The other night, Charming pulls up a document on his phone about his new year’s goals for 2011.  He says, "Let’s see how many I got done."  He begins reading the list, each item followed by a "Nope" and an occasional, "doing better on that one."  Remembering a conversation we had nearly 12 months ago about New Year’s resolutions, I said to him– "Remember last year when you asked me what my goals were for 2011?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"And you bugged me about making goals and I told you that in 2011 I planned on having a baby?"

"Yep."

"Well, I accomplished all of my goals."

"But you were already pregnant."

"Just saying."

And with that said, The Year in Review!

January 2011– Charming made resolutions that ended up not coming to fruition.  I was pregnant.

February 2011– Gave birth to our fourth child, third daughter, first redhead in our master bathroom.   (New Year’s resolution checked off MY list).  Was NOT pregnant on Valentines day.

March 2011– Didn’t get much sleep.  Somewhere towards the end Charming turned 35.

April 2011– Charming’s mother came for a week to meet the Squish and hang out with the grandkids.  We went to the tulip festival, flew a cheap kite and ate robot sushi.  Also, Easter happened in April this year.  My mom made the girls matching dresses that turned out cuter than I thought they would.  We had dinner with my sister who announced her pregnancy to us over ham and scalloped potatoes.

May 2011– The culmination of my months helping middle schoolers sing beach-boy-esque songs over the previous five months. Our local theater group’s middle school program put on their production of "Surf’s Up!"  I was the music director.  The kids rocked it.

June 2011– my step-sister got married.  I saw my Grandpa Norm for the last time in this earthly life.  I started taking an adult swim class and I have been swimming 1-3 times a week since.

July 2011– We went to the lake for the fourth of July.  My beautiful Mazda 5 got a dent in the bumper.  My Aunt Karen unexpectedly passes away shortly after we see her in the hospital. When we came home, Charming and I acted out in several productions of "Windsor’s Merry Wives" a Shakespeare mock up of the Merry Wives of Windsor.  I played Mrs. Ford.  Charming played the Frenchman Dr Caius.

August 2011– Sugar and Spider turned 7 and 5.  We had a crazy fun combined birthday party of Pirates vs Godzilla.  Charming and I celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary by going to see Les Mis at the Fifth Avenue Theater in Seattle.

September 2011– School!  Spider started kindergarten.  I started teaching 8 Musikgarten classes (including one curriculum I had never taught) in addition to a few voice students.  I am officially diagnosed with the try-to-do-too-much crazies.

October 2011– WAS CRAZY!  Engineer turned 9 and we threw him an over the top Harry Potter birthday party.  His party was on a half day Friday.  All 12 invited guests attended.  THEN!  I was in a play– Casablanca! Casablanca!: A Movie Musical.  I had a small part as the belly dancing, trying to leave Casablanca lounge singer.  I got to wear a jingly outfit.  And then the culmination of four months of planning: Halloween!  Strawberry Shortcake was our theme and it was AWESOME.

November 2011– Grandpa Norm passed away after a valiant fight with cancer.  I got to sing at his funeral with my largely pregnant sister.  Thanksgiving with friends.  Charming was at rehearsals most of the month and I was a single mom, boo.  Thankful for my family, my community, and my health.

December 2011– Charming played the old man in CCT’s A Christmas Story.  Best fake swearing from a man who never curses ever.  Christmas at home with the family.  The much awaited arrival of my first biological niece.  

And now for the New Year’s Resolutions…. 

"I resolve to NOT have a baby in 2012."

I already feel the victory. 

Stellar parenting moments for me are rare.  I feel like I fly by the seat of my pants 90% 99% of the time.  I have gotten kind of fed up with the whining, the nagging and the dawdling though and so I started reading this book.  I haven’t finished it yet, but so far, I like what this guy has to say.  He talks a lot about natural consequences and also saying things to children only once and then walking away so that they learn to do things for themselves and become more independent.  (There is much more and since this post is not meant to be a book review, you should probably just read it…)

Anyhow.  Sugar is a morning dawdler.  She knows what she is supposed to do, but just piddles the time away and then cries at the last minute.  In the book, Dr. Leman mentions that a natural consequence for a kid missing the bus or being late is that they go to the office and get a late and UN-excused absence.  You tell your kid when the bus is coming, and maybe give reminders about how much time is left, but ultimately you don’t nag or yell.  If they miss the bus, there is a natural consequence.  We’ve been trying it now for a couple of days.  I like the lack of me yelling, but the kids have been barely making it out the door.  And today, Sugar missed the bus.

