And Then There Were Three

Just about a year ago my only sister, my baby sister, tied the knot.  We watched her and her soon to be hubby exchange vows of love, devotion and understanding all to the light hearted humor of a priest who recognized that a marriage without laughter would be a long and tedious path--at best.

Fast forward one year later. Literally, almost one year later, To. The. Day.

Now their cozy little family of two has become three. They've welcomed the birth of their first {and possibly only} son, Caden. He decided he didn't want to wait around in the womb perferring a grand enterance into the world two weeks before he was expected. Even though he was early,  he is perfect in every way.

I wasn't able to attend the birth or hold my only nephew at the hospital since my sister lives out of state and my own troublesome twins were set to have their final T-ball game the next day. So, plans were made and begging of rides to the airport began. Besides my own issues of air sickness {I'm adorable when I'm air sick as my own husband is apt to tell me} I made it alive{barely} to see my freshly born nephew.

Once at my sister's house I was momentarily transformed back to the time when my own babies were actually babies. The sweet smell of baby powder {yes, I showered before I held him so I didn't stink}, the way that little bundle snuggles up in the crook of your arm to ensure that warmth is on-going, the soft cooing as milk induced sleep overtakes them into the land of sweet dreams. Ahhhhh, it almost makes me want another one...almost.

After I'm done ogling over the baby-- I turn to look at my sister and see a look that I know all too well. It's the look of  "Oh my God, what am I doing? Am I doing it right? Please, tell me I'm doing this right!"  It's a look shared by all new mothers alike. We just want reassurance without having to ask for that reassurance that we are doing a good job, that in some way we are not going to be the reason our children end up in therapy---regardless of the running jokes in sitcoms. I saw that this short weekend trip would not just be a chance to get to know my nephew, but to reassure my sister that she was indeed doing everything right and that all would be well. Now that I have my "new mommy" days behind me it's always interesting to see the realization of a new mommy-the sheer surprise that something that only weighs seven pounds could boss you around turning your life upside down.

The scary part about new babies is that their repertoire is limited. They cry, wet diapers and sleep. If any of these needs are not being met they cry to let you know. Unfortunately, they also cry just to cry which usually freaks out new mommies {myself included} causing the new mommies themselves to cry. I believe in crying it's good to let it out otherwise you'll go crazy and not the funny kind of crazy that makes you the hit of a party, but the scary not washing your hair, talking to yourself while walking in circles crazy. Not that walking and talking in circles to yourself is bad---I've been known to do that occasionally too. Husbands try to be helpful. They hope to guide you and offer advice during birth; which, can be comical since the act of giving birth on their part is to tell you to "breathe", "relax" and "you can do this." Summing up their birthing experience with "whoa that was rough" as you try to figure out how you're going to go to the bathroom since you can't move out of your hospital bed.

My sister is doing a fabulous job and being a mommy is absolutely the hardest job that I've ever taken on and it will be the hardest job she, too, will ever take on too. Being a mommy is not the Hallmark card that everyone makes it out to be. Behind those adorable photos is a mommy with unbrushed hair and a dream that one day they will pee alone.

My darling baby sister, whom I love dearly, will one day pee again, and eventually see the grocery store as a chore rather than the fantasy escape it is right now. Her sweet baby boy will right his schedule so he will sleep at night rather than all day, She and her hubby will mourn the life they had and welcome this new life they have created together. She is strong, but will learn the value in asking for help rather than suffering in silence---if she needs a break she will learn to ask for it, because being a mommy doesn't make you invincible it makes you realize that a happy mommy is good for everyone including a new daddy.

So, welcome Caden. Welcome to your family. There will be times that you won't want to claim us {I speak from experience here}, but just remember the first time we met I did NOT puke on an airplane and my make-up and hair was perfect, flawless if you will. Besides, I'm the coolest aunt you know; because I will eventually buy you that drum kit your parents never dreamed of when they bought your cousins all those light up music toys.

