooth comforter, everything clean and inviting you to lie down.

And now, this is the bed with the two of them in it:

That big lump in Jackson's bed is actually Lainie, covered up to the top of her head in his blanket. Jackson is next to her on my bed, and that space beside him is where I'm supposed to sleep.

Right next to his big, 100 pound melon that will no doubt come flying back into my face, somewhere around 3 in the morning.

Notice the third pillow kicked down by the foot of the bed, the bright blue bathrobe that Jackson likes to hold at night because it's soft, and the general disarray of the bedding.

I guarantee you there are at least 4 Hot Wheels cars somewhere under that fluffy white blanket.

This is the life we choose, the life we lead.

This is how we sleep.

Things I Have to Remember Not to Forget

The way Jackson's face looks when he first wakes up in the morning, and he is in such a happy, sweet mood.

+

How good it feels to come home at the end of a full work day, and put my pajamas on.

+

Being held. Especially when you need to be held really badly.

+

The very first sip of the very first cup of coffee on Monday morning.

+

Chocolate, in all it's forms.

+

Hugs from Lainie.

+

The sound of my kids sleeping. The hush of their breathing that sounds just like waves kissing the shore in the middle of the night.

+

Turning the heat on for the first time in the Fall.

+

Slow dancing with a man that loved me. The heavy warmth of his hand on the small of my back, the smell of his shirt, swaying in the music, even if it was only the music in our hearts.

+

Falling in love. Because even if it ends in heartbreak, the falling feels so good. The addiction, the passion, the reckless abandon and utter adoration. The sweet secure feeling that hangs warm and heavy from the bottom of your heart, so that even when you're alone, you feel safe. You're being taken care of, thought about, loved.

+

Goodbye, and how much it hurts. Maybe if I could remember how goodbye feels, I wouldn't take now for granted so easily.

+

Sleep.

+

Kisses.

+

Hot showers.

+

Now. I'm alive, I'm here, I have two little kids who are still little, a job that's still interesting, and a heart that's still beating.

One day, I won't. All this breathing and eating and laughing and hurting and loving will be over, and I will want a little bit of now to remember, savor, and hold onto when the dark comes down.



November.

I haven't written anything any more beautiful or inspiring than a grocery list in days. I did start one of those obnoxious Gratitude journals though. The ones where you write a one sentence something at the end of every day, saying what you're grateful for.

It lasted for two days, and then was abandoned like a one night stand you accidentally got pregnant.

Right now I guess I am grateful that it's November.

I love November. Nights are chilly and soup recipes are abundant. Lainie's birthday comes up, and it's time to start planning for Christmas and Thanksgiving. I love Thanksgiving. The food and the lazy casual feeling of the day. Just lounging around, eating snacks and appetizers, waiting for a meal of epic proportions to be ready, and then eating that, and then sleeping. And I think you can always tell who really loves you, and considers themself your family, by who stops by on Thanksgiving. The ones who don't need an invitation, who don't over think it, they just drop by for appetizers and bring wine, or they come for dinner because they know you made plenty of food for everyone, or they come over around dessert to fill you in on all the drama with their family that holidays always seem to bring, and you laugh together over pie and the last couple glasses of wine, while everyone else in the house naps on couches, floors and wherever they could find a place to lay down.

November is like my new year. I clean out my closet, I throw things away. When we want to have a little fire in the backyard, the scraps of last year's tragedies make perfect kindling.

It's time to clean up, clean out, and look forward.

I am grateful for November.

...

And just because you didn't ask, some more things I might be grateful for right now....

My new dining room table and the fun things the kids and I have already found to do at it.

Good music I've never heard before.

Halloween visitors.

Hot showers.

3rd quarter profit sharing.

My car, for staying alive this long.

Netflix.

Pumpkin pie.

Pumpkin coffee.

Pumpkin scented candles.

Lainie, for giving me a birthday to celebrate this month.

Bill, for still being there.

Jack, for making me laugh.



Little Things

Sometimes it's the little things.

Like going to bed knowing the kitchen is {for once} spotless and clean.

Wearing your favorite boots every day this week, because why not?

