the complicated goings on of having a teenage daughter

I've been a mom for 14 years now. At this point, I'm pretty good at it. CASE IN POINT.

I get a call from day care. My littlest, River, age 4, has puked. I get over there. He's sitting on a child size bench. Little tissues clutched in puffy hands, sniffing and looking sad. I'm wrapping up his puke stained clothes and hear it. The sound of more puke coming up. I grab a near by garbage bin and he explodes streams of reds and blues. I say, "Good job throwing up!" This encouragement is needed. He's scared because when you are four and berry vomit is coming out of your mouth--this is not a normal event. So I normalize and praise. NOT horking down berries until you puke is a lesson we'll  save for later. The puking stops. I GET NONE OF IT ON ME OR MY GIGANTIC, FLUFFY WHITE SCARF. Which is around my neck and touching the garbage bin. I'm just that good! 

Bodily fluids are easy. Short people are easy. You are bigger then them. You can often correct things with a time out or a taken toy. My daughter is not short anymore. Argues like her mother as well. You can't really give the 'mommy stink eye' when you are at eye level with your child. Houston, we have a problem here.

It's easy to see her as older than she is. When your child uses big words and talks big ideas you can forget how old they really are. It's amazing how she feels completely right about her own reality. There is so much true in such a life, but very little lived wisdom. And that's where it gets complicated.

I'm a believer in listening to kids and trusting them. Fourteen doesn't mean she's to be automatically discounted. Plus, she's older than her two brothers. It's nice having a deep discussions with another, almost woman, in the house. I can totally see us being friends when she is full grown. 

But for now, the world is largely abstract and she doesn't really care for rules. Which is why she was late for school 10 times last semester. This was not corrected by me cajoling, threatening, yelling or punishing. It took a 'truancy' hearing with the vice principle and the school cop to get her attention. Her age is the age of self centeredness I guess. Reality is like the landscape outside a moving car on the highway. Vague and sometimes pretty to notice if you happen to look that way.

We spoil our children. I know. We do. And I made the mistake of trying to reason and talk to her like a full grown up. All ten times before the truancy hearing.

So when homework was marked late for the 6th week in a row, I switched tactics. I took her phone and she cried and begged. So now, she has the power to earn the phone back with diligent doage of chores and on time homework. So far, much improvement has been noted.

Maybe it's not so complicated after all? 

Let's pretend I'm in charge

Let's pretend I'm in charge.

Let's pretend that I get exactly what I want when it comes to my foster daughter. Since her birth family is not stepping up and/or nowhere near appropriate to care for her, she can be our daughter. For realises.

I can stop getting emails about her hair and how it's not done properly. I can stop looking up her mom's inmate status and future court activity. I can stop having her mom in our life, like some ghost haunting us. Crazy ghost with buckets of crazy she crazily pours on everything. I can set limits with visitations and start making rules of my own.

This is the hard part of foster care. We are in limbo. Nothing is moving forward or backwards. Nothing is set in place or outlined. Things change month from month. Laws, relatives, personal actions and non actions determine what happens next. Not me or Mr. Hall. So we wait, give the best mommy daddy care we can.

And then I start to dream.

I see a courtroom. I see my husband and I with her in hand. The judge goes through the paperwork and asks us if we want to be her mom and dad and we say yes. I facebook it. Her last name becomes ours. The following week we have an adoption party.

Until then. Or whatever else happens. I'll just be thankful for the strength I'm gaining. Thankful for the minutes, hours and days with her. Children are a gift from God. They are not hers,mine or ours.

I'm very thankful we've found each other. And really, very thankful I'm not in charge after all.

Nobody, but nobody . . . loves you like your Mama

 

Me and my toddler, getting in a snuggle while he still snuggles  . . .

You can find anything online.

Court cases are updated hourly in some counties. Thus, I was checking for any movement on my foster daughter's mom's case. Today was not the day of her sentencing but scheduling the sentencing. It'll be another three months before her sentence is handed down.

 I also scanned the county jail inmate list for my foster son's mom. I already know her sentence but was curious to see if she was out of seg. Seg is segregation--meaning she can't be housed with other inmates because she was fighting.  She has her very own sad cell.

I sent out prayers and thought about them. Would they behave in court? Would they flip attitude with the judge? What happens if the sentence is nine months?  How are they doing in jail? Are they taking the time to read and grow? Are they going to their drug classes and learning what they need to learn? Are they ok?

I realized I was worrying about them like I do my kids. I have kept track of court dates and names of their lawyers. I've prayed for them. I want them to do well. Well enough to take their kids back.

Sometimes it really pisses me off, these moms. I help house and Mom their miracle kids while they frick around with drugs and dumb choices. I tie shoes, wipe noses, put on time outs and tuck them in at night.

Because nobody, but nobody loves you like your Mama.

Nobody worries about your fingernails or bowel movements like your Mama. Nobody watches endless youtube videos labeled "how to take care of black hair" like your foster Mama. Nobody is flooded with tears by a photo taken just 3 months ago, marveling at your growth. Nobody except Daddy of course.

Every time I breathe, in or out, they are on my mind. And the longer I take care of these kids, the more the Moms are on my mind too.

