Mom confession: I don't particularly care for the holidays.

GASP!!!!  It's true.

But I like to think that actively trying to like the holiday season every year counts for something.

Every November I promise myself that this Thanksgiving and Christmas will be different. This is the year I will "relax" and "enjoy" the holidays and "slow down" and "focus on the important things". That I won't freak out about finding something to wear, or if the kids' dress shoes don't fit, or if the discussion at the table turns political, or if relatives judge my parenting/ kids' behavior, or if my nine year old wears sparkly sweatpants from Justice to church because she "doesn't have any clothes".

Nope, this is the year I will let it all go, and "savor the small moments". Or whatever people say.

The thing about being in the #fourkidsclub is that there are very few small moments to savor during the holiday season that don't involve breaking up fights, frantically rushing around everywhere, and deescalating public meltdowns before people notice. Forget matching outfits and combed hair for church on Christmas Eve, these days I'm lucky if all four of them don't have chocolate and/or boogers on their faces and are wearing both shoes AND clean socks. And if you are chronically 5 to 45 minutes late to everything like me, you can definitely look forward to standing in the back of the church holding your crying, wiggling toddler while your older kids beg for fruit snacks as your mind drifts to existential thoughts about whether you should be raising your children Catholic in the first place, and how pissed off you are at Pope Francis for being a sexist jerk.

I guess those 1950s housewives who coasted through the holidays on Xanax and cooking sherry had it right all along.

Thanksgiving is coming up on Thursday, and I admit this one is my least favorite, despite my fondness of green bean casserole with buttery french fried onions.  The good part is, there's no church component to this one, however it is chock full of fun activities like making your neanderthal children with sit and behave at dinner in front of people who don't see them (or children in general) very often and have lots and lots of fun and useful opinions about everything. Especially parenting. And how to Make America Great Again. And Planned Parenthood. And of course, what we should do with the criminal immigrants! This Thanksgiving, a mere 2 weeks after the election that tore our nation apart, I will happily get up to chase my 2 year old at the first mention of the word "wall". Oh, and of course, lest we forget the unfortunate emergency c-section I had at 4 am on Thanksgiving two years ago. No green beans (or dignity)for me that year! Having to relive traumatic birth experiences is just the icing on an already a not-so-pleasant turkey flavored cake. Seriously, I will be thankful when it's all over.

As soon as you recover from Round 1, you are thrust head first into the frenzy of Christmas season. For the next 4 weeks, you will be forced to listen to horrible music like Christmas Shoes on every radio station, watch Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer 4,000 times, and if you're REALLY unlucky, wait in line at the mall for 3 hours so your kid can be too scared to sit on Santa's lap.

Then before you know it, it will be December 23rd and too late for 2-day shipping on Amazon and you have to do things like go to an actual physical store with your kids. SO YOU FREAK OUT AND START BUYING RANDOM CRAP! Buy it now and figure out who you'll give it to later. You will bribe your kids with pretzel bites and soda in exchange for 20 more minutes of quiet while you get those damn personalized ornaments you decided you need every year. You will run from store to store screaming things like "get back in the stroller!" and "I told you not to put your fingers near the escalator!".  And then...then you become that mom. 

Truthfully, a central theme of #fourkidsclub Christmas shopping involves overcompensating for favoritism and trying to create an equitable spread: all four gift piles must at least appear somewhat even despite the fact that we all have a favorite child. So naturally, you lose tally of who got what, and overbuy like crazy.

After you return from the mall, broken down and defeated, you'll spend all Christmas eve night wrapping ten thousand presents for your greedy little brats who are already way too spoiled and entitled  little munchkins hoping the next morning will go smoothly and everyone will be happy. And of course, they will be happy- Christmas morning might actually be one of my favorite things about being a parent. All kidding aside, the look on their faces when they find out Santa came is one that almost makes up for the bullshit we have to withstand during the rest of the season. This might be the last year we still have four believers, and for them, Christmas will damn well be magical. The pure joy our kids experience on Christmas morning allows us to overlook the fact that we will be tripping over toys and stepping on legos for weeks until we find a place to store them. From Dec.25th until around New Year's, our living room looks a little something like this:

wait-- did a bomb just go off?

.

Sadly, the joy of Christmas morning is often short lived, because after a few hours of playing with toys and stuffing our faces with junk food, we are forced to mobilize and attend our various Christmas engagements. Family politics have prevented us from ever hosting at our home, but despite the inevitable cleaning frenzy, having people over here would be much better than tearing four kids away from their new toys and loading them into the car for a day rationed diplomatically between my family and my in-laws. It's never fun, and there's never enough time spent either place to make everyone happy.

Because of course, holidays are all about making other people happy. Duh!

When I was a kid, my family always hosted Christmas. There was the usual present-opening morning bliss, but then around 11, shit would get real and my parents made us take all our loot up to our rooms and started cooking and vacuuming like crazy before everyone arrived. The two sides of my family didn't hide their differences well, so they'd sit at their separate tables while my mom's in-laws teased her about her pre-cooked Stop n Shop turkey and environmentally irresponsible use of Styrofoam cups. I can now appreciate how much that must have sucked.

So yeah, THIS YEAR, I am going to try to enjoy the holidays, mostly since they are going to happen whether I like it or not. No, I am not turning to drugs. No, I am not going to carry around vodka in a hairspray bottle in my purse. No, I am not skipping the holidays altogether and running away to a tropical island. Well, maybe I will I my head...

Here I am NOT having a conversation about politics.

I am not going to stress out before or during the holiday season this year.  Instead, I am going to do something totally out of character and plan ahead.

HAHAHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA JK!!!

But seriously, even though it is the biggest parenting cliche around, when these kids grow up NO ONE WILL REMEMBER the tearful fight with the girl who refused to wear her velour dress to church, or the passive aggressive comment some judge-y relative made about my parenting. No one will care what I wear, or if the kids still have crap on their faces from a breakfast of Hershey's kisses and chocolate croissants. No one will remember that "casual" discussion about the merits of Trumps transition team OR CERTAINLY ONE CAN HOPE. That's why there is wine (or vodka Aqua Net), anyway.

So you guys enjoy the holiday season, ok? Remember, it's only as stressful, hectic, uncomfortable, degrading, and Trump-y as you let it be...and besides, it'll all be over in about a month! And by then we'll be grasping for any remaining shreds of  holiday cheer, because it will be shitty January in Connecticut! Hooray! So have fun ignoring your budget and not being on Weight Watchers for one more month. And I will be sure to send you a postcard from my imaginary tropical island of avoidance and delusion, which MAY OR MAY NOT be better than cheap wine and benzos.


HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!!!

Wake me up when September (and my baby fever) ends.

You'll miss this when they're grown.


I turned around to half-acknowledge the remark, almost spilling my French press as I flashed the most phony smile I could muster in the direction of the 50-something woman standing behind me.

I was having coffee with a friend on the patio of my favorite shop, trying to carry on a conversation as my wild towheaded toddler made continuous attempts to run into the parking lot, and my preschooler whined in the chair next to me after accidentally closing the You Tube app on my phone. You know, a typical September morning in the #fourkidsclub.

Yeaaahh, I know. Haha. Kids are pretty great. Have a good day! I mumbled, through clenched teeth.

Every day it seems I receive some variation of this comment.
"Enjoy every minute"
"They grow so fast. Blink and you'll miss it"
"The days are long but the years are short" (my personal fave)

I know people generally mean well, but these types of cliche remarks are annoying and frankly a little smug. I know I am CRAZY to occasionally drag my kids places that do not offer chicken nuggets, petting zoos and inflatable bouncy castles. However, I selfishly insist on having a life outside of momhood sometimes. On most weekdays, my two boys are my reluctant companions, having to suffer through errands and my boring social life while their sisters are at school.

At that particular moment outside Cafe Sofia, I couldn't fathom the possibility of someday "missing this". I am a self-professed hater of the toddler years, who admits openly to not truly enjoying my kids' company until after they are three. The thought of all four kids being in school full time seems mind-blowingly glorious right now. Until that day comes, all I want is the occasional walk or coffee date with my friends (most of whom don't have preschoolers anymore and probably take pity on me) for an hour so I can feel like a human being again. Is that too much to ask?

Kind of, yeah.

September is the busiest month on the calendar, and this year we dove in head first. After the longest, most intense, action-packed and memorable #fourkidsclub summer in the books, I shipped the oldest two off to school within 18 hours of returning from vacation, and Brendan started pre K the next day. With a new school year also comes the mandatory frenzy of extracurriculars; soccer, swimming, piano, dance, music together and library class. As hectic as back-to-school time can be, getting a break after nearly 3 months of 24/7 Mommy Camp is downright wonderful.