A song coming on unexpectedly that you haven't taken the time to listen to in years, and how it makes you stop what you're doing and just listen. How often do I do that anymore?

Stop, and just listen.

Fall creeping in slowly, and the mornings getting colder, which somehow makes me want to get up earlier to stand outside in thick socks with coffee, and enjoy the feeling of shivering.

I'm such a weird person...

Text messages that make you smile, books that make you cry, 4 year olds that make you laugh, 8-almost-9-year olds that still let you kiss them goodbye in front of their friends even though it's uncool.

Piping hot showers before bed, that cleanse the skin and the soul and turn my tense muscles to butter.

For the first time in my life, not over thinking everything.

Having a half day at work tomorrow and knowing that I'm using my extra free time to buy a dining room table {finally}.

Oh, and let's not forget: the beautiful picture of Mr. Dempsey at the top of the post.

Goddamn it I love dark haired smoldery men in trench coats and other general East Coast winter attire.

It's the little things y'all. 

Happy Thursday.

Monday Momisms: The Difference Between Boys and Girls

This is the most accurate picture of life with little boys that I could find.

When I was pregnant with Lainie, I wanted a girl depserately. I know that might sound terrible, because everyone always says "As long as it's healthy, I don't care!" but I did care.

Not that I wouldn't have loved the baby if she had been a he, but I truly wanted a little girl so bad I could taste it. And when she came along, I was so happy. And then, once I had decided for sure that I wanted at least one more baby, I knew I wanted my last one to be a boy.

Boys are easier, everyone said.

Boys are more attached to their mama, everyone said.

Boys are fun, everyone said.

Have a boy, they said.

It will be fun, they said.

They lied.

I mean, not that having a boy isn't awesome.

It is.

I love little Jack Attack with all my heart.

But they are in no way easier.

Maybe some people think they're easier because they're less emotional. I haven't found this to be all that true. I think they become less emotional with age, but as toddlers? Little boys are just as sensitive and needy as little girls.

But they also break shit.

And by 'shit' I mean fucking everything they can touch, whether they're left alone with it or not. Jackson will break something right in front of me. He gives zero fucks about it.

And they also have this strange need to see how much they can do before they kill themselves.

Climb that tree to the top in .3 seconds while no ones looking? Absolutely.

Stand on top of my pedal car and do jumping jacks? Sounds fun.

Get out of the tub soaking wet and go running at break neck speed through the house, in bare feet on the tile? Don't mind if I do!

Wonder off, hide from Mommy, pee on electrical things, pee on the tile and don't say anything until someone slips in it, pee in public, run with scissors, steal frozen fish sticks from the freezer and eat some but don't tell Mommy how many so she has to call the doctor and find out if that could give me Salmonila or not, climb bookshelves that would crush my tiny bones if they were to fall on me, lock myself in the bathroom so the door handle has to be taken off before I throw the hair dryer in the toilet whilst it's on.

It's endless.

They ways in which they seem determined to kill themselves is mind boggling.

How any boy every lived to be 18 is beyond me.

Sure, girls are sensitive, girls get emotional, girls have attitudes and they seem to hit puberty long before boys do, but girls just never even think to do half the shit little boys do.

Girls will wear you out mentally and emotionally.

Boys will wear you out physically from trying to save their life and stop them from burning your house down, and then once they've sensed that you're physically weakened and can't go on, they will ask you questions you didn't think were even possible to come up with, until your head explodes.

Why are dogs brown sometimes?

Can cats do magic?

What happens when the light turns off in the fridge?

Why do I have to eat dinner?

Do you want to see this trick I can do?

Why are you crying?

Is it ok to hit my sister if she called me a baby first and I told her not to?

Am I person shaped?

What does a dragon do for fun?

Can I have a motorcycle?

MOMMY WAKE UP I'M TALKING TO YOU.

I still haven't figured out if boys are harder than girls, or if they're equally exhausting.

I have definitely decided that boys are much more destructive than girls, and they don't seem to feel bad about it the way a girl would if she made the same messes or caused the same chaos.

Also I don't remember Lainie peeing on nearly as many things in the whole 8 years of her life, as I remember Jackson peeing on just this week.

So there's that.

My advice to you future parents?