The morning went like this: I wake up to my dear 7 year old wailing about who-knows-what.  She can’t find her pants and dad won’t let her watch tv yadda yadda.  She is told to get dressed, is sent to her room several times and all the while hasn’t eaten breakfast even though she has been up for at least an hour.  Her oatmeal comes out the microwave long before her brother’s does and he finishes his and is out the door before she even has her shoes on.  I see her getting her shoes on (having asked her ten minutes previous) and leave the room figuring she saw her brother leave, she’s got this.  Well of course two minutes later she walks up to me asking for help with her shoes, her coat is not on and well, she misses the bus.

Now, we had told our kids earlier in the week what would happen if they missed the bus.  They were aware.

And oh. the. screaming.

"I don’t want to be late!  You could just take me to school on time!  You don’t really LOVE me!"

I told her we would go when I was ready, that she knew the consequences and I kept my cool.  She was so worked up at one point that she announced that she needed to go to her room to calm down.  I piddled around getting ready and she ended up being about 30 minutes late to school.  I walked her into the office with her tardy note and told the ladies they did not have to excuse her absence and that she was late because of her own choices.

Here is what the note said:

"Sugar has no reason for being late.  She is late because she did not get ready when she was asked to.  Please do whatever it is you do with tardy children."

And I felt really good about all of this.  Best. Parenting. Moment. Ever.  I was calm, I was consistent and I followed through.  I will keep you posted on the results, but I have a feeling she won’t miss the bus again.  Not tomorrow anyway. 

Engineer came home yesterday and his sister told me he almost got detention.  He denied this, but as it turns out he got into his first fight on the play ground:

Me: So what happened?

E: J threw a rock at me so I punched him.

Me: Where did you punch him?

E: In the stomach

Me: And he punched you back?

E: Yep, and then the recess teacher caught us.

A few minutes later…

Me: So was there just the two punches or were there more?

E: Umm… there were quite a few more.

Me: How many?

E: J punched me four times and I punched him twice more.

Well, at least it was even…

Then tonight…

E: Mommy, do you know what kind of girls I like?

Me: No, tell me.

E (he’s almost 9): younger girls. 

Me: Oh so like The Squish’s age?

E: No.  More like 7 year olds.  I like girls born in 2003. 

My younger sister is pregnant with her first child.  Several times a week she calls me with some new maternal crime she has committed and asks me if she thinks it will damage her unborn child.  I reassure her that she is and her seed are fine, I tell her to chill, I make fun of her for not eating deli meat, hang up the phone and roll my eyes.  I chuckle about how paranoid she is, pray that she will learn to relax and remind myself that I WAS THE EXACT SAME WAY.  (I once yelled at her for speeding and following another car too close with me and my fetus in the front seat next to her…)

The difference however, between being a first time parent and having your fourth kid is this: First time parents want everything to be perfect and are super afraid of messing anything up, but fourth time parents already know they are going to screw up and have given up on trying to prevent the inevitable. 

That and having a baby is kind of like anything in life that you’ve never done before.  Compare it for example, to learning how to drive a car. It starts out new and exciting and sometimes scary, and you white knuckle it for awhile but once you get the hang of it you are totally wiping boogers, passing the french fries back and doing your mascara while going 65 mph down the freeway without breaking a sweat.  Why?  Because it’s not a big deal anymore, you’ve been through it and you’ve survived.  Getting a new car is fun and a little thrilling, and while there’s a learning curve with the different buttons and pedal sensitivity, but the driving is more or less the same.  New car=awesome.  Driving=nothing special here.

