Breaking My Own Rules

Teaching responsibility is a big theme in our house right now. We have chore charts and try to find "learning moments" in our daily lives, but this morning I broke my own rules.

My 7-year-old is learning how to be responsible for herself. She gets dressed on her own, has to remember her red folder every day, when her library books are due, etc; She also knows if she doesn't give me enough notice for certain class projects or special school events, I might not be able to accommodate what she needs.

At 6:30 this morning she informs me it is Character Day at school, and she needs to be Harley Quinn since she and her friends are going as DC Superhero Girls.

Do I love this idea? Yes. I absolutely love this idea. Do we have a Harley Quinn costume lying around? No. We absolutely do not.

Do I have the general items needed to cobble together a Harley Quinn outfit? Again, no. We do not.

Normally I would tell CeCe this is a "learning moment." She needed to tell me ahead of time that she would need a costume. She needed to make a list of what she wanted to wear and request it a few days in advance. But then I had two thoughts:

1) I freaking love superheroes and was so excited she shares that interest.

2) She is 7 years old, and she is a human.

She also has been the most helpful kid lately. I was up at 6:30, but she and her brother had been awake since 5:30. Instead of waking me up, she took him downstairs and turned on cartoons. That is the kind of responsibility I want to reward.

So I was at Walmart by 6:40 in the morning buying red tights and cans of spray-in hair dye. I sent her off to school with a reminder that A) This was an exception to the rule that special events require notice and B) She is the coolest kid I know.


To "Make" Your Child Do Something

Winter time is a daily battle with my kids to dress appropriately. Bundling up with hats and gloves is met with extreme resistance.

Every season I have to brace myself for the comments from family, friends and even strangers stating “well, you just have to make them wear it.”

What do they mean, to make a kid do something? I immediately have a vision of wrestling my kids to ground and forcing their arms into coats and duct taping their hats to their heads.

I can’t make my kids do something.

I have strict boundaries when it comes to many issues. I won’t budge on car seat safety, physical violence, and baths must occur twice a week at minimum.

But when it comes to winter wear, eating vegetables, or bedtimes, I won’t be pushing too hard.

I can encourage my kids to do something. I can bribe them. I can firmly command them. But in the end, I will not physically force my kids to submit to something. My kids know I am the boss, but I also have learned to pick my battles.

My father used to say “This is not the hill I want to die on.” I utter those words to keep things in perspective.

Do I really want to fuss and fight over a winter hat? No, because my kid will learn by the end of the day that her ears get cold with no hat. And tomorrow she will make a different choice.

That’s a lesson that never would have been learned had I just made her wear the hat.

Sleep is for the Weak

One of the first questions people will ask about your new baby is “how does she sleep?”

It’s like parents are in a race to get their child to sleep for eight-hour stretches as soon as possible. If it is a race, I have lost. I haven’t even crossed the finish line.
Since 2010 when I was pregnant with the first of my three children, I haven’t slept through the night. And I doubt I will for another decade.
My kids fight sleep like it is painful for them to lie down and close their eyes.
First, we have our 7-year-old. At bedtime, she is a master staller.
The lights will be out, the lullaby music playing softly, and she will be regaling you with a recap of her day with so much enthusiasm you feel too guilty to cut her off.
Next is the 2-year-old. His bedtime routine is a rotating list of quirks. Some nights he won’t go to sleep without a basketball in his crib. Other nights it’s an assortment of toy cars.
Sometimes he insists on wearing shoes to bed. He’s prone to wake up throughout the night and cry out for these items if we dare to remove them once he is finally asleep.
Last is the 7-month-old. I had no expectations of her sleeping through the night, but she tricked us all in the beginning.
At 4 months old, she was sleeping for six hours at a time so we put her in her own bedroom. It seemed too good to be true. And it was.
Sleep regression hit us like a freight train. We are back to waking up every three hours at night.
I almost wish we didn’t have a taste of that six-hour sleep stretch, because now I know what I’m missing.
I’m not alone in my sleep deprivation. There is an entire tribe of us moms out there with dark circles under our eyes and extra large coffees in our hands.

Our kids somehow function on barely any sleep, so we learn to as well.


