Everything Has a Season

Things have been quiet here around my blog.

Everything has a season, and it's not blog season in my life.

It has been a season for celebrating Monkey turning 9...

And Hubster turning 40...

And for 80s parties...

And for Color Runs...

And lantern festivals...

And friends visiting...

And long autumn runs...

And hikes way up into the mountains...

And for building tree houses...

And for adopting a new kitten...

And for making Doctor Who Halloween costumes...

And for making big career choices and painting bedrooms and reading anesthesiology journals and rocking Duck to bed and getting not enough sleep and being behind on laundry and visits with family and game nights and menu planning and long parent teacher conferences and middle school science projects.

I'm still working on that elusive work-life-family-exercise balance that I'm more and more convinced doesn't exist. I've been pulled in more and more directions than every before. How did I ever have time to just sit and write before?

I may find small quiet moments (like I did today) to share a few moments. But mostly, I'm taking a break from one more thing on my to-do list. Because all the story times and evening workouts and over night shifts and crock pot meal preps and just being there for my children is what is important right now. It is the season for just being there. It's the season for being present.

Overheard

When it comes to baby books, I'm the stereotypical parent. My oldest had a beautiful baby book, all the pictures and page layouts carefully done, all the details meticulously documented. That went clear until he was two.

Then I started medical school, a few years later, had another baby, then residency, then another baby. That was pretty much the end of that. Not a single picture has been  put in a photo album for 10 years.

I don't really regret it, because there are tons of pictures. Those pictures play as a slide show as our computer's screen saver, and we look at them all the time. And I keep telling myself I'll get around to those baby books...eventually...when no one is a baby anymore.

The one thing I do regret is that I don't write down all their little conversations and silly quotes. I love those so much and no matter how I try to remember, I end up forgetting.

...........

Overheard in the back seat of the minivan:

Monkey: I hate this song.
Bug: You hate most songs. You only like maybe 5 songs. If it isn't one of those 5 songs, you hate it.
Monkey: Well...I'm thinking of adding a sixth.

.........

Overheard in the backyard, while boys were setting up croquet set:

Duck (swinging the croquet mallet down on the the wicket): Hi, ho, hi, ho...(in his best Dumbo impression of the workers setting up the tent.)

.........

After calling him multiple times to come up to the table for dinner:

Monkey: Mom, do you know what would better? If you said, 'Get up to the table, Buster!'

...........

Checking out books at the library, suggesting different books and genres he might like:

Bug: Yeah, Mom, I already know that graphic novels and dystopian literature is. I'm not in elementary school anymore.

...........

After our house was staged to be put on the market:

Bug: I hope our house sells fast.
Me: Why? I thought you didn't want to move.
Bug: I hate keeping it this clean. And I hate all the art work.

.............

This morning, getting Duck out of his crib:

Duck (big, beaming smile): It's a beautiful day! I slept so good!

.............

This was a little bit ago, but still too cute to not write down:

Monkey: Mom, why would anyone live in New Hampster?

Solo Travels

When we found out that the boys' summer day camp ended with several weeks to go before school started, my initial reaction pretty much what it always is when I don't have an easy answer: Panic.

What would we do with them for two and a half weeks? Yes, they are getting older and with Bug being 12, I don't mind him being home alone for small amounts of time. But 11 week days home alone seemed a bit much. Especially because I knew that they would use all that time playing Minecraft and MarioKart and eating Cheetos.

After discussing several options, Hubster and I decided to send Bug and Monkey out to spent most of that time with my parents in rural Utah. (I would have sent Duck too, because he is waging an unholy war on kittens, furniture, houseplants, and my sleep at the moment, but it didn't seem kosher, letting a 20 month old fly with a 12 year old.)