Spider for example, is going into kindergarten this year and she’s my third kid having gone into kindergarten in four years.  I think it’s cute how all the first time kindergarten parents are all nervous and excited and go to all the meetings… I haven’t gone to a single kindergarten meeting yet and I might (shh, don’t tell) not even go to curriculum night since my son had the same teacher four years ago.  The new kindergartener is adorable, but I have moved past the thrill of the process.  Been there, done that.

Now, don’t in any way think that I think I am an expert parent.  My kids are constantly trying my patience and my resolve and creating some new dilemma in my life.  But like I said before, I already know I am going to screw up and we have all survived so far… so far anyway.  

As I mentioned before, I have not always been so chill. With my first pregnancy I was super careful about what I ate or drank.  I totally didn’t eat deli meat unless I nuked it first, I wouldn’t sit in the hot tub and I avoided caffeine like the plague.  (Pregnancy number four however was filled with hot tub relaxation, sub sandwiches and cherry coke).  When my new little one arrived, I kept up the vigilance, especially, when it came to germs.  With Engineer, I made sure the bottles were washed super hot, the pump had to be uber clean before my bosoms even thought about touching it and I made sure to throw away the baby food if he had eaten any of it straight from the container (ok, I still kind of do that one).   I took the sanitation of anything the baby was going to put in his mouth VERY seriously.  But yesterday as I sat in the car paying-way-too-much-for-a-free- car-wash, I realized how far I have departed from my first time mother-ness.  The Squish (aka the Baby in our House) was fussy and clearly hungry and wanting to spare the teenagers a peep show I decided on giving her the baby food I had just bought.  (Okay, well I was really giving her baby food that had been in the car for a couple of hours that she had already eaten from…)  But I had no baby spoons.  Miraculously (my good fortune coming from the fact that I never clean my car) there was a plastic spoon on the floor next to her car seat.  It was a little dirty and I had no idea what it was from, but having no other options, I was game.

(And can I just say, that as willing as I was to put the spoon in the baby’s mouth, I still had to think twice about putting it in my own to "wash" it off.)

I licked the spoon, filled it with prunes and The Squish was none the wiser.

My sister will probably read this and think me a horrible mother.  (Like when she found out that I drove home one day having forgotten to properly buckle up the baby).  But whatever.  I am SOOO over it. 

Spider (getting ready to play light sabers): I’m MISS Windu

Daddy: Oh, Mace Windu?

Spider: No, MISS Windu

Daddy: ok…

Spider: I’m Mace Windu’s Wife! 

I remember when I found out that Santa wasn’t real.  I think I was about 9 or 10 and the way that I found out was that I recognized my mother’s handwriting on one of my presents from the man in red.  I was devastated.  I was mostly angry. Angry at my mom.  Not because she’d been deceptive, but because she didn’t even try to cover up her lies. 

That said, I’d never been one for the Easter Bunny.  We got Easter baskets on Easter morning, but I somehow always knew they were from my parents.  Maybe they never said they were from the bunny.  Maybe I just figured it out.  Who knows?  But between the bunny and the tooth fairy, I was pretty sure my parents were the force behind the magic.

I assumed my son felt the same way.

I assumed wrong.

Lately, Engineer has been a little bit too much into the fantastical.  Between his belief in Hogwarts (Harry Potter is a made up story, but Hogwarts is a legitimate place) and the bleeping leprechauns on March 17th, I have pretty much had it.  When the children were crying about having not caught a leprechaun last month, I was so annoyed (and sleep deprived) that I just burst out– "they aren’t even freaking real!" which of course was met with, "yes they ARE.  You just DON"T BELIEVE."  Well it’s too much, you know?  How many mythical figures do I have to support their belief in by providing anonymous gifts?  Santa is one thing because his character is at least human and based on an actual person.  But a gigantic bunny bearing chocolate EGGS?  

(I totally love Easter by the way and like to give my kids baskets….)

Anyhow.  I just want my children to understand about the religious aspect of Easter that is important to our family.  I want them to know about Jesus and His sacrifice for us and how He was resurrected and how we also can be resurrected.   And I just don’t see how I can teach this important spiritual doctrine and in the same breath connect this sacred event to a giant candy bearing rabbit.

So last night Engineer says to me, "Be sure and put the baskets out so the Bunny can come."

