In repair

While it is safe to say that our blog readership is scant at this point and the number of people who actually care whether or not there are updates is few, my recent abbreviated post did prompt a few "where have you been???" type inquiries.

Where have I been? Well, I could easily rattle off some tale of how it's been all go-go-go and how my almost comedically hectic life with 2 little boys leaves virtually no time for blogging or updating friends and family. I could explain how our current schedule (a self inflicted fate) doesn't allow for much down time at home and how I have left myself with very little time for anything that doesn't directly and actively involve my children. I could say all of those things. They are 100% true. And most everyone in a similar position of mommyhood would probably relate. However, it would only be half of the story.

Truth is, I'm not sure exactly where I've been lately. I can tell you what it feels like. It feels like I've been stumbling around in a semi-blind state. Almost like I've been living life on auto-pilot, not so much taking control of my own path but just driving it. Somewhere along the way, my course was misrouted. Oh, at some point I knew I was lost but I just kept going anyway. Sometimes it feels like that's all you can do...just keep doing.

So, our blog title belies our current climate a little. Of late, we've been a bit skimpy on the "beautiful" and heavy on the "chaos." I haven't felt like me. We haven't felt like us. Mommy's been in kind of a funk and it's time to do something about it.

What's the funk about? Oh, I'm sure it started with the usual things that creep into the mommy brain. Not enough time. Not enough resources. Not enough balance. Not enough me. Those are age old complaints in this job...nothing new. Through all that, I usually comfort myself with the notion that even when I'm struggling, I'm doing what's right by my children and THAT is the most important thing I can do. So, what's the problem? We all struggle with this stuff, right? Well, the funk really started when I took a long cold look and realized I was not, in fact, doing the best job I could for my boys. Wham! Punch in the gut.

This parenting stuff is hard. The last 5-6 months have been REALLY hard. Owen will be 4 in September and Bennett just turned 1 in April. Owen at age 3 (and particularly from 3.5 to now) has been tough. The kind of tough that took me by the shoulders and shook me until all those neatly filed, deeply rooted ideas about parenting and discipline, philosophies and boundaries, right and wrong just got mangled and mixed up. Any inkling that I had my act together was zapped. Any notion that I was at least on the right path was yanked away. Basically, motherhood chewed me up and spit me out.

I have yelled. I have threatened. I have cried (okay, sobbed). I have said and done things I wish I hadn't. While my 3 year old spun out of control, I tantrumed right along with him. At times, it’s been downright ugly. While it is what it is, this kind of behavior just doesn't jive with my idea of parenting and guiding. Bottom line. Everyone who knows me, knows how verbal I’ve been about the importance of “positive parenting and discipline.” And now I can say that stumbling around in the big ol' shoes of hypocrisy is the ultimate walk of shame. It IS the funk.

So, I've been walking around in a stupor. Knowing that I've gotten it wrong and yet not knowing exactly how to climb back out. I've been less than stellar as a wife, as a friend, as a daughter, a sister and, most importantly, as a parent.

All of this may sound dramatic. I mean, I truly don't have a thing to complain about. I have 2 healthy, awesome children and we live a pretty charmed life in general. I know people who have been in true crisis and real turmoil (and my haze has meant that I've failed to be there for them when needed). Some will say I need to snap out of it. Some will say I need to quit with all this self-indulgent crap and pony up. Some will think I'm making a bigger deal than necessary..."it happens to all of us." Still others may be completely surprised by these confessions. Regardless of what anybody else thinks, here's what I know. This is not where I need to be. I've been a little bit broken and a little bit bruised and a whole lot NOT like myself. That needs to change. And that is where I am now. In the thick of it.

Though I am taking all this very seriously, I don’t want to paint a gloom and doom picture. The boys and I are still whooping it up daily. It’s still smiles and adventures and way, way more laughs than tears. It’s just that the good stuff is so easy to write about. The sweet lovey stuff and super capers I can share in spades. It’s the ugly, messy, stumbling moments that normally get shoved behind closed doors and not publicized (most certainly not on our family blog). However, it’s those same ugly moments that have changed me and affected so many areas of my life that I think that airing them out can only help. Plus, so many people have heard me talk about my “parenting philosophies” and how strongly I feel about them that I think it’s important to tell how often I’ve fallen from those ideals and how often I question my ability to parent effectively (or even decently). It’s just frickin hard. And the lessons for me are even harder.

