taking a little break

I'm still feeling pretty down these days, so I will probably be doing most of my writing in my journal rather than here on the blog. Please do check back in a week-ish, but I probably won't be updating it before then.

We'll see. I may be back before I expect. And don't worry. I've got a great partner in this gig and we are taking good care of me.

be back soon. xo

edited to add: and if you're relatively new to the site or haven't been here in a while, here is a funny post you have to get in on. please leave your own story for my reading enjoyment. :)

Read more...

feeling a little glum

I'm in a bit of a funk. I know it will pass; it always does. But it's no fun being stuck here in the meantime.

I feel like I tripped, and at first I was able to do that thing where you pretend you decided to spontaneously start jogging for a minute and hope that no one noticed, but then I kept stumbling and flailing my arms to catch my balance and then maybe I looked over my shoulder or something and before I knew it I had landed in a sticky stinky pile of mud.

And that's where I am right now.
*sigh*

I look back to where I was two or three months ago, and I feel 180 degrees from the cool, zen-like mama of three who wrote those posts. I guess even in my Zone, I admitted there would be harder times ahead.

But they snuck up on me. Ahhh...I'm not being completely honest. When we strapped ourselves in for our summer rollercoaster ride, my intuition whispered words of caution, but I let those early thrill ride screams drown them out.

And now I've let myself get to a low point I have to crawl out of.

Don't get me wrong, I have been having a blast this summer. I love camping, traveling, visiting friends and family. But the packing and unpacking and the laundry and coming home to a dirty house are really getting to me.

We have no routine or rhythm to our days or weeks when we are home. We are living in a state of perpetual chaos, floundering around with nothing to ground us. Add to that my two stints of solo parenting that sandwiched our last camping trip, and I pretty much slipped off the edge of sanity.

I will be fine, but right now I'm just feeling a little glum. I need a break from the kids, I need to restore some rhythm to our lives. I need to get back into my regular yoga practice (which I haven't done since summer started) and John and I need time together without our kids or our friends.

I have no neat or witty wrap-up for this post, so I think I'll just head downstairs to switch the laundry. But lest I leave you feeling vicariously depressed, I'll leave you with this.

Read more...

Mr. Two Teeth

One on top, one on the bottom. When we're lucky, he even grinds them.

Hello, Mr. Two Teeth

He is possibly too cute for me to bear.

Read more...

I'd rather be camping

We have been home for less than one week, and already I am getting the itch to get camping again. (Although considering the poison ivy surrounding our last campsite, maybe 'itch' isn't the right word....)

soccer, anyone?

Three-leaved plants aside, camping seems to actually be easier for me than being at home. At first I thought it was just because we were on vacation; maybe we were all more relaxed and at ease with the pace of camping life. But our life at home is pretty cush, too; so I thought about it a little more and realized that there are few reasons why life feels easier when we are camping.

1. There is no struggle to get the kids outside.
We wake up, unzip the tent, and we're outside -- ready to start the day in the sunshine or fresh air. (or rain. but that's what the tarp is for.) At home, there are way too many distractions between the bedroom and the front door.


2.There are not hundreds of toys underfoot.
When we go camping, we do not bring home with us. Sure we grab a couple of shovels and pails, maybe a dumptruck or frontloader and usually a ball or frisbee. But the kids usually occupy themselves pretty well with sticks, rocks, pine cones, tent stakes, various straps and ties, and best of all -- headlamps. Really, what more can a boy ask for than a flashlight and a big stick? It really gets me thinking about the toy box at home.


3. Bacon and coffee both taste better outside.
It's true. Not sure why, but they do.


4. The dishes do not pile up.
When you only bring 5 plates, 5 cups, 5 forks and5 spoons; there are no dishes accumulating in the sink.


And since the ants or the raccoons would flock to your campsite if you left your syrup-coated breakfast dishes sit out all day, the incentive to wash them right away is pretty strong. (Hmmm...maybe that's what I need to get my butt in gear at home. I'll just get a raccoon....)

5. The dog hair simply blows away.
Nothing to vaccuum. 'Nuf said.


And finally...

