But I just have to complain.  Or comment, because I don't even know that it's complaining so much as just seeking sympathy.  Not that I'll get any, really, because nobody ever comments.  Which sounds bitchy, I'm sorry. 

But man, by the end of the day, I'm freaking exhausted.  It's unbelievably tiring sometimes.  There are parts of my day that are slow and calm, while Julianna naps.  It's very peaceful.  But the mornings are insane, even making lunchs and picking up clothes ahead of time, it's still a harried mess trying to get three kids dressed, fed and out the door. 

And pick up is ever more busy.  I usually wake Julie up from her nap and shove her into the car.  Then I drive to the school, fight for parking, get Julie out, walk super slowly to the school and wait for the cherubs.  Then I drop Sarah off at home, and bring my two home.  At least on Mondays and Fridays.  Tuesdays, I also pick up Caroline, and Wednesdays, I go to the Holden Library and then drop off Jessie and pick up Harrison.  Every other Thursday, Jess has Brownies. 

There's homework and cooking and cleaning and childcare - and it's busy, busy, busy.  Bathtime and homework and laundry, oh the laundry.  I'm never actually caught up on laundry, I've got most of a load to wash still, and two loads to fold and put away.  The dishes, the mess, the blocks, the paper.  The paper.  Sam is learning to write and add, and likes to do it as often as possible.  Jessie needs to sketch out her house plans, and details of Lala Land, and Julie just like scrawling on paper and presenting it to me gleefully.  I've constantly got paper and crayons all over the place. 

I'm tired.  Really, really tired.  My back hurts, my head hurts and I'd pay money for a quiet hour alone in a clean house with cool drink and a good book. 

You shouldn't be a smug mommy

It's just bad policy.  Because I've discovered that whatever you are smug about will eventually become your problem. 

I never understood picky eaters.  I thought if a child was being picky, the best policy was to just ignore it.  Keep providing a balanced diet, and the kid will eventually eat.  A child won't willingly starve.  There's no reason to provide a special meal for a child, or to rush to provide supplements and vitamins.  It's indulgent and teaching the child that they have every right to demand that their parents dance to their every whim. 

So why was I up peeling potatoes last night to make a single serving of mashed potatoes for Jessie? 

Because.  That's why.  Because I was an idiot, and smug, and then I realized that my daughter, who's always been very slender, is getting skinnier and skinnier.  And when I don't have stuff for her to eat, she'll just not eat.  There's a very small list of items that she'll eat, and an even smaller list of healthy food that she'll eat and enjoy.  Chicken, tuna fish, some breakfast cereals.  She won't eat bread, or yogurt, or cheese.  She'll eat green beans, occasionally broccoli.  Loves mashed potatoes.  And will eat ice cream, cake or cookies like they're manna from heaven.  Beans and hot dogs.  White rice.  Apples and peanut butter.   I think the point was driven home for me this past week, because she was with me for every meal.  And on several occasions, she'd end up skipping a meal because she didn't like what was offered.  We'd go to an aunt's house (I've got a lot of aunts, and we visited several this week) and she'd easily go all day without eating.  Because they offered perfectly reasonable food, food everyone else ate happily, but Jess didn't like it.

So today I'm going out to buy multivitamins.  Which I've never done before, because my kids are good eaters.  My kids love fruit and vegetables, eat a healthy diet and had no need for supplements.  Because I was a good mom.  See how smug I was?  Now the only one who actually eats well is my toddler.   Sam eats more than Jessie does, but he's dancing ever closer to the picky, picky stage, especially as he can see that Jessie is so finicky. 

I'm not sure how to handle this picky stage.  I really don't want to cater to her dietary whims, but seriously - she'll just skip a meal, or two.  And it doesn't seem to bother her, and she's skinny, skinny, skinny.  The doctor has always assured me that she's super healthy, and not to worry, but she's never been this picky before.  I'm going with vitamins and trying harder to make sure that I always have at least one thing at every meal that I know she'll like.  And hope that this, like so many other stages, passes quickly.