Shine on you CRAZY ANGRY GERMAN DIAMONDS!!!

Watched The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo trilogy.  The original sweedish version is on hulu plus. SWWEEEEEDDDISSSHHHH.

Takes about six hours. I doubt I'll watch the american version. I've had plenty enough thank you.

So how was it you ask? Well, I watched all six hours and didn't pause in the middle to go to wikipedia.  THAT SAYS A LOT PEOPLE. I'm all about the spoilers. I'm all about reading instead of watching.

I have five kids and no attention span. Reading through the movie takes much less time than watching. And less effort too. Yet, The Girl trilogy managed to catch me.

It is worth the effort. However, there is a LOT of violence against the woman up there. Who is by no means is a girl. Late 20's. It's hard watching sometimes. I fast forwarded through chunks. I found the lesbian sex scene dumb by the way. Not honest or earnest. The naughty scenes in the first film are earnest. No naughty scenes in the third. Just an FYI there for ya.

 

 

Some parents gently rock their babies to sleep. Our babies sit on Mr. Hall's lap as he rocks out to Rammstein. This music is German, industrial and loud. They have a axe to grind with America and capitalism. They also like fire and dressing in costumes. Du Hast, Mein Land and Kiene Lust are interesting videos. Not exactly safe for work NOR safe for kids. They have other videos I can't mention because they aren't safe for me!

 

I find it slightly ironic. Go ahead and get a mohawk. Get down with your facial piercings and scowly badself. PUNK NOT DEAD and all. But, it's just another system of beliefs  that's sold to you. Being a rebel is just another word for conforming elsewhere. So go ahead you crazy Rammsteins, shine on you ANGRY GERMAN DIAMONDS!!

 

Babies don't know this though. They just like being on Daddy's lap all bouncey bounce! With loud German industrial music ripping through the speakers. They bounce, they tire, they lay their head down and pass the heck out. Best system ever.

 

 There is a puddle of drool under his cheek.



 

 



AND NOW . . .

my thoughts on The Walking Dead

I think I've broken up with The Walking Dead. I don't read spoilers or chase new episodes. I used to love it now.... Nothing. I think it was the pigs. That episode with the pigs just friggin killed me.

And then the last one. With the toddler size baby who almost was killed by the kid. That is just not acceptable. Even in jest. I realize it's a dark, cruel world but enough. I think I've had enough.

All that surviving is wearing me down.

Time to find a new show. Something that doesn't have the color pallette of BLACK/GRAY/EAT 112 OZ OF PUDDING/GERMAN ANGRY!!!!

DU HAST!!!

Stripper birth mommy stories can WAIT!!

I can count about 4 times in my life where stress has overwhelmed me. Two of those times were school-- nurse and nurse practitioner school. It almost killed me. Both times.

Another time involved being a mom for the first time. I had NO IDEA how to handle that. My head was all explodey with feral fear for the first year.

The forth time is now. I have 5 kids. Each with their own set of needs.

Pancake, age 10, is becoming a tween and not dealing well. Life is full of challenges she doesn't know how to handle. She's growing up and growth can be very painful. Her girly huffy puffy tears--they do flow. I want to just yell at her and say, "YOU'RE SO BEAUTIFUL. JUST RELAX AND LET ALL THE AWESOME THAT GOD GAVE YOU BLOSSOM. IT'S GOING TO BE OK." Instead, I bring her to yoga, roller blade with her and make sure she has a door to lock in order to read excessively. This seems help reduce her tween meltdowns. Or space them out at least.

God help the sensitive teenage girls out there, especially my daughter.

Mac-N-Cheese is six years old, blonde and super charming. Asks really interesting questions. Hypersmart and sensitive. Still can't get the whole 'wiping his butt thing' conquered yet. Can't cross the street without his sister because he'll stop in the middle of the road to stare at a cool cloud. Has no idea where we're going half the time, but happy to be along for the ride. We're getting less notes from school about his behaviors. The male of the species is slow to develop temper control. Sometimes anyway.

God help the all boy boys out there, especially my son. God help his future wife develop patience and a light and loving heart, she's going to need it.

Sam is our part time foster kid, age 5. He's here on weekends. He's the least of our problems. We've got his behaviors pretty much under control now. Signficant reduction in palming items when we're out and about. For me, being with him is fun. Sad though. I'm not the mom he really wants. I hope his mom gets her act together. It'll take a miracle though.

God help all the boys with Moms that can't be Moms out there, especially Sam.

Tulip is our 4 year old foster daughter. We've made headway with her tantrum behavior. She is still very, very needy. I feel so guilty sometimes but sometimes I just need her off my lap. Sometimes I don't listen to her stories. Seriously, I'm worn out. The other night I told her to hush because I was watching TV and I JUST DIDN'T HAVE THE ENERGY TO HEAR ONE MORE STORY ABOUT HER MOM AND THE BELT SHE USES FOR SPANKINGS. Sometimes she uses these stories to get attention because telling me her mom 'dances upside down on a pole' is a way for a 4 year old to get attention. But, sometimes THIS MOMMY needs to watch dancing with the stars without kids on a lap because dancing with the stars is awesome! Stripper birth mommy stories can WAIT!!