6. Our standard for cleanliness is much, much lower.

Swimming counts as a bath, right?

But really, how could I not prefer camping life when this is what it looks like?











Only a couple more weeks....

Read more...

Crazytalk

Sometimes I find myself imagining the most bizarre and horrifying scenarios. It's not that I actually worry; its more like I allow awful events to unfold in my mind and I let them play out in great detail. Then I shudder at the thought, and let it go.

For instance, when I was driving up north with the kids last week to go camping, we crossed over a bridge. I am not afraid of bridges or water. But for some reason, I thought,

What if the bridge collapsed and our minivan and trailer plummeted to the frigid waters of Lake Michigan?

It wouldn't have been that crazy for that simple thought to flash through my brain. But it didn't end there.

How would I get all three kids out of the car? Who would I unbuckle first? Could I send Owen up to the surface on his own? Would he understand to kick his way up? They're going to be pissed if they get water up their noses. OOh! I have a sling! I could tie Axel on in the sling and hold hands with Owen and Eli while we ALL kick up together! Great idea. I wonder if we would get disoriented and know which way was up. Oh! I have their life jackets along! Perfect!

Keep in mind this entire thought sequence lasted about 10 seconds, but still...why do I think about this shit?! I actually sat up a little straighter in my seat and smiled when I realized I had their life jackets tucked under the back seat! Why am I so crazy???

So then I realize how crazy I was being and I laughed it off and started to think about something else. And before I knew it,

Would I be able to open the doors underwater?

Let it go, woman.

A couple days later, we were all sitting around the campfire discussing the bathroom facilities at the campground. I confessed I would rather pee outside than in a pit toilet.

I'm always afraid my kid is going to fall in there, confessed my friend Heather.

ME TOO! I exclaimed.

And before we knew it, we were laying out our plans for how we'd rescue our children from the nasty poop-filled well.

Our husbands looked at each other, confounded.

Like I said, I do not actually worry about these things. I just think about them. I can't help it. And I've talked to enough other people that I know I'm not the only one.

I am just one of the legions of mothers out there who can go from a simple:

I wonder why he's not answering his phone.

to

Maybe he got hit by a car. I wonder how they would know to call me. Maybe they'd look at his cell phone and see who the last call was to. I bet they'd do that. Hmmm...I wonder what I'd do with the kids if I had to meet him at the hospital. I could probably call next door. She'd take them. And then Mom could get here in a couple hours. What if he died. Oh, it would be awful. How would I tell the kids?

I realize I sound crazy. But when I think like this, I swear it is in a completely emotionless way. I'm not anxious, I'm just playing out this totally insane scenario in my mind. In a matter of 10 seconds.

I've often wondered what evolutionary purpose this serves. Or maybe it's just a crazy gene that manifests when you give birth. I don't know.

But I do know I'm not the only one. So dish. What are your irrational scenarios?

Read more...

Flying Solo: Day 2

As I type these very words, I am bouncing up and down with a baby strapped to my chest, listening to my three year old trying to get out of his room. Again. Miraculously, his roommate manages to stay asleep.

***

10 minutes later....

Well then. I sat down to write this post because I was just losing it a teensy bit and thought this would help, but then the noises started getting a little too loud for my comfort so I went down to investigate.

Eli will not stop getting out of bed. At 5:30pm, I had to fight him to keep him awake. Now, at 9:00pm he is still up. And he's a no-napper.

And Axel, my teething crawler, can't settle into sleep either, so I've been walking him around for the last hour.

***

Two minutes later....

Eli just snuck upstairs. That little ..... And now Axel is staring up at me; wide-eyed, sucking his thumb to his heart's content. Why won't they SLEEP?????!!!!

Anyway, when I went back down to check on Eli twelve minutes ago, I thought I smelled something. So I ask him, Did you poop in your diaper?

He says no.

Word to the wise: if you're not sure your toddler is telling you the truth about whether or not there is poop in his diaper, do not stick your finger down said diaper in the dark.