September can also be kind of lonely, though. I mean, without even mentioning the fact that my best friend who I saw almost every day for 8 years moved to freaking Europe this summer, I have had more than a few "Hey there Lonely Girl" moments over the last few weeks. I often find myself flying solo at the playground or the library with my boys during the day, something I didn't experience when they girls were young because I was always involved in various mom-themed activities. Nowadays, the activities I am involved in do NOT directly involve my kids, and I prefer it that way.

I've been at this stay at home mom game for almost ten years now. In the nine and a half years since I had Fiona, I have seen trends and friends come and go, and have had to deal with what feels like every challenge a parent of young children can possibly face. In that time, the entire landscape has changed, not only in parenting trends but more significantly in my personal life. I have gone back to school. I am starting to look forward instead of back down that diaper aisle at Target. Many times I feel isolated and OLD staying home with my active 1 year old, when my eldest is an articulate and sassy "tween" that almost basically (but not quite) needs to go bra shopping.


Despite my stay-at-home-mom angst, thoughts of having a fifth child have started to creep in once more. Why not, right? I already have mountains of newborn clothes in pink, blue, and every other color of the rainbow. I have a brand new eight passenger minivan. My basement is a veritable Goodwill Store stocked with every toy, stroller, carrier and accessory needed for an army of children under ten. Plus, I am feeling kind of emotional after the recent acquisition of a "big boy bed" by my 22 month old, who moved into his brother's room last week. The crib is gone and the old nursery is empty (well, except for the graveyard of age-inappropriate Fisher Price infant toys that remain scattered on the floor). Why am I keeping all this crap--that I constantly trip over and claim to hate-- in my house unless my subconscious is trying to tell me something?

Our baby is almost 2. After each of the other kids, I have consistently gotten pregnant again between 19-23 months. I am not currently pregnant. This is uncharted territory!

Some days I want to go down to the basement and break out all the stretchy pants and nursing tank tops again. Part of me really wants to want to have a fifth baby, as baffling as that is. Those who are closest to me know how tough my fourth pregnancy and birth was, physically and emotionally. The first weeks with my son were overwhelming, and I feel guilty about not enjoying that squishy newborn as much as I should have. Having a fourth baby rocked my world and threw me out of balance without warning. Some days I was fine, but other days I felt like I was swimming in deep scary water, afraid that if I looked below the surface, I would be pulled down into darkness. In my mind, starting fresh with a new baby would be like pressing the "reset" button, and I can transition out of my childbearing years with a final, positive experience.

If I were to get pregnant again, I told myself, I would do it "right" this time. I'd buy the latest state of the art baby gear and things I couldn't afford with the older kids (except a pacifier sterilizer and a wipe warmer, because I am still not a tool). I would actually design a nursery and paint a mural on the wall, even though this is something I frequently make fun of Millennials for doing. Everything would be monogrammed. Professional pictures would be taken and posted all over the internet ad nauseam. Baby book would be updated regularly, which I haven't done for any of my kids so far (gasp!).

But every time I let my mind go to that place, another part of me is fighting the urge to procreate with every fiber of my being. Over the last year, I have been slowly working on my MSW, and trying to dust off the shreds of what were once my professional ambitions. I've been doing more non-PTO volunteer work, and making connections with new people. I am starting to envision what my post-childbearing life will eventually look like. Out of a chrysalis of Mom jeans and ill-fitting black T-shirts, someday I will emerge again. And at 33, I am smarter, more mature, and have a clearer picture of the person I want to be than I did when I was 21 and still part of the working world.

So maybe I'll just listen to my friends who were lovingly chanting "IUD" at me during book club last week. Maybe I should listen to the little voice inside that is telling me that i am so done, so ready to move forward with my life. Listen to the part of me that has a visceral reaction when I recall how much I hate being pregnant. Yes, having babies is familiar and comfortable for me, but it's also a cop-out. I know myself well enough to realize that running away is my first instinct when faced with something difficult. It is time to get over the fear of moving past the stay at home mom phase and cross the bridge to the other side.

And even though I wanted to punch that well-meaning lady in Cafe Sofia the other day, the truth is that I know she is right. I WILL miss these days, as much as I am sick of them now. As much as I am fed up with parenting toddlers, and stressed out, and lonely, I know I will miss the matchbox cars in my purse, my trusty double jogger, and those tiny little newborn socks. I know I am not ready to throw all that stuff away either, and I decided that's okay for now. I also know, despite my constant denial of this fact, that I will be sad and maybe even cry when my youngest goes off to preschool next Fall.

But having that first kid-free coffee date after I drop him off? Well, I am most certainly looking forward to that.

Four Kids Summer Club

Dear friends, we've made it halfway through summer vacation!

Seven weeks in, my #fourkidsclub has entered the happy period of summer equilibrium. After a few rough patches at the start, we've hit our stride once again with four kids coexisting all day under one roof. I can relax with my phone  a book and hang back on the sidelines while my kids play games, and do other various kid things. Only occasionally do I have to break up a punching or screaming match, or save a certain toddler from falling off a playscape.

 I daresay that we are in the sweet spot over here in the Suburbs, and have made it for (most of) the last month and a half with relatively minimal whining, enthusiasm for summer activities and nary a mention of QUEST (though back to school placement letter hysteria is tightening it's grip this week). I have not yet begun to shop for pencils, or backpacks with those bug-eyed animal keychains, and Lord knows I have not set foot in Justice in nearly four months.

SUMMER VACATION!!!

I'm guessing that in general, members of the #fourkidsclub either love it or hate it. Sure, it could be daunting to manage a houseful of kids who have been involved in school and activities for so long that they have forgotten how to handle free, unstructured time. I will admit, the first week or two can be tough, while everyone is re-learning how to interact with each other in a civil way. And if they can't, you know, there's camp. I suppose for a mom who loves organization and schedules and meal planning and order, summer might more than a tad bit stressful. BUT I AM NOT THAT MOM. I love summer. Here's a list of reasons why:

1. Scheduling / routine goes to hell

Have I mentioned how I feel about making school lunches? This year, my two school age kids have decided the school cafeteria made the pizza crust and pasta  too "brown" (whole grain), so naturally they won't be eating it anymore. My 9 year old likes salad bar day, (read: black olives, croutons and ranch dressing day), but other than that I have to pack 3 lunches that consist of more than pop tarts almost every day. Not during the summer! The kids are more than welcome to scrounge the pantry for their own meals, even if all of them consist of cereal and cheez its. I know for a fact that Fiona learned how to chop vegetables and cook quiche and johnny cakes at Colonial camp, so there are zero excuses. Or they can just eat lunchables, whatever. No bento box pinterest lunches allowed in summertime. 

Summer is also the time where bedtimes are well...negotiable. Unless there is camp in the AM, we have been kind of lax with this one. Drive In movies are fun- and bonus- your kids are already asleep in the car by the time you get home. I actually have time to read to my kids during summer vacation. The other night as I put my girls to bed, Fiona asked me to explain what Black Lives Matter meant, so of course I went to town with that one (I realize her strategy, but I honestly don't care). Many nights, we stay at the pool until 8 then eat Dairy Queen., so bedtime gets pushed out until 10...ish. And every night ends with Joe and I on the couch, me falling asleep to Friday Night Lights, him on the computer doing work. Ah, summer romance. 

And I didn't even kid myself and buy those summer Common Core workbooks for my kids this year. Not even going to pretend that's happening. 

2. Housework goes to hell

There's nothing like a picnic in the park! Every night...with paper plates! And while I admit, the pounds have been piling up, there is NO pile of dishes in my sink right now. As for laundry, since we are poolrats, the kids haven't worn real clothes or underwear since sometime in June. Crumpled up clothes found on the bottom of the beach bag are totally acceptable to wear for a second day. And the one laundry basket that's been hanging out in the upstairs hallway since May? That is going to have to wait until September, and I'm totally okay with that.

you know, the one with clothes from all four seasons

In the summer, it's easy to meet friends at the pool or the park, so I don't have to constantly be worried about the condition of my house. Which is great, because the best part of summer is:

3. Summer friends

Summer friends are the best friends in the world. You know, the kind you see at the pool every day, or the kind you never see during the school year but can finally make time for during July and August. Or especially the kind that take the Chinatown bus for five hours to meet up in NYC for the day. Those friends are the best.

Brooklyn on a Monday! Whaaat!?!?

Summer is also a great time to "detox" from the unpleasant social situations you can't avoid during the school year. You can weed out your kids' annoying playmates that you can't stand. Summer is a magical time where we hand-pick our companions, and bid all the mombots, sanctimommies, and jerky bratty kids adieu until September.

later, bitches.

In summer, you have the freedom to prioritize the friends and playmates who are worth spending time with. Also, ignoring birthday party E-vites because your kids aren't in touch with their school friends is a big plus this time of year.