Have a boy, it's fun.

But have a girl too.

They'll put out the fires your son sets, and there will be at least one room in the house that doesn't smell like dirt and urine.

Monday Momisms: The Best Part of the Day

When you raise kids, the days can be long.

So long.

Like "I've been waiting for it to be bedtime since we woke up" long.

Sometimes it seems like it just won't end. 

Like if you hear Mommy one more time, you're going to snap. 

Like if you have to put another episode of Dora on Netflix for the kids, you're going to strangle her with her smug, self entitled asshole of a back pack.

"I'm the Map!" 

GOOD FOR YOU.  I'm the Mom, I do everything, but you don't hear me singing a whole fucking song about it, DO YOU?!

After a while you start to keep little hidden pieces of the day tucked away. They're special. They're favorite hours in the midst of all the monotony and exhaustion and questions and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WHO PEED IN HERE?!

Like mornings.

I hate mornings, in general. The getting up early, the showering when you're still half asleep and accidentally got in before the water was hot, and all the little things that have to be done before you leave the house. But morning with kids are sweet. Jackson is always in a sweet and talkative mood, but still a little bit sleepy and slow moving. So as he's stumbling around the room trying to dress himself, he's also filling me in on his dreams, what he wants to do at daycare today, who his best friends are, how rocket ships work, what he wants for dinner, and what a good boy he's going to be at school. 

Lainie is quiet, and somber in the morning, like me. Quietly shuffling about the house, mumbling good morning and getting dressed. If she had big black sunglasses, she'd wear them and carry around a cup of steaming coffee if she was allowed to have caffeine. But, once we get in the car and start driving to school, I turn the radio on, and sing to her in the rear view mirror. She always smiles, and eventually starts singing along. The next thing you know all three of us are having a 7 a.m. dance party on the way to daycare, and nobody is in a grumpy early morning mood.

And bedtime.

This is a favorite for the obvious reason that the kids go to sleep and I get a break, but also because of everything that comes before that. The showers that produce sparkling clean little angels, the clean jammies that smell like laundry soap, bedtime stories with all three of us in my bed, cuddles and late night whispered conversations. And then that sweet moment where even if I am not in their room, even if I can't see them at all, I know they've fallen asleep because the house feels different. It's quiet in a way that it never is when they're awake, even if they aren't making noise. It's peaceful and calm, and I can tell their little bodies have settled down and their breathing slow and their heart beats steadied, and they're safe and sound in their beds.

Those are the best times of even the worst days.

Friday Diary: Holy Crap It's Back

Happy Friday everybody!

I felt like it was time to do a Friday Diary since we haven't done one in a while. 

I know you're all very excited.

Try not to urinate on yourselves.

...

This song has been on repeat for like, ever in my house. Lainie and I like to dance to it in the kitchen when we're cooking, and we kind of white boy rap it back and forth to each other.
It's fun.

...

Overheard:
Me: Come on Jackie baby, get in the car.
Jackson: I'm not a baby. I'm a grown up. I'm a motorcycle driver who builds rocket ships and airplanes and is a Power Ranger.
Me; You're pretty busy
Jackson: Yeah, that's why I drink so much milk and always get out of bed when you telled me not to.

...

Letters:
Dear Bill: You give perfect hugs and are the world's best scary movie buddy. You're awesome.
Dear Lainie: You never eat any of the dinners I make you anymore and the other day you told me you're too old to hold my hand at the grocery store. Stop it. Just stop it.
Dear Dad: No matter how old I get I will still love watching movies with you until 1 in the morning, even though I have work the next day and should be sleeping.
Dear Megan: I don't know if you still read this, but if you do, your birthday was yesterday. Happy birthday. I hope it was super awesome.

...

Made:

Black bean fritters, found here.

They were good. My kids seemed indifferent about them, but they ate them, and my dad loved them to death. He thought they were hamburgers with black beans in them though...

...

Pinterested:


...

Read:

15 Ways to Stay Married.
No, I am not married, nor do I plan to be in the near future, but still, this is some solid love advice in my opinion. My heart was nodding along with every word, and it's not the usual cheesy shit, like "Have sex, make date nights, don't stab each other blah blah blah" that's regurgitated in EVERY love advice article.

