"Just Another Manic Monday"

My 3 year old son has this game he plays called "The Falling Game" where he stands on the arm of my couch and trust-falls, face first, onto the couch cushions. I regularly discourage this game (and am regularly ignored like all good mothers). Today I said "you know what Declan? I don't want to see that game anymore!" I walk out of the room and return to him mid-trust-fall. I said "Declan! What did I JUST say?" He replies "Umm, you said you didn't want to see my game. So, you just go back in the kitchen where you don't see me."  Between the 1/2" of sleet outside and his smart-ass-self I am NOT ok today. I am just not.

"My Messy Beautiful" Essay Submission Coming Soon!

Readers!  I took a leap of faith a week or so ago and signed up to be part of a "challenge" put out there by my favorite, famous, fellow-mommy blogger, Glennon Doyle Melton.  She blogs via Momastery  and is the author of  "Carry On Warrior."  If you don't already follow this blog, please do!  She's an amazing writer and her authenticity is striking.  I have been validated over and over again by her honest experiences beginning with my favorite article of hers:  "Quit Pointing Your Avocado At Me!"
It was the first article of hers that I had ever read and I read it repeatedly to laugh and remind myself that I'm not alone in this motherhood thing.  Her writing has been a real source of inspiration for me in my motherhood and, more specifically, in my new commitment to blogging about my personal journey in parenting.  

So, today I received an email back from the Momastery organization with instructions to submit my own "My Messy Beautiful" essay.  From there it will be made available for a wider reading audience via Momastery and the top five will be featured by Glennon herself through her blog!  I am so excited to participate in this!  Be on the lookout for my submission and please throw a prayer up for me!  I'm still pondering what to focus on and how to write it but I need to do this.  It'll be the first step I've taken in quite some time down the road of actually believing in myself once again.  I have no expectation of being one of the top five chosen but to even submit, beyond my small, personal audience that I currently have, a story so personal will be a humongous step for me!

I think "Mommy In Me" will be starting a twitter account and a Pinterest board of its' own in the coming weeks as well, to help get the word out.  Be on the look out friends and, as always, thank you SO MUCH for reading!

-K

Our New CRAZY Fitness Routine And Why It Is Working SO Well!

So, since I announced in my "Lent and Turning 30" article that Joel and I have taken on P90x3, folks have been asking about our progress.  I figured every few weeks or so I'll give you an update to satisfy your potential curiosity and to help keep me motivated to stick with both the workouts and the blog.  I also posted some pics of our home-made gym!  It's not pretty down there people.  We work out hard next to a Thomas Train table, a ball pit and MOUNTAINS of baby clothes but it works!  We are 14 days into our P90x3 journey and MAN I am so glad we have taken this on!  We took our Fit Test on March 3rd and began Day 1 on March 4th.  In the 14 days we have had plenty of opportunity to quit and have resisted. And though rising at the hour of 4:30 a.m. seemed like a recipe for disaster when we started this, I can say I don't think I will ever go back to being a night owl.

Welcome to our 4:30 a.m. meeting place!  

So, I'm not posting measurements or weights or anything like that (I have no balls) but I can honestly say we are already seeing improvements over here!  I was skeptical about a 30 minute routine but, WOW!  How much can you sweat in 1/2 an hour?  A whole frigin' lot!  I'm improving already in weight I can handle and reps I can complete "to failure" (when your body gives up not your mind).  We have been bombarded in these last 2 weeks with chances to give up on this and have it end up just like every other "vow" we've made to health and fitness in the past but we have persevered.  Joel has had at least one late night each week that keeps us up past our new bed time of 9:30p.m.  We have skipped the following morning's 4:30 wake up call and done the workout at night. This is not optimal for 2 reasons.  1) working out at night is awful for us.  Especially because we are home.  It is ALL WE CAN DO to drag ourselves out of bed (where we relax with our boys every single night before bed reading books or watching a movie) and down to our freezing basement to work out for 1/2 an hour!  It is also awful because usually working out at night means we skip all the other "necessary things" that need to be done in a night:  dishes, load of laundry etc.  By the time the workout is done and we've showered it's most definitely 9:00/9:30 at night and in order to not get into a horrible cycle of missing our a.m. workouts, we skip the chores, head to bed and get up at 4:30 the next day.  2) It is awful not having a full 24 hours to recover from one of these workouts.  There are sessions in this program that make my muscles shake most of the day.  If I hold a glass of water straight out in front of my face at LUNCH TIME my arm is shaking STILL after the workout at 4:30 a.m.!  Doubling-up is not ideal.  The rest is important.  But we do it when we need to stay on track.  If anything, it motivates us to keep it slow and steady, be on time and be efficient in using our time, because we know how awful it is to work out AFTER a long, exhausting day and then to have to work out just 8 or so hours later, just as hard.