Updates

It strikes me that there are a lot of just little details, none of which would constitute a whole post by itself, but all together, there are a bunch of little details I don't want to forget...

Jessie - she's officially an adolescent.  Okay, so she's only nine, but I've noticed a huge increase in the drama and emotional freak outs.  And they're more adult freak outs, she complains of me nagging her all the time, her clothes don't look right, her hair isn't perfect, her brother is making her nuts, etc.  She's become obsessed with doing her nails - and also, oddly, drawing out pictures of her house that she'll have one day.  She's planning on four kids, Tziporah, Emma, Megan and Jackson, and spends what appears to me to be an excessive amount of time planning and decorating her imaginary house that she and her husband and four children will live in.  She's also become excessively picky.  It's not that she won't eat, because if I give her one of four or five items (three of them are candy, cake and ice cream, the other two would be chicken and mashed potatos, wait she'll eat tuna as well), she'll eat and eat until she's full.  But if I don't have those things, she's not eating.  Literally.  Just won't eat.  And she's SKINNY.  I'm legitimately concerned that she's not eating enough.  It's freaking me out...

Sam spent the night at his buddy Harrison's house two nights ago.  My clingy, almost pathologically shy boy - voluntarily packed his bag and went off for the night at his friend's house.  And then had to be dragged out sobbing the next afternoon, because he didn't want to come home.   He's doing very well with the homeschooling thing we're doing.  Because he was behind in kindergarten (they really do need preschool), he needs to catch up in order to go on to first grade.  So we're working at home every afternoon on letters and numbers.  He's super motivated (because for every educational game we play, I give him a star - 10 stars and he gets a dollar to spend at the dollar store down the street), and I'm really impressed at how fast he's picking it up.

Julianna - holy moly, is that kid cute.  She's talking all the time, chattering away.  She's still relatively easy to handle, although we're rapidly approaching the terrible twos.  She's opinionated and loud, making her thoughts and feelings abundantly clear.  She's still obsessed with the Little Einsteins (Pat Pat, in our world) and asks for it 24/7.  She also sings all the time, and one the cutest songs is when she just sings different names - Mama, Yaya, Abby, Abby, Abby, Mama, Yaya, Yaya.... over and over again.  It's like her version of My Favorite Things. 

How can he miss people he's never met?

My son is named after two of his grandfathers.  One on my side, one on my husband's side.  And he misses them desperately.  Having never really met them, I'm constantly stunned at how intense his grief is over these men.  Marc's grandfathers both passed away before I met him, and my grandfather died last year.  Sam didn't really know him at all.  But he mourns for them, talks about his grandfathers a lot. 

It's so hard to talk to him about it, because he's just aching with grief and sadness.  Sometimes he'll get really quiet, and then he'll just say quietly "I just miss Grandpa Sam and Grandpa Bubbles and Grandpa Earl so much" and then start to cry, and it breaks my heart.   Because I miss him too - I loved my Grandpa.  He was the man in my life for a very long time, and I'll always miss him.   On more than one occasion, both Marc and I have ended up crying right along with him.

I've tried to explain grief to Sam.  Tried to tell him that it's okay to miss people we've lost, that missing them is a way of honoring them.  And that even though it's hard, we just have to get thru it.  I give him tangible reminders to make him feel better, I've framed pictures of each of them and put them on his wall.  Marc's grandfather was devoutly Jewish, so I tell him that when we celebrate Shabbat, we're honoring him.  My grandfather loved nature and reading and playing chess, so I'll pull out the chess board that my grandfather used to teach me chess and we play together.  I recently went to the library and took out bird watching books, and Sam's outside right now, diligently bird watching with his best friend.   "See, Mama?  I'm watching the birds, just like Grandpa!"

