A little bliss in the midst of this hectic life
We spent Saturday in my parents’ backyard celebrating their fortieth anniversary.
Various combination of a purple-tutu-ed Greta and a blue-tutu-ed Mabel and Auden and Parker swang on the tire swing for hours and hours and hours.
What a great day. What a great backyard. What a great life.
May- Heather’s Brain Download
May is always crazy busy in the JaRuud household. Three birthdays and Mother’s Day, all with requisite multiple celebrations, meals, present purchasing and opening, card making, and general merriment. Add this year our life shift to me working again, and it’s a wonder I’ve made it through with a smile on my face.
We went camping this weekend near Blewett Pass. I went late and left early, leaving truly 90% of the camping work to Mark. I wouldn’t feel comfortable sticking him with that all the time, but it was really nice to arrive to camp with a tent set up and leave this morning (to go to work) with only my clothing bag and no kids.
People keep giving me sad looks when I tell them I have to work on Sundays. (So far anyway) I feel no such dissapointment. Case in point: on weekdays I get up at 5:45, spend over two hours getting myself and four kids ready to leave, and drive an hour to drop off kids at three different places. Today, I was able to rise a full hour later, 100 miles away from work, and still arrive at the exact same time. And then I just work four hours.
I tried to get Willa to sleep for a nap and bedtime yesterday in a tent. Her apparent reaction: “Mama, what the hell- what is this place? Where’s my bed? Why is it cold? Why is it light out? You think I’m going to sleep here? Uh unh, no way, no how.” I’d nurse her and nurse her but she’d startle awake when I tried to stop no matter how asleep she’d seemed. I wasn’t successful until I put her in her familiar carseat. My theory- with my others, especially the boys, I always nursed them to sleep and we traveled with them all over carnation. They never cared as long as they had me. Willa hasn’t nursed to sleep in quite some time. She hasn’t seemed to need it, and sadly, I’m just always needed elsewhere. She nurses and then I leave her awake, and if she’s sleepy, she’s asleep in minutes. But this means, she’s less attached to me and more attached to her own bed. It makes me a little sad. I’m going to tell myself it’s just who she is and try to lay off the mama guilt that I can’t do as much for my fourth child as my firsts.
I’m just happy to nurse her at all. Last weekend, from Friday through Tuesday, she went on a nursing strike. SOOOOO not fun. I felt like I was a first time mama with a newborn again, which no confidence we would ever get the breastfeeding down. No sleep from trying to nurse, getting bitten, and then pumping at all hours of the night. Without the help that often comes with having a new baby. No, instead, I was trying to juggle a family birthday party and full time work and houseguests and… and… and. Yes, I’m fully aware all of this may have actually caused said nursing strike. It turns out I had all the right instincts about what to try, and she finally came around just after I took her to the doctor and determined she was medically fine, no ear infection or other problem readily apparent. Same logic applies as that this weekend we put up tarps to (successfully) avoid it raining.
What I wanted, during the nursing strike, was somebody to understand my plight. Mark was helpful and fed Willa bottles when I was frustrated, but he didn’t seem to get how awful it was making me feel to keep offering such a sensitive (physically and emotionally) part of me and getting rejected. He kept saying “Poor Willa” and I wanted somebody to say “Poor Heather!” Actually my mom did and I’m grateful for that, but I was a wreck; I seemed to need it hourly. I have treasured the “extended” nursing the other three and I have shared, and I was NOT going to give up easily. My naturopath actually told me “at ten months, maybe she’s done with the boob.” Numerous books and google searches will tell you, a baby will almost never self-wean before 18 to 24 months. I honestly wonder if I should be thinking about switching doctors… is that crazy of me? It was just such a blatantly false piece of information, and I’m glad I didn’t trust it.
Friday before camping was the boys’ “friend” party. For the first time, we forked over the cash to have it outside our house. It was a fun, but I’m not sure if it was truly worth the money. It doesn’t feel like we created the memories that we have past years at home. Though the boys came home happy, neither has mentioned a word about it since. Yes, we had more kids than we would’ve at home, but other than that… I think maybe next time if I want to spend money on a party I’ll use it for a house cleaner beforehand. Or afterward! But check out the giant squid cake we made! (I have many more birthday pictures but I can’t find the cord to download them. Grrrr.)