I said, "Son, I will put baskets out, but the presents are from me."

He said ok.  And I thought, that was sure easy.  I am the best mom ever. 

And then as I tucked him into bed he asked, "Why did the Easter Bunny come last year but not this year."

Crap.

"Well, last year it was me too," I confess.

And then the tears came.

"Why did you TRICK ME?" he wept as my hopes of mother of the year were thrown out the window.  I calmly tried to explain that the important thing was he would still get candy and Jesus still got resurrected.  And I quickly added (as damage control), "Don’t tell your sisters."

"I am NOT going to TRICK PEOPLE!" he said through his angry tears. (Crap). More crying, more explaining and finally sleeping.  Though he did add this advice for me– "Just bring the presents out when you get up in the morning, because when you put them out at night it makes me think the Bunny brought them."

When I told Charming what I had done, he said, "Gee, I always thought it would be me that would dash all their childhood beliefs to pieces.  I never thought it would be YOU." 

Well it was.  At least I don’t have to keep up this act with him anymore.  And based on the way Sugar and Spider kept talking about the gifts "that you bought for us, Mom,"  the charade is over with my daughters as well.  (Spider told me Saturday that she knew I had bought Peeps because she saw them in my bag.)

Phew.

But I still think I can kiss that award goodbye.

"Mom, can I take pictures?"

"No, you’re a terrible photographer.  What are you going to take pictures of?"

"The chickens?"

"Fine. Go outside, here’s the camera."

All in all, her shots weren’t too bad:

And what photo session would be complete without a self portrait? 

Chances are if you have a daughter between the ages of 2 and 12 you’ve gotten the catalog in the mail.  Your daughter has no doubt flipped, circled and sighed until the catalog pages were worn and tattered. Perhaps you’ve looked at it together.  Perhaps you’ve gone through the catalog yourself a few times.  (I know I have.)  And chances are pretty good if you’ve gotten the catalog and the daughter has looked at it, that the items in the catalog have been discussed, asked about, and possibly begged for.

Yes, I am talking about the American Girl catalog.

Sugar Bean and I have been through the catalog about 100 times.  We both want one of the 18 inch, soft bodied, tender faced, better-dressed- than-the-average-human dolls.

The problem I have with American Girl Dolls though, is the sticker shock.  $100 for a doll– especially for a child with wavering tastes– is steep.   And as much as I have grown to appreciate value over the years– sometimes it is worth paying more for a quality item– you can’t convince me these dolls are made any better than anything else.  They might be slightly better, but when you consider that the generic 18" dolls are around $30, there’s no way a doll made of plastic and cloth is $70 better than any other doll made of plastic and cloth.  When a person shells out 100 bucks for and American Girl Doll, they are paying mostly for the name.  The American Girl company (now owned by Mattel) has set themselves up as a prestige brand that they do not want devalued (try getting one on ebay– they aren’t much cheaper than new).  

That’s their marketing scheme and that’s fine.  I don’t have a problem with a business model like that.

But I still don’t want to fork over that much for a doll.

But I still might one day…

Anyway. So Sugar Bean tells her Daddy the other day that she wants one of these dolls.  He of course asks her how much they cost and I hesitantly tell him they are $100.

As with most times when Charming finds out how much something costs, he is shocked. "That’s a lot for a doll," he tells her. "But if you save up your money you could get one."

Bean is of course, disappointed as even at 6 years old she realizes saving one hundred dollars is going to take a looong time.  I am disappointed too, as I had been scheming all the ways that I could just buy one for her with a little creative budgeting on my part (for her birthday, I am not that indulgent).  But someone (can’t remember if it was Charming or I– doesn’t really sound like me) brings up to her that she could save up for a doll that is similar to an American Girl doll, but is only $30.  And my thrifty child, surprisingly, finds this agreeable.  I am then forced to google 18 inch dolls with a first grader who would much rather peruse a paper catalog and is not all that impressed with the internet. ("This is boooring") But we find a few suitable alternatives that meet her strict requirements (must have a soft body so she can sleep with it, etc..) and it is decided she will save her money for this doll.

I have mixed feelings.

