School Vacation Days: Why can I not handle you?

Today was Martin Luther King Jr. Day, a day of reflection and remembrance.

.....and of course, a day off from school for my oldest three. Yippee! 

I decided to approach today like I do any other school holiday and cram as much "fun" into an eight hour period as possible and hope for the best. Since the girls have been learning about MLK in school and have taken a recent interest in activism, I had planned an exciting day filled with civil rights related activities at an art museum, assembling donation bags for homeless women, making cards for friends, and finally visiting their dad at work for lunch before swim team. Afterward, I would return home to cook a tasty yet nutritious dinner for us to enjoy. 

Guess how many of those things happened today???

ZERO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I would like to think that attempting to teach children the value of being charitable is worth a small fraction of actually following through with it, but I know darn well what my old Catholic school nuns would say about the "road to hell" in this situation. Good intentions aside, I think the kids are more likely to remember this as the day Mom lost her shit and yelled for 45 minutes about a misplaced girl scout cookie order form (it was at the bottom of the recycling bin) and a certain 4 year old's refusal to wear pants than any lesson about the importance of Dr. King's message and the value of helping those less fortunate. 

Parenting is really hard. Some days you nail it, and you feel like a million bucks because your kids are growing up to be these awesome, funny, smart, interesting little people. Other days you fail miserably and your little boy acts more like Ryan Lochte in Rio than the charming little fellow his preschool teachers say he is, and your baby reminds you of a tantruming (albeit less orange) Donald Trump. Today I give myself a solid D+. The only thing that happened according to plan was that Lily sold a shitload of girl scout cookies to some kind coworkers and neighbors. Because damnit, I found the form!!

Why can't I handle school vacation days? Five years into having school age kids, I still head into them with a pit in my stomach and in full-on mom battle mode. Playdates to line up! Activities to schedule! Check that public skating calendar! In reality, it's a small miracle if I can motivate them to get out of their pajamas by 11 am without tears. All of my planning backfires in my face because a) if one kid gets a playdate, the other 2 cry and whine all day if they don't have one too, b) there is never enough time in one day for skating, swimming, movies, Ikea, neon rope climbing etc, and c) THERE IS NO SINGLE ACTIVITY THAT MORE THAN 1/4 OF THEM ENJOY!!!! So no matter what grandiose "fun" thing I plan, there will undoubtedly be 2-3 kids whining throughout, causing me to have to search for that bottle of jack daniels in the basement by 10 am.  

So I give up. Yes, I still plan to make the blessing bags and the cards for friends, and teach my kids about the importance of activism and Dr. King's dream, but maybe not in all in one day. In fact, I think sometime within the next six months is a more appropriate goal. Next vacation day, I am going to let them stay in PJs on the couch for half the day watching you tube videos of creepy grown men unwrapping ninja turtle toys (WHY DO THEY LIKE THIS?!?) instead of dragging them out of the house for some kind of educational experience they don't want. Why? Because when I am stressed out, no one actually ends up having fun, and any teachable moments will be lost if all they remember is rushing around while I yell at them to find their socks. 

So hopefully I will figure out how to approach the school vacation day in a healthier way sometime between now and February break, when they have (GASP) two whole days off in a row. Send prayers. In the meantime, I will hopefully be working on what I should have been doing today, which is my grad school application. I've run out of non-degree credits, so it looks like it's finally time to take that leap...

...or maybe just wait another year instead. I only have, you know, one more week to decide, write an essay and ask for letters of recommendation. Whatevz. NBD, as my classmates say. 

But just when I get too stressed out thinking about that, I remember..TOMORROW'S A SCHOOL DAY!!! Cowabunga, as the ninja turtles would say!

 

 

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