Yes, our cake “plate” is a Rubbermaid bin lid. And yes, I’m well aware it is a major phallic symbol.
For their birthday, their class made them “birthday books”, with well wishes and what-I-like-about-you’s from each classmate. Two of Auden’s gave me pause- ”What I like about you is that your brother is Parker.” “You are lucky to have Parker as your twin.” While I agree with the latter, it makes me worry a little about their twinship and being in the same class. (In their current program they have to be in the same class.) It’s wonderful to have somebody to do the things you don’t know how to do, but it can’t last forever. Right now Auden reads for Parker and Parker makes friends for Auden. It’s been fascinating to watch… my own personal twin study. (I know it’s not really a study with an n of one- just anecdotal.)
How glad am I that I have another day to savor before we all go back to school and work? Very!
A random travel reco
If you ever happen to be on the Olympic Peninsula, stop in Port Angeles for a visit the Art Park. It’s not more than a mile off the highway.
Hundreds of amazingly creative sculptures await you from all angles as you take a walk through the woods.
Can you find Auden here?
A couple other things to see:
If you don’t go for the art, you can go for the view:
To see more, go jump on the ferry. If you live in the Puget Sound area, that is.
Four generations
Well, my NaBloPoMo streak lasted eleven days. We left town Friday, and I’d intended to pre-blog for the two nights we were away, but packing for a family of six… things like extra blogging and doing the dishes before leaving didn’t happen. Turns out that aging dirty spaghetti sauce pots for four days does NOT make them easier to clean, by the way.
The trip was worth the effort, though. My Grandpa John and Grandma Adeline are special people who love children. They’ve been anxious to meet each of my children as babies:
And now they’ve met Baby Apple:
One of Greta’s favorite phrases is “Silly me.” One of my favorite phrases growing up was “Silly Grandpa.” He’s known for goofy tricks like putting me in my lemon car on his lemon car.
This weekend it was fishing for a frog:
My grandparents, well mainly my grandma, are some of the most organized people I know. They sent all of their children and grandchildren a catalog (yes, a whole catalog) with pictures (pictures!) of memorabilia, antiques, furniture, and various household items. We were to choose the things we might like, and then they’ve earmarked things for each person. Some of the items they still use, or want to keep displaying, but some of them they’ve been giving away slowly.
Doing it this way could be viewed as sad. The unsaid aspect, of course, is that my grandparents won’t be here forever. It is sad. But I take my cues from them. My grandma, especially, is so tickled (her word!) to watch how happy we are receiving these gifts, instead of it being a sad process that she doesn’t witness after she’s gone. Having dealt with the dividing up of items in a harder way on the other side of the family, I really really appreciate the way they’ve chosen to go about this. It speaks to their generous souls.
My boys asked for Grandpa John’s Army uniforms, from the late 1940′s.
Unfortunately I don’t think them saluting me here means I can expect “Yes ma’ams” for most of my chore requests.
Parker asked for a violin they had.
Greta got a vintage magnetic firetruck puzzle.
All the kids were so sweet and obliging in their interactions with them. It’s not necessarily easy to carry on conversations with especially my grandpa anymore. Willa happily smiled at them, Greta amused them with her goofy antics, and Auden and Parker talked to them about their lives. Bittersweet seems a trite word to use, but it was. I’m so happy to make visits like this and establish relationships between my children and grandparents, and so sad to know it’s likely that at least Willa won’t remember them. My children have their own special grandparents, but it’s hard to see my special grandparents so much different from the active people they were in my own childhood.
spiders
Some people are afraid of spiders. Not this family, as you will see. Spiders have redeeming qualities- they eat all kinds of pesky bugs. But this isn’t a why-you-should-love-spiders post. If you hate them, just move on. This is a how-fun-it-is-when-the-whole-family-get-into-something post.
Here in Washington, the spiders seemed especially prevelant this summer, and I wasn’t the only one to notice. I took out my camera one day, and took this picture.
My spider-lover Auden loved it (it’s now framed and on his wall) and I loved it. I’m not a great photographer and I have a crappy camera, but I thought it was pretty good for me- it’s all relative. As animals go, spiders are easy to photograph- they don’t move quickly. So I took more.