God help all the little girls with mommies who don't take care of them. They won't make it far without you, especially Tulip.

AND THAT BRINGS US TO RIVER.

He's perfect so far. Seven months of chubby, baby love!!! I carry him everywhere even though he's so heavy my arm feels like it's GOING TO FALL OFF. He rarely is put down by anyone. All are agreed that is no good and much fussing occurs when it happens. This probably explains why he isn't sleeping through the night BUT OH WELL.

So this is the forth time where I've felt my wheels are spinning too fast. That life is going so fast it's getting away from me. I feel exhausted and weepy. The stress is too much. But, not matter how fast the wheels go, they don't stop. Life never stops. So, I'll wait. I know this feeling will pass. Then, I'll look back and laugh.

Each time this feeling comes around, it comes with growth in my heart. And growth makes me more capable of handing all sorts of things.

Which is kind of scary really. What more is coming down the pike?

EEEE!!!! God help Mrs. Hall!

RAWR!!

My work uses internet explorer 7 so no pictures and no spell correction for you dear readers. I can't blog at home either. Because blogging is done on company time only.

SUNDAY-Had braxton hicks something fierce. I am now 35 weeks so that seems about right. Braxton Hicks are contractions that don't actually do anything. They are fake. Real contractions dilate the cervix, push the baby down and out. Braxton Hicks just hurt. It's like someone randomly starting a car, the engine revs in fits and starts but never turns over. Not yet anyway. Once it turns over, labor will be officially on and YAH WHOO!!!!

So, I tried to take a nap to ease the fake, yet very painful, contractions. Tried to sleep because I can't sleep at night. I'M SO DANG TIRED AND SO BIG AND SO SWOLLEN. About an hour in I hear my daughter holler at my son.

My daughter is nine, she's bossy. She hollers to my son, "MAC!! DO NOT PEE YOUR PANTS!!" My son is five. He's potty trained. He just doesn't like stopping what he's doing to go potty. So, he peed his pants. I get up from my nap, put him on a time out, then get back to my nap.

That's right.

I interrupted my nap, that was suppose to quell my braxton hicks, to put my five year old on a time out for peeing his pants.

THAT IS THE DIFERRENCE BETWEEN HAVING ONE CHILD AND THREE CHILDS.

yep, mmhmm :)

MONDAY-Had my OB appt. Mr. Hall went along. Which focuses me a bit. I'm so scatter brained these days and don't really make much sense. Mr. Hall directs my questions. The main question I had was about the birth of my yet unborn. "Can I have a c-section?" I asked. I had a c-section with my daughter, went totally natural with my son. I'm not particularly attached the natural child birth.



So, I explain my son's birth to the OB. I explain how I tried to have an epidural with my son but it didn't work. The epidural only numbed my right knee.

This gets Mr. Hall going. He interrupts me and says,

"YEAH. And they still charged us for it!!"

He loves saying this. It's his favorite joke.

Never fails to make people laugh though.

The ob explained my options which do in fact include a c-section. Which I don't think I'll take unless needed. I have contractions on and off these days. Which means my body is getting ready.

Which makes me so excited and over the moon. We already love him so much, our little bean.

Praise!

Riddle me this

When ever someone refers to me as a 'working mom' I get a little miffed. I mean, sure, I do work but not that much. And certainly not that hard. I work 30-35 hours a week talking to people. It's mental health work, not heavy lifting. I want to make a bumper sticker that says, "every mom is a stay at home mom-we never really go anywhere!"

I get home at five pm every day, except every other Monday. Every other Monday, I have off of work! I don't work pms, nights or weekends. Or holidays. Or federal holidays. I am not bragging, just blessed beyond belief.

Mr. Hall works from home. Remotely logging into people's computers and fixing them. Migrating servers at times. This frees him up to drop off and fetch the kids. It's really wonderful this arrangement. Frees us up from daycare costs. Makes me feel happy inside.

So.

Sometimes, when I get home my daughter sort of has a meltdown about her day. She spills out the troubles, the crazies, the sads, the 'he took my pencil and called me stupid' stuff. She'll get red faced and heavy sobs. Which is typical for a nine year old girl. Girls are delicate and sensitive. So I hug her.

Having a big heart is tough. Caring deeply about stuff is tough. Especially when you don't have the best skills at regulating your emotions. Especially when you're nine. But, I have a big sensitive heart, it's how I make a living. So-she'll be ok :)

SO HERE'S MY QUESTION.

Why OH WHY WHY WHY does she wait to spill her guts till I GET HOME? She has a full hour and half with her Daddy before I come home. A Daddy who cares, loves and listens just as much as her Mommy! Why does she wait until I come home to spill?

I can say that I'm not that good of a problem solver either. Daddy takes her concerns, compiles them logically, puts them in context and solves things for her. I try this approach and she doesn't always respond. Then, I get a bit huffy and tell her to suck it up.

So why does she wait until I get home? I mean, I'll come home, she'll be totally rocking out with her legos or coloring and BAM! The water works start! I mean, I pay attention to her outside the tears. We do lots of stuff together and hang out a lot. It's not like she is lacking attention from her Momma. And I work, but not that much!