It's All In How You wear Your Davidesqe Shoes

Each person will meet one of their many Goliaths throughout life, and must don their Davidesqe shoes {I imagine strappy adorable wedge sandals personally} in order to challenge what they believe is wrong.

 I have come face to face with one of my Goliaths in the past few weeks: my city council. In my city we are lucky to have a city run before and after school care program as well as a phenomenal preschool program. My four-year old twins have blossomed in this preschool environment. I count myself lucky that they have had this wonderful learning experience the year before they go to kindergarten.

The city tried to cut our preschool program and completely eliminate our before and after school care. Tried. Until the parents united and became their children's voices. We spoke at council meetings and stood our ground when the City Manager came to reiterate that the continuation of the programs seemed bleak at best.

Until, the third and final meeting with the City Manager. I had no intention of going to this last meeting. I was too busy. What I was, I was really too angry.

 However, my gut said, go. So, I pushed the anger down grabbed my notepad and decided I would go and listen.

Listen. {Ugh, I just want to shake my fist and yell}

Listen and really try to hear what was being said and try to express my feelings and thoughts in way that would break down the wall I built when I was snarky and sarcastic thorn in the City Manager's side at the previous meetings.

This meeting was different. One, I kept my mouth shut {well, as best I could} and interjected when I thought I could share valid points and tried to support the other parents. Secondly, it felt like we were heard and for the first time despite the words of  "I can't offer you hope right now" from Thaddeus, {the aforementioned City Manager}but the parents around that table felt just that. Hope.

I'm not sure how things changed or if it was the unity of our voices that showed Thaddeus he might want to look into stock options for Tums with all the heartburn we were likely to cause him, but within the week things changed. For the better-- we won. Won. There will be some changes, but they are mild into comparison of what was initially proposed.  My kids are allowed to continue in this wonderful program with loving teachers and exceptional support staff well into their kindergarten and elementary school years. For this I am thankful.

In an attempt to extend the olive branch I expressed my thankfulness to Thaddeus I delivered a celebration cupcake from my favorite cupcakery {Miss. Priss in Long Beach California.} I just hope he takes it with the good will it was intended and enjoys the cupcake {only later to realize that upon eating the cupcake he is officially on save preschool and child care bandwagon if they ever try to cut it again.}

So, stand up to your Goliath. Put on your Davidesqe shoes and rock your rights-- you may just win and help leave the world a little better than you found it.

A Person's a Person No Matter How Small

Besides being an English teacher I am a mother. There are days when I think this is the best job because magically the stars have aligned and the world seems peaceful.  Then, there are the other days when the world you have set up begins to crumble and you are left trying to put the pieces back together; no matter how haphazardly it's done.  The latter defines the past few weeks of my life. 

I live a fairly small town in California, Santa Fe Springs to be exact.  My city, unlike many cities
provides a city run preschool and before/after daycare program. My troublemint twins have blossomed in the preschool program-it's been amazing with the little things that their minds absorb. We came home one day to a package on our front steps and my four year olds touted, "Mama, the post came,we have a parcel!" What four year old shouts the words parcel or post? Kids who have had preschool teachers who go above and beyond than what is necessary. I digress though.

Through the loss of expected state monies our fair city has decided that running a childcare program and preschool program will either be cut completely or drastically reduced. The day that I heard that my twins would be unable to use the after school childcare program with licensed professionals was a sad day. I understand budget cuts. My husband works for the county and I for a school district. We get budget cuts, but our city does not. It's austerity for some not all. So, I started going to my city council meetings and what I heard made my blood boil. The outrageous spending on non-core services was ridiculous and to watch those that I helped vote into office congratulate themselves on only spending  $104,000 on art made my stomach churn. If children are not core services at four, five and ten then when are they? Do we wonder how they went astray when they are in the youth intervention program which continues to remain feeless?