I have not yet captured a photo of Sally yet, but she’s been helping me wash the dishes for at least a month now. She strung up her web right across the window above the sink. I enjoy observing her activities throughout the day. I’ve seen her re-build her web at least twice, seen her strike out and capture a bug that was unfortunate enough to fly her way.
Auden’s love of spiders is going on its third year. Though he claims he will grow up to be an arachnologist, I don’t hold any illusions that he’ll stick with it. Kids are fickle. I’m just thankful he doesn’t still aspire to a garbage-truck driving career. His mama has been known to indulge his spider fascination. Exhibits a through e:
A- Tarantula cake for 5th birthday
B- LEGO spider
C- My first sewing project on my new sewing machine- a spider/insect bathrobe. He wears that thing all the time.
D- He asked if I’d knit him a spider
E- Tarantula cake for 6th birthday- I hope he keeps asking for this cake. MUCH easier than the saber-tooth tiger that Parker asked for.
As I’ve mentioned before, we also keep Harry the Tarantula as a pet. She is a little bigger than the spiders I love, I have to admit. Mark and the boys take care of her.
And finally, Auden hopes to inspire Willa to love spiders also. Somehow I don’t see her choosing this spider that Auden posed her with as her lovey.
Push and Pull
One might have predicted this.
Back in my partying days, I had a friend who smoked (and drank) way too much. His girlfriend, also my friend, took the tactic of forbidding it. It’s the Camels or me, an ultimatum. My approach was different. Forbidding them just seemed so… well, harsh. (Or perhaps I knew that since I wasn’t having sex with him, threatening to withhold it wasn’t going to get me anywhere.) I would try to coddle him along with less smoking, hiding his cigarettes so that his next one would be delayed. But if he really looked pissed, like he needed one, I’d give in. Trying to explain it one day, I told my friend, “I don’t do Tough Love.” That oft-repeated quote, it explains a lot about my parenting style.
I don’t mean I’m permissive. Though my husband might disagree. I make them clean their room and do their chores and homework. I get my fair share of “you’re so mean”s. (Recently I found a piece of paper that Auden wrote on: “I hat my mom”. Good writing for him, but I won’t pretend it didn’t make me sad. When I asked him about it, he didn’t even remember writing it and claimed it was Parker. I know it wasn’t, as Parker still only writes lower-case a’s if forced.)
I mean that I don’t see the point in being forceful and demanding when trying to get the children to do something. Recently it’s come up with reading. The boys are just on the cusp of reading. They can sound out words if they’re short and use short vowels. I find it incredibly exciting, because I remember the way the world opened when I learned to read. Mark tries to get the boys to sound out parts of their bedtime reading. My feeling is bedtime reading is for relaxation, and learning to love reading at bedtime. Not for frustration. I don’t want to push them so hard they start to hate books. I’d rather “pull” them along by encouraging sounding out at other times, and by reading books at bedtime that demonstrate how great books are. Books that capture their interests, and that I enjoy also: If You Find a Rock, Henry and Ribsy, Y is for Yowl. Thursday night the boys and their dad had a giant blow-up over bedtime reading. He made them read “baby books”, with short words, and practice reading. They’ve all gotten over it, but I still think it was a set back in reading and parental relations. His way might get them reading faster, or it might not. Not if they learn that reading is a hateful chore.
Reading came up again last night. I found Junior Pictionary for $2.99 at Goodwill (score!) and we played it, the boys and Mark and I, after Greta went to bed. Loads of fun, it was. I enjoyed both seeing how they guess and watching what they’d draw. It was the most fun I’ve had in quite a while. No, really, it was.
It took them a while to get the concept of drawing objects around the object you are having somebody guess. Auden’s “tooth” looked like a plain ol’ rectangle, for instance, until I suggested he draw a few more and the mouth around it. It didn’t take long though- Auden drew our specific fridge complete with crap cartoons from the Economist and magnets from places my MIL has visited and artwork from 2008 and notices for museums events last summer stuck on the doors (OK, not quite that detailed) and an arrow to the ice machine for “ice”.