Part of me admires my daughter’s thrift.  Part of me feels like she’s going for the cheaper doll because it will be easier to obtain and I don’t like the "instant gratification" nature of that. (Yes I realize that it will still take her a few non-instant months to earn $30).  Part of me is wickedly glad that the American Girl doll company with dolls-so-expensive-the-average-American-girl-can’t-afford-one won’t be getting any of her hard earned deniros.  (Way to stick it to them Beanie!) And part of me still wants my own American Girl doll.

There are so many facets to this problem you see.  I really do want my children to not be swayed by brand names and I want them to be wise with their money.  This does not mean that I want them to be motivated to do what is easier, or to settle for less than what they really want.  But I don’t want them to become Wal-mart thrifty either– I don’t want them to buy low quality because it’s cheaper and simpler to obtain, because in the long run they will spend more money replacing cheap items and probably won’t be happy with them anyway.  I want them to do research and find the best deals, but used when it makes sense and understand the concept of value for price.  (Is that too much to ask?)

But I suppose these concepts have to be learned on one’s own.  I don’t think I can lecture my kids into being good savers and getting good deals.  I think overall, having Sugar save up for a generic 18 inch doll will be a good life experience.  It’s possible she will be disappointed with the imitation version.  It’s possible she will love the doll immensely and have the satisfaction that comes from purchasing something with her own saved money.  She might value this toy more than the other toys she owns.  She might discard it after two weeks like she has with other toys.  She might still want the "real thing".  Whatever happens, I think she will learn a lesson that she wouldn’t otherwise have learned.  Who knows?  This experience might even shape her lifelong values about spending habits!

But then maybe not.  She is only 6 after all. 

. 

I am a parental hypocrite.  I try to be consistent and fair, but sometimes, I’m just not.  Not gonna sugar coat it.  I eat in the living room and tell my kids not to.  I tell them not to do something and then blindly look away while they break the rules.  I say do this or else, and sometimes else doesn’t happen.  I’m human and not perfect and definitely not a perfect parent.  I know for a fact that I am not alone in this imperfection (at least believing that makes me feel better).  From my experience from childhood and having parents to being one, I have assessed that most moms and dads say or do things that either a.) don’t make sense or b.) flat out conflict with previous teachings.   For your amusement here is my list of quotes that I assume are confusing the crap out of my children.  (Kids constipated?  Try one of these sayings…)

Were you Born in a BARN?  My dad used to always say this one to me, and I occasionally catch myself saying it to my offspring.  It makes no sense, because 1.) the child in question probably doesn’t remember the birth and b.) duh, as the parent, I was kind of there when the farmlike child was born and I know for a fact that the child was most definitely NOT born in a barn…  Ridiculous question.

Pick up your own mess.  I am constantly asking my kids to clean up messes that aren’t theirs.  "But I didn’t make that mess," they whine.  To which I say, "I don’t care, clean it up anyway."  And yet, when they ask why I can’t clean it up, I say "because it’s not MY mess…" Yeah.  And I have had a five year old call me out on that one.

We’re leaving in five minutes.  Uh-huh.  Five minutes on a magical mom clock.  You know you’ve done it.  Five minutes on this clock could be 1 minute or 50 minutes depending on how naughty a kid is being or how much I need to talk to the other moms in the room…

I am not going to ask you again.  I cringe everytime I find myself saying this one.  Because I know that if they continue to not do what I am asking, I am most definitely going to continue to mention it.  Also it’s probably not that imposing of a threat…  "oooh, I better do it or mom’s NOT gonna ask again…"

You better clean up your toys or I will suck them up with the vacuum.  Ok.  This one’s just a lie.  And I am going to milk it as long as it continues to work. 

Yeah, I know there’s more and as soon as I hit publish I will think of a bazillion.  Which ones am I missing?  What do you say to your kids or what did your parents say to you? 

Warning: This post is graphic contains extreme TMI… Not for the faint of heart…

Monday morning.  Typical midwife appointment day.  I get Spider packed in the car (much to her protest), drive 30 minutes to the appointment, tell the midwives how convinced I am that I will be pregnant forever and they do a cervical check.

4 cm and I am not in labor.  And I want to punch a wall.

