I have become my mother.

My mom's a great lady.  She'll give you the shirt off her back, that's just her style.  So when when I say that I am turning into my mom that's not bad.

But, I remember being a kid and thinking she was a little crazy when she would make her mind known to strangers.

The other week I was in line at The Dollar Store (my favorite store and quite a mix of patrons by the way, especially the one I go to) and there was a line of 4 people waiting to check out.  We were third in line, and a new register opened.  The cashier said she could help the "next" person in line.  Hello, the next.  Not who can get their things over there first.  And this guy from behind me cuts me and the woman in front of me.  It was clear that this man knew he was cutting us.  Out of my mouth came "Excuse me sir, this woman in front of me is next."  The guy looks me straight in the eye and smiles, acknowledging that he doesn't give a crap and continues to move to the register.  And the lady in front of me thought I was nuts.  She pretty much told me so, saying that if she were my child she would be embarrassed by me.  Well, thanks lady.  Serves me right for shopping in Brockton's The Dollar Store I guess.

And then yesterday I was helping the kids cross our busy street to ride their bikes on the dead end across the way.  Cars often drive really fast by us, 3 little kids on their bikes waiting to cross.  The nice thing to do would be to slow down and offer these kids on 2 bikes and 1 trike to cross the street.  And this does happen sometimes.  But often people see us and continue right on.  To which I have found myself saying "Thank you" loudly as they drive by.  A very thing my mother used to do when I was young.  To which I would think was embarrassing, because it was to me at the time.  And here I am doing it myself.  Except this time I didn't need to say it, as my cute 5-year-old daughter in her princess helmet and bike yelled "thank you" for me at the car driving right by her.  Like mother, like daughter, like grandmother I guess.

So how are you turning into your parents?  You know it's happening.  No use in denying it.

Pirate Penis

Here's one of my favorite gems of my parenting days thus far.

Jackson was two and found bathroom humor hilarious.  There was a long phase where he ran around yelling "penis, penis, penis."  The giggling of his 4-year-old sister in response spurred on such behavior.

One night after bath he was naked and yelling this go-to phrase.  I asked him why he loves his penis so much.  (clearly the real answer is he's a boy, and that's fine.  But I asked the question anyway)  Jackson's answer was "because it's a pirate penis."

A what?  A pirate penis mom.

What's a pirate penis?  You know, like, a sword.

Like a sword?  Yeah, like "On guard!" said as he thrust his naked pelvis forward.

I just about peed my pants laughing.  As did Caroline.

Going stealth

A year ago, when I was hospitalized on bed rest during my pregnancy with Ethan, Caroline took to coloring and drawing at all times.  Not a bad interest and/or coping skill for a 4-year-old to develop during a family crisis I might add.  When I came home from the hospital 2 weeks later, sadly with no baby, my kitchen table was missing underneath piles of her artwork.

Her passion for coloring, drawing, writing stories and more has continued this year.  I keep many of her pieces of artwork.  Hang them on the fridge, around the house.  And even save some in her pile of art that I have from the time she was a baby.

But I can't save it all.  I would already be classified as a hoarder if I did.  This beautiful parsonage we live in would have no wall space left.  So what do I do?  I save the new things, hang them places.  Place them in piles for a few days.  And then, occasionally I weed through them.  Recycling some of the pieces that she didn't pour her soul into.

But I am no fool.  I don't recycle them in front of her.  Usually I have to make a special trip out to the garage and place them in the large recycling bin so she won't see.  The last thing I want to do is hurt her feelings.  Or stifle her creativity and coping skill.  And today she caught me.  I had slipped a picture into the kitchen recycling underneath a box.

Caroline, aka Harriet The Spy, busted me.  She pulled that construction paper right out of that bin and said "Mom, what happened here?" or something to that effect.  (She's busted me more than once I will add)  Shaking her head, insinuating that I clearly had made a mistake.  Her mother wouldn't intentionally throw out her art, right?  Um...  Course not.  So on the fridge that crinkled blue construction paper went.  Where it will remain for an undetermined length of time until Harriet The Spy is asleep one evening and I head out to the garage for round 2.

This happens with our odds and ends toys as well.  The random pieces that are broken or are useless now that the rest of the toy is missing.  Pay attention rookie parents.  DO NOT THROW THEM AWAY IN THE KITCHEN TRASH.  Don't even bury them.  They will be found and you will have to answer to that 3-year-old of yours.  While trying not to lie to your child (it's not like I'm trying to have them nap or something).  But trying to avoid becoming the next episode of Hoarders.  Take an experienced parent's advice.  Go stealth.  Recycle and throw away under the cover of darkness.

Give him a Toga

From the time he was born, Jackson was ready for college.

As a newborn he was easy going...just liked a good party, a drink and a nap.  He didn't care who was holding him.  Was never really the size of a newborn, as the nurses had to switch the stocked size newborn swaddler diapers for size 1 in the post-partum room.