First, I'd like to apologize to the Southwest agent I talked to on the phone. Southwest has a policy that children between the ages of 5-11, traveling without an accompanying passenger 12 and older, is an unaccompanied minor. If you read that carefully, according to Southwest policy, my children, flying by themselves for the first time, could not be booked as unaccompanied minors.  I may have lost my slim grasp on composure, as I was already anxious about my motion sick prone oldest child and my teaspoon sided bladder containing second child flying without me. I ask the poor women on the phone if Southwest expected my children to wander through a major Chicago airport alone. At that point she told me that I was more than welcome to get an escort pass. Instantly, I became a normal person again, but highly regretful of my behavior. I'm perfectly aware that it is not the fault of the person on the other side of the phone. Anyways, this is my public apology.

Anyways...

I found myself at an airport gate with Bug and Monkey, their bags carefully packed, snacks ready to go, travel papers in hand, and a constant reminder of proper travel etiquette and safety protocols pouring out of my mouth.

I stayed with them until their boarding passes were scanned and then, just like that, they walked away from me, down the ramp onto the plane.

The drive home from the airport was very quiet without the usually bickering coming from the back seats.

On the phone with Bug on their first day in Utah, I received a very quick run down on the day.

"When we got on the plane, it was very crowded. I think we were the last people on. There weren't any seats next to each other, so the flight attendant had to find us seats. We couldn't sit by each other!  Grandma wasn't at our gate when we landed, but I lead us to baggage claim without any problems! We didn't get lost once! And I stepped on a cactus!"

I instantly started empathizing about his rough day (and actually, my mom had been heading to their gate, they passed each other at some point, but my dad was waiting at baggage claim). When I said I was sorry it had been such a rough day, Bug replied, "What?  No! This is was best day ever!"

And that's how it was each day. They swam, and camped, and hiked mountains, and denied being home sick at all each time I called them.

When I met them at the airport at the end of their trip, they suddenly seemed so much older, much more than just the days they had been gone. After all, now they had traveled by themselves and had proven they could navigate an airport by themselves and had ridden horses by themselves and slept in a tent by themselves.

I didn't like how empty the house felt while they were gone or the constant little nagging feeling I carried in my chest as I went to sleep that I was forgetting something. I was so glad to have them home again.  But I'd do it again. In fact, this is going to become a standard part of our summers, sending the boys to visit family on their own.

They came back, laden with stories of adventure and friendship and connection, but also with a new sense of accomplishment and confidence.  Yes, we'll do this solo traveling again.

Capturing the Memories

Sunday afternoon is warm and sunny, idyllic mid May weather. Monkey and Bug are chasing each other around the yard in some made up game that includes several soccer balls and water guns. Their knees are heavily grass stained from dramatic falls onto the lawn that is still thick and green from all our April rain. 

I'm sitting on our red tree swing, with Duck on my lap. He is slightly sticky from a popcicle he devoured earlier, the front of his shirt tinged pink from the juice and I have no idea if it will come out in the wash.

We swing back and forth, Duck's blonde little head pressed tight against my chest, his little baby hands grabbing the white swing ropes just below mine. I wrap one arm about him as we go higher. I kick at the maple leaves on some low branches in front of us and Duck breaks into giggles. As we continue to swing and I continue to kick at the leaves with each swing forward, the giggles change into full toddler belly laughes that I can't help but laughing with.

That's how I spent my afternoon, swinging with Duck on my lap, listening to my older boys run and shout. Every one laughed. The sun fell in dappled patterns through the tree leaves. The snowball bush was starting to bloom. The first hummingbird I've seen this year zipped back and forth over the yard.

It was as close to perfect as a day gets. 

In a few months, I probably won't remember it. I may remember that we spent days in the back yard together, that we occasionally would swing together. But all the details - the exact size and weight of Duck in my arms, the way his pale cream and blue striped shirt accented his ever lightening hair, how exactly high Bug and Monkey come up to me, how their laughs sound at this age - all those details will fade, surer than the grass stains and popcicle drips come out in the wash.

Duck for sure won't remember the afternoons on the swing. Bug and Monkey won't remember the rules to their new game.

Right after Duck was born and I was home in his nursery, rocking him, a wall of emotion overcame me. It was a mix of sadness, panic, shock, and disbelief. I couldn't remember what it felt like holding Bug and Monkey when they were newborns. I remember the events of their births, and there are definitely memories of them growing up. But all the details, every thing that I try so hard to soak up on a daily basis, had retreated somewhere so far back in my mind I couldn't find it. The exact smell of their hair, the patterns on their feet, each silly sound and facial expression.