...

And now, some laughs from the land of internet.
Enjoy.


Well, that's it folks.
Happy Friday.
Don't do anything I wouldn't do this weekend.

Or, more importantly, don't do anything I would do.

Lately

I was going to fascinate you all with a bunch of dazzling pictures of what we've been up to lately, but then I uploaded what's on my camera and realized it's all just pictures of our dinners....and then my dad asked me why I photograph my food...am I making a cook book or something?

NO.

But I might have a problem.

So I decided instead to just bore the shit out of you with my words instead of in pictures.

Lately, Bill and I got back together. Woah, I know. I promise though, I won't write a chapter of our love story for every single little change that occurs in our relationship. In fact I think writing that shit is bad luck at this point anyway.

So no more love story.

Just updates.

Lately, Jackson has been unruly as all fuck. We are officially in the Testing phase, I think and he is desperately trying to see how much shit he can get away with. The answer is zero.

FUCKING ZERO.

Lately, I'm pretty sure Lainie is in the puberty zone. Either that or she just hates me to death. Whichever one it is it's scary as hell and between her and Jackson it's been straight crazy cakes up in this bitch.

Lately, my Saturdays have been 100 percent consumed by kid shit from 7 am to 6 pm. Baseball, ballet, birthday parties, bad behavior and other things that start with B. I'm tired, and I'm busy, and if one more person at work says "you look really tired" I am going to round house kick them in the funny business.

Lately, I sunk to a new parenting low and put Jackson's bed in my room next to my bed. It was a last ditch effort to at least get him out of my bed if I couldn't get him out of my room altogether. So now one whole wall in my bedroom is just all bed.

I roll on it when no one is here.

It's actually kind of awesome.

So that's our lately stuffs.

I'm sorry about my sporadic as shit posting.

As you can tell I've been buried in children and covered in stress and very busy photographing every single thing I put in my pie hole.

Oh well if you're gonna twist my arm, I'll show you all my food pictures too.

I know, I just snuck that picture of Jackson in is baseball uniform in there like nothing happened.

I couldn't help myself, he's even better looking than food.

Letters to Jackson

Dear Jackson,

Sometimes I forget how young you are. Maybe because you're so big, or because you're so smart, or because you keep up so well most of the time with your big sister, I forget that you are just four years old. That you practically just came into my life.

I forget sometimes, and remembering always makes my heart ache.

Today when your little pillowy hand reached for mine as I walked into daycare, last night when you said "Mama, I need help", this morning when you were just waking up and your hair was sticking up in every direction and you wanted to stay in bed all day looking at your bunny book.

I remember.

And my heart hurts because I wonder if I've been too hard on you. Expecting you to behave like a child who is the age I sometimes mistake you for. My chest bursts because you still have the features of a baby. Your full cheeks and button nose, your tiny little tear-drop chin. And my heart falls because you won't be this little forever, and even though I'm right here, always watching you, I feel like I'm still missing it. I feel like the sweetness of this age is too much for me to soak in completely no matter how much I want to, and no matter what, it will be something I don't fully appreciate until it's over, and I am watching you move boxes into your first apartment, or bringing your first serious girlfriend to dinner, or reading the bunny book to your first baby.

I don't want you to be little forever, I won't go that far.

There is a lot that's wonderful about growing up.

So many firsts.

So many special friendships along the way that teach you everything.

First loves that become your most poignant memories as you age.

I just wish that I could stop time, here and there, and press those moments between the pages of a book so I can come back and live them again later.

Later, when you're growing up and growing away.

When you still let me call you my little boy, but we both know, you've become a man.



Thankful

I am thankful for long, full days at work that make time pass quickly and have kept me away from myself.

+

I am thankful for little boys who always want another hug before they go to sleep.

+

I am thankful for chances. Seconds, thirds, fourths.

And hopefully making them count.

+

I am thankful for work friends who become real friends. Who drive you home when your tire goes flat and pick you up when it's still not fixed, and answer texts and phone calls and questions, and are always willing to tell you it will be ok.

+

And this morning, maybe just a little bit, I am most thankful for coffee.

Especially of the delicious and free variety.