On top of a few late nights, we have been battling illness.  I was knocked out with a cold the first weekend and managed to get that nasty "being stabbed in the abdomen repeatedly and vomiting everything...like, EVERYTHING" stomach flu this past weekend.  We didn't miss any workouts because of the cold but I felt awful nonetheless.  The stomach flu, however, royally messed up this past week for me.  We had already skipped Friday morning's early workout because of a super late night for Joel (like, past midnight).  We intended on doing it Friday night to catch up and then working out Saturday night instead of the morning to give us the rest time.  Well,  Friday night we ended up in our bed with the boys and we woke up at 11:00p.m. to everyone sprawled in different corners, snoring, drooling etc. We moved the boys and said, "Yup!  Back to bed!"  So our new plan was to do Friday's workout on Saturday and not have a rest day on Sunday.  Well, Saturday began the flu for me.  Joel stuck to his plan and got his workouts in Saturday and Sunday.  I missed both and decided not to stress about "catching up" but to just get back to it on Monday.  I subbed out the Monday morning workout for one I know is more challenging and will get back to early morning wake up with Joel on Tuesday and we'll be on the same workout.  This is progress in and of itself in my eyes because a year ago, I'd have quit by now saying "see, it just never works!"  Well, life happens. It's not about perfect execution. It's about adaptation and perseverance. It's also been an important committment between the two of us that if one of us skips and the other IS CAPABLE of working out, that they still stick to it.  This has helped motivate the other (me thus far) to get back to it because Joel is on track.  NOT TO COMPETE but to maintain our progress together.

Adaptation and Perseverance NOT perfection.

