Small Birthday Reflection

December 10, 2009 in Origins | Tags: , , | 3 comments

As of 11ish this morning, Small turned 4. Yes, as his mother, I ought to know exactly what time he was born (along with how much he weighed), but I don’t. For me, it’s enough that I carried him in my uterus for 37 weeks and then birthed him.

Quite honestly, I barely remember what he was like as an infant (Henry, if you ever get around to reading these oinks of mine, you know Mommy loves you and just because her memory is crap doesn’t mean that you weren’t the most special 30th birthday present anyone could ever ask for).

I’m pretty sure that he was an easy going baby, but when I try and recall those special little moments with him—you know, the ones I should have recorded in a baby book—it’s as though I’ve been lobotomized. Medium was 20 months old when Small made his appearance; Large was in kindergarten. After struggling through the I-have-a-new-baby-who-doesn’t-sleep-at-night zombie phase, I returned to my human resources position where it was my job to fly all over the country and spank people (only in the figurative sense). Until recently, I had neither the time nor the inclination to look back; it was all I could do to look forward, put one foot in front of the other, and try not to drop any of the balls I was juggling.

You’d think that I wouldn’t wax nostalgic for those days, but sometimes, I do. I miss my co-workers and the easy banter that comes from working with people day in and day out. I miss the challenges of searching for the truth and articulating management’s best options for justice. I miss feeling that I am an expert at something—for God knows, I am no expert at parenting.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t regret my decision to take this hiatus from paid employment—I was lucky to have the choice. And I know I would be regretful had I kept on keeping on the way I was doing. Six months ago, my family was out of focus. Now, I am in the midst of an incredible opportunity to make memories with my children and to participate more fully in their lives.

There is a quote attributed to Oprah Winfrey but one I associate with Lynda Carter. Ms. Wonder Woman was attempting to revive her career after many years out of the spotlight—years in which she spent raising children. She told an interviewer, “I realized that you can have it all, just not all at once.” How that sentiment resonates with me!

So Small Henry, I may not remember our times as a nursing couple or when you cut your first tooth or what was your first word, but I know what you’re like now. And I’m writing it all down. Happy birthday, little man.

Then:

and now:

Things I Find Mildly Perplexing

December 4, 2009 in Mary's Lists | 2 comments

  1. I’ll do four loads of laundry and fold 13 of Large’s shirts and 8 pairs of his pants. And find only one pair of his underwear. (I fully expect this will change when he reaches his teen years.)
  2. I can’t walk into any of the kids’ rooms without tripping over or stepping on toys and books of all shapes and sizes. But when I tell them to “Go Play” they can’t amuse themselves.
  3. Why any “expert” would emphasize the importance of family meals. Mealtime is the most stressful time of day at our house (it is also the time that I am most likely to disappear).
  4. How it is that when I do the dishes, it automatically means wiping down the countertops and the stove. When He does the dishes though, those other things aren’t included (even if they’ve been specified).
  5. No matter how many times I neatly make their beds (which, to tell the truth, isn’t often), the sheets end up crumpled and unused by their feet. Why bother? At this point, it’s just habit.
  6. Why I keep finding little brown gifts hanging out in the toilet bowls. How many times do I have to tell them: When it’s brown, flush it down!
  7. No matter how much money we think we have saved, we’re wrong. Was it well spent? I’d share, but I don’t remember what we spent it on.

Dysfunction Junction, What’s Your Function?

December 1, 2009 in All in the Family, Dinner Table Quotes, Small moments | Tags: , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

My family is no more (or less) dysfunctional than others—like most, we have our secrets and quirks. However, on the holidays, we drag out our best behavior along with the good china and we gather together. Each of us strives to avoid the hot button issues that we know will ignite old arguments and we all uphold the small traditions to which we are accustomed, at least obligingly if not effortlessly.

As a teenager, I was far less accommodating. I would sulk in corners and make disparaging remarks, then disappear before the dishes were cleared from the table. I’m not sure how my parents withstood my insufferable attitude.

Now, with every passing holiday, I appreciate my family’s particular flavor of dysfunction a little more. Although I cannot dispute that we are an acquired taste, it is one that I prefer over any other.

My husband and I, along with Small, Medium and Large, celebrated Thanksgiving day with my parents, my sister, and my brother and his family. Our blessing went like this:

“BlessusoLordforthesethygifts,whichweareabouttoreceivethroughthybountythrough
ChristoLord,Amen.”

“Give food to the needy,” my mother added her normal intercession.

“And world peace,” my husband said quietly.

I shot him the Not Now look.

“Oh, yes,” said my mother, gathering momentum for a longer prayer. “And bring our troops home safely and….”

“Yes, yes. That’s fine,” my non-Catholic father interrupted. “Let’s eat.”

Driving home after feasting like Kings—an incredible meal that I know took my mother all week to prepare—I asked the kids what they were thankful for.

“Family,” said Liam.

“Yeah, family,” said Nora. “And for the stars.”

Pleased, I turned in my seat to look at our littlest angel.

“What are you thankful for, Henry?”

“I am thankful for….mythelf,” he said smugly.

I guess he hasn’t acquired the taste as yet.

A Little Quiet

November 23, 2009 in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Our family is so loud that it’s startling to other people. My boys are unable to speak, much less carry on a conversation, without adding sound effects. The other day, Liam said, “Mom, you shed worse than a cat,” as he picked a long hair off the chair where he was sprawled. “I find your hair everywhere! They’re like little bombs…[Dropping the hair, he makes a whistling noise.]…KAPOW! Everybody, take cover! [Another whistling noise.] Here comes another one!”

My children are loud, energetic—and when I am lucky—empathetic. They are constantly moving, jumping, falling down. They slide on stockinged feet across the hardwood floor, use our furniture as launching pads and trampolines, thunder up and down the stairs fifty times a day. One of our oft ignored house rules is: Keep Your Feet on the Ground. As if they could! My kids are all about headstands on the couch (“The floor is too hard!”) and gymnastics in the house, which has resulted, unsurprisingly, in heel prints on the wall at or above eye level, broken picture frames and sometimes, tears.

Even now, Large is upstairs in the bathroom, presumably having just showered, where he is rhythmically knocking the step-stool against the uneven tile. When I ask, “Why?” He answers, “Why not?”

Sometimes all the bickering, explosions, and shrieks send me right over the edge of reason (“Are you trying to make me CRAZY?”). But, then, when they are absent, such as when all the kids are at their grandparents’ house, it’s eerily quiet. The house feels lonely without them filling it and I’ll wander from room to room with the echoes of their noisy escapades ricocheting inside my head. And in spite of myself, I’ll miss them.

Maybe I should try and remember the missing them part more often.

Installation Art…at Home

November 18, 2009 in Uncategorized | Tags: | 2 comments

A couple of months ago, Henry and I had a heart-to-heart about his penchant for scribbling on the walls (scribbling is my term – he would call it “dwawing” as in “Thee Mommy!  Wook at my dwawing!”).

My attempts to suppress his creative impulses backfired. Instead, he appears to have experienced an artistic breakthrough. Today, I found this strategically mounted on the underside of the loft in his bedroom where it could not be seen from the doorway:


His composition is pretty good, don’t you think?

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