What you do think?

Such drama, such histrionics

When babies learn to poop they often go display super twisted facial expressions and sound all manner of grunty noises. They are learning how to balance the urges and minimize the effort. Once they have mastered the task, the dramatics are lessened.

The same process can be said of learning to deal with owly feelings in the am, espcially for children Mac's size. (LOOK HOW CUTE MAC IS!! ALL VISITING MOMMY AT WORK!! WITH HIS WEE VELCRO SHOES!!). Mac is not a fan of waking up. Well, he likes waking up, but he DISLIKES changing out of his pull ups and putting on underwear. Sadly, until he does this, his acess to the morning oatmeal is blocked.

We are strict parents. Oh yes, it's true.

Thus, the morning requirement of changing one's drawers is met with much protest. Copious displays of dislike! There is falling to the ground, wailing and whining. All while he clutches his wee poo-bear blankie and big bubble tears fall asunder. Such drama, such histrionics.

It gets old.

My usual approach is to get bossy and threaten the time out. It's not a productive strategy. It just makes him dig in deeper.

SO this morning I joined in. I yelped, "I CAN'T FIND MY SOCKS!!" and "MY HAIR IS STICKING UP!" Then, I dropped to floor and starting wailing. Pancake joined in, "MY SWEATER IS ITCHY!!" and "MY BACKPACK'S SO HEAVY!!" Then she dropped right next to me.

And we wailed, and rolled and laughed and wailed some more. And Mac took notice. He stopped for a few minutes.

And it didn't really stop his whining, but it made the morning fun for us :)

hee hee hee

The pool boy removes the swimmy

Mr. Hall, pool boy in residence, doing his morning maintenance.




When the wee Mac was one years old, I had a thing about his nuk. I didn't want his nuk to be taken away. Mac was calmer with the nuk. More pliable and cuddly. My son is, as they say, all boy. He is constant motion, imagination and spitfire. Good stuff.

Mr. Hall, in no uncertain terms, took the nuk away. I was upset by the whole deal. Mac, not so much.

Needless to say, this issue was once again raised when we let him loose in the pool.

Behold, the four year old Mac, all little boy goodness, with his swimmy!

Sigh. I am a fan of the swimmy. A BIG RABID FAN. Mr. Hall felt it was time to take the swimmy away. Let the boy learn how to really swim he says. He's never going to learn with that thing on he says. And he took the swimmy away. Just like that.

It was really scary for me, letting Mac swim without it. But he can. And OOOOH CAN HE!! He is thriving without the swimmy. He is diving down, with his wee swim goggles, fetching the swim sticks. Now Mac doesn't want to wear his swimmy anymore.

AND there ya go. My son is growing up too dang fast. sniff sniff . . .

What is the difference between a Mom and a Dad?

Make no mistake, my daughter is smart, loving and full of goodness. But she lied the other day. I told her twice to clean her room, she assured me she had. I looked her in the eye and headed up stairs. To Check.

She didn't flinch.

THE ROOM WAS NOT CLEAN.

At this point I kind of exploded in that finger waving mom way. She started to cry. I told her I was upset not only because she didn't do what I told her to do but that she lied. Didn't she think I was going to find out? I felt bad because she was crying but dang Pancake. Really?

Then it was time for bed. Still sniffly, she didn't want to hug, say prayers or nothing. So I probe. Turns out she doesn't like me telling her what to do all the time. This is upsetting. I try my best not to laugh, because it really is bothering her. Then I tell her that Mommie is told what to do every day. I'm told when to show up to work, what to wear. I'm told where to park, when to eat lunch. Being told what to do is part of life. Best to get use to it.

She's still sniffly and it's not helping this explanation. Exasperated, I call in her Daddy.

"YOU try explaining this to her!" And I leave the room and listen.

He says, "If you don't listen to us, you're going to get in trouble. Now goodnight." He flips off the light.

And she says, "Ok, night Daddy."

yep.

mmmhhmm.

that right there is the difference between mommy and daddy. :)

Mr. Hall is a Daddy type genius

THE PROBLEM:

Both kids drag butt getting up. Especially the 8 year old girl, Pancake. I use to go in there, about half a dozen times, to rouse her. Then I got her an alarm clock. No good. She sleeps through it.

Mac, the 4 year old boy, is just as hard to get up. He'll just lay there, claiming his legs, arms or blanket is still sleeping. Then we literally remove him from his room. So he just brings his blankie into the hall way and lays back down.

And really, this is very typical. Kids have no sense of time. Their life is just one big snack time to the next. No need to rush, another cracker and juice break is coming right up.

Then there's breakfast itself. They will either endlessly chatter while SLLLLOOOOWWWLLLY eating oatmeal OR fight about who got more. The fighting and the whining. PPFFTT!! They poke each other, or Mac will keep trying to kiss Pancake. Or they fight about who gets the good spoon. THEY ARE FROM THE SAME SET!!! THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SPOONS!! gggaaah!!!