4. Personal hygiene goes to hell

During the school year I have to wash and detangle my girls hair, like, every day. In the summer, I torture Lily with the brush and bottle of detangler and threaten her with a buzz cut only ONCE a week on average.

Lily's weekly braid. This particular one is on day 3.

Showering has become a weekly event for my kids, because I can't think of a bigger waste of time and energy, given that they are submerged in a swimming pool 2-3 times a day. Plus, chlorine kills all the germs! That's a win-win. 

5. Summer is the season that half finished home renovation projects almost get completed

This summer we are "doing" our kitchen and downstairs bathroom. God bless my sweet husband, who has gone Home-Depot crazy and taken on this project himself, after a handful of high-ish quotes from contractors. Granted, while I still have the contractors saved in my phone on speed dial (I'm so 90s), I'm happy to be saving some money, so we can over-spend it in other ways. 

goodbye, horrid blue tile floor and hideous faux brick backsplash. 

ahhh, so unifying and calming

BTW: I have just discovered the magical paint color that is Revere Pewter. Is it beige? Is it grey? How is it so calming? Thank you, Benjamin Moore. You sure are great at marketing, because suddenly I want to Revere Pewter everything. 

even my baby..

Mmm...greige

              

I hope everyone out there is having an awesome LONG and relaxing summer! This month we are packing up the kids and heading to to beach (cue the whining and OCD foot washing). I love the beach, and my little darlings will surely learn to love it too! Or just sit inside the house and watch cable tv all day. Whichever. 

See y'all at Justice on September 1st! ;-)

xo kc

Dear privileged white boy of mine

This was a milestone year for my little Brendan, as he entered his first year of preschool last Fall. I realize that some of you folks probably don't buy into the "boy" and "girl" behavior generalizations, but let's just say Brendan's temperament was a whole lot different than my two girls- who were very clingy, shy and fearful when they started preschool. A sociable boy, Brendan is often physical when playing or interacting with peers. He could be impulsive (to say the least), and often has difficulty keeping still. You know, typical preschooler stuff. But I worried about him- we've had a few rather unfortunate run-ins with kids who had temperaments similar my girls' at that age- and I worried that Brendan's outgoing personality and physical nature would be interpreted as aggressive when he started school.

Prior to the first day of preschool, I went out and bought Brendan a wardrobe full of button down shirts, ties, sweater vests, khakis and Sperrys. You know, so he can stand out in the "right" way. A friend once told me that all teachers will appreciate the child who is either the smartest, the most well behaved, or the best dressed kid in class. Well, at least I could make sure my little dude has one of those three things going for him. I sure as heck wasn't sending him to his shi-shi preschool dressed in those tacky caped superhero t-shirts and sweat pants he likes. I couldn't let him be "that" kid on top of  having potential behavioral issues.

So my sweet son started preschool, where he would paint and run and play in the mud, looking like he just finished up 18 holes at the Hartford Golf Club. Was he cute? Sure. Eye-roll worthy? Yup, probably that too.


When we bought our house here in Suburban Paradise 2.5 years ago, we had achieved a dream of ours. We are younger parents who struggled a great deal to achieve financial stability. At last, we were able to settle down in an affluent town, and send our kids to an "excellent" top- rated public school, with a culture that encourages high academic achievement. Our kids are involved in music and competitive sports, and all sorts of other extracurricular opportunities that cost a lot of money. We did it! But now I can say without a doubt (and I realize this is a pretty typical side effect of taking social work courses) that I now truly understand what white privilege looks like. And I see my fair skinned, blue eyed children benefiting from it every day.

This is the part where I don't mention Brock Turner, who needs more publicity just about as much as he needed "20 minutes of action".

But after reading 500 articles about Brock this week, I got a little queasy looking out my own window....how does a little boy, no different on the outside from our own sons, turn into that.

No, I'm not talking about being a sociopath- because that's something entirely different. Sure, Brock was a sociopath too- I believe you have to be to do what he did, regardless of  his status and "the dangers of college binge drinking culture". But there is something far more dangerous, more insidious in this equation than privilege alone, and that's the attitude of entitlement that accompanied this heinous act; the expectation that the justice system should treat an individual like Brock differently than someone who isn't white, rich, educated, and well-connected.

The people in our community aren't all jerks because they belong to country clubs, "summer"on the Cape, own expensive homes and cars, or hire people to clean their houses and manicure their lawns every week. My family is admittedly part of this culture too- and once you have the means to afford such things, it can be a slippery slope indeed. We aren't at fault for wanting our children to attend top rated schools (even if the rating is simply because of demographics) or participate in extracurricular activities. College scholarships can be a dream come true when you have a handful of kids!

We aren't bad people for wanting the best for our kids, but little seeds of evil are planted whenever we USE our privilege to gain an unfair advantage over others.

Joe and I are very fortunate to be able to give our kids much more than we experienced growing up, but we are learning that with this privilege comes tremendous parental responsibility.

We need to remember that our kids are watching us all the time, so we need to model socially responsible behavior. We should think twice about our little benign indiscretions, from the mom who parks her suburban illegally in the school bus lane every day, to the dad who calls the teacher to dispute a grade after his son was caught cheating on a test. Kids overhear conversations you have about hired "help"; certainly they don't need to hear your off-color comments about your cleaning lady's ethnicity or work ethic. When you take your kid out to a restaurants, leave a tip and clean up after yourself if you trashed the place (certain members of the #fourkidsclub leave an extra big tip because the last part is inevitable). Say NO to your kids when they are acting out of line, rude, or obnoxious, especially if it involves the dignity of another person. Our kids aren't born entitled little assholes, but it's our job to make sure they don't end up that way.

One thing that I have definitely learned about parents-white, black, rich, poor, educated, uneducated, and everywhere in between-is that the apple never falls far from the tree. The mean moms I've met have succeeded in producing kids who are jerks and bullies. The genuinely nice friends that my kids have made all come from nice families- and nice families don't all fit the same cookie-cutter mold.

Then I started thinking about the image I tried to construct for my little son. Should the fact that he can be "rough around the edges" at times be mitigated by a pair of seersucker pants and a bow tie? Absolutely not! Even if I AM overcompensating for his (perceived) shortcomings, why should I expect that dressing my son well should somehow change the way people see him, or treat him...or worse, ignore certain behaviors because of the image he projects? Hypocrisy alert! Luckily, my son has preschool teachers who don't buy into this sort of thing. And even more luckily, I had nothing to worry about, and Brendan is (mostly) well-behaved in school.


What I want my little boys- and girls- to understand is that just because you have some material things that other kids don't, you never have the right to treat them like they are less worthy. You must appreciate the struggles others may face because of lack of privilege, even if they are not relevant to your own experience. You will be held to the highest standard of personal responsibility, and are accountable for your actions. If you mess up, you will face the same consequences as anyone else. You are not "special" or better than anyone just because you're you.

I let Brendan wear whatever he wants to school these days, because he's four years old and a pair of ripped sweat pants doesn't make him any more violent or poorly behaved than a boy who's all decked out in a blazer, collared shirt and Vineyard Vines pink whale belt. WE are the ones responsible for making sure our boys (and girls) don't turn into Brock Turner, or UConn mac and cheese kid, for that matter.  We, the parents, have the power and responsibility to shape them into kind, conscientious, socially aware adults, regardless of race, class, or income level (and preference of bow tie vs. crewneck, of course).

Ten years.

Next week- June 17th to be exact- Joe and I will have been married for 10 years.

TEN. YEARS.

That's big, right? That's like, longer than 99% of Hollywood marriages, and longer than a significant amount of non-Hollywood marriages as well. We should celebrate!

...Except when you are a member of the #fourkidsclub, nobody will agree to watch all of your kids while you take a romantic vacation, so you'll probably just go out to dinner at Bricco or something...

At times like this, people usually say things like "it was meant to be" and throw around words like "soulmate" and "destiny". This is when I involuntarily roll my eyes, because  I don't subscribe to any of that sappy nonsense. I am not a sentimental person. I don't believe in "fate" or "destiny".  Our marriage is a decision and a piece of paper: Joe and I chose this. We chose this path ten years ago, when we were a couple of dumb 22 year old kids (okay, he was 24) who didn't know our heads from our asses. We had no money and no life skills, but we chose this, and dammit, we made it work.

what the fuck am I doing?

And no, our love wasn't meant to be.

No preordained destiny forced us to stick it out through the days when we were dirt poor, having to swallow our pride and move back in with family while we adjusted to life with a newborn baby. Nowhere was it written in the stars that we'd make it through all those sleepless nights with screaming infants while Joe was in graduate school, up until 4am every night doing quantum mechanics. There was no divine force from the heavens that held us together through difficult pregnancies, PPT meetings, moving 5 (!!!) times, job anxiety, and finally starting a new business. That was US; we did that. We made it through because of our commitment to each other and our love for our family. Oh, and definitely our sense of humor came in handy, too! WE chose this life, and we chose to love each other.  And we fought like hell for what we have now. In retrospect it is clear that for all the "worse" that happened in these last ten years, there has been an equal or greater amount of "better". 