This is a picture of Jackson (on the left) 1 day old, next to our best friends' daughter Chloe who was 3 weeks old at the time.  My nurse got them confused upon walking into the room, as Chloe was the size of the newborn, not Jackson.  Excuse my leg by the way.

Jackson had an easy going personality as a baby, but the nursing proved far more difficult than it had with Caroline.  Despite a month plus of trying (and I mean really trying, you la leche people out there) it was evident that he wasn't taking to nursing.  Jaundice was still kicking around, so we supplemented with formula one day, after he had nursed for 40 minutes.  He downed, and I mean chugged 4 ounces.  By 2 months old he was eating 12oz of formula (the pumping couldn't keep up with the demand) every 2-3 hours, around the clock.  Seriously.  I would stop him after 8oz and then try to soothe him in other ways.  But he would cry and root until we fed him.  Eventually I would cut him off at the 12oz mark.  He was drinking about 6 pounds of milk a day.  Earning him the nickname chug-a-lug.  And very quickly, we realized he was ready for college.  This kid can drink faster than anyone I know.  

Fast forward a couple of years and his true personality abounds.  He's no longer the easiest going person every day, and that's more than OK.  But he's the life of the party.  Just check out this picture below, it says it all.  He's on the right. 

And he's loud.  He will be the kid everyone can hear without him trying in a crowd.  By the way, he literally cannot whisper.  Irish whisper they call it - sure to get him in some trouble at school one day.

And as described in a previous post, Jackson loves to streak.  Just last week I caught him mooning the neighbors.  Great.  

My first night of orientation at Boston College people decided to have a toga party in the dorms.  Everyone walked around in their white sheets wrapped around themselves.  As my memory serves most people wore the toga over their clothes...but I wouldn't be surprised if Jackson were the type to fully embrace the toga and go without.  

The combination of chugging milk faster than humanly possible, his hilarious personality, and nudist tendencies makes me think he's ready for a fraternity now.  Lord help me in high school.

And then there's the fact that Jackson has fallen asleep on the hardwood floor of our upstairs hallway before.  Using a damp bathmat for a pillow.  Gross.  And didn't seem to be bothered in the least.  He had apparently been playing past his bedtime and crashed right where he was.  Again, harking to the days of college.  How many times have you stumbled upon a friend who fell asleep in some awkward position and place?  We have a friend who fell asleep in the bathtub before, thankfully without any water in it.

And last night I awoke to find Jackson opening my door.  Clearly he had to use the bathroom but was sleepwalking - having no idea where he was in the house.  This is not the first time this has happened. Thankfully I caught him and redirected him in time.  He's used his bedroom door as the toilet before, poor kid.  And we even found him in his sister's room before - again catching him just in time.  That one reminds me of a college friend who awoke to her roommate thinking she was the bathroom.  Very unfortunate.  

Jackson may be a handful at times, but I love having him in my life.  He makes it beautiful, and funny, and entertaining to say the least.  And we are thinking about giving him a toga for Halloween.

The Sacred Nap

The nap is one of the greatest gifts God gave us parents.  The nap allows me to remain a nice mom.  It holds my sanity many days.

Caroline is approaching 6-years-old, and she knows there is still a rest time, if not an actual nap, in her day.  Jackson is close to 4 now, and he is starting to push the nap thing.  Wondering if he can get out of it.  So I am transitioning him into the fun of "rest time" in his room.  Some days it doesn't fly, but I remain determined.  Ryan just turned 2 so he naps daily still.  Thank goodness.

With the nap being so vital to the health of my family I am not above little white lies.  Here's my go-to trick to get them to nap when they aren't all that into it.

I tell them that they only grow when they are napping.  

Before they sleep I ask them which parts of their body are going to grow during nap.  Then I tickle their feet, or their bellies, so they grow and tuck them in.  Sometimes I even make that silly raspberry sound on the chosen spots to grow so they have "growing juice."  After nap we admire how tall they became.  How long their arms and fingers are now.  And they buy it!  And I remain a nice mom for the rest of the day.  It's a win-win in my book.

Sometimes I even tell them they grow more when it rains outside.  Or that it's possible their younger sibling may wake up taller than them if the older one doesn't nap while the younger one does.  That one often gets them laying in their beds at least.

So what are your tricks to keep the nap going?  Or did you say goodbye to the nap more gracefully than I did?

God bless the nap.  Amen.

Starting a tradition

Our oldest, Caroline, is 5-years-old and is finishing Kindergarten next week.  Hard to believe she should be part of the graduating class of 2025.  

I resisted Pinterest for far too long, and now am addicted.  That little app on my phone kills so much time and I find amazing ideas almost daily.  You know I have a problem when I need to add clean up my Pinterest boards to my chore list.  As if I don't have enough to clean already.  But this mess was my doing.