I've decided that I must be my children's voice. The council members do not see them, since they do not have the ability to vote.  I will continue to tell my children, "You is kind, you is smart, you is important". These are not words painted in a novel, but words that have meaning behind them. I hope that as I blog my journey that even if you do not live in my city you will see what your city has decided are not core services, but concern your children. You may be surprised how much money there is to spend when it's not on the children who will grow up and make the city in which we live in a better place.

So follow me on my journey, I'll need all the support I can get.

famiglia

The word family has so many feelings attached to it that the word itself almost encompasses a world of whirlwind emotions. Three syllables that carry a lifetime of sentiment. I am lucky in the fact that my family {for the most part} accepts my quirkiness and inability to cease talking. I have many cousins, but one is closest to my age {and heart}; luckily we share children who are relatively close in age also--well, the gap isn't so large that they don't mind being with each other. 

 I adore my cousin. She is funny, smart, beautiful and forgiving. She has seen and done things that I know that if I dare attempt my guts would stir up an internal organ revolution and leave my body. We have always clicked. We did not grow up close as in geography close, but I think that didn't hurt the women we have become and the friendship we have cultivated. I often wished that we did--grow up geographically close that is. We are able to make each other laugh and I never, I mean never have to explain my sense of humor because she gets it. I'm sure we are genetically coded to laugh at the same quirky things.

My cousin, her daughter and her former husband visited us and we all enjoyed an excellent trip to the Happiest Place on Earth. The best part of our friend/cousinship is that our kids "get" each other as well. I have the troublemint twins and she has a great little girl who was celebrating her seventh birthday. It was if they saw each other everyday and today they just happened to be meeting at Disneyland.

If I was smart I would have had my camera at the ready for the first moment that she spotted them and they her. It was priceless. I'm pretty sure that squealing was involved if my ears remember correctly. Then non-stop hand holding.

Sometimes being with family is stressful, but in this case it was memorable; in a good way. Our kids were happy to pal around throughout the day even when "the boy" tried to get a wee bit bossy. I fear for his teenage years--I should probably start a pray chain now.

My cousin will wait in lines and laugh the entire time it takes to make all the loops, twists and turns until we get to the front. She people watches and with the slightest movement of her eyes or brows she can catch my attention and alert me to the eccentricities that are the human race. I. love. this. about. her. We do not judge, {okay, maybe sometimes we judge} but we certainly do gawk. We gawk with love in our hearts, if not for us who would give these people the attention they are so clearly craving? We're doing the Lord's work really.

Okay despite the fact that we sometimes judge others {hey, we're not in glass houses or anything} and that we can make each other laugh our friendship doesn't feel forced because we are family. If we are quite, one does not feel the need to hurry up and fill the silence. We can let each other be quiet without worrying if the other is upset. I think out of all the qualities I like this one best.

Navigating within a family is much like taking a turn on the teacups at Disneyland. One teacup, many hands on the wheel spinning to crazy polka like music. Families never take a linear route and you can never guess how relationships will flourish or wilt.  I am grateful that my relationship with my cousin continues to flourish and I am also very humbled that she is forgiving that I am not more connected to her life.

I know she has helped make my life better just by the laughter she has help to create and insights she has shared. I am thankful that she continually makes the effort to see me when I am too lazy to drive my butt up north to visit her. So, thank you dear cousin for reminding me that our familial connection is strong and worthwhile because of the little moments that we share. 

Play D'oh!

I was married seven years before having my troublemint twins. That's seven years of fun gift giving to little kids.  I brought fun gifts or clothes for kids birthdays or Christmas. SEVEN years. Thats' twenty plus gifts of loud, wild colors or obnoxious playdoughriffic toys and clothes. Seven years is a long time and I banked {prayed really} that my friends who were mommies didn't have long memories. After all many joked they could barely call out the right kid if they were naughty.  

I was wrong; so very, very wrong.