I'm taking a lot more pictures this time around. I'm making more videos. I'm documenting more.

There are people who scoff at the number of photographs parents take of their children, amassing hundreds or thousands of often blurry shots of every day events.  Maybe we do this because we understand how fleeting childhood is. Even if we aren't desperately longing for time to slow down, we understand that these beautiful moments won't last.

I know my children won't remember all the silly songs we sing. I know they won't remember reading A Very Hunger Caterpiller dozens of times each day. I know they won't remember each trip to the park and walk through the woods. I know they won't remember each piggy back ride to bed or story read in a blanket fort.  I know all these  beautiful moments will fade just as quickly for them as they have for me.

I'll keep right on doing all these things. We may not remember all the details, but we will remember that there were days that we were together and things were just beautiful.

I'll take too many pictures, write down little details, attempt to capture the memories, and continue to swing back and forth.

Smitten with Kittens

I feel tired most of the time. I'm pretty sure if people just left me alone, I could sleep 48 hours straight. I've felt this way for years.

Sometimes, being tired keeps me from doing things. Oh, there's a work function tonight? I think I'll just stay home and fall asleep on the couch. PTO meeting? Nope. Early bedtime instead.

Given my proclivity to just stay in bed every day, it's surprising that I keep taking on new projects.

Third baby? Why not? Not like we were sleeping anyways!

Huge basement remodel? Sounds like fun!

Enroll the boys in three different sports and two different clubs? Sure!

So, why not just continue the craziness and adopt two kittens?

The boys have been begging for a cat or a dog for the last several years. Apparently, our seven year old goldfish just wasn't quite rambuctious enough for them.

Prior to our move to Iowa, we lived in one apartment after another and pets were just out of question. Once we got to our current home, they started asking almost immediately. But it was always one thing after another: internship, residency, dental school, new baby, board exams.  No matter how much pleading the boys did, we were strong in our response that we were just too busy.

But the last year, we'd be softening our stance. Pets would be good for the boys. I just asked them to wait until after I took oral boards.

True to our word, earlier this week, we drove out to a farm where Hubster had been told there were kittens to adopt.

These two came home with us.

The boys have been absolutely smitten. 

Granted, they are loud, wild creatures. But the kittens are getting used to them. 

Already, the kittens are making themselves right at home and becoming a little less timid.  The boys are being incredibly responsible and have taken care of all kitten related responsibilities.

What was I so worried about?

The kittens haven't interferred with my nap time at all. In fact, we may actually be kindred spirits. 

I Want My Kids to Scare Me

I want my kids to scare me.  Actually, every parental impulse I have doesn't want my kids to scare me. I want my kids to be safe, protected, to never be hurt. I want the same things that all parents want for their kids. 

However, childhood is full of risk and adventure, as it should be. Following my urge to protect my children from every little thing doesn't do them any favors.

Yes, my heart lurches up right under my jaw when I catch Monkey balancing on the backyard fence. My stomach flip flops when I watch Bug launch himself out of the play ground swing.

Sometimes I have to close my eyes and go back inside to prevent myself from shouting for them to be safe.

My kids need these moments to realize that they are brave, risk taking, healthy, normal children. They need to climb as high as they can up the front yard tree. They need to practice riding their bikes with no hands. They need to cannon ball into the pool instead of just timidly entering from the shallow end.

I still insist on helmets and sunscreen and swimming lessons and seat belts and looking both ways.  Adventure should never be an excuse to abandon common sense.

But I'm working just letting them have the childhood they deserve. I let them make homemade bow and arrows and target practice in the back yard. I let them carve with pocket knives. I let them be pirates and ninjas and superheroes. I don't worry about the grass stains or the mud.

I want to keep my children safe. But I'd much rather kiss bumps and bruises and apply bandaids and neosporyn to scraped knees and elbows, than have my boys rolled in bubble wrap, safely on the couch.