Ten years of marriage IS an achievement. Are we too busy with life to really acknowledge or anniversary? Yes, unfortunately. Do we have time to draw funny anniversary comics or make fancy homemade dinners anymore? Nope. Can we even have a conversation without being interrupted ten times or even hear each other over the noise level in our house? No, sadly. Romance these days is falling asleep on the couch with a bag of Trader Joe's chocolate pretzels halfway into the second episode of Bloodline. We've been married for a decade, and have been parents for almost as long. It's not spicy or exciting, but it's stable. It's safe and comfortable, and I'll take it.

Besides, a boring stable life is the best thing you can hope for when you're 32, right?  I have a wonderful husband who is an amazing father, and will do anything to make me happy. He supports all my silly dreams, and gets me Bridgewater Chocolate when I need it. That, my friends, is real love. 

I always tell my kids, don't get married young. Don't be like us. Go live your lives, save your money, travel, be educated, and get to know yourself before you commit to someone else. 

But even though this is what I preach, I can't deny that the "wrong" way worked pretty well for us. We were kids when we got married. KIDS. Neither of us had "real" jobs, or enough education make decent wages anyway. Neither of us had a clue about how to manage money, run a household, or raise babies. Neither of us had a clear picture of who we wanted to be in life, or how on earth we would get there. Getting married too young started a fire under our asses, and when Fiona came along 10 months later, our silly selfish 20-something days were over.  Every decision we made thereafter had to benefit our family. 

And yes, we were lucky, too. We were two college pals that had a whirlwind romance and an incredibly hasty marriage We could have just as easily ended up realizing we were incompatible 2 years later and called it quits. Lucky us; we grew together instead of apart!

But it was more than luck. It was a choice. Marriage is a choice Joe and I wake up and make every day. We choose to be committed to each other, and our kids. "Fate" didn't do all the hard work for us. Joe and I have a strong marriage because we essentially grew up together. And in doing so, we created an incredibly strong bond. Walking through the hard times and figuring things out together is what made us unbreakable. 

Ten years.
Hopefully the next 10 will bring things like STABILITY, something we haven't been too familiar with thus far. But I know there will always be new struggles, more storm clouds in the distance. Right now most of our struggles have to do with parenting, but I know it won't always be that way. Someday when our kids grow up and move out, we'll probably have to figure out our relationship all over again, but that's okay. I'll probably go back to work someday too, which will bring more changes. No problem. I know we can get through anything. 

Because we chose this. We chose to commit to our marriage and family, and it was so so so worth it, as our six year old would say. 

We made it ten years! 

High Five! I love you! 

Are you out there, kids? It's me, Debbie.

I've been doing a lot of complaining lately.


I complain about the kids' school.
I complain about how lonely I am, because my best friend moved away.
I complain about my house, and the millions of updates it needs.
I complain about this town- which admittedly has a few really wonderful people in it- but often I find it to be pretentious as fuck.
I complain about the kids' summer vacation being too long.
I complain about the dumb activities I've scheduled to fill it up.
I complain about people and situations in my life that I can't really avoid.
I complain about losing things, and the kids being messy and lazy and whiny.

When did I become such a Debbie Downer? I believe I previously blogged about my contempt for young enthusiastic mothers who follow their kids around, helicoptering, wiping their noses and telling them for the tenth time that minute "what the dog says". But the truth is, I couldn't be like that even if I tried. Not anymore. Sometimes it feels like I've lost all enthusiasm for parenting, and that's a very sad thought.

I've noticed that parenting in general has changed a lot since 2007. I've noticed a couple of new trends within the playgroup set- who are now all around my age and a little younger. The first one is the presence of baby boomer grandparents. They're everywhere, and they're super involved in their grandchildrens' lives. Heck, many of them meet up with other grandparent pals at the library or music class. Perhaps shaking a tambourine to Tingalayo brings back fond memories of  Woodstock- who knows? Once I was at Toddler Time, and I noticed the number of kids with grandparents and nannies outnumbered the kids who were there with moms and dads. So clearly, the new parents of my generation aren't leaving their jobs to stay home in raise children. This probably has a lot to do with the economy, but also to how our working liberated feminist mothers raised us as well. Becoming a stay at home mom was never on my list of life plans either, until I fell into this gig after Fiona was born. This was mostly because we couldn't afford day care, and my entry level job in an inpatient children's psychiatric unit sucked anyway. Did I mention I like avoiding stuff?

The other thing I've noticed is the pervasive presence of technology in parenting. So many moms and dads these days have vlogs and youtube channels. What's up with that? My kids like to watch this family vlog called the Murrays, a wholesome tattooed millennial couple and their four kids who make song parodies and are on fire for Christ. And since I still don't really understand how to use YouTube (and the internet in general), those harmless wholesome singalongs soon turn into graphic videos of young mothers having babies if I leave the queue running long enough. WTF! It would never occur to me to record something like this- let alone put it on the internet. Some things are better left to the imagination! But are these people really narcissistic, or is this just a normal thing for Millennials? For kids who grew up with AOL and My Space and The Real World, putting your most intimate moments on the internet is NBD, obvs.

I was at Music Together recently, and this millennial mom who looked like she was 15 just couldn't put her phone down during class. Between choruses of Robin Red Breast, she'd pull out her iPhone, snap pictures, take videos AND upload them to social media by the end of the song. "That's efficiency!" I thought to myself. But even though those pics probably got more than a handful of Likes, I don't think she's going to remember anything about going to that class with her kids. I mean, isn't that why we pay $30/ class for Music Together, so we are FORCED to put our phones down for 45 minutes and sing and bond with our kids? (oh, maybe that's just me...)

But I'm totally guilty of doing this too. We live so much of our lives for the outside world, and for other people, we lose touch with the things that are actually important to us. What kind of interactions would we have with our kids if no one else was watching? I am totally and completely incapable of being home with my four kids without going crazy. I used to do crafts and make pancakes and build with blocks and legos, but I just cant do it anymore. Too much noise, too much arguing and crying. Nobody listens, and my tolerance level is lower than ever. I won't even let my kids touch things like paint and glue because it winds up on the furniture and walls. When I see legos I throw them out before they become lodged in my foot.

and then I start to wonder- is this just a symptom of having been a parent for nine years, or is there something wrong with me? Should I waltz into Library Time with Teddy, chat up the other moms and read Goodnight Moon with the same amount of gusto as I did when Fiona was a baby? Should I spend an hour making homemade playdoh with him, without thinking about how I'm going to be scrubbing it out of the carpet an hour later? Should I get him the color and shape flashcards I make fun of so mercilessly and review them in public, inviting eye rolls from people like me? I. just. can't. do. it. I've BTDT, as someone in my generation would say. But it's not fair to Teddy, or to Brendan, or even to Lily. I've been divided four ways for a while now, and my main focus really is just keeping them alive, fed, bathed (most of the time) and quiet. QUIET. And i'm on my phone all the damn time. I feel the need to "escape" all the damn time.

I've spent so much time complaining about my problems to realize that I don't actually have any that aren't incredibly first world and frivolous. I have four happy healthy kids and a husband who loves me. Shouldn't that be enough? Why aren't they enough? When did I fall down this rabbit hole of wanting "things" to be "better" or "different" that I couldn't open my eyes and see what I have in front of me. Here's what I have: Four kids who are about to grow up. And when they do, I sure as hell hope I can look back at these days through a rose colored, positive lens. What kind of mother have I been? What will be my kids happiest memories of me?

This year was hard, but this time is short. My baby is a big eighteen month old boy today. He says WORDS....kind of. He keeps up with his siblings. I give him freedom to roam around, and he does not cling to me. I have real bras without nursing flaps, and I can usually find five minutes to get dressed and slap on some makeup before leaving the house sans diaper bag these days. So much is changing, and it changes so fast. "The days are long but the years are short" is the most tired, obnoxious cliche in the whole world, but it's truth speaks volumes to me right now. I KNOW I will regret it if I just stay distracted, wishing these days away. Wishing I had my best friend, or wishing I lived in a less stuck-up town, or a nicer house with more bathrooms and a new granite kitchen with recessed lighting.

So here's to today. And to tomorrow. To putting a smile on my face and trying to enjoy the little things, even if I've had a shitty day, or week, or month. Here's to opening my eyes and really noticing the beautiful people and things in my life. It is indeed a beautiful life, and I am a lucky lady.

xo

Confessions of a Space Cadet Mom

So there's been a lot of talk in the news about Harambe the Gorilla, the four year old boy who climbed into his cage causing zoo staff to shoot and kill Harambe, and the subsequent internet backlash/mom-shaming that has been happening since this incident occurred on Saturday.

