Just two weeks ago my family and I ventured out into the wild unknown to witness a woman stepping into the middle of a busy parking lot arms waving, mouth going, “Hold up, hold up!” in order to allow, what I am assuming to be her family, to cross the street.  Much to my bewilderment cars slowed to let them pass while approximately fifty feet to the left of this oblivious lunatic BEHOLD… a crosswalk.  Imagine that. While we are on the topic, word to the wise- familiarizing oneself with the layout of the local shopping mall and parking lot is a smart move or else I can assure more than one mall goer will be asking Santa for a new car. The reason one might ask? A a result of a game of chicken –the award being a parking spot that is apparently paved in gold this time of year.  It only becomes worse as the days are ticked off the Advent calendar. Ironic, is it not?  Every season it is quite amazing to see the unraveling of sanity before me. Even the kids wish Santa would get here already if not to come downstairs to see a living room stuffed to the ceiling with toys, than for their parents to return to their bodies to serve a happy feast and enjoy what is left of the holiday vacation.

Somewhere among the public shenanigans of holiday shopping lay the true meaning of Christmas. Nothing is more important than emphasizing this to my daughter especially when a child of the age of three is beginning to realize Christmas equals Santa which equals TOYS. So in the midst of decorating, tree trimming, list making, and cookie baking there are talks of God, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Katie furrows her brow in puzzlement while she takes it all in. I know she understands Mary as mom, Joseph as dad, and baby as Jesus.  But what totally blows her mind is where God comes in, why he lives in the sky above the clouds, why a sin is doing “not nice things,” and why Jesus created “time out” so that I can say I am sorry. Last year she asked me if he lived with the giant from Mickey Mouse’s Jack and the Bean Stalk.  This year she thinks he lives in space with the stars. The literal world surrounding a three year old is the only tool available to sort out what you place before them. It drives me bonkers. No possible explanation is sufficient enough. This story does not add up in her mind.  Katie asked me today why baby Jesus is so old if he is a baby. Sometime in the future when she finally understands God and Jesus on another level she will look back on these moments and say to herself what a dumbass my mother was. Although I know enough about religion to get her by, I myself find it torturous to explain it in preschooler terms.  “But, he’s not a baby anymore. He’s an ‘dult.’  ‘Dults’ don’t have birthdays,” Katie insists. I tell her it is only a celebration of the day he was actually born, just like when Steven was born, when you visited him in the hospital. Her baby brother is still an anomaly to her.  As far as she knows Steven magically appeared in mommy’s belly, grew until he could not fit anymore and the doctor poofed him out like a fairy. Silence can only mean I have completely failed her or I was graced with divine intervention at that exact moment.  I am betting on the latter. After the moment of silence I asked who Jesus’ daddy is to which she replied rather confidently, “Santa!” Bits and pieces are beginning to fall into place but in the meantime I think I can say she spends a good chunk of bedtime trying to figure it all out. In the end I am pleased Katie is asking questions, contemplating and formulating an idea of what the true spirit of Christmas consists of.  But thank God for Christian pre-schools otherwise my daughter would grow up thinking Jesus is a perpetual infant poofed from Mary’s belly and Santa Clause is his daddy.

Although I know this blog serves as an outlet for myself, perhaps more precisely my nerves, I feel it is necessary to take some time to share some of the more positive aspects of rearing children, particularly my three and half year old. Yes, she has her moments, many of them.  But above everything my daughter fills my life with so much joy and purpose I cannot imagine life had she turned out any other way.  I dedicate an abundance of my trials and tribulations regarding parenthood to my daughter because to a three year old life revolves around her. It only seems normal to discuss and vent about these moments rather than the ones I have already figured out.  Lately, I have been wondering if maybe I write too much of my blog relaying the blood boiling, hair raising, door slamming, temper tantrum beyond temper tantrum stories,  and not enough about the knee slapping, heart rendering moments Katie and I so often share together.  