And they only eat about half a bowl each. It's a half eaten mess. And with all the talking and/or fighting Mac has spilled the oatmeal all over the place. Because talking and/or fighting makes him not pay attention.

And lord help the man who doesn't wash the oatmeal dishes right away. It turns into cement!

MR. HALL'S BRILLIANT AND VERY GENIUS DADDY SOLUTION:

He wakes Pancake up early, tells her "Better get down there and eat your oatmeal before Mac gets it."

She SPRINGS OUT OF BED. Flings herself towards the oatmeal and eats half a bowl.

When she's done we wake her brother by saying, "Mac, there's oatmeal." He comes down and finishes the rest.

The ONE BOWL is licked clean. Both kids are fed in a timely manner. No fighting, no lallygagging.

It's genius I say!! genius!!

Faceplant repercussions

I really want to make this into a well written and well thought out post. But, that would mean I would have to have time to make it so.

So instead you get this.

Faceplant

So, I never thought it possible, but I reached my limit of kid toleration this weekend. It never occurred to me that I would be driven nuts by my own offspring. Yet there it was.

I woke up on Sunday all rubbed raw and oversensitive to the hollers and sirens that are my kids. It was like I was licking a light socket, constantly. It doesn't help that while I'm trying to parent

STOP CLIMBING ON THE SOFA!! STOP BEATING YOUR BROTHER!! STOP THROWING TOYS!! CLEAN UP ALL THIS CRAP ON YOUR BEDROOM FLOOR!! STOP PULLING THE CAT'S TAIL!!

meanwhile . . . .

Mr. Hall is all non chalant.

THAT BUGS ME AND MAKES MY GROWLY EVEN WORSE. Cause he's just sitting there. Blinking and sipping coffee. Headphones on. Playing zombie killing games. Filtering the morning crazy. Meanwhile I am slowly going insane.

Then brunch. Waffles with strawberries. Mac whips his fork around, syrup flies into his hair. Pancake says, "I donlikeredberries!" and pushes her plate away and that's when I lost it.

I yelled, all crazy momlike, "TEN MINUTES AND WE ARE OUT OF HERE!!!!!" Mr. Hall pours his SECOND CUP of coffee, again, all non plussed. Stupid husband with his stupid filters.

"Where are we going babe?", he asks, sipping non-hurriedly.

"I don't know, we are just going!" I spit through clenched teeth.

I strap the kids in the car. We wait because Mr. Hall NEVER HURRIES. He comes out finally and we are off. 40 minutes of driving and we are at a museum. We spent 2.5 hours watching the kids run and be free in an enclosed space. I start to breathe. I actually laugh.

We drive home, poking at Mac so he won't fall asleep. We pull in the driveway. I whip the kids in bed, they are asleep even before I kiss their foreheads. I fall asleep before my head hits the pillow. Seriously, I did a face plant! I have the cheek mark and the sore neck to prove it. I wake two hours later reborn.

All better. All kinds of tolerance and filtering for my holler monkees. I stop yelling at them. And while I am making supper the kids are knocking stuff over and being loud but it doesn't faze me. Doesn't even register!

I discuss the day with Mr. Hall. I let him know the level of distress I was in. And he says, "Babe, why didn't you leave and go somewhere if you were all crazy like that?"

"I can't. I love spending time with them too much."

:)

Spank-a-butt

Mac has been a crank and spank this week. Ask him to do anything and he will dissolve into a puddle of snot bubbles and no no NOs! Then, he started acting up at school.

Sigh.

He's a substantial boy. Solid. I think he is testing how his girth can get him his way.

It doesn't help matters that he's such a cutie. He knows how to turn on the charm. The saving grace in all this is that he has a good quality heart. There is love and kindness through and through him.

If you make this grow you'll see Mrs. Hall in the background.

sigh

So, between Mr. Hall and I, we should figure it out. We'll do the time outs and the occasional pat on the tush. I won't read up on it. I'll let it flow and be calm. Best to not overreact to these things. Maybe boys will be boys. And maybe this is ok.

After all, Mr. Hall was once a boy too. I love you Mr. Hall.

Mind over Matter my Ass

Last summer the Tribe Called Hall went to the fair. Well, several fairs actually. I decided long ago not to be a wussy mom. I was not going to sit on the bench, watching her kids enjoy the rides. Waving and being wussy. No, no! I was going to go on every ride.

This is despite the fact that I get nauseous swinging on a swing set. And even the Ferris wheel make me queasy. So yeah, I got on the tilt-a-whirl determined to just suck it up and power through. Because I love my kids!

Longest five minutes of my life.

I ralphed in a trash bin after the ride. Really loudly. The kids thought it was funny.

Goddammmit!

Then I sat on a park bench with my head between my knees. Then Mr. Hall gently fed me salty popcorn. One piece at a time. Took a good 20 minutes for my vertical hold to solidify the ground in one place.

gah!

Which brings me to yesterday. I tried putting together a gas grill.



I am not a handy woman. Yet, I was determined to put it together. I layed out all the parts, studied the manual and got through step 5. Only there was something wrong. I couldn't get to step six.