So, I haul him out of bed, set the almost-but-not-quite-sleeping Axel in the crib (where he proceeds to roll over, start crawling, and pull him self up to standing; in which position he remains as he wails through his brother's diaper change), and change his diaper in the hallway (not that Owen seems to be waking up through any of this anyway).

I hear screaming.

***

Three minutes later.....

THIS IS NOT HAPPENING TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!

Is there any physical explanation as to why the act of pooping in one's diaper gives one a second wind? This child should be sleeping. And so should the one tied to my body.

Oh wait, I think he is. Ope, nope...we've got movement.

All I want is to drink a glass of wine, unwind, and do some writing. (This does not count.)

Alright, I'm not really sure where I'm going with this, and the therapeutic effect of publicly journaling my every thought as I systematically lose my mind is wearing off.

All I want is to have an hour of wakefulness during which I am not caring for a child. It is nighttime. They should be sleeping.

OK, things seem to be quieting down. (Although it could be the calm before the storm....) I'm going to try to get this baby in his crib and then do some real writing.

By the way, we actually had a great day. When John called at 7:45pm I told him I was 'doing great!' Even as the words escaped my lips, I felt the sinking sensation that I was jinxing myself....

Read more...

Flying Solo through the Boy Storm: Day 1

John left today for a five day business trip to Salt Lake. I have to sheepishly admit that he is actually gone for three full days with two half days on either end, but still. It's four nights of solo-bedtime duty. Four mornings of dragging myself out of bed to make my own coffee. (I know, I know...I am spoiled rotten. And no, I cannot make it the night before. I have a french press.)

We'll surely miss Daddio while he's gone, but we will be fine. We're still trying to settle in after our week away.

We had so much fun up in Door County. John was working up there for the annual Sea Kayak Symposium, and I drove the boys up so we could camp for the rest of the week. You should have seen us; we were nothing less than a Force.



The van was loaded up with three boys, a giant dog, a kayak, two bikes, and towed a trailer filled with camping gear and kids bikes. John convinced me I could handle it (You're a Renaissance woman!), and my false sense of confidence came back to bite me in the ass.

I figured it couldn't be that hard to back up. I get that you have to turn the steering wheel the opposite way you have to go. I know the trick of holding the bottom of the steering wheel. This was not my issue. I just didn't realize how tight that thing would pivot, and when I tried to back it up into an almost-90 degree turn, the trailer folded up on the van like a jack knife and CRUNCH.



But, it's only a cosmetic defect so I guess we'll just leave it. It adds character, right?

But I digress.

We are home, and I am flying solo through the BoyStorm for a few days, but I will persevere. So far, so good. I'll keep you posted.

And if you don't hear from me, send help. Or wine. And maybe some chocolate. Thanks.

Read more...

snapshots

The past couple of weeks have left me with very little time at the computer. And while I have enjoyed spending my writing time the old fashioned way, with a pen and a journal; I am finding it difficult to shape my random thoughts into a smooth form that can be shared as a story here on my blog.

So instead of tapping my foot, sighing loudly, and checking my wrist for a watch that hasn't been there in years while I wait for the Muse to return, I will flip through the metaphorical photo album of my week off and share some snapshots instead.

Snapshot #1: Flowers

Maybe it was because the fresh air blew the cobwebs from my head, or maybe it was because there were enough adults to share in baby-holding; but this week it hit me that Owen brings me at least one flower every day.

Here, Mom. I picked a flower for you!

I have to admit that most times I smile a hasty Thank You and then ask him to 'put it somewhere safe for me so Axel doesn't tear it out of my hands', which I realized this week really isn't much better than responding with an absent-minded That's nice, Honey.

I want to nurture my little poet's thoughtful and generous spirit, and I don't want to take it for granted. Yes, I usually have my hands full (literally), but you'd think I could find a way to hold a flower from my son.

So starting this week, when Owen brings me a flower I do not pass it back to him after a lame attempt at feigned appreciation. Now I admire the flower with him, and tuck it behind my ear where the baby won't grab it.

I vow to treasure each and every flower. Because before long, the flowers he's picking will probably not be for me.