Lastly, I want to talk about the 4:30 wake-up time.  This seemed absolutely unattainable for me when we first started talking about wanting to workout more but struggling to find a time or times that worked for our schedule.  How did we really arrive at 4:30 a.m.?  I'll explain.  Joel leaves for work every morning by 6a.m. He arrives home between 6 and 6:30.  His commute is usually 4 parts into Cambridge:  he drives to the Littleton train station to catch the early Express Train into Porter Square.  There, he catches the Red Line to Kendall Square where he walks a few blocks to work.  As of late, he has been driving straight into Alewife from home and skipping the Commuter Rail.  This doesn't really save him much time but it gives him the flexibility to take meetings "on the road" for his drive home instead of just staying late at the office and being home after the boys are in bed.  He can't be on the phone on the Commuter Rail having a meeting but he can in his car.
Our routine prior to March 3rd was that he rose at 5a.m. to get ready and left by 6.  I slept until he left for work and I would either get up on my own or usually one of the boys was up anyway and I started my day. We both work our asses off all day long to re-congregate at the dinner table for 6/6:30 p.m.  We scoff down dinner until 7 when we give the boys baths and then get them ready for 8:00p.m. bed time.  From there, we clean the kitchen, fold a load of laundry, watch 18 episodes of Breaking Bad, fight, eat oreos, play candy crush...you know, the stuff real married people do!  Our bed time was 11p.m.
We tried breaking up our gym times and each of us getting in workouts different nights of the week.  This posed several problems.  Joel's routine is highly inconsistent.  And because the Devil is real, his late nights almost always fell on what were my nights to get out.  Then I didn't want to give up Target nights or date nights to catch up on workouts and before you knew it we had 1 night a week where ONE of us could work out.  Asenine.  For lack of real articulation of the issue here I'll just say that it just doesn't work at night. After a 12-13 hour day to ask 2 parents (1 who is done with the kids and the other who is feeling deprived of them, both who are feeling the heaviness of too much time apart every day) to separate an additional 1-2 hours of the night is unreasonable.  We would fight more and felt worse in this routine.  I constantly felt tired and was convinced that lack of sleep was my issue.  "I'm not getting a full 8 hours!" I would say.  Well, I'm still not getting 8 hours.  And I can tell you the energy has skyrocketted!
We now wake at 4:30 a.m.  We are dressed and downstairs by 4:45.  We workout until 5:15 or so.  From there we shower, and drink our first coffee of the day together.  The boys have yet to wake up while we're doing this routine.  Granted we are all the way downstairs in our basement but often the shower  would wake them when Joel was getting ready alone.  Somehow, this has not happened to us yet.  We have this entire hour and 1/2 to ourselves.  No kids, nothing but us, our goals and some time for conversation after we reach them.  It has given me everything I WANTED in the night routine...just in the morning.  At night, we still scoff down dinner from 6-7 then do baths and sit with the boys until 8 when they are ready for bed.  But we are more motivated to get right up after they go down to get those dishes and laundry done.  The sooner the chores are done, the sooner we can hit the sack and rise for another early day.  If we are super ambitious, one of us will tackle the dishes and kitchen alone while the other is doing baths so when the boys are ready for bed we have an hour to chill out ourselves at night still.  Again, I can't really articulate why, but this doesn't always happen.  Sometimes I want to sit in the bathroom with the three of them while the boys are in the tub so I can just TALK TO AN ADULT!  And that postpones dishes and laundry until later.  
I have been so thrilled with the new 4:30 wake up time.  I honestly, can't imagine ever going back!  Granted I was sick this weekend, but I slept in this morning (saved my workout for nap time) and I felt awful all morning!  I wasn't showered, I was extra slow moving, I wasn't hungry so I skipped breakfast....this list goes on.  Waking at 4:30 and getting that workout done gets me up, awake, moving, showered and fed before my kids are awake!  I've realized how important the "fed" part here is too.  In the morning, alone, I have the time to feed myself.  When I'm feeding my kids I just never remember that I exist and need sustenance!  Usually, I get them fed (a usually very healthy well balanced meal mind you!), then after I clean up after them, get them settled on an activity and finally get to re-microwave my coffee I go "crap! I never ate breakfast!" Which usually turns into a granola bar.  Not.  Sustaining.  When I can eat a full breakfast without distraction, I do it better.

You work with what you've got.  And what we've got is an
old t.v., some space on a work bench and a video
baby monitor! 

I think I said it in my original article and I'll say it again:  I'm entering a time in my life where I feel like I"m done complaining about the things that don't work and just figuring out what needs to give in order to make it work.  OR reassesing whether that particular thing needs to be valuable to me or if I'm giving it value because others do or I think I should.  I know the difference between the things I really would love to have the time and money for in my life but probably don't really need and the things I should be making the time for and spending money on. My physical condition and health are right at the top.  Enough is enough with the reasons I can't do it.  And this isn't just about "weight loss" folks!  I'm not an overweight woman. But I'm educated and wise enough to know that I am not living at my optimal level of health.  I have some atrocious eating habits and am insulted by the decline in my strength and flexibility over the years.  I know that these things will only worsen with time and it's important to do whatever I can do to assist in the quality of my life while I'm blessed with it.  It's also important to me that my kids learn what healthy living is not through a book or this long, hard process of trying to train themselves into it as adults.  I want to model it for them so they grow up modeling healthy behaviors and finding friends and partners who do the same.  This is bigger than weight loss or bathing suits. This is truly a lifestyle change.  We've all heard it over and over and over again.  For some reason, this is the year it's hitting us and we're running with it!

Bath Time Part 2

I have got to learn to let the night unfold before I publish blogs.  So much more can happen in such a small amount of time...

Not ONE SECOND after I published the photo of the hanging faucet penguin from tonight's bath, did my 18 month old throw a rubber duckie out of the tub followed (I really have no idea how) by his ENTIRE BODY! LITERALLY, flew out of the tub WITH the rubber duck he was trying to toss.  Face plant on the bathroom floor, Declan screaming "Liam's flying!"  Mommy yelling, "What the HELL is going on in here?!"