The pushing them to read came up again, though. I’d have them look at the word to draw and see if they knew it. But if they couldn’t sound it out pretty quickly, I read it to them. I didn’t want to hear any whining about not wanting to try, spoiling the fun. Mark, however, did his thing, spending a while each time working with either kid on “banana” or “vacuum” or whatever it was. They did balk a little bit and I was starting to get a little annoyed (without saying so). But after a few turns they just expected it. This night the pushing was effective, looking back on it, because they were so excited to play the game. It worked because of the fun, not spoiling it.
[Sidenote story: Auden misheard/read "sand" as "send" and tried to draw that. How would you draw "send"? I think a lot of people born before, say 1990, would draw somebody sending a letter. Auden made a valiant attempt to depict sending an email, but I never got to send.]
Are you a pusher or a puller with your children (if you have them)? We probably have to accept that we can change some, but our natural tendencies are going to come out in this aspect of parenting. Our kids are lucky enough to have both.
Halloween Anecdotes
Halloween magically went off without a hitch this year. No fights about eating too much candy, no costume disasters. The worst thing that happened was Greta tripping while trick-or-treating, trying to keep up with her brothers and friends, who were running from house to house. Hopefully the magic of Halloween will spill over into the magic of Thanksgiving and the magic of Christmas, rather than meaning we’ve used up our one good holiday of the year and Christmas will suck.
I almost thought I ruined it. Meaning to fill them up on nutritious food prior to the candy, we prepared noodles, chicken, and sweet potato fries for dinner. The noodles and chicken, at least, are one of the very few sure-fire eats for Greta and Auden. Halloween night, though, Greta refused all of it. Plain noodles, are you kidding me? What’s objectionable about that? I generally don’t believe in food ultimatums, but I made one. “If you don’t eat a bite of sweet potato, you can’t eat any candy tonight.”
It was time to leave, and she wasn’t going to budge.
I couldn’t figure out how in the hell I was going to stay true to my word and not have a tantruming 3-year-old on my hands. Before I could think of an exit strategy, we were on our way. Keeping her from eating candy while hurrying from house to house was easy. Time passed quickly; two hours later we arrived at home. I reminded her that she could have candy tomorrow after she’d had better nutrition. And her reply? OK Mom. What? Seriously? Hallelujah! She went easily to bed, with me in disbelief putting her down.
How cute is this girl?
The Friday before I brought the girls to the Halloween party at Auden and Parker’s school. They didn’t even load them up with cookies and candy.
That night, the high school cross country team held a Pumpkin Run. Nothing like candy to motivate kids to run. Parker was just sure he was going to win a trophy. I was doubtful. Thankfully he was happy with a ribbon and three pieces of candy.
I have recently become aware that I have failed in teaching my children how to pose for photographs.
This morning, November 1st, Parker says to me, “Let’s light the jack-o-lanterns again tonight. Then, tomorrow, let’s put up the Christmas tree. I just love celebrating the Holidays!”
When I Had Two
We can all look back upon the days when we had our first child(ren) and see how our ideals/methods/activities have changed. As expectant parents, we develop fairy tale stories of parenting. As we have more children we grow the family and our parenting skills. We choose some fairy tale scenarios to concentrate on and abandon others. Some tales we still long for, when they don’t come true despite our best efforts. Our lives change profoundly in the process.
I never had just one child, but changes have certainly occurred since I had two.
When I had (just!) two children:
- bathing a child was not a noteworthy event.
- pictures of each child hung on the walls.
- children left the house fully dressed and matching.
- I had no gray hairs.
- I worked full time.
- I weighed as much as 55 pounds less.
- toys were regularly picked up and shelved in bins labeled with pictures of the contents. (Now toys are picked up to vacuum occasionally, by throwing any and all into whatever giant tub I can find.)
- the children ate apple carrot cakes made without sugar on their first birthday.
- I sang each child to sleep each night.
- I never ever let a child cry without picking him up, even for five seconds.
- laundry was washed, dried, folded, and put away all on the same day.
As one has more children, parenting is distilled into what one decides are the most important facets.
Now I have four children, and still:
- every child is greeted each morning and goes to bed each night with a giant hug. As many as possible are squeezed into the time in between.
- many many books are read to each child (and I’ve just begun to be read to!).
- I usually cook nutritious meals at home, and bake healthy(er) yummies often.
