I'm not sure I ever really envisioned myself as the mama of many. To be honest, other than knowing I've always wanted to be a mom (which only requires 1/5 of my current load), I never really gave my ultimate family size that much thought. If pressed, I imagine I would have said 4--2 girls and 2 boys--just because I was pretty sure I wanted more than 2 and I liked the idea of having both genders and of my girls having a sister and my boys having a brother.
So now, on the cusp of becoming the mother of a brood of five, the most frequent response I receive to the most frequent question from strangers ("is this your first?" and my response "no, fifth"), right after "you must be crazy/a saint/very busy" is "how do you DO it?" And I find this a little annoying, to be honest. I've tried out some cutesy phrases "willpower and caffeine", "a healthy dose of insanity and very little sleep" and some sweet ones "my husband helps a ton" (true story--the man is brilliant at housework--much better than me to be honest) or "my family is the best part of my life--why would I want to limit that?". But the honest to God truth is I just do what I have to do. Is it overwhelming, at times? Of course. Is it beyond busy some days? Absolutely. Is it exhausting? No question. But you just do it. If you sit back and mourn the dozens of loads of laundry and the hundreds of meals and chores of course it seems impossible. But we muddle through. And I have to say that I am as happy as I can remember being. I never go a day without at minimum 10 hugs and kisses. I never go to sleep without hearing "I love you" at least a half dozen times. I never fold a shirt or pick up another stuffed animal without realizing how much the owners are growing and filling the world and my heart to the brim with crazy, noisy joy.
And today it is very easy to wax poetic and grateful because I am experiencing something I thought had altogether vanished from my existence--boredom. Seriously. I am bored. Grace is at a friend's (yes, again. I swear I'm really only raising 3 children because she is always out in the world somewhere doing something). And Claire is with her beloved cousin Bridget (my brother Brad having realized, as I have, that an extra kid in the house actually reduces your workload). We let Sam invite his buddy over due to the extreme unfairness of his sisters having somewhere to go and his not and they are upstairs playing quietly in his room (read: playing video games). And Lucy is happily playing alone (I swear that girl would have made an ideal first child--I think the chaos of all of us gets to her sometimes). Chad is watching TV and getting ready to start on yet another house project. Darlene (the miracle house cleaning fairy who continues to come back willingly every week) was just here yesterday and it is hours before I need to start supper. I've begun buying my groceries online, so thanks to our weekly stop at the HyVee drive through, our cupboards are full. I'm even current on laundry. So I am unaccountably unencumbered. I'm not free to dart out into the world, of course, but I've never been much of a shopper and I get tired just going up stairs these days, so I can't really think of anywhere I would even go.
So I'm bored. I know this is fleeting (I may not even have time to finish this post before someone needs something), but it is just so "durned unexpected". I truly can't imagine just having a kid or two. I guess I like the bustle and chaos and noise. I hate the mess (I think that is a variation on the mother's curse, you know the one--"I hope someday you get a kid just LIKE YOU (aka sloppy, messy, dirty)" and it's inverse "I hope my pet peeves (i.e. aversion to messes) become your pet peeves when you're grown"). But I like being needed. I like having lots of people around. And on days like today I feel like I'm on top of my game (ask me next week when someone gets sick on the same day as the rescheduled school talent show on the same day as my major presentation at work and Chad's only business trip of the year). But every now and then it happens. And I'm going to revel in it for the next, oh, 10 seconds or so. I can't imagine there is much more of this left.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
Terrible Twos
In the second year of the reign of Queen Lucy the terrible, there was great trial in the land. At least for Mama Duck.
I am not a novice to the era of the terrible. I've safely ushered 3 little ducks through the traumatic second year of toddlerhood with only a minimum of drama and bloodshed. It has come to pass, however, that I may have met my match in the queen. She is quickly pushing me to that indecipherable, "you'll know it when you see it" state known as "my wit's end."
I can't manage this child. She is exhausting me, and please remember that every two year old I've ever mothered reached the peak of terribleness more or less during the third trimester of pregnancy. Like I said; we've all been here before.
But was there ever a toddler so stubborn, so willful, so demanding? What Grace made up for with her generally calm demeanor and exceptional verbal skills, and Sam made up for with his utter susceptibility to mama magic (and sugar bribes) and Claire made up for with her general sweetness and distractibility, Lucy brings full force with her terrible twoness.