Oh, how I feel for that boy's mom. As a fellow mother of an unpredictable 4 year old, all I can think is it could have been Brendan. No, I don't think my sweet son would have the audacity to scale a fence and go for a swim with a gorilla anymore, but who knows what the case would have been last year, or even six months ago? This is the same kid who drifted away with the tide on a boogie board last summer, prompting a visit from the fire department and Coast Guard. The boy who was gone in the blink of an eye during countless visits to department stores (we're no stranger to "Code Adam"), and in Disney World. This is the kid who unbuckled himself and jumped out of the stroller into a busy intersection to splash in a mud puddle last year when I was nine months pregnant and very, very slow. By the grace of God, the traffic lights were red and all four lanes of traffic were stopped. And by the grace of God, those Cincinnati zookeepers reacted quickly and did what they had to do before that gorilla crushed that boy's head like a melon.

I'm not an especially religious person, but it's sobering to think about how easily these events could have taken a different course. Kids are unpredictable: mine, yours, everyone's. We don't know that particular boy's story. Maybe he had special needs. Maybe he was going through a particularly difficult stage of development, or a rough patch emotionally. Why are we so quick to assume he had a "bad" mother who "wasn't watching"? More importantly, why do we feel entitled to post our incendiary, sanctimonious comments on the internet, as if our judgement has any weight or value whatsoever? And shame on the media for blowing this wildly out of proportion and pitting people against each other; is there really nothing better out there to report?

Anyone who's been a parent or looked after children at any point in their lives can attest to the fact that they can take off in the blink of an eye. Even a mother who is not in the #fourkidsclub cannot possibly be fully present and vigilant every second of every outing.

Speaking of distractions, my cell phone bit the dust this weekend. After an unfortunate run-in with a water bottle in my pool bag on Saturday, my screen short-circuited, and I was left with out my beloved text/facebook/instagram machine all weekend. Now, I realize this is as "first world" as problems come, but it was hard to be without my phone- my favorite "toy" that my toddler knows to bring to me as soon as it buzzes. I am classically conditioned like a Pavlovian dog to jump up at every little beep. And I admit, I use my phone as an escape. At a certain point every evening, I look forward to uninterrupted internet time while the kids play or watch a movie, during which they know I will not respond to them (barring serious injury or disaster, of course). So does this make me a bad mom? What if one of the kids decided to parachute out of the attic window or set the house on fire with the gas stove burner while I was idly scrolling Scary Mommy articles? Would I react quickly enough?

Even without distracting devices, I'd be the first to tell you that I'm not always the most attentive person (well, maybe the kindergarten teacher who dubbed me "Spacy Casey" might have been the first one). I daydreamed my way through school, and straight into adulthood. However, despite all my admitted spaciness, I more or less have my shit together. The fact that I am easily distracted doesn't automatically make me negligent, or lazy. Heck, I'm even downright productive at times.

The truth is, every once in a while, crazy random sad unfortunate stuff happens- even to those of us who aren't space cadets. We are all guilty of being distracted every once in a while, but it doesn't make us bad people, or unfit parents.  Maybe that poor Cincinnati mom took her eyes off her boy for just one minute. It's bad enough her kid almost died, but she didn't need a merciless internet shaming to rub salt in her wounds as well. And for what it's worth, if that boy were Brendan, or any of my other kids, it would take every ounce of sense and self- control I had to fight the primal urge to jump over that fence and strangle that 400-lb gorilla with my bare hands. Yes, I'm sure that Harambe was a very nice gorilla, and it sucks that he had to die (it certainly sucks that he was living in the zoo instead of Africa with his family, too), but this is a human life you guys. A human boy that could have been your son, and a human mother who could have been you.

None of us are perfect.

On Monday evening after a lovely day at the beach, I was delighted to find that my phone strangely began working again. My screen was as bright as ever; not so much as one flicker. And so what did I do? Spend the next two hours catching up on texts, email, Facebook etc, of course. Because my kids were in the house, Joe was home, and I knew they were safe. Because I give myself permission to have time alone, and to not be "on" every minute of every day. I'm a mom, and I'm not perfect, but I'm good enough. And parenting- that shit is intense. Everyone deserves a distraction now and then, because our lives are intense. Oh, and also, we're human. We all do the best we can, with what we are given, every single day. Take it from Spacy Casey.

Lazy or Crazy?

I have a lazy family.

Okay, I suppose in reality my family is quite busy. I have a husband who started his own business and works 100 hours a week, 2 girls who go to school all day and activities all night, a little boy who goes to preschool and occupies himself with destroying stuff and pretending to be a ninja, and one baby who is busy doing baby things like drooling and learning fine motor skills.

And I spend my days "mommin' it up" in my finest workout gear, keeping kids alive, keeping schedules straight, and making sure the four walls of our little suburban home don't come crashing down. But for a mom like me who has been reluctantly filling in the title of HOMEMAKER on all important forms for the better part of a decade, it sure does sometimes feel like those walls are closing in.

Its ironic isn't it: A stay at home mom who hates staying home. A homemaker who would rather call a cleaning service, then keep the kids out of the kitchen and playroom for as long as physically possible before they mess it all up again  is not a homebody. I'd rather be away from home as much as possible, because I hate cleaning, and cooking, and dishes and laundry and all the other "stay at home mom" stuff. June Cleaver, I am not.

So when the weekend comes, the only thing I want to do is blow this town, get out and have some fun! I love hiking, and walking, and going to the beach and the city. I think we've explored every state park in Connecticut, every playground, every zoo, every museum, every lake and ocean beach. I am obsessed with giving my kids experiences instead of toys.

But lately, I've been experiencing some push-back from my lazy family. Since Joe stays up all night programming, he's always tired these days and wants to sleep in. Fair enough.  Also, we must feign motivation for our 100 half-finished home improvement projects for at least a few hours every weekend.  The kids love having their downtime too...but there are only so many times one can handle watching Hotel Transylvania 2 in succession without losing one's mind. I swear, the five of them would just hang around in their PJs until 4pm on a Saturday afternoon if I didn't turn off the TV and  kick 'em out the door.

       My living room on a weekend morning looks like this. Note Hotel Transylvania 2 on TV (when will they tire of that                                                                                                   damn movie?)

Then there are weekend sports. Nothing can kill a weekend like sports. When I was a kid, I would only sign up for a team sport if a) my friends were doing it and b) there were snacks. Usually, I'd hate it by the second week and beg my parents to quit. This worked about 50% of the time. I figured it would be different as a grownup and I would at least be vaguely interested in watching my own kids play sports...alas, not so much. That said, I admit I am proud of Fiona who is a super athlete and competitive swimmer. Right now, she's the only one interested, so thankfully our weekends are not monopolized by sports just yet. But as people frequently like to remind me, that day will come soon enough.

Kids' birthday parties can ruin weekend plans too. Now that I have three in school, it seems like there's at least one per weekend from September through June. Which is fine- my kids have birthday parties too so I can't complain that much . Besides, they're fun FOR KIDS (I'm not talking about adult- friendly parties with beer and music and stuff; I'm talking about Bounce Town, and trampoline places, and basically anywhere hot and loud). I was so very grateful for the day my kids reached the magic age where drop off parties became the status quo....'cause ain't nobody got time for that, even if you're not in the #fourkidsclub.

So I persist, despite copious amounts of whining, complaining and occasional carsickness, to take my kids out every weekend for fun adventures. Even if it's a trip to IKEA for meatballs and plastic plates, I'll take it as a way to sneak in a trip to Lighthouse point park or stroll around downtown New Haven. I'll let the kids trash the car with cookies and fast food if it gets me a day in New York or Boston.

Why is this so important to me, you may ask? Its true; I have an almost pathological aversion to "taking it easy" on weekends- to the point where I will be in a lousy mood all day if I don't have time for some sort of outing. When I was a little kid, my mom would teach college on weekends, so my dad took my brothers and I on all sorts of adventures in our Toyota Tercel Wagon, just to pass the time. We would explore every corner of the state and beyond, while listening to classic rock (or what was considered classic rock 20 years ago!). John Paul George and Ringo have taught me so much about life, and I still know every Beatles lyric by heart. Mostly everything thing I know about history comes from some Billy Joel song. Listening to Jefferson Airplane and Crosby Stills and Nash turned into discussions about the Vietnam War and the McCarthy era- things my boomer dad lived through- and digressed into lessons about culture and politics and humanity. I developed a fondness for maps long before the days of GPS.

