Sugar and Spice

So, I'm a year older than last time I posted. Birthdays have always been a time of introspection for me.  I have a natural tendency to get stuck in my own head anyway.  Occasions like birthdays only make it worse. It didn't help that this year I turned 33 on the same weekend as the Inauguration and MLK day. I'm sure you're asking yourself what any of this has to do with...well, anything. Let me start with 33 - or, as my sister-in-law put it in a text to me, "the age of Jesus."  That's right, as depressing as it might seem, I keep dwelling on the fact that I'm now the age that Jesus was when he died.  33.  He died on a cross to save all mankind.  I, on the other hand, was glad my children got out the door this morning without too much unidentifiable crust on their faces. Then there is MLK, who died in his thirties for the cause of all of humanity - peace, equality, love. And then there's the Inauguration.  Now, whether you voted fo...

Who am I? No, really, who am I? I am not asking in an existential, finding myself while growing dreadlocks and sipping chai tea sort of way.   I’m asking in an I looked in the mirror and no longer recognize the tired-yet-wild-eyed mama staring back at me.   And while I don’t recognize her, I also have no idea who used to look back at me. For example, when I was what I remember as bright eyed and bushy tailed, what in the world did I do with myself between the hours of 6 PM and 10 PM?   You childless friends – what do you do after work?   I seriously cannot recall.   I know I said it before when there was just one, but I had no idea that with two it was literally like a three-ring circus once the door opens after work.   It started with just getting ourselves out of the car – two kids, purses, briefcase, toys, bottles, and myself is no easy feat in heels.   Daddy met us at the door for the big girl hand-off after which he promptly started...

It has been three months since my last post, but fear not, I am still here.  As the title of this blog might indicate (for you fans of The Script), I am "Falling to Pieces" a little after having just dropped the girls off for my first full day of work, but I'm here nonetheless.  I am a bit at a loss for where to even begin since so much has happened since my last post.  I could make this post informational and tell you about Pumpkin's finally-detected-yet-still-undiagnosed-autoimmune disorder or how I yanked her out of school after a crazy-crying-mama meltdown in the daycare office during which I adamantly insisted to the director that I was NOT, in fact, crying.  I could tell you all about our tiny, little, 25th percentile Bug with her incredible neck strength, sweet smile, and disdain for formula.  I could tell you about her birth, her first Thanksgiving, her first Christmas or any number of other things.  But instead, I'm going to tell you about yeste...

So, this is it - the week we go from family of three to a family of four and I go from a mother of 1 to a mother of 2.  As I was walking out the door today, scratching some unidentified pink crust off my sweater with my fingernail and remembering my polished and together former self, I began to wonder whether it was even humanly possible to become MORE of a mom than I am now. Now, obviously I realize I can be a mom to MORE (and will be in three days), but can I really be more of a mom?  Aside from the pink crust, I am also sporting a highly visible Hello Kitty bandaid on the top of my foot (because it was the only bandaid I could find this morning) and humming the tune to "Building a Birdie House" from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.  On top of that, just last week I walked into my office and referred to myself - out loud - in the third person as MAMA (as in, "mama needs to call the court and check on that.")  Very professional, I know...intimidating even...

  This blog, much like the last, should come with the late-term pregnancy caveat that it might be either incredibly emotional or extremely disjointed, or some combination of the two.   Oh, and it might sound a little like I’m standing in a pulpit.   Consider yourself warned. Yesterday in church we celebrated Morning Prayer in place of Eucharist because mom was in Lafayette meeting the folks at our sister congregation St. Barnabas.   Once the children returned to “Big Church” Pumpkin started telling me she wanted “Jesus” (i.e., communion).   I quietly explained that we weren’t going to have communion because Nona was in Lafayette.   Pumpkin looked at me quizzically and asked, “Nona took Jesus to Lafayette?”   At that point, all I could do was chuckle and say yes.   Any other answer would have resulted in continued demands for Jesus, which I could not provide but at the same time could not deny. Not ironically the Gospel reading yesterday...

If you’re feeling anything like me today, be careful where you are when you choose to read the following blog article, as it may cause uncontrollable crying, feelings of melancholy, and inability to perform the essential functions of your job for a few moments.   Consider yourself warned.   By feeling “like me,” I guess I mean a combination of hugely pregnant with a fully engaged fetus causing frequent though mild Braxton Hicks contractions, a raging sore throat and sinus headache that is causing my whole body to tingle, a bit of anxiety about mothering the second child and a big dose of overwhelming nostalgia as I “nest” my way through all of Pumpkin’s tiny little baby clothes that I hardly remember her wearing.   Add to all of that dismay about the political atmosphere we’re living in and a touch of fearful remembrance of 11 years ago tomorrow and you’ve got an emotional wreck.   I’m sure none of you are feeling anything quite like that, but consider your...

There are lots of things about parenting that are hard.  Among those are the sleepless nights, nighttime feedings, seeing your child hurt or sick, trying to give that hurt or sick child medication, and not throwing up when that hurt or sick child projectile vomits on you.  Then there are the more abstract things like being a good role model, teaching values, and raising a nice child with good hygiene who makes excellent choices.  But, while I have only been at this parenting gig for a couple years now, I have to say that discipline is one of the absolute hardest parts about parenting I've encountered yet. The first difficulty with discipline is determining when, how much, and how often to administer it.  I have been adamant that I would not be one of those moms that just says "no" all the time "because I said so."  When I say "no" I try to have a good reason and try to explain that in terms she can understand.  And ...