- I do my very best to attend to each child’s needs, whether it be play or problem-solving or cuddles or a snack; they just might have to wait until I finish putting the laundry into the washer. I no longer think I have to drop everything the moment a child peeps up.
- playing and art messes are encouraged. Helping clean up the messes is also strongly encouraged.
- each child’s individual interests are fostered in the conversations we have, the books we read, the events we attend, the home activities we choose. Hence, I’ve gone to Dinosaur Night at the Burke, outings involve seeking grasshoppers for Harry the Tarantula (I know, yuck), regularly mix together food coloring, baking soda and vinegar (“chemistry”), and read more monkey books than I’d care to. I wonder what we’ll be doing in a few years with Willa!
- all four children are respected and loved for their differences in making up this family of ours.
- I haven’t learned to sit down to nurse a baby with a rag to catch the inevitable spit-up.
I don’t know how you do it
Amidst the shock of adjusting to my new title-in-the-making, Mother of Four, I visited my one friend in the same boat. In her case, she acquired the title by trying for “just one more” after two children, and conceiving twins. Her first advice was to think about my stock responses to all the comments I’ll get from strangers. Her first concern being that one wouldn’t want to inadvertently make the older children worry that one wasn’t grateful for each little mouth to feed.
At the time, I wasn’t too worried about it. As the mother of twins, I’ve fielded my share of well-meaning but uninformed and/or repetitive comments. Yes, they’re twins. No, they’re not identical- did seeing one with brown hair and chocolate eyes and the other a tow head with bright blue eyes tip you off? No, they don’t run in my family (sometimes a veiled way to ask if they are IVF or not. No, they’re not IVF! We weren’t trying to get pregnant! They were conceived out of wedlock! Horrors!)
Now that I’m out and about with four, though, I’m finding my friend was right. While stranger comments on twins seem generally based on the novelty factor, comments on the four children often seem based in judgment. The one that irks me the most is “You know what causes that, don’t you?” “Well, yes, I do, and clearly we enjoy it.” I haven’t had the guts to say that, though. I don’t know what to say. And we happen to be the type that have been gradually introducing sex ed since our kids were at all curious, but if we weren’t, I seriously wouldn’t appreciate somebody bringing it up. What causes what, Mommy? In the grocery store, just what a mama needs.
The one I’m currently struggling with, though, is often from acquaintances and friends. I don’t know how you do it. Or the corollary I got last week, I don’t know how you do it with a smile on your face. Sometimes it seems meant as a compliment, sometimes it seems the person means I don’t know how you do it and I can’t fathom WHY you had these four crazy children, you over-populating wench. The latter doesn’t deserve a thoughtful response, but the former… what to say? Possible answers:
- Self-deprecating: I don’t. You should see the mess that is my house. Or,
I don’t. I’m not usually smiling. - Annoyingly upbeat and self-sacrificing: Well, I did have to get up this morning at 5am to make pumpkin muffins for the kids’ school snack! But if I just time it right, I can get in my required half-hour of quality time with each child a day!
- Emotional: Start crying. I’m just barely holding it together today. Please, please, help me. I’m about to have a meltdown.
- On a frustrated day: Well, we made our bed. Now we have to lie in it.
- Then there’s my usual answer: First smile, then falter. Well, uh, you know. It can be hard, but, uh, you, kind of, just do it.
I oscillate between the self-deprecating answers and stuttering something about just doing it. Some days I’d like to do the emotional breakdown. I’d like to find a better way, though. I’m not sure why I feel the need to tell strangers about the jam crusted on my kitchen floor. Well, no. I do know. I don’t want to make them feel bad. Presumably I’m talking to another mom, and no mom could possibly have it all together, so I feel the need to assure them I don’t too.
Usually I am teetering on going a little crazy. But last week was the first time that I felt like saying something bordering on the annoyingly upbeat. I had a damn good week. I was helpful to others, had some good times with the kiddos, put myself out on a limb and arranged a playdate for my sons, cleaned out a couple closets, and did make pumpkin muffins but only because I discovered that morning I was on the snack hook and had NO store-bought snacks in the house. (See, I still feel the need to put in a caveat.) But I feel like people are looking for me to be modest. They don’t want to hear that I have 1-3 more children than them but am functioning just fine. It’s a woman thing, maybe, or at least a Mom Thing. I’ve said before I do it by cutting corners. Everybody does, what varies is the corner. To hide the corners or not?