She is capable only of hurricane force emotions and literally refuses to answer any question (seriously, even questions like, "do you want candy?") with anything but a belligerant "NO," (you have to listen to the tone to know if it is no-no, or yes-no; or, better, just listen to the question and assume whatever answer--affirmative or negative--that you desire, is the one the queen is sure not to provide). She is becoming increasingly verbal, but her frustration when we can't understand her is simply epic. A typical conversation goes like this, "Mama?"
"Yes?"
"Ah-paco."
"What, darling?"
"Ah-paco. Peeees."
"You want popcorn?"
"NO! Ah baco. Bee bee"
"You want your baby?"
"NO!!!" (commence screaming and thrashing.)
"You want a banana?" growing more desperate, "You want a cookie? You want your binky? You want a diamond ring?"
"No," sadly, pitifully. (This is almost worse).
"Ah baco, Sammy-Gace moka bee bee. Ok?" (add gestures and pointing)
"You want to go for a walk?"
"NO!!"
"You want lamby?"
"NO!"
and so it goes.
It's exhausting.
And the thing is, she is such a charming, adorable little thing. She has this wrinkle nosed smile that makes you just melt, and she can work the room like nobody I've seen since her uncle Craig and her cousin Nico. But she is wearing me out.
I keep having this vision of some boy trying to take advantage of her some day. All I can say is I am already terrified for this unsuspecting teenage bundle of hormones. He'll end up with a black eye, an ice pack between his legs, and a tongue lashing so severe it leaves him seriously evaluating the priesthood. Come to think of it, maybe all this willfulness isn't such a bad thing. If I can just survive until her third birthday. Oy.
I am not a novice to the era of the terrible. I've safely ushered 3 little ducks through the traumatic second year of toddlerhood with only a minimum of drama and bloodshed. It has come to pass, however, that I may have met my match in the queen. She is quickly pushing me to that indecipherable, "you'll know it when you see it" state known as "my wit's end."
I can't manage this child. She is exhausting me, and please remember that every two year old I've ever mothered reached the peak of terribleness more or less during the third trimester of pregnancy. Like I said; we've all been here before.
But was there ever a toddler so stubborn, so willful, so demanding? What Grace made up for with her generally calm demeanor and exceptional verbal skills, and Sam made up for with his utter susceptibility to mama magic (and sugar bribes) and Claire made up for with her general sweetness and distractibility, Lucy brings full force with her terrible twoness.
She is capable only of hurricane force emotions and literally refuses to answer any question (seriously, even questions like, "do you want candy?") with anything but a belligerant "NO," (you have to listen to the tone to know if it is no-no, or yes-no; or, better, just listen to the question and assume whatever answer--affirmative or negative--that you desire, is the one the queen is sure not to provide). She is becoming increasingly verbal, but her frustration when we can't understand her is simply epic. A typical conversation goes like this, "Mama?"
"Yes?"
"Ah-paco."
"What, darling?"
"Ah-paco. Peeees."
"You want popcorn?"
"NO! Ah baco. Bee bee"
"You want your baby?"
"NO!!!" (commence screaming and thrashing.)
"You want a banana?" growing more desperate, "You want a cookie? You want your binky? You want a diamond ring?"
"No," sadly, pitifully. (This is almost worse).
"Ah baco, Sammy-Gace moka bee bee. Ok?" (add gestures and pointing)
"You want to go for a walk?"
"NO!!"
"You want lamby?"
"NO!"
and so it goes.
It's exhausting.
And the thing is, she is such a charming, adorable little thing. She has this wrinkle nosed smile that makes you just melt, and she can work the room like nobody I've seen since her uncle Craig and her cousin Nico. But she is wearing me out.
I keep having this vision of some boy trying to take advantage of her some day. All I can say is I am already terrified for this unsuspecting teenage bundle of hormones. He'll end up with a black eye, an ice pack between his legs, and a tongue lashing so severe it leaves him seriously evaluating the priesthood. Come to think of it, maybe all this willfulness isn't such a bad thing. If I can just survive until her third birthday. Oy.