BUT, my ideals haven’t changed, my “philosophies” hold true. I just have to work harder than ever to get there. At the end of a particularly rough day, I remind myself that the day isn’t bigger than me. The day was just the day, tomorrow is another. I can wrap my boys in my arms and promise to be a better, more patient mommy tomorrow.

A week or so ago, I was alone in the living room, picking up toys. Owen was at camp and Bennett was napping. In a rare moment of aloneness, I decided to put on a cd. A "grown up" cd. I was cleaning up, probably thinking about my next task, and enjoying something other than kids music. I was occasionally throwing in a tone deaf duet with John Mayer but, for the most part, the music was just background distraction. Then, one of the verses resonated...it truly hit home with me. I've heard it tons of times before but never so clearly. "I'm in repair. I'm not together, but I'm getting there."

That so describes me right now. I'm in repair. It’s time to re-focus and re-center and figure out what’s broken. I’m not together, but I’m getting there.

Just because

Too many days since my last post. Not enough time to even rattle off excuses. Just a few pictures to prove we still exist. If you are reading this, thanks for still checking in on us periodically. We still hold out hope that we can revive this site and return to the days of the 'old' blog with frequent and meaningful posts. Miracles happen, right??

Oh, and I'm slowly but surely adding some recent photos over there in our Flikr badge (see the right sidebar). You can see some new shots there.

Happy summer!

It only took 1 year, 2 weeks

Not to be outdone by his brother who took a whole 2 years, 9 months to accomplish his first ER visit, Bennett decided to get the job done at just over a year old. Now, before I move on, it is worth saying that this blog post is sure to incite a small riot from the grandparent following as none of the 4 sets of grands are currently aware of this incident. Sorry folks, really sorry. The infrequency of blog updates alone should speak to our inability to keep everyone posted and in the loop. It's truly not intentional...we simply suck at correspondence of all kinds. Equal opportunity silence. Sorry! So...on to the ER visit.

Last week--Wednesday, 4/23, to be exact--the boys and I were in the front yard for a bit. Owen was just home from school and Bennett and I went out to meet him (a friend and I share carpool duties every week...it was her turn to drive). Owen was headed in the house for lunch and I directed Bennett in after him. I was finishing up a conversation in the driveway as both boys were headed inside. I hear the beginning of a 'someting is wrong' cry. You know, not a full-on scream just yet but not your normal-run-of-the-mill fussing either. I look over to see Bennett stooped on the front door threshold, leaning on his hands and beginning to slip into the dreaded silent-cry mode. I run over, thinking he had fallen and hurt himself somehow. When I got to him, he was trembling a bit but his hands were frozen on the doorstep. I actually had the thought "I wonder if that metal is hot," pick him up, look at his hands and see that the skin had already started to slough away! Fast foward through inconsolable screaming, the running of cold water, the call to the pediatrician and the immediate flying down the interstate to the ER...

2nd degree burns. BIG blisters. All from the threshold of our front door!

Very difficult to photograph and get the whole effect, but here's the gist...

























As if all this wasn't bizarre and difficult enough, the story doesn't end here. We were directed to follow up with a burn clinic the next morning, presumably for them to get a better look at the burns and change the dressing. I proceed calmly to the appointment only to be told to withhold food and drink for the next 4 hours as he would be put under general anesthesia for a temporary skin graft of either pig or cadaver skin. To say that I was shocked is an understatement somewhere along the magnitude of "I don't care for George Bush" or "I might like chocolate a little bit."

So, after 3-way phone calls with husband, pediatrician, and burn surgeon and after much discussion and debate, Bennett was, in fact, put under general anesthesia and given a temporary, bio-synthetic 'skin bandage'. Ultimately, no cadavers or pigs were harmed in the making of this docudrama. So twice now, in his short little life, I've seen Bennett waking up from anesthesia, fighting post-op nurses and wrestling his IV. (for those who don't know, he had a surgery back in December...all is fine...that's another overdue post)












The worst part of it all was dealing with the bandages for the last week. Both hands were wrapped and taped extensively. We initially joked that we had enrolled him in some revolutionary toddler boxing classes. Within the first couple of days, however, we found that it was necessary to cover the already ridiculous amount of bandages with socks. Otherwise, he chewed the dressings completely off. The socks made his boxing gloves look more like flippers and Owen nicknamed him 'Osbert' after a beloved penguin book that has been read time and time again. Keeping the bandages intact, clean and dry was BY FAR the hardest part of the ordeal.












