Comfort

I didn't get a great night's sleep last night. The first time I heard Abby I was halfway out of bed before I remembered that most times she gets herself back to sleep. So I stood in the hall and waited and sure enough, within a minute she was quiet again. Before I went back to bed I glanced at the clock. 11:39. Years ago I would've thought "Sweet Jesus, I have almost 7 more hours of sleep! But now I think "Sweet Jesus, if I'm already up at 11:30 what could the rest of the night be like."

Around 2 the cat we call Black Cat but who is officially named Chairman Meow bounded up the stairs and onto my nightstand, as usual. He has realized that if he tries to knock over my bedside lamp I will get out of bed and feed him. (And they say it is hard to train a cat.) I usually oblige rather quickly because there is a reason we call him Chairman Meow. He howls like a child in pain, like a coyote in heat. A rolling MMMRRRRAAARRRROOOWWLL, that I always fear will wake up Abby.

Back to bed. The next thing I know Abby is crying again, and when I peak in her room she is standing up and oops, she sees me. It's all over now. So I get her out of her crib, grab her favorite pink blanket and we rock. And we rock. And we rock. Even though her eyes are closed I can tell she's not alseep because she is clenching her blanket tightly and rubbing her feet together like we both do when we are trying to get comfortable.

Now I am nearly blind so I cannot see the clock across the nursery. But we live on a bus route, a thing I used to hate, but I know that starting at 5 a.m. the bus will go by every 15 minutes. We wait, we rock, I hum, she squirms. No bus. After awhile I try to put her in her crib and she immediately turns over, reaches up and cries. I pick her up and check the clock as we walk out of the nursery. 4:55. If I can get her down I can get 90 more minutes of sleep.

So we lay in the big bed. I get as close to the side as I can so she can have enough room to squirm without kicking Bryon and me. She nuzzles in. I am so uncomfortable. I have half my face on the pillow, my left arm is falling asleep, my backside has no covers and I need to blow my nose. But Abby cuddles with me and as she nuzzles her head in my neck she whispers "Mama."

Sleep is overrated.

Wii Wii Wii All the Way Home

I am not proud of the fact that Sam spent close to 8 hours playing Lego Star Wars on the Wii yesterday. On one hand I care deeply and regret that I even allowed it in our house to begin with. On the other hand it was a Sunday, during his summer vacation. Let him play the game.

But as he neared the 8th hour I told him, "Sam, you have been playing this video game all day. In the amount of time you were playing, you could have seen two movies."

"Two movies?"

"You could have performed open-heart surgery."

"Heart surgery?"

"You could have flown to London."

"London?"

"You could have read two novels?"

"Two novels?"

"I gave birth to Abby in less than 8 hours. You could have birthed a baby in the amount of time you've spent playing Star Wars."

"But I love Lego Star Wars."

"I love chocolate, but I wouldn't sit here and eat it for 8 hours. I would get very sick."

"Sick?"

"Yes, and I think after eight hours of Wii you could get sick too."

"I could get sick?"

"Yes, and one of the first symptoms is the need to repeat everything I say to you."

"Repeat everything?"

Just My Imagination

I have to admit I sometimes have a hard time playing with Sam and Jake. Games and books are no problem, but when they want to play 'action figures' or 'Star Wars' I can't keep up. I don't know if it is because they are 'boy' games or because I have no imagination.

Case in point. These are exchanges between Sam and me during a recent game of 'Star Wars.'

Sam/Stormtrooper: Lord Vader, what shall we do with these droids?

Me/Darth Vader: Dispose of them on Tatooine and when they lead you to Obi Wan Kenobi, kill him.

Sam/Stormtrooper: Obi Wan is already dead, Lord Vader.

Me/Darth Vader: OK then. I guess you can have the afternoon off.

OR

Me/One-Handed Stormtrooper: Don't shoot. I wish to defect and join the Rebel Alliance.

Sam/Rebel: Why do you want to fight against Darth Vader and the Imperial Army?

Me/Stormtrooper: Well, we work long hours and the benefits aren't great. Plus, Darth cut off my hand.

OR

Sam/Stormtrooper: Lord Vader, you are our master. What can we bring you?

Me/Darth Vader: Jack in the Box sounds good. Maybe a vanilla milkshake.