But back to my post.  Caroline.  The sweetest girl around.  I found the idea of ironing 2025 decals onto an adult t-shirt and taking a picture of it annually.  Here is Caroline in her 2025 shirt at the end of her Kindergarten year.

This is her from her preschool graduation last year.  I am imagining how quickly the next 12 years will fly.

My not-so-best mom moments

When I was 5 my mother left me at the Oak Street Pharmacy accidentally.  She was preparing dinner, taking care of the four of us kids, one of whom was sick and needed medicine, and was trying to get us fed and out the door for my elementary school's holiday party that night.  She was multitasking and forgot me.  I was looking at the lollipops and couldn't find my mom.  Because she had already gone home.  The nice lady behind the counter called my house and asked my mom if she had forgotten something.  "No, I have my checkbook," my mother replied.  "Your daughter dear."  My poor mother.  Now that I have 4 children of my own I intimately know how this can happen.

So here are my two not-so-best mom moments so far.  The ones that I can recall at least.  Perhaps Josh will comment and remind me of additional highlights.

*  I was so tired from a poor nights sleep that I accidentally feel asleep on the couch 5 minutes before Caroline's bus arrived.  I awoke 25 minutes later and freaked out.  Didn't know where my daughter was, as the school didn't have our brand new phone numbers.  Frantically calling her elementary school while waking up Ryan and Jackson from nap to find out that my poor, sweet girl was sitting at the other elementary school in town.  Threw the kids in the car, Ryan with no shoes on, Jackson wearing snow boots and shorts and flew over there.  Rush through the lines of students pouring out of the school with Ryan and Jackson in tow.  To find Caroline sitting in the front office, with a bunch of strangers to her, waiting for me to show up out of thin air.  On the ride home she said she "just didn't look out of the window because all of the other mommies were there to pick up their kids, and mine wasn't."  Yup, that one stings the most as a mom.

*  I dyed my 6 month-old son's hair blonde.  Really, I did.  Ryan's head grew at an astronomical rate when he was a newborn that his head flattened out like a pumpkin on the back.  So he had to wear a corrective helmet for 23 out of 24 hours a day for 9 weeks.  Twice a day I would take it off to clean it with alcohol.  Except that in my sleep deprived, distracted and newly pregnant brain I used hydrogen peroxide by accident.  Hey, the bottles seemed similar in my cabinet.  It did clean the germs on the helmet too.  But one day I was rushing to make it to Ryan's 6 month well visit at the pediatrician.  So I thought the helmet was dry before it was, and put it on his head.  Twenty minutes later I took the helmet off for the nurse and realized that his hair had two big skunk stripes of blonde running down his hair.  I was perplexed.  Wondered if something was up with the lighting in the exam room?  And then realized what I had done.  Immediately came clean to the nurse and Dr. Jones, and started laughing at myself.  The following week I came clean to the orthotist (the person who adjusted the helmet) and he laughed at me.  Not surprising, I am the only one to have ever done that.

So, what are your top not-so-best parent moments?  You know you have them.  Or you will.  Just you wait.

How do you wake up?

It's been five plus years since I've needed an alarm clock.

6 plus years since I've been able to sleep through the night and been able to wake when I wanted to on the weekends.

4 pregnancies (which I loved all of them - yes, I'm that lady) = thousands of trips to the bathroom overnight, overnight feedings and all of the associated glory, and waking up for the day before the sun rises.

So I can tell you that the morning wake-ups go in phases.  Some include cute little babbling on the monitor, but most include crying or "mommy" in an urgent tone of voice.

This is the phase my wake-up routine is currently in.

Insert grunting of a 2-year-old that is clearly working hard physically. 
Followed quickly by "Mommy, heggy.  Heggy."  More grunting.  "heggy."  (sounding like heavy with a "g" instead of a "v")
My bedroom door opens and I hear the grunting shuffling around to my side of the bed. 

As an aside, you dads out there.  How nice for you that the kids skip over your side of the bed in the morning and aim directly for the moms.

"Mommy.  Guck.  Guck.  Guck.  Heggy.  Guck.  Mommy."  
Open my eyes to see my adorable, huge Ryan holding a full gallon of milk and a his milk cup, ready for a refill.

Yes, he has already drank the entire cup of milk we left for him in the fridge the night before, anticipating this encounter.  But you see, 1 cup just isn't enough for Ryan.  So he grabs the full gallon of milk (hence the grunting from physical exertion up the stairs while holding it with one hand, as the other hand holds his cup) and brings it to us for a refill.

Every morning.

If he weren't waking me up I would find this quite hilarious.

So, what phase are you in?  Do you need an alarm clock?  How do you wake up in the morning?

My alarm clock says "Heggy Mommy, Heggy.  Guck."