Yesterday, Osbert's bandages were removed and he is now back to full speed ahead. His was giddy...I mean GIDDY...when his hands were freed and he was able to use them again! His palms are not yet normal in appearance but are well on their way to healing.

Bennett is absolutely no worse for the wear...took the whole thing in stride. We parents, on the other hand, could go another decade or so without seeing the inside of another children's ER.

To prove the relative 'normalcy' of the past week, here's some video footage taken during Ben's bandaged phase. In the second clip, please ignore the household detritus and older sibling making fun of his appendange challenged brother. Otherwise, enjoy.

Despite this brief detour, all is well. As a friend reminded me yesterday, "Crazy is your normal." Ah, indeed.

Warm fuzzy of the day

While a bit random and usually incessant, Owen's lunchtime chatter can be very heart-warming...like today. During a rare quiet moment, he was munching his sandwich and staring off into space. Finishing up a bite, he said,

"Even when I'm a grown up, Mommy, I will not stop wuvving you."

And, THAT, my friends, is a good day.

Baby, it's cold outside

While just a couple of weeks ago we were enjoying gorgeous weather in the 70s, we've now had snow TWICE in the past few days. The look on Owen's face was priceless when I told him to go look outside...he immediately wanted to build a snowman!

Owen insisted on wearing his Rudolph nose to play in the snow...

Bennett was underwhelmed with the whole event...

Both boys found the snow to be far too cold and uncomfortable. Um, perhaps it had something to do with how ill-prepared their parents were and how inappropriately they were dressed for the occasion. No coats? No scarves? No gloves or mittens? Not even any shoes on the baby? Somebody please contact the authorities. I mean, really.

See the video evidence here. Bennett quickly announces his frostbitten hands and Owen declares "Oh boy" before aborting a snow angel because of the cold seeping into his bones.

Well, at least we have pictures. Here's to more white winter days so we can try it again...and maybe throw on an extra layer next time.

You gotta start somewhere

So, there comes a time in the midst of your own chaos when you either raise the white flag and admit defeat OR you decide to just start climbing in the hopes of one day emerging from the rubble again. This is me starting to climb.

Bennett is now 9 months old and cruising everywhere. He's now trying to stand on his own (look ma, no hands!) and those chunky little legs are holding up quite well as he tries to find his balance. At the 9 month check-up, he weighed 22 pounds, 5 ounces (at 18 months, Owen was 21.5 pounds...twice Ben's age and STILL not as big!)

Bennett has 5 teeth and is working on more, making him a drool factory. He's like a snail...leaves a slime trail wherever he goes. He is still just as smiley and happy as the last time I posted, though he has recently entered the screaming banshee stage at mealtime. It makes for very interesting dining out experiences. Just like big brother at this age...remember THIS post?

Owen is as active as always and is absolutely thriving at his new school. For some time now, Rob and I have felt strongly about Montesssori education in these primary years and we were just waiting to find the right place. Owen started the new school in August and, at the risk of sounding goofy, has just blossomed there. He loves going everyday and is just soaking up new, exciting experiences like a sponge. Fantastic.

Owen now swims on his own and adores his swim coach, "Coach Matt". Over the summer, we started him in a toddler soccer program and he's still plugging along with that as well...making "Coach George" another often discussed character in the house. Owen also has an imaginary friend who's been with us for awhile now. His name is "Cats in Boots." Occasionally, "Cats in Boots" joins us for a ride in the car, a meal or even a game we might be playing. He seems to be a pretty good cat and I don't have to clean up after him, so I'm not complaining.

Owen is still just as much in love with Bennett as when we brought him home. Though big brother sometimes isn't too keen on Ben's new mobility and the ease with which he can grab the big boy toys, we still have been lucky to have had very few issues at all. In fact, the biggest problem between the two is Owen wanting to hug, kiss and pick up Bennett a little too much.