Sam is such a tender, sweet kid.  His emotions are raw, there's no artifice or defenses.  Whatever he's feeling is right there.  I always say that nobody loves me like Sammy loves me, because it's so intense and all encompassing.  And his grief is the same way.  He just misses them.  He knows that he's lost something, but not having his great grandfathers in his life.  And while my heart breaks for him, I'm also in awe of his capacity to love, to grieve for men who would have adored their namesake.  And in the end, isn't that an incredible testimony to how very much these men were loved?  How much of an impact they had, to be mourned three and four generations down the line?  I hope that my great great grandchildren think of me as often as my son thinks of his grandfathers. 

How to raise your child to love reading

You can't.

There.  I've said it.  Parenting is sometimes the ultimate manifestation of "You get what you get, and you don't get upset."  I love my kids - and that means I love all of them, even the parts of them that I sort of sometimes wish might be a little different.

I love to read.  And perhaps, I love to read more than anyone I know.  Maybe my standards for loving to read are rather high.  I'm never not in the middle of a book.  Or four.  I'm at the library at least twice a week, and I literally start to stress out when I'm running low on new books.

I just assumed that my kids would also love to read.  I read all the tips on how to get your child to love to read, and diligently followed all of the rules.  Our house is FILLED with books.  Overflowing with them.  I always have one with me, my husband reads (perhaps not as voraciously, but he's still a reader).  I read to my kids every night, filled their little lives with literature.  It's too early to tell with the little two, how much they'll enjoy reading on their own.  They like to be read to, but as far as I can tell, every kid loves to be read to.   My oldest adores being read to as well, but as far as picking up a book and reading it independently?  She's not that interested....

My nine year old will read, but only after much coaxing.  Once she gets into a book, she'll read it happily enough, but it's never her go to activity.   It was so frustrating to me - why doesn't she love to read?  Why?  I did everything right.  And still - somehow she insists on forming her own opinion :-).  Because in the end, you get what you get.  Some people love to read, some don't.

I think reading is like any other talent.  Like playing piano, or playing football.  You can do the classes, expose them to it, but in the end, I think reading, really loving to read and doing it well, is an innate talent.  Some kids are going to be concert pianists and exceptional atheletes.  Some kids aren't going to do much more than practice when you make them, and forget it as soon as they can.  You either are a reader, or you aren't.  I started reading, and it was like coming home for me.  It was, and is, my default activity.  I'd rather read than watch television, rather read than clean.  I'd rather read than just about any other leisure activity.  My daughter can read, knows that there are wonderful stories out there, but it's not her thing.  She can read, she will read, she doesn't live to read.  Not the way that I do.  And that's hard for me sometimes. 

I felt, for a long time, like somehow I had done something wrong (I generally like to blame myself for any sort of parenting issue).  Hadn't I done everything right?  Why wasn't she picking up the books and reading?   Eventually, I can to the realization that it's perfectly okay that she doesn't love to read.  She loves a good story, loves to learn, has a serious need for drama and pathos in her life, but she doesn't love to read.  And you know what - I wouldn't change it.  Because truly - as a parent - you get what you get, and you don't get upset.  In this aspect, she's not what I expected, I thought of course, my child will adore reading - but she doesn't.  And I find that, once I got past that initial dismay, I don't mind at all.  She's simply who she is - and I can't begin to express how fabulous and fantastic that is. 

I wanted this

Like most people, I had a tangled up kind of childhood.  Wonderful in many ways, but kind of yucky sometimes too.  I had a wonderful mother, fabulous extended family that adored me, but a father who opted out fairly early on, and some major financial struggles.  I didn't have the fairy tale family.  I wouldn't change my childhood, because it brought me here, and I really like it here. 