I retraced my steps. I restudied the manual. I looked over the parts. It just wasn't jelling. Then I got flustered and didn't want to ask for help. Cause I didn't want to be one of those wives that is helpless. So stared at the manual, then at the grill. Then at the manual. I couldn't start step six cause it the picture in the manual didn't match THE DANG THING IN FRONT OF ME.

So I stared some more.

For 35 minutes.

Then I felt a migraine rip through the right side of my head.

GAAAHAHH!!!

My vision got blurry and I thought I was going to pass out.

wahaaha!!

It was a complete SYSTEMS FAILURE!

bbaaah!!

So, I say this.

Sometimes, it's good to be humbled.

:P

Where The Wild Things Are (in my living room)

Max was mad at his mom. He growled at her.



Then he ran away. He ran away while his Mommy yelled behind him. I hugged my kids tighter. We were on the couch. All snuggle and piled in a heap of blankets and footie jammies.

My kids were scared for Max when he ran. They yelled for him to go back to his Mommy. But he didn't.

Max ran until he found The Wild Things. He growled with them. Then, he ran with them-- cause he was wild too.



At first The Wild Things were gonna eat Max. But then they made him their king. He got a crown and a wand. At that point, Mac began to talk to his trains. And talk . . and talk . .



And I started feel weepy. The movie is so beautiful.



Then the movie went on. Max howled with the Wild Things. He became part of their tribe. And I held my little boy and girl so tight. I felt such love well over me.

Having kids is like having a second childhood. Only this time you get to remember all the special of it. And feel all of it that much deeper. And you know it's fleeting. Which makes it heartbreaking too.



We only got through half the movie cause it was bedtime and Mac wasn't watching anymore. He has a little attention span, being three and all.

But I was weeping so hard by the time we turned off the movie. Wiping my tears with the blankie. It was us, sitting there, loving each other. The tribe we created. The Tribe Called Hall. All snuggle. And any time now there will be a third child. If he's a boy, I think we'll call him Max.

It's almost too much for the human spirit to bear, this wild crazy love.



Tomorrow we'll watch the rest of the movie. I better buy some tissues :)

Night Night all!

Roughing up the little ones (repost)

Originally posted 9-1-2008

Please note: I tried breaking this post up into two parts. But, they protested and demanded to stay partners. Thus, it is a long post. But worth the read.

With great patience, I have started to come around to my husband's way of parenting. By nature I am worrier, an obsesser, a catastrophe thinker. All fabulous traits in a Mom by the way. Mr. Hall, as a Dad and Husband, is none of those things. When we married and became Mom and Dad, my mission was to change my nature. To be more like him. That way, Pancake and Mac can be more like us. Happy and calm.

When the kids became large enough, the rough play started. This involves my husband, their Daddy, chasing them around. Hoisting them in the air and scaring them till they scream and sometimes pee. They love this. They crave this. It is a ritual now. The stand at the top of the stairs chanting, "Daddy, Daddy, you can't catch us!" They wave their arms and wiggle their hips as they chant. He is around the corner, out of eye sight. But not out of ear shot. He will clear his throat and they get all crazy. He waits for their chants to build to a fever pitch. Then he rushes them, loudly and with great Daddy force. The screams of delight can be heard three states away.

He let's them feel upset when they are upset. No rushing to fix it. Unless of course, it is an emergency. Even then there needs to be blood or a missing limb. This is the hardest part of parenting for me, as a Mom. When they are upset, for whatever reason, I feel it inside. I feel it in my chest and lungs. My breathing becomes short, my chest pounds and my head simply screams, "FIX IT FOR THEM RIGHT NOW!!!" There is little distinction between emergency and non-emergency for me. They don't call it the mother bear instinct for nothing :)

It's a gradual process, and getting easier. It is the art of teaching your children to suck it up really.

And now I going to write something so sad. Good sad. But still sad. So sad it has to stick with it's partner up there.

Yesterday, the wee Pancake went to wake Mac after the nap. I heard her holler, "Mommy come look!!" I found Mac smiling, on the floor with his blanket and pillow. NEXT TO HIS CRIB.

Mr. Hall was still sleeping. Pancake is too small to lift him out of the crib. Therefore, there was only one way he got there. Out of his crib that is. I felt sucker punched. We had bought a cute, second hand Thomas the Train toddler bed a few months ago. The kids love to jump on it. He wasn't ready to use it yet. Oh, wait, maybe that's just me. How and when to transition him to the big boy bed was a decision that was made. Not by me, but for me.

Again, I felt sucker punched. An so, we put him to bed last night. Then we, Mommy and Daddy, turned off the fan. We quietly listened for sounds of him staying in the bed. Listening for sounds of him playing, talking, pulling off the sheets. There was none. He stayed put and snuggled. In his big boy bed. And I sobbed for a good twenty minutes. Mr. Hall held me and does what he does best. Be my husband.

He'll take apart the crib today. I will take the kids to the park. I just can't bear to watch.

I almost blew it for the tooth fairy

So many post ideas. . . so little time. But this-- this post cannot be denied.

Pancake has been losing about a tooth every other week at this point. It was fun at first, helping her wiggle the tooth. Marveling at the blood and such. But now it's becoming a part time job for me. Last Wednesday, so lost a big honking tooth. One of the two front teeth even.