Snapshot #2: Peanutbutter and Jelly

They sat at the picnic table, side by side. Two brothers eating peanutbutter and jelly sandwiches.

Neither of them will eat the crusts.

They finish up and scurry off to play. We look down at their plates.

Picture this:

One plate is left with nothing but the outline of a sandwich, eaten. The crusts remain on the plate, meticulously placed so that they form the frame of a PB&J that once was.

The second plate sits empty. Next to it, crumpled into breadballs, mashed and squished and crumbling apart, are the other sandwich's crusts.

Two brothers. Two sandwiches. Different philosophies.

Can you guess whose plate was whose?

Read more...

see you next week

I know it's been a little quiet this week. I've been spending my writing time working on some bigger pieces which I have submitted (I'll keep you posted!). And then on Thursday, I packed up the van, loaded full with three kids, a dog, a kayak, two mountain bikes, and a trailer full of camping gear and drove north. I've been hanging at my parents' for a couple days while John worked the Sea Kayak Symposium all weekend, and in an hour, I'm going to pack us back up and drive a few more hours north to meet him for the week. I'll be back next week with tales of more camping adventures. (enough links to give you something to read while you're here?)

But I will not be here, because instead, I will be here.



picture via

enjoy your week!

Read more...

I should have taken the Express Lane [or Led Zeppelin always makes my day]

Today I feel like a hybrid. And by hybrid, I am not implying that I am feeling especially efficient or green today; rather I am feeling like part slacker/part failure. I swear the days when I run around from place to person to person to place are better days for my psyche than these days where I don't have much on my agenda. Its when the inertia sets in and we don't seem to make it out of the living room that I start to feel the worst about my mothering.

If you ask the kids, they might not even have picked up on my rating the day a C-. We hung out and played and rambunctified each other all day long. But I look around this house, the one where I have touched down for a mere three days before taking flight again, and I see the laundry baskets. The dishes. I smell something that I don't like. And there are ants. Geesh -- you leave out the sugar spoon from your morning coffee and the little effers have swarmed it. It's disgusting and I can't deal with it today. Oh, did I mention the diapers? Because there is a pile of them to wash, and I don't have the five minutes it takes to hang them on the line to dry, so I'm going to have to run them through the drier instead. ARgh.

And on top of it, I have no time to write anything other than these short little blog postings where I sit down and spew out the inner ramblings of my brain without editing or second drafts or beautifying revisions. So that means that all of the pieces I have started or have written down on my to-do list are not being written. You know, the pieces that might actually bring in a [small] paycheck?

Currently, my deadline that looms is for a piece to submit to a collection called Moms in the Fast Lane, in which the editors are looking for mothers to share their experience of family/work/life. And while I have had phases in my life during which I did feel like I was cruising at 80mph, simultaneously writing my masters thesis, raising a toddler, growing a fetus, writing five science stories a month, maintaining a marriage, et cetera...;these days I feel more like I am caught in traffic after erring in my choice of Local versus Express lane.

It's like I am stuck in rush hour traffic, in Chicago, bumper to bumper and running out of gas. The baby is crying, someone is hungry, and someone else has to pee. The man next to us is bitching into his cell phone, and the woman ahead of us is hanging out her window, smoking a cigarette with a look of sheer boredom on her face. I look out over the sea of cars at a standstill and watch the vehicles fly by on the other side of the barrier in the Express lane, and I curse myself for getting into this situation.

But then Led Zepplin comes on over the airwaves (as inevitably happens when driving through Chicago), a nice Lake Michigan breeze blows in through the windows, and maybe the baby even falls asleep. I realize I have some stale pretzels in the center console, and things don't seem quite so bleak as they did moments ago.

And that's how it goes with parenting, I guess. None of us get the time we'd like to pursue those things that feed our soul, or even just keep our houses clean. But we've got cute kids and loving partners or friends, and all we can do some days is crank the Zeppelin and have another pretzel.

