Whatchamacallit

Having three kids in three different stages in life can be trying at times. I have an almost 14 yr old, an 11 yr old and a soon to be 6 yr old.  My kids, my husband, my family are the greatest joys in my life. With all the craziness out there in the world today I definitely consider myself blessed.

Not everyone can say they have been married to an amazing man for almost twenty years. It hasn't always been easy, especially going through infertility and then the roller coaster ride of adoption, but our marriage is solid and neither of us are going anywhere.

Not everyone has three healthy, smart, and good hearted children. They are the light of my life, and their laughter, smiles, tears and even their back talking little mouths keep me going all the time.

Lucky, blessed, gifted, call it what you will.

 Me, I call it wonderful.

Warning! Bragging Ahead...

Warning! The following contains bragging about my son. If you do not want to know how wonderful he is, stop reading now!

I always feel like I can brag about my children and their abilities because they are not of me. All three of our kids were adopted so they don't "get" any of their talents from me or my husband via our genes. Every time one of them does something amazing I know it is just who they are and not something they got from 'my side' or 'my husband's side' of the family.

Take my son,who will be nine years old in August. He is just a natural athlete. He runs like the wind, really. He is the fastest kid in his grade and then some. I always knew he was fast because he learned to walk on a Thursday and run on that same Friday and he hasn't stopped since. He couldn't just walk, he had to jump or scamper or leap or bear crawl wherever we went. At three years old he could do twenty perfect cartwheels in a row, down the sidewalk. He was always, always moving. He ruined a set of couches from jumping on them and you can say I never should have let him jump in the first place but you don't know Jesse, he couldn't help himself! In the winter he is grumpy when he can't go out and run around and we are always trying to find things for him to do to get all his energy out.

Jesse is good at every sport he plays. We have a basketball court in the backyard and he is out there practicing and playing for hours everyday. He and his two best buddies play out there for hours and hours on end and he never tires of playing. And as much as he loves basketball football is also a passion for him.

The first time he got the ball in a Pop Warner football game and ran the entire field, yards ahead of everyone else to score his first touchdown , I turned and yelled, "That's MY son!" He repeated the same thing over and over again. Parents of the other players, coaches and people on the other teams were always remarking how fast Jesse was.

Here is the thing about my son, though: he's not only a good athelete. He is also a nice boy, really smart and is fun to be with, and he has a giggle that lightens the heart. I will shamelessly brag when I say that everyone wants to be his friend and the teachers and coaches love him.

My husband and I are extremely proud of Jesse for all his physical accomplishments because we know how important it is for his self esteem. We also know he could be the fastest kid in the world and that running would only get him so far. Being a good person and someone people want to be with is what will take him the rest of the way, which is what makes me the most proud of my little man. He is the whole package.

Get in the Car

How in the world did our parents take long car trips with us when we were younger? Or perhaps the better question would be how did we, as kids, make it through without them killing us? Remember their threats that we'd have 'kids that act just like you'? Did your mom jinx you too?

I ask because we just returned from a long road trip with our three kids and even though we have taken longer car trips, this one seemed to be the hardest. This trip had more yelling, crying, fighting, peeing, pooping, teasing and stress than ever before. And on this trip I was that parent screaming "I SAID STOP IT!" a thousand times and threatened to 'pull over' even more!

It might be because our youngest is now three and potty trained so stopping every half hour to poop in the 'little pink potty' takes time. It could be because they tease each other relentlessly so someone is always crying and the sound of incessant whining in the mini van makes eight hours seem like fifty. Or maybe, just maybe, it is payback for all we did to drive our parents nuts when we were kids.

I remember our car rides in the back of my parent's Pontiac Citation. We never wore seat belts so we were all over the backseat hitting or tickling each other. If one of us had to pee the other one instantly began the torment of making sounds of rushing water or saying "drip, drip, drip."

There was just the two of us but I am sure at times it must have seemed like thirty screaming animals back there. I remember my sister drawing an imaginary line in the middle of the back seat: one half was hers and the other mine. I also remember sitting on the floor and using the actual seat as a pillow and trying to sleep that way.

There were no DVD players or PSPs or Nintendo DSs! There was not a way--until we were teens--to hear music through headphones! What the hell did they expect, there was nothing to do! Of course we were going to fight! We were bored! But wait...

My kids have a DVD player! They have iPods and Nintendo DSs! They have every possible thing one can do in a car and yet they still fight! In fact they fight over what movies to watch and who can play which game on their DSs. They fight over snacks and where they will sit. I think in trying to buy them things to occupy their time and eliminate the fighting we actually made it worse by giving them more things to disagree about!

I wanted a van with a DVD player for long trips, or driving around the block. I bought them DSs so they wouldn't be bored on these trips. I pack the snacks and pick the movies they can select from. I do everything possible to make it easier for all of us! So why is it that I find myself screaming, "DON'T MAKE ME COME BACK THERE" and "I SAID STOP IT" a thousand times?

Fucking Karma.

Thanks a lot, Mom.

Easy For You to Say

Since January I have been battling tennis elbow, which instead I call 'Lifting Monica Elbow', since I know the cause. If you've ever had it, you know how painful it is. I couldn't lift a plate out of the dishwasher, or a gallon of milk, let alone hold my three year old.