Under the pillow it went.

I woke up coughing at 5.30 in the morning. Then I felt a block of ice growing in my gut. Panic. "DANGIT!!!", I thought, "I forgot the flipping tooth!!! And it was 5.30 am, a bit light in the house. BAAH!!"

Normally the tooth fairy is ninja like, making her rounds at eleven pm. Well into the deep REM stage of little girl sleep. Five thirty is the twitchy witchy wakey stage. And all the ninja stealth of the tooth fairy? Meehh, notsomuch. It's me slapping on a robe, then I can't figure out how to tie it, rubbing eyes . . . holding my breath cause I can't stop coughing . . .

I bumble into her room. Now, normally the tooth is placed inside two dixie cups. That way, they are housed in something solid, yet soft and easily recognized by touch. For some reason I put the tooth in a plastic sandwich bag that night.

CRINKLE, CRINKLE GERRSSHH REASSSH . . . Goes the bag as I grip it and pull it from under her head.

CLINK, CLANK, CLINKKKKKKKK goes the money next to her ears. She turns towards me.

Blink blink.... Her eyes open.

blink blink ... We make eye contact.

She looks at me standing there, next to her bed. I exhale very loudly and start coughing.

"Mommy?" she asks, all little girl lilting, "are you the tooth fairy?".

....

CURSES!!

....

BAAH!!! THIS IS NOT HOW I WANT HER TO FIND OUT!!!!

....

"No sweetie, I'm just making sure the tooth fairy came. Look! There's the money!"

"But what's that in your hand?", she says, hearing the crinkle of the bag I'm still gripping in my right hand.

"OH!! It's just my cough drops!", Says I. Then I pull out five cough drops from the left pocket of my robe.

Blink blink. . . . She turns away from me, snuggling the kitty.

She says, "Ok, [big yawn] I'm going back to sleep now, I'm still tired."

Then I kiss her on the forehead. "Ok sweetcheeks, love you."

"Love you Mom."

My son has three obsessions

One of the best things about having kids is finding out what tickles them. The world around them is brand spanking new and the choices for fun and fancy are endless. Sometimes though, something leaps out at them, capturing them whole. And then they become obsessed.

Such is the case with my son Mac and Thomas the Train.






This is him leaping out of his Thomas bed onto his sister's bed. They have bunked like this for a while now. Such access to his big sister is very fun indeed. And I am so thankful, she feels the same way. They like sharing a room cause "we love each other." This is what my daughter said to me one night. sniff, sniff . . .

His obsession with Thomas the Train has lasted longer than I ever thought possible. It's going on a year now. It's getting stronger too. He has a train board at home and at day care. He plays with the trains most of the day, most days. When we are going through the grocery store, he sings the Thomas song. He gets so excited when we drive over train tracks. When we come across a crossing train? The boy goes bananas ;)






It's so amazing, how absorbed he can get. When he pushes the train around he makes choo-choo noises and train whistles. When guides them over a bridge he says, "HOLD ON! Train going over the hill!!" When the train falls off the track he says, "OH NO! Train fell down!!" Then he gingerly picks them up and returns them to their places. He even has his little construction workers fix "this track is brooooken."

Oh so awesome this love he has. There is nothing better than watching your kids' eyes light up. Seeing the magic they see. And make no mistake, what is magic to them is double magic to me cause I get to be there. Seeing it twice!


Here he is working a train puzzle. Note the absence of a diaper. He is 74% potty trained at this point.



Which brings me to his other obsessions. Sigh.

SIGH.

Now that the peter is free from the confines of a diaper, he enjoys um, playing ding dong ditch. Constantly. GAAH!!!! Everywhere with the touching!!! And now that winter is approaching and the runny noses are starting. NOW the finger in the nose!! Always with the picking! The finger in the nose!!! GAAAH!!!!

Bah . . . he's only 3 years old. Whattya gonna do ? ;)

When is good, good enough? Discuss.

Somewhere around the second kid I had a monster humungo revelation.

The pressure I felt to be THE BEST MOM IN THE WORLD, TO BE A GOOD MOM, TO PROVIDE EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING MY CHILDREN NEED 24/7, TO READ ALL THE PARENTING WEBSITES AND PARENTING MAGAZINES.... all of it is bullshiz.

The perfect mom is some artificial construct I made up. Some unattainable ideal I would compare myself to. That's no good. To be a good mom I needed to BE NICER TO MYSELF THAN THAT!!! That's when I decided, during my days off at work, I was going to keep the kids in day care if I needed a day off. And

AND

When they napped I was going to nap too. Not just stay awake "In case they needed me!"


WHICH BRINGS ME TO MR. HALL AND OUR NEW HOUSE.

Knock on wood we close soon.

First, let me show you the mind of Mr. Hall:



So complicated, yet so detailed and organized. It's the mind of an engineer. Complicated, detailed and organized. But this mind, it liked our soon to be new house. The inspector liked it too. He found about 13 things that required attention and fixing. Most were minor, none were deal breakers. And really, we really only needed 3 things fixed.