I am now further convinced that I will never have this baby, as I have never before been 4 cm and NOT in labor.  I usually take about 45 minutes to leap from a 4 to a 10.  LAME.  I consoled myself with a Big Mac and a McFlurry (where I see on the news a story about a woman who delivered a 13 pound baby in 4 hours, naturally) and I take Spider to the library.

While at the library I start having sharp contractions.  Not necessarily anything new since I have pretty much been getting contractions since I was four months along and they have been painful for the last couple of months .They were SHARP though and this was unusual.  They were coming every ten minutes which to me, meant nothing but still, being hopeful I figure we should go home instead of stay for what I am sure would have been an awesome preschool storytime.  It is about 1:00 pm.

Contractions continue at home (still not unusual) about every ten minutes.  I decide to try and nap it off.  I get out my iphone app for timing contractions “just for fun.” These contractions were definitely stronger but never regular.  (I don’t know why I keep looking for textbook labor, I’ve never had one..) Some contractions are 4 minutes apart, some 6, some are ten minutes apart but they felt like legit labor contractions so I decide to call the midwives.  It is at 2:37pm and I ask their advice, still unsure if I am in labor. (This is the problem one has when they have contractions all pregnancy long, but also quick labor).  Midwives ask if I would like to drive in and have my water broken.  I tell her I can’t drive through these contractions.  They tell me to get Charming home and call back in an hour.

I call my husband, tell him to come home and I get in the bathtub.  (Should have been a sign to anyone if they were so bad that the tub was in order.)  Some contractions are bad enough at this point that I am biting a towel to get through them. 

Charming gets home at 3:21.  It hasn’t been an hour since I talked to the midwives, but I decide to call back anyway, since contractions are not being eased by the water and they are closer to 3 minutes apart. (I am still hesitant about making them drive out, as I don’t want to waste their time…)  I hand phone to Charming who says, “I dunno, I just got here.”  They tell him to call back in 20 minutes.

I have one contraction that he witnesses and he says, “Yeah, I am going to call back right now.”

20 minutes later, midwives say they are about 15 minutes from the house.

I am not convinced they will make it.

At 3:45 the older kids get home from school.  Spider has been downstairs watching a movie we picked up at the library pretty much this whole time.  Between me screaming at Charming not to abandon me  in my hour of need (in transition at this point) and telling him to get the kids out of here—the children manage to leave (amidst excited chatter) and walk down to the neighbor’s house.

And then the all telling, I think I need to use the restroom now, moment.  (And this is where it gets graphic….)  Even though I am not feeling the urge to push, the pressure is now so intense on my lower anatomy that I assume the pushing/squatting position just to get some relief.  As I work with my contractions, I am now screaming and crying like a crazy person.  I start to push, push, PUSH until she starts to crown.

Midwives are still not here, btw.

I am standing over Charming and I push our darling daughter out in a burst of fluids (water not broken before this point) which he graciously gets covered in.  She cries right away, which is a relief, and has no problems we can see.  Charming sweeps out her mouth and I suggest we call the midwives again since I am standing there with a dangling umbilical cord and unsure what to do next. Charming checks the time.  3:58 pm.

Midwives are pulling onto our street as we call them and suggest I just hold baby on my chest until they arrive. (2 minutes later).  I climb back in the tub awkwardly and Charming puts baby on my chest.  Midwives come in, cut the cord, deliver the placenta and all is well.  It is about 4:05 pm.

The midwives take care of cleaning and checking everyone for the next few hours before they leave.   The kids come home after a disappointingly short stay with the neighbors.  We get all snuggled in with baby, put kids in bed etc…

And Charming says, “Do you think they are disappointed they weren’t here for the birth?”

To which I reply, “Nah, I don’t think they needed that mental image of their naked, screaming mother pushing their baby sister into the world.”

Charming pauses.  “I was talking about the midwives.”

Oh.

They’ve seen enough of it, I am sure. 

Baby

7lbs 6 oz, 20 inches

Eyes: Blue  Hair: Surprisingly Red 

Likes: Cuddles, Bosoms and Thumb Sucking

Dislikes: Diaper Changes 

Clever blog name yet to be decided