Star Wars would've been a very different movie had I been involved.

Better Than a Dumb A**

I'll admit it, I'm a cynic and a smart ass. It's kind of second nature. A typical conversation between the boys and me:

"Where are we going?"

"Memphis."

"How long will it take to get to there?"

"Four hours."

"What's for dinner?"

"Mud."

Hence, I'm beginning to see a lot of sass in my kids, specifically Sam. Occasionally I am reminded that not all kids are exposed to this type of 'humor.' For example, Sam's best friend Garrett came home with us last Friday to spend the night. About halfway through the drive, he asked, "What are we going to have for dinner?"

Without skipping a beat, Sam said, "Eyeballs." Garrett looked horrified. And then, to drive the point home, Sam said, "She just sticks a fork in her eye and ssssccchuuuulk, DINNER!"

Trading Up

Bear with me, this could be long. I have a lot I want to say.

This is a typical day. On any given day you can add Bryon or substitute his name for me, but this is supposed to be illustrative.

6:30-7 a.m.: Wake up and shower
6:45: Wake up Abby and fix her breakfast
7: Wake up Sam and Jake, fix their breakfast
7-7:15: Clean up breakfast dishes, layout kids' clothes
7:15-7:45: Beg kids to get dressed, get myself dressed
7:45: Collect and double check backpacks, put on kids' shoes
7:50-8: Load kids, backpacks, purses, laptop into car
8:10: Leave house
8:30: Drop Abby and Jake at daycare
8:40-9: Commute
9: Drop off Sam at summer camp
9:10: Get to work
9:10-12: Work
12-1: Errands, maybe lunch
1-3: Work
3: Sugar and caffeine break
3-5: Work
5: Leave work
5:10: Pick up Sam
5:10-6: Commute
6: Pick up Abby and Jake
6:20: Home
6:20-7: Make dinner
7-7:30: Eat
7:30-8:30: Clean up, baths, jammies
8:30: Watch Dexter
8:45-9: Give Abby her bottle, rock
9: Put Abby down
9-9:30: Tuck in Sam and Jake
9:30-10: Tidy up, organize for the next day
10: TV
10:15: Sleep

This schedule is missing some things - like laundry, housecleaning, watering the yard. But more importantly it is missing stuff like reading to the kids, dancing silly to loud music, making cookies, gardening, coloring, collecting lightning bugs, making S'Mores.

What I'm trying to say is that lately I am really noticing how my schedule is preventing me from being the best mom I could be. And frankly, as Sam gets older, the behaviors I dislike in him - he's impatient and irascible - he sees in me, and they are by-products of my unbalanced life.

This has been coming for some time. And interestingly it wasn't anything major that got me here. No missed school play, no crying kids, no ER visit. It was a flippant comment I made to someone about how I spend 25 seconds making Jake's breakfast and more than one hour commuting every day. The minute I said it I realized it wasn't anything to joke about, and I certainly wasn't proud of it.

Now I am not quite naive enough to think that if I were a full-time, stay-at-home mom that my life would be problem free. In fact I am certain I would be trading one set of problems for another, but frankly I'm ready for that trade. It's probably not a wise decision financially. The idea of trying to re-enter the workforce years from now terrifies me. But right now my kids are not getting the best of me and I think it is taking a toll on all of us.

Like Mother Like Daughter

Abby transitioned to a new classroom this week. That means bigger kids, busier days ... and a sleepier baby. She's been sleeping great this week, contrary to my belief (hope?) that when she started sleeping in her crib she would miss me so badly neither of us would sleep at all.

But sleep she does. As a matter of fact many a night roundabout 8:45 she'll take your hand, lead you to the kitchen, get herself a bottle out of the cabinet and head for the refrigerator. One bottle and about 15 minutes later and she's out for the next 11 hours. This morning when she was still asleep at 8 I had to wake her up. I stroked her little chubby leg, tapped her bottom, "Abby Girl. Abby Girl."

She stirred a little, turned and looked at me, "Nuh-uh," she said, and went back to sleeping.

That's my girl.