I remember us kids doing a fair amount of complaining too, but Pops was resolute. Those adventures while we were "killing time" on weekends-  trips to mountains, cities, parks and beaches- turned out to be the happiest memories of my childhood.  On the weekends we were totally free- from school, work and social obligations. Maybe it wasn't exactly how a typical family spends their weekend, but it was our special thing, and we continued our "wild goose chases" through my teen years and even beyond. When we lost my dad in 2008, Fiona was 17 months old, and my younger three hadn't been born. Oh how he would have loved being their "Pops".

My crazy manic weekends shuffling my kids around on family outings might seem overly ambitious to some, but for me they're as natural as can be. And necessary. This is my way of making sure my dad's legacy lives on. (I should also mention here that Joe is a very, very good sport about all of this- just as he is with everything else I do like blogging).

So kids, as long as I'm your mama, I'll be dragging you out of your lazy tv haze and your pjs and into the great big world on weekends. I'll deal with your pouting and bad attitudes, because in the end, we all have some fun on our trips, and you know it. These, my darlings, are your childhood memories-- time with your family--because in the blink of an eye you'll be grown.

Plus, it's 2016 and iPads have been invented; you kids have NOTHING to complain about.


Here are a few of my favorite family outings in and around Connecticut:

1) Stratton Brook State Park - Great little pond with hiking trails (and a tree that was struck by lightning on the day Brendan was born). Low key and unpretentious, the water isn't the cleanest, but its shallow for little kids. They can also borrow fishing poles and visit the nature center.

2) Roger Williams Park & Zoo- ok, this one is in Providence, but it's worth the 1:45 min drive from Hartford. Its a smaller zoo which is very walkable for little kids. There's also a farm petting zoo area, and a huge playground and water park. And camel rides! Their jack o lantern spectacular in October might be my favorite thing we do all year. After the zoo, we always head to the carosel (also in RW park) and hit up Atwells Ave for some Italian food, of course.

3) Sleeping Giant State Park- my favorite part of my hometown. The blue and white trails are great for adults, but the winding, flat tower trail is perfect for four small whining kids. It's always worth it when you make it to the castle! Plus, there's bathrooms at the top now- score! I always like to head down to New Haven for some Modern Apizza or Mamoun's Falafel after a hike at Sleeping Giant or West Rock.

4) Horsebarn Hill at Uconn- Joe and I met at UConn 13 years ago, and we're obviously never going to make it out of Connecticut, so we take our kids here often. The dairy and beef cattle, as well as the horses and sheep are very accessible, and the kids love seeing all the baby animals in the Spring. You can also watch horse shows, and bike or walk around campus. My kids love eating lunch at the student union (famous mac & cheese) and OF COURSE ice cream at the Dairy Bar.

5)Burlingame Campground- Not that I enjoy camping or anything, but we've made this a tradition and have stayed here every summer since we got married. I love the throwback general store with the $2 mystery grab bags. There's a great little lake and playground, and there are kids on bikes everywhere. Also, it's right across the street from the Charlestown RI beaches.

6) Silver Sands State Park/ Charles Island- It's so much fun to walk out to Charles Island at low tide. As a kid, I was terrified/ thrilled by the idea of the tide coming in before we left and being stranded. Bonus: the island is "haunted"!

7) Rocky Neck State Park- Best beach in CT for little kids! On East Beach at low tide, the sand bar stretches out as far as you can see. Five years of  Power-Timmeny Beach Days happened at Rocky neck.

8) Lake McDonough- It's not only a cool place to swim, but for $5 you can rent a rowboat too. When my brothers and I were little, we buried a time capsule on one of the islands (not sure if we ever found it again...) Also there is a great drive in movie theater nearby.



Today has been quite the outstanding Monday- complete with homework drama, after school activities, 4 bloody noses (all on one girl), and of course, Hotel Transylvania 2 (is there even a part 1??). Looking forward to next weekend will certainly carry me through 4 more days of this.

Have a good Tuesday, everyone.

xo

My Kid Didn't Get Into QUEST. Perhaps I should post about it on Facebook.

I find birth order studies particularly interesting, and everything I've read indicates my nine year old daughter Fiona is an archetypal firstborn child. She is completely Type A, authoritative, observant, intelligent, anxious and success-oriented. She becomes flustered when faced with any situation that deviates from her painfully rigid black-and-white worldview. We are a typical, educated, upper-middle class white family living in an affluent suburb. My kids go to a high-achieving public elementary school that is more than 90% white. These facts, as well as my very hot and cold relationship with living in this town, are not secrets.

This time of year there is a lot of buzz around town about things like standardized tests, travel sports tryouts, inter-el band and choir, and the most dreaded of all- talented and gifted programs. When Fiona was "tapped" to take the test for Math Quest, she was so excited, she ran upstairs and Scotch taped the written letter from the Gifted and Talented coordinator to the wall above her bed. Test day finally came and went, but Fiona didn't seem too confident about her performance. She said she didn't have enough time to finish (they gave them an hour to complete a ten page test with a score of 70%). "It's not a big deal," I reassured her, "just see what happens."

Fast forward to last week when the rejection letter came in the mail. I wasn't surprised, and put it right into the recycle bin with all the rest of the kids' unnecessary school papers before Fiona got home from school. We went on with our lives. She may have never brought it up again for a few more days until her friends began sharing their results in school. 

"Mom, did you ever get my letter from Math Quest?" she asks. I told her the news. She was quiet for a few minutes before the volcano of tears started. She asked me to text all her friends' moms to ask if they got in, and I humored her. Only one of her friends was accepted, and many more didn't make it in- after all, you need to be two grade levels ahead in math to be eligible. It's fine, I tried to convince her. You are still above grade level and in a math enrichment group. This is not the end of the world!

"But what if I'm not in honors in middle school?!"

My child is in third grade, just so we're clear. 

Finally, after two more hours of dramatic sobbing on the couch, Joe comes home from work and sends her to her room. Enough, already.

The next day, the crying and self-pity fest starts again. I get pissed off because I was trying to get the kids packed and out the door for a fun family day in NYC. Joe tells Fiona that if she doesn't stop he is going to take her to the IOL. 

Monday afternoon, Fiona gets off the bus and asks if we can sign her up for tutoring at Mathnasium because 'how else will she get two grade levels ahead'? "Maybe Grandma will pay for it?" She asks hopefully. 

Quest- Math Quest in particular- seems to stir up some really strong emotions in people. I've heard numerous stories of disgruntled parents calling up school principles demanding to have their children retake the test. Supposedly one mom went on a tirade at a PTO meeting about how "unfair" the Quest selection process is, and at the very least they should give parents study guides so they can help their children pass. People drop thousands of dollars at Kaplan, Mathnasium and for private tutors for children who are already performing at or above grade level. There is even an urban legend that one elementary school in town (ours!) has access to the almighty Math Quest Answer Key. (I told the curriculum specialist about this one at Fiona's conference, and it made her LOL!)

Clearly the Math Quest Debacle of '16 is a symptom of a much bigger problem; not just in my house, but throughout our privileged little corner of suburban paradise. We think that just because we can financially afford to give our children everything they need, that they should also be met with nothing other than success in all areas of their life, and that the path from here to the Ivy League should be paved as smoothly as possible. For Fiona, who is a decently intelligent and conscientious kid, this is the first time she has experienced a flat out rejection, an indisputable failure. The acute realization that everything in her life wasn't always going to come easily, without substantial effort and hard work may have quite possibly been the most important lesson she's learned all year.

Something has gone terribly wrong with our culture when we are raising our children to value external rewards and achievements more than character traits. It's sad that Fiona's self worth was so dependent on admission to this gifted program- something that isn't even intended to be a trophy at all, but simply an accommodation for kids who are so advanced they're bored to tears in the classroom. Quite frankly, if you have a child that is two whole years ahead of their peers in a particular subject, the public school system isn't doing it's job correctly if their needs aren't being met. As parents, we are exacerbating the problem if we complain to the school administrators about how our children "deserve" to be included; this just models bad behavior and encourages feelings of entitlement.

And I suppose Joe and I are a tiny bit guilty ourselves as well. At least on a subconscious level, we have conveyed the message to our daughter that academic achievement is the most important measure of success- and this is not our intention as her parent! Of course, as a member of the #fourkidsclub, I would be delighted if any of my children earned scholarships (I don't want to imagine the cost of four college tuitions right now), but it is infinitely more important to me that my children grow into fulfilled, well-rounded and confident people, and understand that it's NOT the end of the world if they don't get into Harvard, or take differential equations in high school. Values like compassion, empathy, creativity and perseverance hold so much more weight in my book than being accepted into an elite math program. I am satisfied that my child's school is able to challenge her sufficiently in all subject areas, and I feel confident that she has grown a great deal academically in third grade. Isn't that the only thing I should be concerned about?