Though I really don't make resolutions anymore, I always recognize that the New Year brings new opportunities. Opportunities to get it right, to try again, to let go of something that really isn't working out, and to forge new paths. I have situations that fall in each of those categories...relationships, projects, habits, new ideas, etc...and I'm figuring out how to land in a comfortable place with each of them. As for this blog, I see a new opportunity to pick back up again and do my best at sharing our day to day goings-on with family and friends who like to follow along. My intentions are good...we'll see where that takes us.

Hope everyone is happy and well and enjoying a great start to a New Year.

Just a line...

...to let you know we are all alive and well.

While I assumed most people just gave up on this blog awhile back, there have been a few inquiries of late and a little gentle prodding for me to get back on track. There's so much to update, I just don't even know where to begin. So tonight, I thought I'd just put up a couple of pictures and provide a glimmer of hope for more to come.

We are well (that EKG is a random image...it doesn't belong to any of us). We, like everyone else, are busy trying to carve out our little place in this world. My 2 beautiful boys are growing, changing and challenging me in new ways every day. While it isn't always easy and is rarely as glamorous/romantic/Rockwellesque as I often envisioned, I certainly have no room for real complaints. To borrow a line from a friend's recent blog post, we have a pretty charmed life. We do, we do.

Hello to family and friends who have wondered where we've been. We are alive and well. Keep checking in on us...we'll keep on keepin' on.

It only took 2 years, 9 months

Alternatively titled: How NOT to spend a Sunday morning

This morning, we were getting ready for the day, trying to determine how best to spend our time. Do we do the responsible thing and go to the grocery store to restock the soon-to-be-bare fridge? Or, do we do the fun thing and go jump the morning away at Kangazoom? We had pretty much settled on splitting up and doing both and we were trying to get everyone dressed and out the door. Owen was playing on our bed, having pretend conversations with various grandparents on an old (so old, it has a cord!) out-of-use phone. Rob and I were both in the nursery with Bennett.

We were discussing something about the baby when I heard a thwack, followed by a loud cry. We went running into the bedroom to find Owen walking toward us, crying, and telling us he bumped his head. Rob picked him up and was cuddling him when I saw blood seeping through his hair. My stomach flipped and I felt sick and panicky. I say this because if you know me well, you know I don't get queasy very easily...this mothering thing changes the game entirely.

After about a minute of crying, he was calm and allowed us to put an ice pack on it. He laid on the couch and asked to watch Curious George (big surprise, right?) and seemed perfectly fine. While we attempted to get a good look at the wound, he chattered on about his fall, telling us how it happened. Apparently, the phone base fell off the bed and the cord got stuck on something. He was trying to pull the phone back up and took a tumble off the bed, hitting the corner of the nightstand.

Within minutes, he had already bounced back and wanted to run and play as usual. We never could get him to let us really see the cut, but the slowly oozing blood was not a great sign (and from what we could see, the gash seemed that it might be fairly deep). We called the doctor, knowing what the instructions would be and packed up to head to the Children's Hospital ER.

We prepared ourselves for a long wait...grabbing lunch before we left and packing up gobs of toys and various distractions. However, once at the hospital, we were triaged and in a treatment room within 10-15 minutes. The doctor came in to see us about 2 minutes after that! At every stop of the way, we were very impressed and very much at ease. Big thumbs up for Children's Healthcare of Atlanta.

Once they cleaned off the blood and pulled aside the matted hair, it was pretty evident that Owen wasn't leaving without some souvenirs. He ended up with 3 staples in his scalp (or 3 "magic strings" if you ask him. The nurse originally thought he'd be getting stitches). Not a single tear was shed the entire time we were there (if you don't count Mommy's tears, that is). Owen was amazing...charming and funny and just very "Owen" throughout the visit.

At one point, when they were scrubbing up his scalp and applying some topical anesthetic, he told the nurse that the medicine was too cold. She said, "Yeah, it's really cold stuff, isn't it?" Owen's reply was, "Yeah, so should you stop, please?"

Later, a male nurse lingered a bit too long in the room with us and was a bit too chatty...apparently intruding on our little family time. Owen politely said, "Could you leave now? You're just a doctor." (We were thankful he didn't realize that the guy was "just a nurse" or that could have sounded even more condescending!)