I never want to see my children get hurt. But I'd rather them be brave, invincible, adventerous boys that occasionally fall down than have them cautiously living vicariously through a computer screen.

I want my kids to scare me.

Now I'm a Chess Parent

I’m typing away in a junior high cafeteria. A place I thought I would never be again. Granted, I’m not being teased for my thrift store clothes, my bad self-altered haircut, or my towering 13 year old height. But I’m still a ball of nerves, unable to relax fully as I sit at a corner table next to the window.

I’m here watching my boys compete in a chess tournament.

I’d like to say that this started a few months ago. I glimpsed a flier on the bulletin board at the public library as I was wrestling Duck back into his coat after “Books and Babies.” The flier stated there was a free chess tournament for grades 3-6 the next weekend. This excluded Monkey, but would be perfect for Bug. 

It actually started years before that. The boys playing chess with each other in the early mornings (before they were driving each other crazy). Friendly competitions at the after school program. Family chess games on cold winter evenings stretching back to my childhood.

Chess was just a little background noise in our family. That Saturday afternoon at the public library turned the medieval game into part of the soundtrack. Bug won second place in his age group.

Now, Bug and Monkey are competing. Monkey has earned his own second place trophy.

We’ve learned many things in the last few months.

We’ve learned about USCF memberships and ratings.

We’ve learned arithmetic chess notation, including Ne9# and O-O-O.

We’ve learned en passant.

We’ve learned the names of other chess families.

I’ve learned that I can’t watch my kids compete without feeling like I’m going to throw up.

I’ve learned that I’ll drive my kids hours to compete in state competitions.

I've learned we can spend evenings talking about developing the center and pushing pawns.

I've also learned that chess parents are crazy.

At tournaments, I’ve seen parents berating 10 year olds about failing to protect their rook. I’ve watched grade school children forced to review their move sheets in between matches to find out why they lost. I’ve watched lunch breaks spent practicing instead of eating pizza.  These parents are serious about this. And then there’s me, patting my boys on the shoulder and saying, “Have fun!”

Because that’s what I want this to be: fun. I want them to continue to learn things, but I want those things to be sportsmanship, critical thinking, perseverance, and a sense of pride in their accomplishments. I want them to learn to be good sports when they lose and good sports when they win. I don’t want my boys to brag about their USCF ratings or to expect disappointment from me if they fail to protect their rook.

So I’m going to continue to sit in middle school cafeterias and gyms, watching pawns and knights advancing over black and white squares, watching my children win and lose, and shaking hands of their opponents, regardless of the outcome. Actually, I'll be trying not to watch, because it makes me nervous.

Here We Go Again

And, bam...summer's over.

The boys are back in school. Bug is starting 6th grade (be still my poor mommy heart...how can elementary school almost be over?!) and Monkey is starting 2nd grade.

This school year was met with more whining and moaning about summer coming to an end than ever before. Which I am taking to mean that we had a fantastic summer. (Don't worry, there will be plenty to come about our summer.)

Despite the certainty the boys had that they would die if they had to go back to school, we had a smooth start of the school year. School supplies were bought with minimal frustration over hard to find items. The transition to early mornings and stricter schedule as been made with minimal whining. And everyone survived the first day (probably because I wasn't there, getting weepy over how big they are getting.)

(Monkey just saw me loading this picture and said, "Don't I look handsome, Mom?" Yes, darling boy, you do.)

I'm going to miss summer (especially since my summer JUST started - I finished boards on July 30, so I really only had three weeks that felt like real summer.) But I've watched my boys run through sprinklers, hike through forests, becoming blonder and tanner each passing day. Each night they smell like hose water, grass, and popcicles, which is just how little boys should smell in the summer.

Except that they aren't quite so little any more. 6th and 2nd grade?  Even though we do this every year, at the same time, it's completely different ever year.

Never mind all the groaning from Bug and Monkey...I'm the one not ready for this.

Boy Mom

You might be a boy mom if...

...you can name all the Transformers and if they are Autobot or Decepticon.