I recently had a conversation with one of my neighbors about being "average". No one's child is average around here. They're all geniuses; gifted, talented special little snowflakes. An average child has to work extra hard just to keep up; Special snowflakes are perfect just as they are, effortlessly succeeding at everything they try. We should all be so lucky to be considered average! Having perfect standardized test scores and an IQ of 160 means absolutely nothing if you can't commit to anything, and quit at the first taste of rejection! Kids who know they are average develop a work ethic, they know how to try hard and persist. They work through rejection and eventually get further than the "smart kids" who quit when things get tough. 

The more I think about it, the more I realize that learning to cope with rejection is one of the most important lessons any of us can take from life. This will be the first of many rejections for Fiona- I can clearly envision a future full of competitive team sports, SATs, college admissions, dating drama, and more. I realize now that the most important thing I can possibly instill in my girl is to not give up when things are difficult, and not to measure success in comparison to others, but in terms of personal growth. To remember that she still enjoys math, even though she didn't get in to Quest. And that her life is NOT over if she isn't on the middle school honors track, or doesn't go to MIT, or ends up at a nice public university like her parents (certainly we didn't end up half bad).

 As parents, we are all guilty of wanting to give our children every opportunity imaginable in life. The part that is hard (especially if  you are privileged, like us) is accepting that these things mean nothing unless our kids earn them themselves. For our family, extra playtime after school is much more important (and necessary!) than an extra hour spent at Mathnasium. Friends, if you have a child who did get into Quest, or another elite program, team or group- kudos! You have every right to be proud and celebrate your child's (and your!) hard work. Just know that if you brag about it on social media, people are going to roll their eyes or make gagging noises immediately after pressing "like". :-)


Have an Average Day!

xo

This is it.

The other day I gave away my baby's bed, and it made me really sad.
Okay, so it was a hand-me-down that I had agreed months ago that I'd pass down to my sister in law who is pregnant with her first. And we did have a perfectly good crib sitting in the basement that hasn't been used since our second kid. I was never particularly attached to the crib itself. Sure it was from Pottery Barn, but if you've ever seen the inside of my house you know I don't care about that either.

It was the symbolism that hit me hard. My last baby. Sure, he's still a "baby" at fifteen months. He cries all the damn time, and drools, and is teething and poops in his diaper. He still needs me for everything. He's headstrong, and stubborn, and fussy, and  throws himself dramatically on the ground when he doesn't get what he wants, but doesn't have the words to express himself either. Sometimes I think I am going to lose my mind, or what's left of it after all these dormant motherhood years. After nine years of full-time parenting, I'm just so tired. I just want an HOUR of peace a day so I can write, or read, or have coffee with my friends, remember (or more likely rediscover) who I am.

But this is it.

My last baby.

Now that my bigger ones are school-aged, I know (and tell people very matter-of-factly) which ages and stages I prefer. I definitely do NOT care for ages 1 and 2. I consider myself a "big kid mom". Just when I think I will never bond with my toddler, they turn three and suddenly I love them oh so very much...often I wish I could just fast forward until then.

Sometimes I fast forward in my head 5, 10, 20 years. How "great" my life will be when my kids are older, more independent. When no one howls in the middle of the night because they had a bad dream, or can't find their blanket, or are teething. When Joe and I can finally go on an overnight trip without the kids. When I can go back to work and think about something other than taking care of my family, something I haven't done since 2006. It's so funny how much I'm looking forward to retirement these days...I'm 32 years old for fuck's sake. 

But then I remember, this is it.

This is the last squirmy baby I'll have to balance on my hip while I am doing 20 other things while waiting in line at Starbucks. 

I never loved (or even liked) being pregnant, but this last time was the worst. We were so indecisive about getting pregnant with #4 in the first place. When I did, I was told very early on in my pregnancy that he had potential "syndromes" and "defects" and "abnormalities". I resented having to go back to the hospital for so many tests and scans, so finally, I told the doctors, enough. "Aint nobody got time for that!", I'd say to my friends after a skipped non-stress test appointment.  But secretly, I was scared, and worried that I would never love him if he came out with some type of anomaly. It's embarrassing to think about those days now, because now I know I would have loved him no matter what.

I hate pregnancy.
But that was it. No more feeling those kicks at 2 am.

Having a newborn for the fourth time around is underwhelming. It's hard to find anything special about a routine that you've done so many times before. He didn't "need" anything, I have more hand-me-downs in my basement than a decent sized consignment store. He was an easy baby, luckily, because he didn't get much attention in the same house as a melodramatic 7 year old, a sneaky 4 year old and a reckless two year old. I never spent more than a few minutes looking into his eyes, or noticing his little fingers and toes, his sweet belly or his full Mautner lips that remind me of my dad. The whole time, his whole infancy, I was fast forwarding.

My friends were moving on. Many of them went back to work, or touching up their resumes. Most of them had their youngest child around the same time I had my second, so they had free time during the day to exercise and shower and put on makeup and read and have coffee. What I wouldn't have given in those first few months to have a thirty minute uninterrupted coffee date with my friends without exposing my boobs or having to keep my two year old away from danger and breakable items. I fantasized about wearing something other than yoga pants and having an intellectual conversation. I hated breastfeeding this time, it was such a burden. I hated changing diapers. I hated waking up in the middle of the night to nurse him. I wanted intelligent conversations about adult things, if one more person tried to talk to me about sleep schedules or strollers or Sophie le Girafe I thought I'd go off the deep end.

But in the moment, I didn't stop to think that this was it.
The last newborn smell. The last time I'd buy those tiny onesies, or size N diapers.

Recently, my six year old girl has gotten very religious. Every night she prays for a baby sister (and a cat), and often I find pictures she draws at school of "Gisis" putting a new baby (who she calls "Alice")in my "bele".

 It's adorable, and I love seeing them. But I don't know how realistic it would be for Gisis to bless us with another little one. For starters, I would NEVER finish my Master's degree. Secondly, I fear that I won't have any shred of sanity left intact if I become a member of the #fivekidsclub. Still, the girl kneels every night beside statues of baby Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and an angel (the nuns at my old Catholic school would be so proud!). And who knows. It is certainly not my place to question the will of Gisis!


In my experience as a member of the #fourkidsclub, it's hard to say that I've permanently closed that door. Having forfeited my sanity by choosing to have a larger brood than that is generally considered typical- and sometimes manageable- and having been a mom to newborns and young toddlers for 9 straight years (that's nine years of diapers!), it's tough to change gears. It will be so strange to not have a baby in diapers, or a child in an infant car seat, or having a kid at home with me all day driving me crazy when I'm trying to write my blog. I haven't yet decided whether this is a good strange, or a bad strange. Divine intervention or not, I reserve the right to take my time with this one!

Thanks for reading!
xo

Mom Requirements: Ain't nobody got time for those.

A friend and member of the venerable #fivekidsclub recently shared this meme on facebook:

I LOL'd because it was so true. By the time you are outnumbered by kids 3 and 4, you tend to let the little things (phonics, quinoa intake) slide, and concentrate more on the bigger picture. You know, stuff like keeping your kid alive in parking lots and making sure they have shoes on before they board the school bus. So in support of all the other disorganized larger family moms like me who stopped giving a shit two kids ago, who shamelessly fly through the Dunkin Donuts drivethrough at 8:29 am on a school day to get their kids breakfast and lunch because they were too disorganized to go grocery shopping that week, who put on sunglasses at the park to avoid talking to people while their kids play, who are plain tired of doing "mom homework" required by their kids' schools-- I've compiled a top eleven (not concise enough for 10) list of the Mom Requirements I no longer have time for as a member of the #fourkidsclub.


1) Going to playgroups 
These types of forced social outings are kind of like dating for moms. But with nine + years of stay at home momming under my belt, I feel like I'm already "married" to the good handful of wonderful people (mom and non-mom) that I have the privilege of calling my friends. Yes, it's a wonderful thing to find a group of like minded ladies when you're just starting out. Many of my first mom friends have remained my closest friends, and even the ones I only keep up with on facebook will always have a special place in my heart. I am grateful for all the coffee hours spent making small talk about nap schedules with my first mom friends, during those long sleep-deprived days when the only alternative was sitting at home watching the View. But now that I have school age kids with dumb extracurricular activities and the faintest glimmer of my non-mom identity beginning to reemerge, sitting around with a new batch of 25 year olds talking about how early their precious tot hit his milestones is pretty much at the bottom of my list.

2) Judgement
My kids ate Cocoa Krispies for breakfast this morning. THERE. I SAID IT. As I type this, my son is eating a Lunchable at preschool (my daughter won't let me pack them for her anymore, because her tablemates make a point to read the ingredient list out loud). My kid wore a pair of cheap Paw Patrol shoes from Target all schoolyear until they were literally deteriorating and his toes were poking through. We let the girls fall asleep in our bed last night because of a sudden, irrational fear of wolves hatching from eggs in the backyard. I let my kids walk to and from the bus stop alone (Unless Nicole gives them a ride, of course). I pretty much never take my kids to the doctor unless it's for a well child visit. If I had one of those controversial toddler leashes, I would absolutely use it in public without batting an eyelash. My parenting style is essentially the sum of instinct and trial- and-error (sorry, firstborn). Go ahead, judge away. I'm over it.