In addition to the staples (oh sorry, "magic strings") in his head, Owen also scored a stuffed monkey given to him by one of the nurses (he has, of course, named it George) and an orange popsicle. A visit that could have been understandably traumatic was really just fine overall for him. As I write, Owen is napping in his bed and his usual bedtime monkey has been tossed aside (actually, he was banned from the room) to make space for George, his new friend. While mommy is a bit shaken by the whole experience, Owen seems no worse for the wear.

So, it only took us 2 years and 9 months to have our first ER visit with Owen. Magic strings, monkeys and popsicles aside, I STILL say it's not the best way to spend a Sunday morning.

Great Question

The vast majority of the time, I think motherhood and my decision to stay home and experience it at its fullest, is a true gift...an experience that I would trade for no other. Then there are the days where I actually fear that one of us may not make it out alive (and the demise of that individual may be by my own hand).


Today was one of those days.

Simply put, Owen was having a rough time (which means, I was having an even rougher time). In his own words, he was "doing bad wistening." Bad listening doesn't even begin to cover it. I must have taken 250 deep breaths today. I KNOW that I had to stop myself mid-yell at several points with a silent reminder that I was the adult here and to take it down a notch. He was like Dennis the Menace meets the Tasmaniam Devil. We are talking Out. Of. Control.

At one point, in the midst of one of his serious spazz-outs, I took deep breath #168 and simply said, "Owen. WHAT are you doing??"

He continued his full-speed run into the sofa and then stopped and said, with complete sincerity,
"Dat's a reewee gweat question, Mommy. I do NOT know."

We both laughed so hard for the minutes that followed that I almost forgot we were in the middle of one of those days.

Crazy kid.

He's as big as...

We recently had Bennett's 2-month check up and it was once again confirmed that he's just a big boy. When weighing him this time around, our nurse chuckled and said, "He's as big as the 6.5 month old in exam room 1." Well, there you have it. Our littlest guy may not be the littlest for long. In fact, when Owen "holds" Ben, it is often hard to detect the 2 years, 7 months that separate them.

















For those keeping track and wanting the details, here they are. At 2 months...

Weight: 15 pounds, 1 ounce
Height: 23 inches

And for anyone who wants to know if I'm worried about his size as he gets older, Dot-Dot's extensive record keeping comes to the rescue again. My now average-sized husband had Bennett beat at 2 months...he was a whopping 16 pounds, 3 ounces at that age. If you've met Rob, you know he is not now, nor was he ever, a BIG guy. So, NO, I'm not worried at this point. For now, Ben's size just makes him ever so chewable (and makes Mommy's arms so tired).

We all particularly love his ample cheeks and hear comments about them on a pretty regular basis. The other day, after hearing a friend comment on Ben's lovely, puffy cheeks, Owen replied, "Bennett's a cheeky one!" No doubt, that comment was made possible thanks to the Thomas the Tank Engine theme song.

There's just so much of Bennett to love. See for yourself and love on our big boy along with us. I've even thrown in this video so you can share in our adoration of the chunky monkey.

What 9 months can do

While 9 months seems like a relatively short period in the grand scheme of things, we know that BIG changes can take place in that amount of time (big baby pun intended...sorry, Ben). For instance, in the last 9 months Owen has experienced both a first and a last day of school. There have certainly been lots of changes all around, some evident here...











Owen will be attending a different preschool this fall, but we are grateful for the time spent with friends and teachers this year. Here are some highlights from the year, included in his adorable student portfolio sent home on the last day...

Promises, Promises

I can't count how many times I've recently responded to someone's request for more photos/updates/etc with something like, "I'm trying to get caught up, I PROMISE." I've made so many empty promises, it's just plain sad. And what is even more sad is that I really mean it when I say it. I DO want to get caught up. I DO want to get back to regular blog posts. I DO want to actually fill in baby books and photo albums and record all these wonderful, silly, frustrating and exhausting things that make up my days. I know that there may come a time (like next week) that I'll wish I had written down that incredibly hilarious and unexpected conversation I had with Owen. I'll wish that I had more video of all the adorable cooing that Bennett is doing right now. And even when I do capture those precious moments, I rarely find the time to preserve it or share it here. I WANT to, I do. I just can't seem to make it happen on a regular basis. I'm sure that if I tried really hard, I could carve out some time to sit down and write a few words each week. But the truth is, I'd rather go live it than record it. And so we continue to play too hard, stay out too much and run furiously until the sun goes down. And while we're doing that, I'll continue to be harried and scattered and apologetic for the lack of response and communication. But, you can be sure of one thing. I am taking advantage of every moment I can find to love on my boys. I PROMISE.