Mr. Hall called the carpenter, the pool guy and the roofer and got estimates. My head would get dizzy deciphering the details. He keeps it all in line. Its a thing of beauty, the mind of Mr. Hall.

So, right before we presented the estimates to the seller...............

We found out the seller had already fixed 12 items. Then, instead of fixing the 13th item, which was trivial anyway, they gave us their snowblower. And it is a sweeeet snowblower my good people. All told, they dropped 3000 fixing stuff. Um, ok then.

In all honesty, we were floored. We were thankful because yeah, thank you seller! Thank you for being a decent human being!

But here's the thing. They fixed everything, but not to the standards of Mr. Hall. Again, he is an engineer. And he had explained the best way of fixing stuff to me. His way of fixing stuff begins at the root of the issue. His way makes sense.

The seller had fixed things in more of a patch work kind of way. Less expensive and sturdy for sure but, gah. We know they didn't fix things the best way. The way we could have.

But here's the thing.

IT DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER.

NOT ONE BIT.

Because we have looked through so many houses. Torturing ourselves with questions, analyzing the data, working the angles. Because we are smart people. We know the best for us and we are trying to figure out the best way to get there.

BUT IT DOESN'T MATTER. I AM DONE BEING BEATEN DOWN BY DOUBTS AND QUESTIONS. I AM DONE TRYING TO BE THE BEST HOUSE BUYERS.

Because this good is good enough. Because we're getting a hot tub with this house. A hot tub that we can make new babies in. There's a fire place to warm my back during the winter. The kids will have their own room. Mr. Hall gets a work shop. So yeah, in this case.

Good is good enough. GRRR!!!!



So, I ask , When is good, good enough for you?

Grocery carts shaped like race cars and teenage trickery

That grocery cart, right up there, is the best. It fits both my six year old daughter, Pancake and her three year old brother, Mac. They get strapped in together, all in one place. No touching and grabbing stuff. No wandering aimlessly. No walking into other people's carts (BAM!) while not paying attention. No asking for things. Or asking again after I say no. No sharing the main basket, sitting on the bread and/or eggs as they fidget for comfort. They are strapped in and shushed. I can relax and get my grocery shop on.

Ahhhhhhhhhh

It's their own little world. Pretending to drive and be all race car crazy. They make vroom vroom and beep beep noises. They have no need for me. I occasionally take a quick left and say "Watch out now! Crazy driver!!" or I turn in a circle and say, "We going the wrong way kids, hold on!!" It's awesome incorporated, that cart right there :)

The only draw back is time. Eventually they get really, really rowdy. And loud. Because monumental kid energy can only be strapped in for so long.

So there I was, unloading the grocery goods on lane five. Three friendly teenagers were manning the station. My kids were getting very loud and starting rocking the cart back and forth. My threats of time outs were useless and really, beating the kids is not an option. Us being in public and all.

Jebus, simmer down. I was just kidding. I don't beat my kids. Well only on Sundays ..ok jeez just kidding!

Anywho. I wasn't that upset about my kids being loud and crazy. I was too distracted by the teenagers. Three of them. One boy was the cashier, then another boy and a girl were bagging our bounty. They were so young and smiley. No attitude, no texting. Just clean kids doing their job and doing it well.

I couldn't help myself, I just kept staring at the boy cashier. All young and clean. Face so smooth. He was properly skinny and hair all messy. He wore his bangs long like the kids do these days.



Kids still rocking the cart, me getting frustrated because I can't stop them. Me staring. Then I blurted out, "Hey, how old are you?"

"15", he said with a customer service smile.

Then I morphed into an old lady when I said, (and I swear to God I never say things like this, but it was unstoppable so up it came,)

"You have no idea how uncomplicated your life is. Enjoy the simplicity of being 15, of being a kid, cause when you grow up it gets a lot more complicated." And I gestured to my kids who were full on apey at this point. I was smiling and happy. It was a moment of pure comedy.

He smiled and said, "Looks like it!" He smiled a little more. The other teenagers came up towards the cart. They sort of distracted the wiley bunch while I finished my purchases. They used all manner of teenage trickery, sticking out their tongue and playing peek a boo.

We all exchanged looks, exchanged smiles. Real smiles. It was very cool this moment. The teenagers were seeing my kids in a whole different light then I was. It was a moment of wonder for them. Random cute kids in the cart. Random Mom calling them young'uns.

It was all very soothing for me, being around the teenagers. I could tell they were friends, went to the same school. I could tell they were good kids, probably got good grades and were hard workers. I could tell they were happy.

My hope of all hopes is that I can say the same for my kids, when they are teenagers. And when they get that part time job, bagging groceries or working retail, I hope they are like those teenagers.

This is my biggest dream for my kids. I want them to know what happy and wonder really is. And that it doesn't stop when you grow up. I want them to know that awesome is everywhere, they just have to look. I want them to feel the simple joy of being who they are, of living in this wonderful world.

Mommy loves you Pancake and Mac. Thank you for being my kids. You're the best kids a mommy could ever hope for. sniff sniff . . . :)





"After the Bath" by Mary Cassatt