3) Pressure to identify with a tribe
Because I'm a millennial and like over analyzing and assigning labels to things, everything I read tells me that I have to subscribe to one particular style of parenting. And there are so many to choose from! I've been told to be a 1970s parent, a submarine parent, an attachment parent, and most recently a "let them bleed" parent. Truthfully, I don't usually read these articles as I'm scrolling on through, avoiding my actual life. I think when it comes down to it, we all parent the way we find the most natural for us- which is probably partially derived from the way we were parented, and partially due to the values we uphold in our own family units. And I think that's great. I breastfeed my babies exclusively until they're six months and don't ween completely until after 1, but I can't stand having them sleep in my bed. Babywearing can be convenient, but it hurts my back. I totally admire anyone who commits to cloth diapering (unless you use those disposable inserts of course, then you're a cheater) but I hate doing laundry way to much to attempt that. I love when my kids play outside, with each other, using their imaginations. When I take them to the park I DON'T hover or even look in their general direction unless there are tears.  And finally, I think amber teething necklaces are just silly (albeit super cute!). But we're all in this together working towards the same goal; raising decent human beings. The details of the journey are up to us.  I'll try not to snicker at you at the library when you're hovering over your child and narrating their play if you promise not to shoot me sanctimonious looks as I hide in the corner scrolling through my phone while my 1 year old wanders around with skinned knees. Live and let live!


4) Stupid fake holidays
I feel like March is chock full of them. Right at the end of the winter when we are about to all die of seasonal affective disorder, we apparently have no other choice but to celebrate stupid shit that doesn't exist. My kindergartner came home from school on March 17th whining that she was the only kid in her class who didn't make a "leprechaun trap" or receive gold coins/ candy/ gifts from the leprechaun. WTF? It's bad enough that a few Cadburry eggs aren't good enough on Easter (the iPod touch is the new chocolate bunny around here) but do they seriously expect presents for every holiday now? What asshole parents are enabling this? Green toilet water for Leprechaun pee? That's going too far, my friends. My kids will celebrate St. Patrick's Day like any other good part- Irish children by disgustedly pushing their corned beef and cabbage around in their plates for an hour at dinner. And don't even get me started on "Dr. Seuss Day" and "Pi Day" (although admittedly I appreciate any lame excuse to have sweets).  I get it, our lives are miserable and we have to keep celebrating nonexistent things in order to avoid slipping into (heaven forbid) a routine! But how do we expect our sweet little angels to handle the mundane reality of normal, adult life if they expect every day to be a celebration? And furthermore, how do we expect them to get through an entire week without us buying them something extra?!?

5) Feeling guilty about everything
Speaking of silly made up holidays, the ones at the top of the list are PTO created holidays (no offense, PTO friends- I LOVE YOU). Crazy hair day and team spirit day and dress like a ___ day are fun ideas in theory, but when you are the mom that has to make it happen by rummaging through piles of unfolded laundry for one particular article of clothing after your kids remind you about it at the last possible second, it kind of loses it's appeal. However, last week was the ever so important but arbitrary "teacher appreciation week". The kids were supposed to do a different thing (wear your teacher's favorite color,  bring in a piece of fruit etc) every day to show their teacher gratitude. My kids didn't do one thing...for no good reason other than I FORGOT. It just wasn't on my radar. Don't get me wrong, I have deep respect for all teachers, who do a job I wouldn't dare attempt, and should earn about 3 times as much as they are actually paid. So, I guiltily took my kids to Silver Dahlia to get their teachers a nice gift...a week and a half late. But if I were a teacher I would soooo rather get a nice apologetic piece of jewelry than some fruit or half-assed scribbled card. This is when I play my four kids card, but lets face it, I still wouldn't remember things like this even if I only had one child.

I'm also totally over feeling guilty about the grossly disproportionate amount of attention given to my firstborn vs. the rest of her siblings. My youngest has spent the majority of his life following and keeping up with his pack of siblings, as opposed to the hours of one on one time I spent with my eldest reading and doing child-guided learning and other very educational things. I like to tell myself that my younger three are getting a different experience then she did, and that it is just as valuable in a different way. So what if Fiona was reading and writing by her third birthday, and almost 4 year Brendan can't recognize the letter B or hold a pencil? They all have different strengths and weaknesses, and will get there in their own time. Also, birth order is really interesting stuff.


6)Unwelcome parenting advice, fads and trends
The other day, my MIL showed me a thoughtfully clipped NY Times article on why swaddling newborns increases the risk of SIDS (the takeaway: don't put your baby down on it's stomach with a blanket over it's face, but that's clearly not her interpretation). That's great advice, and it's always a good idea to warn people with NO COMMON SENSE against doing obvious things that put their kids in danger. However, given the choice between a decent night's sleep and getting up every five minutes to tend to a crying, flailing baby that can't burp, I'll take the first choice and accept the fact that my baby is going to be in bed with me sucking on my boob all night for the first four months. I'm also going to swaddle them as tightly as possible with velcro sleep sacks, which are quite possibly the best baby invention since the Boppy. Sometimes, survival is more important that doing all the "right" things the experts recommend- especially when the advice changes so frequently. Certainly you can find an article on the internet warning us of the dangers of any parenting practice that exists- but assuming we all have a decent amount of brains and common sense, we parents ARE the experts when taking care of our own children. When I had my first baby nine years ago, she wasn't supposed to go near a peanut until she was two. Now I heard it was recommended that new moms rub peanut butter on their babies to desensitize them, magically decreasing their risk of allergic reaction.. And strawberries and eggs were big no-nos five years ago- all foods my kids were gumming long before they had teeth. And now I'm supposed to have my child rear facing in the car for how long? I stopped keeping up with most of this stuff after the second kid. My strategy is clearly to be a parent of small children long enough for the pendulum to swing the other way again. See? We've all been doing it right all along.

7) Pinterest
Since most of the time I refuse to admit or accept the fact that I am a millennial, I never look at Pinterest. Ever. Once I tried to log in, and I got a weird computer virus, so obviously it was never meant to happen for me. Sure, I do some creative stuff with my kids. I like making Halloween costumes and birthday shirts with fabric paint- but I'm no show-off overachiever, and I also know when to leave well enough alone.


8) Saying yes when I mean NO
It's like that Meghan Trainor song that makes my ears bleed. Only my version would be "PTO- No. Sign kids up for sports- No. Babysit annoying kid- No. School fundraiser- No. Buy me a toy, Mom- No. Cheeseballs for dinner?- No." I wish it all played out in real life like that, but alas my innate desire to please everyone (then drop the ball) wins out again and again. Perhaps someday I will learn to take my own advice.


9) Watching Children's Television.
I've sworn off this one since the early days of Sprout marathons featuring Super Why and that bald bastard Caillou. Let's call the TV what it is; a short-term babysitter so you can get shit done without hearing whining and going crazy.

10) Letting the kids dictate my schedule
And I don't mean Moms Club and baby play group, because those things are clearly for US. I'm talking about dropping everything we have planned for the day because our kids insist they have to go somewhere special, or are having a tantrum at the thought of a day running errands with mom. Sure, I shudder at the thought of dragging my two whiny, squirmy boys through the grocery store every week, but having food in the house is more important than a trip to the trampoline park, so that's the way it has to be. Today was a really pretty day, so I strapped both of my sons down in the stroller against their will and took a long walk by myself and met a friend for coffee. And guess what, they survived! I even stopped at the park so my son could do monkey bars. I'm such a nice mom!

11) Too many toys.
They're like bacteria. I don't buy them, but somehow they multiply. The other day I threw out three giant black trash bags of toys from the kids' playroom, but today, it looks like they magically regenerated and nothing changed. I can't deal with stepping on legos, or tripping over dolls and tiny little trucks. And if it makes noise, forget about it. Yeah, I'm over toys- at least until my kids can get their shit together enough to put them away at the end of the day. When in doubt, throw it out.


And there you have it. Now that I've clarified the things I don't have time for anymore, my goal is to work on making time for the things that ARE important like blogging.  My days are crazy and hectic, and it is so easy to want to just tune it all out and disengage by the end of the day, but this week I will make more of an effort to listen to my 9 year olds stories about recess games and schoolbus drama, dig into some books with my 6 year old voracious reader, do some baking with my hilarious 4 year old, and look into my sweet one year old's blue eyes, because he is my last baby, and someday soon my days will be filled with things other than mothering (and i will hopefully have other things to write about in my blog too).

Until that day comes, thanks for reading!

xo