Monday, February 21, 2011
A quick tribute to sugar man and the queen
Dear Sam & Lucy,
I owe you both a long, lingering, loving post on the momentous occassions of your 7th and 2nd birthdays respectively. But it just isn't going to happen this year. Not because I don't adore you. Not because I can imagine life without my little February miracles. But for the sheer fact of logistics--to wit, not only am I 8 months pregnant (read: exhausted) and trying to manage an overwhelming new full time job, 4 kids, and a crazy, bustling household. But this week, in addition to your two separate birthdays (for which you each got a cake) and 2 different birthday parties (one family, one friend--for which we also had 2 separate cakes; I never thought I'd say this, but I'm a little sick of cake), but we also had a round of the flu smash through the house with all its incumbent drama and mess (yours truly having the messiest reaction--lovely) and then yesterday we discovered that our basement had flooded in the spring thaw. I adore you both with every fiber of my being. Unfortunately, every ounce of energy and attention I have right now must go to the necessities (please don't ask me when the last time was that you all had proper baths)--like nutrition, permission slips, and rescuing as many possible stuffed animals and Barbie dresses from the damps below.
So, in one quick paragraph each, here is what I love about you. Sam, I love that you are a boy who maintains his essential boyness in the midst of princess central. I love your perfect, curly hair--the stuff of legend for grandmas and little girl classmates. I love that your skin is like cream when I press my own, dry, wrinkling cheek to yours. I love that you never go to sleep without insisting that I pray your three prayers with you and that every night you pray "For everybody on the whole planet and that the baby is a boy". I love that when you are tired, you go to bed. No fuss. No whining. No incessant demands. You ask for your kiss and your prayers, and you're off to dreamland. I love that the toughest part about getting you out the door for any event is helping you tie your shoes (and not even that so much anymore). I love that you will wear clothes long after they fit you just because they are comfortable and familiar and you never seem to notice how you look. I love that you have the only sweet tooth I've ever encountered that makes mine look like a mere preference. I love your bull-headed tenacity, even though it drives me crazy. I hope you hold on with that kind of unquenchable determination to everything you want in life. You will be utterly unstoppable if you someday pursue your professional goals with the same persistence you display in demanding one more serving of dessert. I love that you still climb unselfconsciously onto my lap, on the rare opportunity that you find it open, and nestle your curly little head into my shoulder. You remind me of the cuddly little boy baby whose whole body would relax against mine with a shudder of sheer relief at our closeness. I used to say you melted into me like butter. I love you little man. You fill me right up.
Your highness, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love that you are the tiniest of my babies in size and in age, and you are the boss of us all. I love that you are a bully because I will never be afraid to send you into the world. I know well how utterly capable of taking care of yourself you are. I love that you adore books and babies because those are two of my very favorite things as well. I love that you are the first of my little ducks to carry the Giese brown hair and eyes into the next generation. You recently saw a picture of me at about your age with Grandma Sue Sue and insisted that it was "Lulee." I love that you call yourself "Lulee" and always with a wrinkle nosed smile. I love that you are a daddy's girl and think your Papa hung the moon. I am and think those things, too. After 3 straight "only Mama" siblings, you are a welcome relief for your tired mama and a heart-melting little charmer for your crusty dad. I love that you are always in the middle of everything, that you never slow down, that you are as much a "Taz" as your big sister Claire, but that your big bossy personality makes us forget just how busy you really are. I love seeing you sign and snuggle your big sisters. It is a singular joy to see you melt into Gracie's arms when I am at my wit's end with you. I love that you, too, are the first of my babies to really warrant the description "a good sleeper." Having a child sleep so soundly through the night all alone in the royal crib was quite a change for me--and welcome after nearly 7 years of interrupted nights. I love that you are powering through big sister boot camp with all your typical sass and spunk. You don't go easily, but we get there--binky free, big girl bed and all. Lucy-girl, you'll always be queen of my heart.
But now, my beloved, I must go finish the dishes. You little ducks swear the work is finished and I hear the Wii chirping and chiming in the background, though I can hardly believe the kitchen work is complete. Daddy is downstairs pulling up carpet, so it falls to me to finish the clean up and herd you all off to baths and bed.
I love you, little February ducks. This month used to be so dreary and dull--full of dirty, melting snow and slushy, fickle weather. Now, instead of just longing for sunshine and summer, we have reason to pause and celebrate YOU. And we get to eat cake all month long. What could be better than that?