May the Force Be With You

When I was a kid I loved the movie Grease. I saw it in the theatre 13 times. Over the years, thanks to videodisc, VHS, DVD and Ted Turner, I have now seen it at least 76 times. (I stopped counting in 1995.) I have always thought this was unusual and one of those interesting, did-you-know tidbits about me (obviously I'm not a very interesting person) but now that Sam is smack in the middle of an obsession with Star Wars, I'm beginning to realize my obsession wasn't all that unusual (which, alas, makes me an even less interesting person.)

For years Sam has liked Star Wars action figures. He even has a few of mine from my Stars Wars phase in the 70s and 80s. But a couple of months ago I bought the Star Wars DVD and he watches that movie everyday. The minute it is over he starts it again. He quotes the lines (usually slightly off "Demand your ships! May the force be with you!), hums the music and understands the plot lines.

A few days ago Sam and I stopped in Starbucks for a latte and chocolate milk (according to Sam, Starbucks' chocolate milks ROCKS. It should - it is nearly black with chocolate). He played with Boba Fett and Sandtroopers while we waited for our order. The guy next to me leaned over and said, "My mother would've kept all my Star Wars toys if she knew they'd be popular today." That's Sam in 30 years.

The Pause That Refreshes

If you are old enough to remember The Newlywed Game you may remember that contestants had to be married less than two years to be considered newlyweds.

Similarly I have stages that mark new motherhood. Milestones, if you will.

Obviously there is the delivery. You can't get any closer to new motherhood than delivering the baby, holding and nursing the newborn, leaving the hospital with the most precious cargo you can imagine.

But the first significant milestone is the six-week doctor visit. I am amazed a doctor can look at your hoo-ha and tell a new mom, swimming in a pool of hormones and exhaustion, that everything looks great, see you in a year!

The second is the end of the maternity leave. If you were a working mom and have to return to the workforce, this is a big one. No friend, spouse, partner, neighbor, relative should take this lightly. As a mom you have spent every waking moment with this creature, probably many sleeping moments too, and suddenly you are handing her over to someone else. Even if you were looking forward to a quiet cup of coffee or an adult conversation, you pine for that baby as if you had a crush. Whether you get six weeks or six months maternity leave, I would venture to guess you end up thinking it is never enough.

Then there is the first period after the baby. Nature's way of saying "Get over it my dear, and have another."

As my kids get older I am adding to these phases. Obviously there are many more to come. One that I noticed with both Jake and Abby is what I know call the 18-month refresh. Allow me to explain.

When Jake was about 18 months old, I remember waking up one morning thinking "I am no longer tired." I felt like a cup that was filled, like a cake fully baked. I was no longer sleepwalking through my day, getting drowsy driving the car or forgetting that my pajamas were wrapped around my waist during a trip to the grocery store.

Fast forward to this weekend. It was about 10:30 Saturday night and everybody but Jake and me was asleep. We were cuddling in his bed, talking about the movie Wall-E and I wasn't tired. I wasn't secretly wishing he'd drift off so I could go to bed too. And then I realized that this week Abby will be 18 months old. The 18-month refresh once again.

Maybe Abby is thinking the same thing: "Now that that woman lets me eat my own food and sleep in my own bed, I am doing much better."

A Real Stand Up Guy

If I was being honest, I would have to admit that Sam was basically potty trained by two teachers at his former day care. Miss Gwen and Miss Reyna. They started potty training the kids early there, but I suppose shuffling them in and out of the bathroom every 30 minutes is better than changing the diapers of a 2-year-old.

Because Sam spent more time potty training with them than with us, we took our cues from day care. One day I told Miss Gwen, "Just tell me how you are doing it, and we will do the same thing at home." This meant Sam would learn to 'tee tee' sitting down.

So here we are, years later, and Sam still sits. Bryon and I had never talked about it, until a couple of weeks ago when we agreed that if it were up to us, we wouldn't care, but I was beginning to worry that other boys Sam's age may tease him about it. Kids notice these things. Kids tease about these things. (It also occurred to me that Sam has been sitting on - and holding onto the sides of - many a public toilet.)

So one day over the weekend Bryon and I stopped him coming out the bathroom and told him that we thought it was time he started peeing standing up. "Sitting down is great for little guys who don't have great aim, but now that you're bigger you should try standing up. You think that would be OK?"

"Sure, okay," he said, running past, paying very little attention.

I turned to Bryon. "That right there? That just bought us one year of therapy."

Happy 4th of July