Every day I wake up and roll over at about or around six o’clock in the morning to a bouncing blond haired, blue eyed, thumb sucking, Howie toting little girl ready to start the day off with a frozen waffle and episode of Caillou.  No one I know can say the same and I feel quite privileged to do so. People who meet Katie for the first time do one of two things, if not both. They either comment about her blond hair or realize she has a knack for saying or doing something to win a smile, not every time, but nine out of ten ain’t bad. While in the grocery store Katie will chat up the old ladies buying their Tetly tea and Lorna Doones as if she happened to bump into an old friend, letting them know her mommy farted accidentally in the other aisle, that Steven is her little brother all in same breath or something to that effect. At school she is a born leader, a genuine social butterfly. Polite, helpful, bright are some of the adjectives I have had the privilege of hearing during my first parent/teacher conference. If she is going to be on her best behavior you better believe I hope it is when she is in someone else’s care.  Sometimes, though, it would be nice to see more often the fruits of my labor! Katie, for the most part, considers me par for the course.  If the Howie card has not yet been thrown, anything is game. At school it is a different story. She is the epitome of a star student. Honestly, in high school she was the student that made me want to gag. But that is neither here nor there because I would not want it any other way.

On a different note, nothing escapes this child. If you tell her, she will remember. This I have learned well. Obviously she does not take after me in this department because if I turn from the stove to fetch a ladle, nine times out of ten, I will forget I have a pot of soup boiling. This is not an exaggeration.  Two months ago I landed myself a speeding ticket, on the PA Turnpike no less, while my little sweetie was in the back taking mental notes. Recently, on a ride to return movies on a week night,  I accidentally drove past our destination and proceeded on our regular route to school. Katie announced she wanted to tell daddy about what I did, “I think he will laugh. I won’t tell him the bad stuff mommy does, though. He won’t think that’s funny.” I asked quite astonished, “Bad stuff? Mommy doesn’t do bad stuff.” Katie so easily reminded me, “Well, like when you get pulled over. He won’t laugh at that.”  Ah, yes well, then you would be right, my child. So instead of feeling foolish and quite frankly, outwitted, I tossed my head back in laughter and pulled over to text my husband the Katie-ism for the day. I think that particular ism carried the week.

Here’s the thing.  It is her charm and wit and innocence that make Katie so darn exceptional in my eyes. Not everyone has the ability to speak clearly through clenched teeth, unless of course you are a mother making it a regular practice. Not only do I feel I have contracted TMJ but I have thoroughly convinced Katie that speaking through clenched teeth really is a common, if not normal, behavior among adults. Despite the fact she has the ability to discern when my patience is running on empty; Katie somehow manages to crack me up even whilst I am in the midst of doling out punishment.  My husband falls flat on his face with this quite often. For instance, computer lover that he is; there being a thin line between love and hate, in our home computers and electronics, in general, have the uncanny ability to send my husband through the roof. After ten years of hemming and hawing about computers one might think he would have tossed them all to the curb, but no. His inability to control his temper with the computer, laptop, GPS, satellite radio, Wii, digital alarm clock, iphone, camera and alarm system has severely crippled his coping skills. This leads me to Katie’s punctual delivery. While attempting something on his laptop Steve, as if on cue, became quite flustered after of course heavily sighing and then out right grunting and descretely swearing. Katie pointed out, while twirling around him in her tutu, “Yeeeeah, I know, daddy. Pappy gets mad at that silly thing, too.” Now Steve is half hanging off the stool he is perched on, clutching at his stomach because he cannot breathe between gulps of laughter when a minute ago the laptop before him could have been Jesus himself and he’d still be calling it a Mother Fucker…under his breathe, of course. This is an everyday occurrence in my home. Not the mother F’er part.  Instances like these fill my days with such laughter I cannot help but love my daughter even more for her witty charm. If it is not an unexpected one liner, it is the ability to astonish me in ways no mother could just conjure up.

Katie with all her wit and charm truly finds time each day to unknowingly tell me how much she loves and cares about me and the people around her without even uttering a word.  Crawling up beside me on the couch to put a book in my lap, slipping the last candy corn in my hand, sliding her hand through her baby brothers hair, making an extra paper wand for her friend, stopping in midst of play just to pat a sleepy kitty all tell me my little girl is wise beyond her years, truly thoughtful and kind.  Katie has the ability to make a person feel like they are the center of her world, for surely she is at the center of mine.