Mommies store information that may require revenge in their memory banks--- just waiting until you have a child of your own and are too stupid enough to realize that Play-Doh {while fun in a controlled environment} can become your inanimate arch enemy quickly.

I didn't realize how many fun gifts I had given in the previous seven years until my kiddos received four different gift box sets---did you read that, I wrote GIFT BOX sets of Play-Doh. These box sets contained every thing that drives a mommy crazy when it comes to the colorful non-toxic tastefully delicious dough. Cookie cutters, "scissors", stamps, dough smasher and a "knife" {actually I think the list is longer, but my pupils were too dilated to take in all of the details}.

I've hidden the Play-Doh for six months.

They found it.

Today.

In the garage in what I thought was my super secret hiding spot. {dang their growth spurt}

Gulp.

They are begging for it.

Double gulp.


They've been watching Hell's Kitchen with Grandma and want to act it out using the dreaded Play-Doh.

They have chefs hats and aprons on.  This is getting serious.

Uh-Oh...did you feel that? I just let my guard down. They convinced the hubby to set up their table.

They are playing together. Quietly. Who stole my children and replaced them with these--these QUIET?!? children?



My son realized that he could create "fur" without rolling around on the dog.

It was the strangest thing ever. How did I get this lucky? I heard the horror stories about the dreaded Play-Doh, but they were loving every second of playing with this dough. Until they realized that there was only one pair of scissors and one knife. Uh-Oh.

I distracted them with all of the different animal stamps and cookie cutter shapes. That lasted for about...three seconds when they decided that they wanted each others colors, but didn't want to share. So, the only way to solve this was to....

Mix your colors of course! Mix them all up so your little {by a minute} brother couldn't get his grubby little hands on your precious pink and purple Play-Doh. D'oh!

Over all the Play-Doh wasn't that bad--probably because we were smart enough to demand that they play outside with it. Otherwise I would be digging it out of the carpet and cursing my friends with an cheap affordable glass of pinot noir.

Peace reigned throughout the land for a total of 23 1/2 minutes and that was 23 1/2 minutes of bliss. Pure Bliss {mostly I've blocked out the screaming, tool stealing and table flipping}.

So, I'd just like to say before the buying of future Christmas and birthday gifts start--I'm sorry to all of my mommy friends. I didn't have kids when I gave out those Play-Doh, sequence and glitter everywhere tutus and "kid friendly" make-up. Please forgive me. I'm not sure I remember what obnoxious gift I gave to your little darlings, but I won't do it anymore. I promise. Pinky promise.

Queen of Frozen Mini Corn Dogs--Crown Me

Since I teach I have the luxury or curse depending on the mood of two three year-olds of staying home during July and August. Lunch time at our house can be a creative time. Sometimes lovely peanut butter {only} or jelly {only} sandwiches are made; other times it's grilled cheese with cut up seasonal fruit. I try to keep it healthy and tasty. I will admit that at the start of summer I am on it, "it" being a great schedule that works for my kids. Mostly. Kind of-- unless we go out then I'm more like: schedule schmedule.

 It's August now, mid-August to be exact and well, my schedule has become as relaxed as my lunch planning. Sometimes, I get this look from my daughter when lunch is late. Have you ever seen an angry fairy? Geesh--slow down angry fairy--it's only 12:15. I'm. cooking. lunch.

Her brother starts loudly signing, " I love mama" or maybe it was, "I'm hungry, I'm hungry. I want to eat". It might have been the "I'm hungry" song.  Did I mention that my children are ruled by their stomachs? They obey their stomach's every command.  I throw fruit at them {not literally, but figuratively} they growl in refusal. If you need a visual imagine the response a lion would have if you tossed him tofu. I break out the secret mom weapon: Frozen Mini Corn Dogs. Ahh victory is mine. Sweet faces smile at me once more.