I swear, I would give up sensitive information to the CIA (if I had any they were really interested in) if they played audio tapes back to me of bath times passed.  "Ok!  Ok!  I'll give you whatever you want just don't make me relive bath time between the ages of 1 and 4!"  It's just that bad *_*

Bath time

Bath time is a torturous event for parents and tub toys alike. The number of times we have to yell, "stop splashing!" makes me want to stuff my head in a pipe too. I feel your pain, penguin. I feel your pain.    *-*

Declan's hair

I'm giving my kid a complex about his hair.  My only real "claim to fame" with this child is that he inherited my thick, curly hair.  He wakes up every day with knots all over his head and when I comb it out he screams at me "you're pulling my hair!" And I say "I know I have to get the knots out though!"  Now, I think, he's convinced that knots are these living, creepy, crawly things that live on his head.  He's always like:  "Mummy did you get the knots out?" and this morning when I was combing Liam's hair:  "Mummy, let me see Liam's knots!"  Sorry dude.  You're scarred for life I'm sure but I'm doing my best over here.  It took me 25 years to learn to love my crazy, knotted hair.  You're in for a long haul.

Why I Think My Oldest Child Will Always Hurt More

This week we secured Declan's spot in a preschool that Joel and I fell in love with.  "Village Nursery School" in Harvard is where he will be going starting this coming fall for his first year of pre-preK.  He's an October baby so won't be eligible to start Kindergarten in 2015 as he will still be 4 for a month of the school year. So he will start in 2016.  I had the option of keeping him home for one more year and just doing one year of pre-K but Declan is itching to go to school.  He craves the socialization and, frankly, needs the structure.  That's one thing I'm not naive enough to have trouble admitting:  that being a stay at home mom, my kids don't have a highly structured day. We have a schedule, but we all know it's flexible and really, we just do what we want every day.

With all of this talk, recently, about preschool and my little baby growing up, I've been coping by looking forward to the time alone that I will have with Liam while Declan is off for a few hours every other day.  I think about all of the time Declan had me to himself.  Sometimes I feel guilty that Liam doesn't know that feeling.  But then, one day I tried splitting them up for their "room-time" each in his own room and Liam cried at his door yelling "Daga" (Declan) and begging to be put in the room with his big brother.  It dawned on me that Liam doesn't know anything other than a life shared with many who love him and while he will undoubtedly love his time alone with me, it probably doesn't bother him at all that he doesn't have it currently. 

Today, Liam went down for an early nap and Declan, who has been skipping naps occasionally, sat and had lunch with me.  We had the best conversation!  He asked me why we can't eat cake for lunch.  I explained. He said "Oh!  But what about candy?  Is candy 'not a lunch food' too?"  

I said "Indeed, candy is not a lunch food either."  

He sat there, eating his half of the chicken sandwich I made us both, saying, "this is good mummy!  You make good sandwiches!" He told me he is excited to get to the mall play place this afternoon and that he'd rather "(me) and daddy not go out on a date night tonight and all of us just stay here and play."  I reminded him that his favorite babysitter, Adrianna, is coming over and he said "yeah but she's too pretty. I'd rather you."  (Do you hear that Adrianna?  You're just too pretty for him he'd rather just ugly ol' me!)  When we were done eating he took his plate to the sink, cleaned up his crumbs with a napkin, threw that in the trash and I just sat there watching him move like such a KID rather than a baby and I started to cry.  I realized that this lunch date we just shared will no longer be possible once he goes off to school and that, for the zillionth time in his life, I am literally watching him grow up.

In September I will send him 3 days each week to a school with strangers.  I will probably be that mom that circles the preschool for a couple hours because I'm afraid to go too far.  That child in there, that is just another kid to come through their very awesome school, is the first baby I birthed into the world.  He is the first person to put my life into real perspective.  He is so, very special to me and I am trusting them to treat him with the kindness and respect he is due.  He means the world to me and though I know he will need to be disciplined and held accountable like all learning 3 and 4 year olds, I need to know that he is experiencing kindness.  (Such a simple concept that means so much more after you have children right?)  Anyway, as I adjust I know that I will leave the town of Harvard to travel back home with Liam where we will bond.  And I will love that.  But in this bonding time with Liam lies the subtle realization that I have already lived my very short years of "solely mine time" with Declan.  It is over.  It is gone.  Those years I spent not sure I could survive stay at home motherhood are over...and with that, my only years to have that baby boy all to myself. From now on I will share him.  With other adults and new friends.  All of whom I hope will love him!  But I'm afraid of the first encounter he has with an adult or a kid who just doesn't like him.  My heart breaks over this boy, looking into the eyes of another human being trying to figure out why they don't like him without me there to help him process that.  He might be 4 but he is still a baby.  When you live 75 or 80 years, you're technically a baby until you're like, 20!  And I am so overwhelmed that this time is already upon me.  I know he is ready and I know we'll do fine but I am sobbing here at my computer screen writing this just picturing that first drop off day. Those glittery eyes that just stared at mine all through our lunch date, sparkling with excitement over cake and candy and my awesome sandwiches, will forever be mine to share.  I'm not a good "sharer."  