But it wasn't what I wanted for my kids.  And I wanted kids desperately.  I didn't know that I wanted marriage.  I didn't know if that was in the cards for me.  I hoped, I dreamed, but in reality - I was more than prepared to have kids on my own.  I was raised by a single mom, it was how I knew how to parent.   We had an extremely unplanned pregnancy very early into our relationship.  Tragically, that pregnancy resulted in a miscarriage of twins, and my whole world fell apart.  It's tough to put into words what that experience was like.  After losing my babies, I knew simply and absolutely that the only thing that was going to make it okay was to get pregnant again, and while I was far from certain that Marc and I would be together forever, I did know that he would be there forever for my child.  He and I had lost our babies together, he alone mourned for that pregnancy the way that I did.  I knew he was and would be the father of my children.  I just didn't exactly know for certain that he and I would be together forever. 

Somehow, without me ever actually realizing it, he just sort of made all of my dreams come true.  I'm an unbelievably happy woman today, with a love that still surprises me.  I didn't go into this assuming that it would be happily ever after.  But it is.  I knew that Marc would be a wonderful father, that no matter what happened between us, he would never, ever desert his children.   I didn't know that he'd be my partner in all things, my best friend, my first call and my better half.

I had learned early on that relationships between adults were fragile, and tenuous.  Sometimes they worked, and sometimes they didn't.  And that in the end, you had to be able to stand on your own when your world fell apart.  What Marc has shown me, over and over again, is that our relationship isn't tenuous.  Our relationship isn't fragile.  It can withstand three kids, two step children, joblessness, multiple moves, sleepless nights, no money, and even less patience.  It can, and has, thrived in all of those circumstances.

It's our ten year anniversary tomorrow - and I never thought we'd be here.  I'm happier than I ever dreamed of being, because I couldn't even fathom this level of trust and committment.  This is my life, with this man, and I'm so incredibly grateful for it every day. 

Happy Valentine's Day.  I hope yours is half as wonderful as I know mine will be.

The number nine candle

We do a LOT of birthday parties in this family. Partly because both my husband and I have large families, partly because we've got a lot of friends with kids, and partly because we've always got limited space. So this year, my daughter is getting a birthday party every weekend for three weeks. Today is her "school friend party", next weekend will be a "Daddy's family party" and the end of the month will be the combo party with my family and all of our friends, and it's a joint party for her and her best friend.


So today, we had seven little girls, a five year old little brother, and a toddler running around like lunatics to celebrate the birth of my oldest child. We had a cupcake decorating party, and set each kid up with a couple of cupcakes, littered the table with sprinkles, glitter frosting and tubes of icing and let them go nuts. Then my husband pulled out the number nine candle - and I had a minute, just a minute, when I wanted to cry because how was it possible that my tiny little angel baby was suddenly a big nine year old girl?

Wasn't it yesterday that buying the number one candle was an event?

Every child is special and amazing and my oldest isn't any more amazing than my middle child, or my baby. But the difference is that she is my introduction to motherhood. She's the one that changed my name from Melissa to Mama. It's not that her milestones are any more momentous than the others, but they are my first as well - so there's that moment of ohmygoodness, my baby is not a baby anymore and it panics me just a little bit.

Because I remember so vividly the day she was born, and the baby she was. I remember the way she'd lay her little head on my shoulder and stop crying when I whispered "Shhhh" and I was convinced she was a genius. I remember the way she'd warble the Barney theme song and dance across the bed. I remember the way she was terrified of pumas (thanks Go Diego Go!) and my husband would have to search the bedroom before she'd lay down for sleep. I remember the way she used to cry for me to shut off the sun when we drove home on 290 and it was in her eyes and how she never quite believed me when I said I couldn't. I remember her first day of preschool, and her first day of kindergarten and the day she decided to potty train herself. I remember all of it, and it's blowing my mind that she's NINE. And next is ten, and then she's a teenager, and suddenly, she'll be an adult - and I still can't quite wrap my head around it.

I'm a little wistful tonight, because my baby is growing up, and I'm already a tiny bit missing the baby she was. I'm loving the grown up girl she's becoming, and I can't wait to see the woman she'll be someday - but I wonder if I'll always picture her as I do now, this tiny little angel wonder girl who changed my entire world nine years ago.