Read more...

touching down

He walked along the shore, stopping to inspect charred logs or to gather feathers or to throw rocks into the Big Lake. He tromped through the sand, narrating imaginary tales with such detail I could have drawn a picture of his story. I smiled as I watched him drop to his knees and start constructing in the sand, his collected treasures now supplies for his fortress.

He ran along the shore, throwing himself down into the sand and pulling himself back up again. Diving into the sand, back up, and running. He dodged the quiet waves that lapped the beach. He gathered rocks or sticks or sand to throw into the lake -- anything to throw. I took his hand and we ran down the beach. I held his hand while he scampered up onto boulders and jumped back down into the sand.

He slept in the sling, sucking his thumb, breathing in fresh Lake Michigan air. Content to be with his family, he opens an eye to catch an occasional glimpse of his brothers or Dad, digging in the sand; or to look up at me and smile around his tiny thumb before snuggling back in against my chest.

A jingle of dog tags and I'm soaked by the shower. A lake, a frisbee, and a rocky beach to ourselves is a dog's dream come true.

Ours, too.

* * *

We had a fabulous time on our annual 4th of July visit to my hometown, a pretty little Wisconsin city on Lake Michigan that has yet to be taken over by the tourists. Still very much a blue collar town, there is a church or a bar on every corner. The beauty of the town is striking, without any pretension.

I'm so happy my parents still live there, giving us a chance to visit. Our weekend was lazy and relaxing and also packed full of our favorite things. Paddling, sailing, bikes and the beach; old friends and new, fishing and cooking fresh-caught salmon on the grill. Pony rides, bouncy houses, and watching the fireworks from Grandpa's sailboat. Time for the boys to spend with Grandma and Grandpa, which doesn't happen as often as we'd like, despite the relative proximity.

And lest I were to dream up delusions of coolness, John and I even managed to get laughed at by teenagers while we cruised the strip on a bicycle built for two.

* * *

And now we are touching down for a brief landing before packing up and taking off on another adventure later this week. But that is what summer looks like for us.

And we love it.

Read more...

Happy Birthday, Eli

As I sit down to write, it is 10:45 at night on the eve of Eli's birthday. (FAIR WARNING: the link will take you to Eli's birth story, with pictures. Family friendly, but not for the prudish among you.)

Three years ago, on this night, right about this time, my midwife had just arrived at my house, I had just had my first real contraction, and we learned I was at 3 centimeters.

A brief but fun-filled two hours later, I was holding my little newborn Eli in my arms.

That's right folks, three cm to baby-in-arms in less than two hours. Wham, bam, thank you Ma'am, I am Eli, HEAR ME ROAR!!

I think it is safe to say that my son started letting me know who he was right from the moment he came into the world.

My Eli, the boy who is up for anything. His bottomless well of energy. His run, his jump, his yell. He is a feisty one, and we wouldn't have it any other way.

This afternoon I held him on my lap as we rocked in the rocking chair after his nap. I held him a little longer than usual, realizing that today was my last day for a while to have a two year old in the house. I kissed his cheeks, rosy and warm from sleep. I smelled his head and was reminded of how the baby has become a boy. His head rested on my shoulder and his feet rested next to me on the chair. When did he get so big?

He has the softest, chubbiest cheeks that lips can kiss. Eyelashes long enough to paint a house, that blink over eyes the sky's shade of blue. Silky blond hair, often with a chubby hand running through. And rosy, smoochie lips that curl into a smile or pucker into a scowl, either way leaving me with no recourse other than to kiss them.

I'm not ready to write an open love letter to my son, but I think I'll tuck one away in my journal. And for tonight, I will revel in the memories of his birth, his infancy, his toddlerhood. And tomorrow, we will celebrate Eli. All who he is and will become.

Read more...

technical difficulties - this is only a test

So, a handful of people have told me that they have been having trouble commenting on the blog. I'm not sure why, because I have the privacy settings open. While I'm trying to figure out what's going on, will you test it out and try to comment here?

And if the comment doesn't work for you, shoot me an email at clarity.chaos[at]gmail[dot]com (in case you're wondering, its written out to avoid spam) and let me know that it didn't work.

Thanks!

Read more...