 ...your floors look like this...

...you know the difference between Skylanders and Pokemon (but still don't let them play either one.)

...bedtime consists of pillow fights, sock wars, and having to smell each other's feet.

...you know all the Star Wars characters (well, almost all of them.)

...you are an expert on removing grass, mud, blood, and ketchup out of clothes.

...you don't even notice the girls' clothing section.

...you've never been down the pink aisle in the toy section.

...you own more Legos than shoes, dishes, fancy dresses, or hair accessories.  Combined.

...you know all the super hero's super powers, and why no one wants to be the Aquaman.

..you have gone to the store with a child dressed as a dragon, Tigger, and Superman.

...you wouldn't have it any other way.

Big Brothers

With all the excitement and effort surrounding a new baby, it's easy for the addition to get all the attention and for older siblings to take a back seat. 

I know that has been true here on this blog. With Duck being so little and so cute and changing so much, of course I want to spend a lot of my time capturing all these changes.

But my two oldest boys really deserve honorable mentions.  Actually, forget that.  They deserve the spotlight.

I worried a great deal about how our family would handle the addition of a baby. We had our routines, life was approaching the "easy" stage: no one was in diapers, everyone went to school, everyone could feed and dress themselves. We were in that coveted sweet spot.

With Bug, I did everything I could to prepare him for Monkey's birth. We had long conversations. I took him with me to every single doctor's appointment. And Bug did beautifully.  We made the transition from a family of three to a family of four with barely a moment of regression.

I was sure it was going to be harder this time. After all, it had been six years.  Six years of Monkey being the "baby."  Six years of status quo (well, kind off - minus the whole getting new jobs, moving halfway across the country, Hubster going back to school thing.  But other than that, status quo.)

When we first told the boys, I was nervous. But they both seemed very excited. Especially Bug.  He was so excited. He remembered Monkey being born and everything associated with that, and seemed delighted to got through it all again. Monkey, not having any frame of reference, took a more moderate view. Bug always wanted to feel my belly and see if the baby was kicking. He talked to my belly.  He was very eager to help with everything in the nursery, from painting to artwork. Monkey would reluctantly put a hand against me, only to pull it away and say, "Yep, I felt him kick," even if he hadn't.  I worried that he wouldn't transition well. 

A month before Duck was born, we went to parent teacher conferences for Bug and Monkey. Monkey's teacher told me that all he talked about was that he was going to get a new baby brother at Thanksgiving. "He's very excited," his teacher said. And that same week, after practicing thank you cards at school, Monkey brought me a card.

"Thank you for teaching me how to make a baby room.  It was fun. Our baby will like it."

It brought me to tears.

And right from the get go, the boys have been amazing. All my worries about jealousy, and the resurgence of temper tantrums and bed wetting, all those worries have been for naught.

Monkey loves him.  Every smile and every coo Duck does, Monkey runs through the house, updating everyone. He asked for pictures of Duck to take to school, and showed them to everyone - teachers, students, the lunch ladies. He had appointment himself retriever of the nursing pillow and blanket.  Every time I sit down to nurse Duck, Monkey brings me the Bobby pillow, a blanket and a burp cloth.

Now that's a proud big brother

Bug has been equally amazing.  He is always asking to hold Duck and can even soothe him while I'm making dinner. He continues to be incredibly helpful and calm and patient.

Carefulness, love, and protection, all at once

Every once and a while, I see Monkey getting a little worked up, demanding a little more attention. When I want to get frustrated, I have to remember that he just needs a little extra hug, a little more listening.  Once, when Duck was having a rough evening and doing an extra bout of crying, Monkey did call out, "Mom, Duck's crying is making me feel frustrated!"  I thanked him for using his words, and asked him what we had talked about, what he could do when he felt that way. He choose to stick his fingers in his ears and sing loudly.

 

I feel blessed to have made such a smooth transition. I couldn't have dreamed of any better way to go from two boys to three boys.  This mother is so proud. Tired, sleep deprived, and still trying to figure out how to have enough hands at the grocery store.  But proud.