Since Declan was born I have found myself crying at every milestone.  When he could hold a bottle himself, when he crawled and walked and talked and ran and climbed the stairs and the fridge and the rock-wall outside....when he started sleeping in a big-boy bed and started Sunday school at church and turned "2" and went for his first bike-ride and first explained to me that "he was just feeling frustrated and didn't want to talk right now" I cried.  I cry now over things like preschool and the end of "Toy Story 3." Sometimes, I walk upstairs and crawl into bed with him and just cry over that boy that is evolving in front of my very eyes.  I run my hands down the length of his body and realize how tall he is.  I try to remember what it was like to hold him when he was so small he could fit in one arm.  Sometimes, it's hard to remember.  I am in a stage right now where I have a hard time looking at his baby pictures or videos of him when he was a little toddler just starting to figure out his world. I ask myself, "was it all supposed to go by that fast?"  And I know that the answer is "yes."  

I struggle with guilt, sometimes, that I don't often stare at Liam and cry over his metamorphosis the way I still do Declan.  But I've realized over the last year or so that the reasons I'm crying aren't over the beauty of a growing boy, but the fear that it really is going by too fast...that I'm not doing enough to savor him...that I've missed my window of opportunity to fix mistakes or do more and it's a "done deal."  I think I'm learning through Declan the pace at which a child is supposed to blossom and grow and expand.  And I think he's right on par.  Still, every new thing he does and every year older he grows will be the first of that change I am seeing in my children.  And I will wonder every time if it's right, or good, or ok.  

I remember, this past September, I posted on Facebook for Liam's birthday that he was the baby who taught me to believe in myself and Declan was the boy who taught me to be brave.  I am reminded of this as I write today. For Liam, I am a much more confident and relaxed mom.  His demeanor reflects this in me.  He, at 18 months old, has a way of reassuring me because he knows, that I know, that I am fine.  Declan doesn't always have that benefit.  Sometimes I think he senses that I'm not sure...that I don't believe in myself yet.  And while he doesn't always know if I'm capable of something it's not in his nature to hesitate.  So he says "Go mummy.  Go for it. Be brave like me!"  And so we jump off of cliffs and into strange waters together and learn as we go.  This will make for one hell of a bond as we both grow.  But I think it will always mean that I feel the pains of a growing child more with Declan than I do with my younger children. Or maybe that I just don't handle it as well.  I was snuggling with Liam today watching him eat his feet and thinking A) that's disgusting B) it's amazing that we are EVER that flexible and C) that I will miss him being this size and this age in a very short while...because he will be 2 in September and, well, won't be snuggled up next to me with his feet in his mouth anymore.  I didn't cry.  I smiled, hugged him a little closer and breathed him in.  I felt the same pain. That "this is almost over" pain that I've become too familiar with.  But it didn't scare me the way it sometimes does when I'm feeling it with Declan.  Because it's not the first time I'm feeling it.  And I know how this goes, the "letting go" of each and every brief and fleeting stage of my baby boys' lives.  I never really understood how deep a love could run for another human being.  It's not something you can articulate in words. But I know that these little growing men that live in my home were meant to be mine.   They are so unique from each other and so essential to my becoming the mom I want to be:  Liam, the boy who believes in me and Declan, the boy who makes me brave.  

(Photo by Davis Photography & Design Leominster, MA)

How do you feel, moms of multiple kids?  Is your oldest always a tough transition?  Your younger ones much more "smooth-sailing?"    

As always, thanks for reading!  <3

-K