So anyway, back on track. Katie, my oldest, has reported to me on numerous occasion at the onset of ”The Cold” that I am grumpy or not nice. At this I feel guilty. But honestly, talk of toots and poopy is not funny especially when I am sick. What is it with three year olds bantering back and forth about excrement and other bodily noises? Talk of fecal matter and gas gets really old really fast. The innocence of it all. One day she will sink in shame at even the thought of tooting or pooping and pretend she is The Holy Mary, poop and farts immaculately escape her. The healthy me just ushers a side ways glance and rolls her eyes, but the sick me sighs exasperatedly, askes to please talk about something more meaningful. For instance, what her day was like at school to which she replies, “I don’t remember.” We just pulled out of the school parking lot. “You must remember something, Katie.” This is when she implies I am grumpy or not nice, with a gruff cough, and swipe of her nose with the back of her hand. “Use a tissue, PLEASE!” should be monogrammed on all my t-shirts. It rolls off my tongue so easily these days. ”I’m in my carseat. How can I use a tissue, mom?” How do you argue with that? Here is another thing that is seemingly more irritating when I am sick. My husband’s constant need to make all things sexual especially when a sexual conotation can so easily be inserted into any conversation is irritating and blindingly so when I do not feel well. For instance, “I’m going to make a run to the store. I need more honey for my tea. Do you need anything while I’m out?” To which my ever romantic and caring husband replies, “Did you check the tea bags? Do you have enough? Would you like some more,” he askes waggling his eyebrows. Seriously? New material is needed on his part, for pity’s sake. For MY sake! There was also me innocently relaying to him that the juices have started to flow again pertaining to my blog. “Juices” and “flowing” are two dangerous words to use in the same sentence when in the presence of my husband. It was “dripping” with sexual conotation. In his defense I should have inserted “writing” or ”blogging” before “juices.” Again ,”The Cold” has taken me off my  proverbial ‘A’ game.

 Now that I have been popping vitamins it is another forgone conclusion as I should have been popping all the while, say before “The Cold.”  Funny how that works. A classic mistake for a parent with a brand new preschooler carting home the germs. Maybe the fact that my sinus canal is so chalk full of muck I can temporarily claim insanity. Which is what I think my husband tips his hat to considering I have been contimplating going back to work. Soon enough my youngest will be bouncing off to school. I will be left banging around the house looking for dirt to clean, or clothing to wash, or bathtubs to scour.  A career cannot be fathomed, as in “not in the cards.” Staying home definitely has its upside. It is scary to think about returning to what I call “work force reality,” and at the same time; glorious.  Mostly, I have noticed even more how self sufficient Katie at three years old has become, so much closer to not needing me for everything. While I am over the moon proud of my baby girl, I am also quite melancholy. My little girl is growing up, some how morphed into this staunch individual. On her first day of school I went back three times, a kiss for each year of her life, to make sure she was comfortable, not overwhelmed by the little boy next to her crying for his mommy. I realized I was the last parent in the classroom. Katie did not even turn to watch me leave. She walked right in, handed me her book bag, found her name on the chart, checked in at her seat, all eyes on Frank the classroom guini pig, promptly forgot all about her mommy, and even Howie. Howie has a new spot in her bookbag hidden inside her cubbie. Completely dumb founding, I know! Some how Howie got the backseat, the shaft, when it came to school.  The last thing I remeber leaving her classroom was a big smile on her face. My pointed sick induced grumpiness has not completely undone her. She is smart to want to go to school to get away from the sick me! She may be sick even more so than me but maintains a cheerful demeanor excited to be off to school, meeting other children, learning new songs, reading new books, exploring this whole new world for all that it has to offer. It is amazing and terrifying all at the same time. Sometimes I stare at the Halloween decorations we made together and tear up. Patheticly rediculous but it is the truth. Blame cannot be laid on “The Cold” this time.  The career clock is ticking away but I am stuck wanting both worlds. So in leiu of working I have decided to focus on other interests such as this blog and orchestrating a book club. Hopefully it will fit the bill. It is a far cry from holding down a job or more precisely, a career.

This is the moment when I reflect on what I have written, sort of tie everything together. This part of my blog is so important, at least to me. Time to search for the good, remind myself how lucky, how fortunate I am to have my children and husband, how crazy my life really is! “The Cold” has the ability to take a lot out of me but not the mother, never the mother. No matter what I will always be here for my children come hell or high water. I like to think my children will hear my voice in their heads if ever I was not around to tell them personally. I like to think that who I am means something to them.  Every day I wake up bright and very early to two wonderfully happy, sweet children excited to start the day off with me, even if I am considerably less then cheery sometimes i.e. “The Cold.” Motherhood with all its glory and ”poopy” talk fills a part of me that no other “career” can touch. I am a thankful and fullfilled woman because of my children! Everything else will come in time. Having a little faith can make all the difference. It has so far!