I owe you both a long, lingering, loving post on the momentous occassions of your 7th and 2nd birthdays respectively. But it just isn't going to happen this year. Not because I don't adore you. Not because I can imagine life without my little February miracles. But for the sheer fact of logistics--to wit, not only am I 8 months pregnant (read: exhausted) and trying to manage an overwhelming new full time job, 4 kids, and a crazy, bustling household. But this week, in addition to your two separate birthdays (for which you each got a cake) and 2 different birthday parties (one family, one friend--for which we also had 2 separate cakes; I never thought I'd say this, but I'm a little sick of cake), but we also had a round of the flu smash through the house with all its incumbent drama and mess (yours truly having the messiest reaction--lovely) and then yesterday we discovered that our basement had flooded in the spring thaw. I adore you both with every fiber of my being. Unfortunately, every ounce of energy and attention I have right now must go to the necessities (please don't ask me when the last time was that you all had proper baths)--like nutrition, permission slips, and rescuing as many possible stuffed animals and Barbie dresses from the damps below.
So, in one quick paragraph each, here is what I love about you. Sam, I love that you are a boy who maintains his essential boyness in the midst of princess central. I love your perfect, curly hair--the stuff of legend for grandmas and little girl classmates. I love that your skin is like cream when I press my own, dry, wrinkling cheek to yours. I love that you never go to sleep without insisting that I pray your three prayers with you and that every night you pray "For everybody on the whole planet and that the baby is a boy". I love that when you are tired, you go to bed. No fuss. No whining. No incessant demands. You ask for your kiss and your prayers, and you're off to dreamland. I love that the toughest part about getting you out the door for any event is helping you tie your shoes (and not even that so much anymore). I love that you will wear clothes long after they fit you just because they are comfortable and familiar and you never seem to notice how you look. I love that you have the only sweet tooth I've ever encountered that makes mine look like a mere preference. I love your bull-headed tenacity, even though it drives me crazy. I hope you hold on with that kind of unquenchable determination to everything you want in life. You will be utterly unstoppable if you someday pursue your professional goals with the same persistence you display in demanding one more serving of dessert. I love that you still climb unselfconsciously onto my lap, on the rare opportunity that you find it open, and nestle your curly little head into my shoulder. You remind me of the cuddly little boy baby whose whole body would relax against mine with a shudder of sheer relief at our closeness. I used to say you melted into me like butter. I love you little man. You fill me right up.
Your highness, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love that you are the tiniest of my babies in size and in age, and you are the boss of us all. I love that you are a bully because I will never be afraid to send you into the world. I know well how utterly capable of taking care of yourself you are. I love that you adore books and babies because those are two of my very favorite things as well. I love that you are the first of my little ducks to carry the Giese brown hair and eyes into the next generation. You recently saw a picture of me at about your age with Grandma Sue Sue and insisted that it was "Lulee." I love that you call yourself "Lulee" and always with a wrinkle nosed smile. I love that you are a daddy's girl and think your Papa hung the moon. I am and think those things, too. After 3 straight "only Mama" siblings, you are a welcome relief for your tired mama and a heart-melting little charmer for your crusty dad. I love that you are always in the middle of everything, that you never slow down, that you are as much a "Taz" as your big sister Claire, but that your big bossy personality makes us forget just how busy you really are. I love seeing you sign and snuggle your big sisters. It is a singular joy to see you melt into Gracie's arms when I am at my wit's end with you. I love that you, too, are the first of my babies to really warrant the description "a good sleeper." Having a child sleep so soundly through the night all alone in the royal crib was quite a change for me--and welcome after nearly 7 years of interrupted nights. I love that you are powering through big sister boot camp with all your typical sass and spunk. You don't go easily, but we get there--binky free, big girl bed and all. Lucy-girl, you'll always be queen of my heart.
But now, my beloved, I must go finish the dishes. You little ducks swear the work is finished and I hear the Wii chirping and chiming in the background, though I can hardly believe the kitchen work is complete. Daddy is downstairs pulling up carpet, so it falls to me to finish the clean up and herd you all off to baths and bed.
I love you, little February ducks. This month used to be so dreary and dull--full of dirty, melting snow and slushy, fickle weather. Now, instead of just longing for sunshine and summer, we have reason to pause and celebrate YOU. And we get to eat cake all month long. What could be better than that?
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