                                       
Okay, maybe they aren't sweet smiling angelic faces, but more like thanks for the food--- put your camera down-why do you have to photograph every moment of my life? faces. {whew that was a long sentence--well, it was kind of a sentence}

I think my son was so happy about the corn dogs that he had a dream sequence of jumping into the pool {his summertime favorite activity} and splashing to his little heart's content. Mini corn dogs are his other favorite summertime thing and I don't make them very often. Ooh dream weaver I believe you can get me through the night  lunch....... Ooh dream weaver............. sorry lapsed into song for just a moment. I love it when something as simple as mini frozen corn dogs can make a kid happy.

 The fairy on the other hand warned me about being late with lunch again. She did however declare: "Mommy you make the best frozen mini corn dogs ev-ah" She looks pretty serious with that wrench in her hand don't you think? I wonder if she thought she could twist me into submission? Go out mommies and get yourself some frozen mini corn dogs. Save the world. Save time. Don't forget the BBQ sauce or it can it ugly. Really ugly. Fast. 

Living Room World Series--He Bats high---do you hear glass?

My three year old son is obsessed with baseball. He lives, I mean LIVES for baseball. He wears the team shirts and hats, can recite the players of the 2011 Padre team even though he roots for the Dodgers. He's three. The weird part is I don't know how this happened. It was just yesterday that I was trying to learn the train names of Thomas the Train. Now, I have been bombarded with the names of players, teams and made up statistics--like did you know that some teams really like kids name Aidan? And that they wear uniforms to look handsome? You're welcome. That my friends was free information brought to you by a three-year old.

While we have encouraged our son's love of the game {and I mean who wouldn't after a year of Thomas the Train?  Sorry Thomas.} we can only handle so much of the obsession with out our eyes rolling permanently back in our heads. I know we're un-American and I see the "for shame" look in your eyes, but I can deal with that.

The house rule as it is in many homes across the the nation is that you are not allowed to play baseball in the house. Easy. Clear. Concise. Wrong. When obsession takes you over anything can become a bat and any small object that can fly--well, you guessed it becomes your ball. Legos have an amazing airborne quality in case you have a son and were just wondering. A sister makes a great catcher or outfielder when trying to play pickle with mom when she is stopping your impromptu game.

For the most part, my son gets "it" it being the rule that baseball is played outdoors. Unless, there is a game on tv, his hat is tilted just right and his Dodger "jersey" {Target t-shirt} was lucky that day and then, all bets are off. Yesterday, was this kind of day for my lovely blue-eyed baseball obsessed boy. I took the Lego's away, Little People who unwillingly flew high into the air {I'm not sure that princess will ever be the same} and any lid that became a makeshift bat. I didn't think about taking his shoes away. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Well, parenting is a learning curve right? 

He took his roguish Stride Rite boot and swung it around like all the baseball greats before him: The Babe, Micky Mantle, Willie Mays {forgive me that's all I know} and "pitched" that boot with all his little might. He let go. The shoe sailed in our living room. Time stood still. I held my breath without realizing it. All we heard was the sound of glass shattering. He yelled as if in slow motion "I'm jjjusst sorry" hurriedly followed with "don't tell daddy! noooooo."  I was overcome with emotions. Frustration. Worry.

After checking that everyone was okay--after all the outfielder was in position for goodness sakes {and close to the shrapnel}. The glass from the laywers cabinet {fancy bookshelf with glass doors}  was gingerly picked up, baseball cards taken away {I know mean mommy}. The heart to heart talk about certain games are better played outside than inside. The worrisome tears {mostly mine} baseball shaped tears streamed down his little face after taking away his treasured baseball cards and the outfielder worrying about if she was going to get her chance to bat.  All in all the world series of the living room was not the treasured All-American past time that might have held the mystique that one would hope. Certainly it was dramatic. Tension filled. Flooding of relief when the hubby came home.  I was happy since that meant it was five o'clock somewhere and I could have wine- the other All-American past time that doesn't get enough recognition--in my humble opinion. So, game on. Hopefully though the game is on outside.