Dare I go where quietness is expected rather than preferred. Not to mention the fact I usually have a 22 pound 6 month old attached to my hip while I’m hanging on to my sanity for dear life or dragging it along side my daughter; either one may apply. The muscular ability to keep my eyes from bulging, and my voice from rising is rendered useless. I go off what is called the “deep end.”  Apparently,  my child has super hero like powers forcing my head to explode all over the fiction section of the library. The first super hero bolt is cast when she ignores my quiet plea to lower her voice, decides to continue to go on as she pleases. The screeching, “NO! I’m not ready to leave and you can’t make me,” casts the second super hero bolt through my body. The third and final is cast when my warnings have run out and she proceeds to run up and down the isles screaming, “Don’t take my Howie! That’s not nice! I want to stay and read MY BOOOOOKS!” Mind you my daughter is freaking out because she wants to stay and read books, play with educational toys. Half the library patrons must think I am a monster of a mother dragging my screaming 3 year old child from her beloved books, while the other half thinks what is wrong with that mother to let her child act in such a manner, while the whole lot of them are wondering what in the free world is a Howie? Howie is the god of stuffed animals in our home. He is Katie’s stuffed zebra carried around in duplicate. Yes, that’s right. She has not one, but two of these suckers. Howie is at arms length at all times. He has become my ace in the hole, so to speak. But anyway, the quietest of all quiet places is filled with the sound of my daughter’s shrieking. I walk the long walk of shame to the car where I cannot strap my children into their seats fast enough. Though I’ve left my brains in the children’s ficton section of the library, I some how manage to put the car in reverse, back out of the parking lot and pull out into traffic.Then, and only then, do I holler and scream louder then the raving lunatic strapped into my daughters car seat behind me.  The same old, “That’s it! I’ve had it,” lines are thrown around. “Who do you think you are,” finds its way out of my mouth. Even the,”Do you hear me, young lady?” whopper comes flying out when I can’t think of anything else. Finally, the gavel is lowered with a resounding thud. I deprive Katie of…The Howies. “No Howie at nap OR bedtme! You need to listen to your mommy. I make the rules. NOT Katie!” I holler this rather then explain calmly because she’s still telling me what’s what in the backseat. In the back of my mind I know this is going to be harder on me than it is on her. I think she knows this, too. Nap and bedtime without Howie is like taking away my morning coffee. Brat doesn’t even begin to cover it. Nothing can take Howie’s place. This child sleeps with one Howie on her head, the other tucked under her arm while suckng her thumb-the ONLY time she sucks her thumb. Finally, after many attempts at breaking free Katie gives up and falls asleep in her room without beloved Howie.

Mentally I’m rejoicing at my triumph, but deep inside I know she’s plotting her strategy for bedtime. The victory is short lived as I realize this is probably only a blip on the screen of life compared to what lay ahead. At the same time I am wondering if it is my fault she throws such fits. Am I not the worst stay-at-home mother on record to have such an unruly child? I know I try my very best. Most days I’m pretty even tempered but I am not perfect. Every mother has her boiling point. As a stay-at-home mom I take pride in my job, truly love being home with my kids.  It is a privilege to watch them grow up and become who they are. I cannot and will not blame myself for behavior I know every child will at some point display. If only once in a long while I lose my cool, so be it. It’s only human for kids to live and learn as well as parents.  Good for those parents who have been spared this burden. They are just lucky, but certainly not gifted. At least that’s what I tell myself! 

As I always try to do, I look at the upside because with every down there is always an up if someone is willing to look for it.  One might have to seach really hard but it is there. In this case it is not so hard to pin point. Katie at three is a bright, happy, friendly little girl with a love for life and learning. Everyday she astounds me with her thirst for knowledge, love for others (including me), and the ability to drive me absolutely stark raving mad!

Since when did I grow up? When did life happen? Little did I know life hadn’t even begun before Katie and Steven entered this world. EVERYTHING changed dramitially when Steve and I became parents, down  to the food we put in our mouths and the language that came out. But life only got better from then on and of course went quickly.

What is it about 30 that is so life defining?  Still haven’t quite put my finger on it. Is it that my 20′s are over? Is it that I should have achieved something life altering? Is it that for 9 years now I’ve been able to drink alcohol legally? And I won’t mention that now half the time I don’t have to produce my license. Is it that at one point in time I imagined myself as a completely different person at 30 years old-say a wealthy single woman, awesome clothes, no children and lots of admirers and about 2o pounds lighter? Hmm maybe that’s it.  But maybe we all have a different grasp of who we really are until life takes over and makes decisions we didn’t even know were made until the deed was already done. For instance, I am a  married stay-at-home mother with no money of her own, a drawer full of cotton underwear, t-shirts, and workout pants and my sneakers are my favorite pair of shoes.  Go figure!

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