The obvious answer of course is not to do these things, which is easier though said than done. "Don't pick up Monica, she is three now." "She doesn't need to be carried..." Blah, blah , blah! I hear you (Mom) but I am not listening!

Why won't I listen? Why won't I do as I am told? Because I can't!

I can't not pick up my crying child. I can't not comfort her or snuggle her in my lap. I can't turn my back on her when her arms are open and her eyes are pleading to hold her. I. Just. Can't. Do. It.

And it is not just Monica I am like this with; it was the same with all three. I couldn't let them cry themselves to sleep; it ate me up inside. I couldn't kick them out of my bed--I still can't; they smell so good! And no, I don't like their feet digging into my back or being smacked by a wayward arm in the middle of the night. But to look at them asleep and see their innocent faces is always worth it. And if they giggle in their sleep, I smile all the way down to my toes, delighted that even their dreams are fun. If I had let them cry themselves to sleep--my record was fifteen minutes--I would have missed it and missed some of my favorite memories.

So I could put her down or refuse to lift her but I won't. My experiences with my older two have taught me that soon enough Monica will also grow up and not need me as much. In the blink of an eye I will be embarrassing to her too. My singing in the car and stupid jokes will earn me eye rolls instead of clapping hands and the request:"Do it again!" Time is running out to keep her little.

So if lifting her and holding her close while she'll still let me is a little painful, I'll deal with it for the chance to feel her heart against mine. All too soon she won't want me to pick her up and baby her and that will hurt a hell of a lot more than my elbow.

Besides, there's always cortisone...

Who Goes First?

"What do you want for breakfast?" I scream for the eighteenth time. "Hey, don't do that!" "Put that down!" Stop it! Stop it...I said STOP!" Does this sound like breakfast time at your house, or is it just me who enters a war zone every morning at breakfast?

With three kids of all different ages mornings are never easy. Obviously the three year old needs the most attention but there are still times when they all need me at the same moment. Who do I go to first? How do I split myself between the three?

I usually start with the most pressing situation. If my 11 year old wants a Pop tart and the nine year old toast but the three year old needs her tushie wiped, well, it's going to be the three year old first. Instead of rock, paper, scissors, it's Pop Tart, toast, poopy butt.

Who do I defend? Which kid goes to their room for calling names if they're all doing it? Is 'butthole' or 'stupid weirdo' worse? Does 'retarded penis' trump them all? Who do I support, and who gets 'the look'? Do I really need to step in and break up their bickering, or do I wait and see if it becomes physical? Why can't they all just get along?

Luckily, for them, summer is nearly here; no more breakfast battles for three glorious months!

Hmmm, I wonder what we'll have for lunch?

My Kind of Mommy

I am always so grateful on Mother's Day, and not just for my wonderful children, but to all the mothers I know and the experiences I pull from them.

There are my 'stay-at-home' friends who fill their days a lot like I do, going from one Mommy and Me class to another, splitting our days between housework, playlands and daily chores.

There are my friends who are working mothers who have to juggle their jobs with parenting. I can't figure out how they can work and keep up on the house and play with the kids all in a 24 hour period. I couldn't do it; there is just no way.

Then there are my friends who are single moms. I admire them the most. How on earth they are able to work full time and then come home and parent alone is beyond me. I think these moms deserve an award--that's you Jody.

I am eternally grateful to the birthmothers of my three kids who had the courage and love to place their children in our home. Say what you want about birthmothers and how you don't 'understand' how they can 'give up' their children but I have yet to meet a stronger woman than a birthmother. Could you imagine leaving your child with someone you didn't know for ten minutes let alone a lifetime? No, I didn't think you could. Think about that the next time you want to judge a birthmother.

I guess I like all different kinds of moms when I really think about it. I try to take a little piece of something I admire from each mom I know and use it in my own mothering.

Lucky for me I know all of you!

On Your Mark, Get Set, Mow!

I'm pretty obsessed with having a clean house. It feels like everything is in order when everything is in it's place. There aren't too many things that are as comforting to me as my tidy home but there is something that is pretty damn close: mowing the lawn.

Obviously I have some issues. Except for new lawn mowing attire, I would rather mow the lawn than shop. I would rather mow the lawn than read. There is something about the straight lines in the grass that make me happy. I love the instant gratification that comes with the pass of each row as I see the immediate results of my work.

Time-wise I even have it down to a science. I can mow the whole lawn in under an hour--provided no little people interrupt me a thousand times--with two water breaks. When I mow the final patch of grass and put the mower away I am so happy! I love the neatness of our yard, the way it looks and the way it smells--so fresh.

During a busy week or one that is especially rainy I start to get antsy. If I know it needs to be done and haven't found the time to do it yet, I panic. What if everyone else's lawn gets mowed and mine doesn't? What if I can't get to it for another day or so? I wake up stressed; whether I can mow or not will sit at the front of my mind until I am able to get it done.

Let me clarify: none of this is expected of me by my husband. I think he gets the way my mind works and knows to stay out of my way when it comes to mowing. Even though he likes to mow he settles for weed eating and edging as I am not so great with the little details. I'm sure my lawn moving obession gets old but he indulges me--that is love!

When my lawn is finished it looks really, really good. Not just okay, but really, really good. It is plush and feels thick between the toes. It is beautiful...and I am at peace with myself.

At least until I look out the window and see my neighbor getting out his mower...