See? I told you!

Suitable for blog sharing, this video contains no crying and no dangerous placements of the baby. It's a shame the memory card was full or you could have seen it happen twice more in the course of a minute or so.

It took Bennett a whole 6.5 weeks to perfect this move, with his first success happening at just shy of 4 weeks. For comparison's sake, it took Owen 15 weeks. Boy, are we in for a fun ride.

It's a good thing he's so cute

And it's a good thing I love him so much. Otherwise, I might be tempted to disown Owen after this recent interaction:

Sitting on the sofa next to a very pregnant mommy friend of mine, Owen stared at her belly for a bit then looked up and said...


"My mommy's tummy is SOOOO squishy!"

Gee, thanks. Here is where I should teach him the little tidbit of advice that Rob is so fond of giving to me, "Just because it's true doesn't mean you should say it."

Happy Mother's Day

I hope all the mommies out there had a wonderful day today and that you were able to find just a moment, however brief, to reflect on what makes you most proud to be a mother. Happy, happy Mother's Day to us all!

The Mother's Day Tea at Owen's school...













Me and my boys...

First Smiles

First smiles are always the best...


















I love this little man.

My big boy

When talking about "my big boy", you might assume I was referencing the older child. However, it is also a fitting term for our newest addition as well. As you already know, at birth, Bennett weighed in a full 2 pounds heavier than Owen's birth weight (they were both born at 39 weeks). Well, at the rate he is growing, he threatens to outpace his big brother very soon.

And talk about STRONG...while we might have thought it impossible, Bennett has already begun to roll over from front to back (a feat usually accomplished more around the 2-3 month mark). Not. Even. Kidding. The first time we thought we were just mistaken (wait, maybe I left him on his side, not his tummy). After the next time or so, we thought we'd catch it on tape to be sure. Yep, rolling over. The warning from the pediatrician was very clear, "don't take your eyes off this boy for a second." (NOTE: I would post the video for you to see here but my husband seems to think the 20 seconds of crying and the fact that the child comes perilously close to rolling over the edge of a table is reason enough not to post it for public viewing. Bloomin' lawyers.)

I mean, just look at those muscles.

And those cheeks.

At his 1 month appointment, Bennett weighed....drum roll, please...13 pounds. Yes, 13 POUNDS! While Owen finds himself in the 10th percentile (and lower) on the weight-for-age charts, Bennett is in the, um, 100th percentile. He is also in the 85th percentile for height. So, when I talk about 2 extremes...2 opposite ends of the spectrum...you know that I'm not kidding. (*It may be important to note that Rob weighed a hefty 13 pounds, 10 ounces at his one-month visit! So, there you go.)

One need only take a glance to see that the 2 boys are opposite in so many ways. From hair color to skin tone, you wouldn't immediately guess that these 2 were brothers. And while it is FAR too early to make such predictions, I do find myself thinking that I just might have gotten my wish about that "mellow" personality. We shall see.

I can tell you something these kiddos DO share...a mommy and daddy who love them fiercely and can't wait to see what the future holds for both.

Thomas!

As a "big brother" gift for Owen, we drove to Chattanooga to visit the Day Out With Thomas tour. While the weather was a bit icky, it couldn't put a damper on the day and Owen was so excited to see and ride the "real, live Thomas!"

















He was even excited to share the day with little brother and as the train took off, leaned over the sling to exclaim, "get ready for bwast off, Bennett!"













While Owen took in all the sights and sounds from the window of our train car, Bennett was happy to snooze away the entire ride .









We initally had our doubts about a trip like this so soon after Bennett's arrival, but we are now so glad we took the chance. It was a very successful family trip and a great day for everyone.