A Picture-Imperfect Family

Because my children grow and change so quickly, I have made it a point to take yearly family photos. The most recent session was our first with three children. The experience was far from picture-perfect.
It felt as though our children had conspired the night before, devising a plan to ensure that the day erupted in chaos.
Our oldest decided about five minutes in that she was done taking pictures. She hid under a tree and sobbed when we tried to get her to come out.
Our toddler son took any opportunity his feet were on the ground to run away. Our attempts to bribe him with snacks made for several pictures where his mouth is open, mid-chew.
Our infant daughter wasn’t old enough to be coaxed into smiling yet. The constant poking and prodding from her siblings led to a disgruntled face most of the day.
Bless our wonderful photographer and her infinite patience, because she used every trick in the book and got some amazing individual shots of my kids. But when we tried to pose together, it was a recipe for failure.
I lost my cool as I shouted: “Mommy just wants pictures so in her old age she can remember how cute and sweet you all were!”
As we looked through the proofs, my husband laughed out loud. He was so happy the photos included the “fails” because those were the honest ones. And he was right.
The pictures reflect the true state of our lives. Things are crazy. At least one of my kids is always yelling, crying, running, not paying attention, getting dirty or getting annoyed with the other two.
I do like the photos where we are all smiling, cuddled up together on a park bench. But 2017 wasn’t the year of harmony. It was the year we were learning how to be family of five, and it was messy.
I think one day I will be grateful for those photos and the reminder of how rowdy my little crew used to be.
What a sweet picture of this lovely nature child.
Reality: She refused to come out from under that tree.

How's that fruit snack, Ezra? It must be good, because you won't stop staring at it.

Gwen's first wet willy. So glad we could commemorate that milestone.

Party of Five

Veteran parents with large families told me that going from one to two children was the hardest transition. But going from two to three would be no big deal.
A month in to life with my third baby and I can confidently announce – Those other parents are liars.
Parenting three kids isn’t exactly a whole new ball game.
It’s the same ball game, but your teammates are rowdy, screaming children, the rules keep changing and no one has a clean uniform because you can’t keep up with the laundry.
Friends and acquaintances ask me how it’s going.
I used to just smile and say “it’s good!” because I was too sleep-deprived to elaborate.
But I realize that is doing a disservice to any parent who might be considering having a third child.
Instead, now I answer bluntly: Life is a circus. It’s insane. Things are way harder than they were a few short months ago. Life with two was a cakewalk compared to this.
I recently made a trip to the grocery store with all three children. “How bad can it be?” I naively thought to myself.
We hadn’t even made it into the store before I had a fussy baby, a toddler sprawled out on the pavement mid-tantrum and a 6-year-old asking me if her brother’s behavior affected her chances of getting a treat in the store.
Oh, and someone in a car sat waiting for that parking spot my toddler was having a meltdown in. Move along, buddy. This may take a while.
I don’t say these things to scare anyone. I am not saying things are bad.
Chaos reigns in our home most days, but I’m not mad about it.
It’s just a new dynamic. My family is learning how to navigate this new normal.
It’s a messy, noisy road we are now on with three kids in the car (which is littered with crushed Goldfish crackers and broken crayon bits.)
But we are finding our rhythm and making sense of it all, one step at a time.
PJ's all day = less laundry for mama.


My Wonder Girls

I remember when I saw the Wonder Woman preview for the first time. I dabbed at my tear-filled eyes with a scratchy movie theater napkin. My husband gave me that look that says “you’re adorable but kind of weird.”

My only words to him were “This is important.”

 It wasn’t that long ago I wrote this blog post about my daughter being denied entry to a game of “Superheroes” by her classmates. A little boy told her she could not play because she was a girl. And girls did not play superheroes.

Don’t tell me the Wonder Woman movie isn’t important.

I was lucky enough to see it with my husband and I cried again. Not just because Gal Gadot portrayed a fantastic hero whose strength is rooted in her optimism. Not just because the Amazon women battle scene was totally badass. And not just because of all the parents who brought their daughters to see the movie.

I cried because of all the parents who brought their sons to see the movie. That is just as important.

I hope the Wonder Woman franchise continues to explode. I hope the door has been blown off the hinges for superhero movies featuring a female lead.

I want my youngest daughter to ask to join a game of Superheroes one day and be told yes without hesitation, because those boys will know Wonder Woman.

Or better yet, she’ll already be leading a game of “Amazon Warriors.”


 We represent in this house.


What's in a Name?

There are three questions everyone asks a pregnant woman.
"When are you due?"
"Boy or girl?"
"What are you going to name him/her?"

The first two were easy answers for me. The third always left people in disbelief.

We never named our children before birth. Our oldest was two days old before we figured it out.

I get that some parents hear a name and they just know that's the one. Maybe it's a family name they always knew they would carry on. Maybe it's a favorite name the mom has held in her heart for many years. Or maybe it's the first one a couple agreed on and they didn't want to complicate things.

Us? We went to the hospital for the birth of our oldest with a short list. We took one look at her newborn face and knew- she wasn't any of those names. So we went back to the drawing board. He first full day of life was spent with us Googling names and saying them out loud to her sleepy face.

This led to our decision with our second and third to not stress over name ideas. We knew a name would feel right when we said it to the person it should belong to.

My advice to expectant mothers: Don't worry about choosing a name before you even finish your first trimester. Pregnancy is long. You have plenty of time and endless resources for name ideas.

Here is what we settled on:

Cecelia: The patron saint of music. Latin in origin.
Ezra: Hebrew, after the prophet and religious reformer.
Gwendolyn: Welsh name meaning "fair browed."