Clearly one’s honestly in answering will depend on if this is a stranger or one’s sister or your son’s new friend’s mother. But what would your “go to” answer be? It’s not always easy. Perhaps. I do the best I can? Maybe. Actually, I kinda like that one. That’s all anybody can do. But, there’s probably better. Ideas, anyone?
A Camping Alphabet Post
I’m the volunteer ”librarian” in Auden and Parker’s class. Last week’s theme was alphabet books, which inspired this post on this weekend’s camping trip with Auden and Parker’s school.
A is for Auden, my favorite babysitter for Willa. He’ll willingly sit next to her while I do things like go to the restroom or fetch water.
B is for Bailey’s, what I’m drinking in my coffee this morning to recover.
C is for coffee. Which I needed Saturday morning and did not ever get.
D is for downpour, of the long-lasting kind.
E is for eagle, an animal our family is constantly on the lookout for. It’s actually pretty amazing how often we can spy a bald eagle around here. Me, I forget to look up, but the generally boys have less to pull their eyes downward. Exactly the way it’s supposed to be.
F is for fort, that the boys and friends had ever so much fun making. Bonus for mom is the exhaustion that carrying huge driftwood logs all day entails.
G is for Greta, a girl of her own mind. You know how you see moms walking away from their children, saying, “OK, I’m going now,” and the kid eventually runs to catch up? This does not work with Miss G. I can get out-of-sight a hundred feet away, peek to look back, and Greta is still squatting to look at rocks, completely unconcerned for her safety.
H is for Heather has a Headache. When the sun appeared at noon, we were beachcombing with no sunglasses or hats. Within an hour, I had a headache from squinting. Within another hour, I had a really bad headache and was dragging four children back to the campsite so I could puke in the bushes in peace. I certainly have experience with the combo of camping and throwing up, but it’s supposed to also involve whiskey and a rocking good night beforehand.
I is for insane, my mental state when I agreed Mark should go down to the Husky-Nebraska game from the camping spot. Had I calculated between tail-gating, driving, traffic, and the game itself I’d be left alone for EIGHT hours with four kids of widely varying interests and walking speeds, I would not have said “Oh sure, honey, you’ve wanted to go to a game forever.” Or more realistically, as he really has wanted to go forever, we would not have gone camping.
J is for just barely, the way I held it together.
K is for Krispy Treats, our contribution to Saturday night’s potluck. (Parker’s contribution- I couldn’t think of K.)
L is for living room, where we had our cosy fire on Saturday night.
M is for Mark, who was a sight for sore eyes when he returned from the game. How grateful I was at that moment that I am not a single mom. Sometimes I love my husband because he’s my Man, sometimes I love him because he’s Help. Picture “Oh, Help” as asked for by Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music.
N is for new friends. All the craziness was worth watching my boys develop friendships with kids they will know for years to come. And I met some very nice parents, also, although I had to get past my anxiety that they were all wondering what in the world I was doing there with four children by myself and beholden to their help.
O is for Oreo. What is a mother to do to contain her four children while she vomits? Give them Oreos in the tent! Crumbs be damned!
P is for Parker. Parker, who loves life to its fullest, then crumples and still needs his Mama’s fullest attention.
Q is for quit, which is what we did Saturday evening. I have never made the decision to come home a day early from camping, but in this case- best decision EVER.
R is for Ranger Dave. A very nice guy invited to give an instructional beach walk. What happened instead, however, was a sit-quietly-at-a-picnic-table-listen-to-me-ramble. My children were not amused. School on a Saturday? Too much to ask.
S is for Survivor Games, which Parker played with fifty other kids from his school.
T is for tent. Thank goodness for rain flies.
U is for Urine. Middle-of-the-night urine in sleeping bags, daytime urine puddling in shoes. Urine, urine, urine. Greta did not once use the actual campground bathrooms the entire time we were there, if that’s any indication of the clothing changes we had. Though I’ve considered her potty trained since last January, I finally put her in a pull-up around the time I started throwing up.
V is for van. A mini van is to be celebrated when packing up camp in the dark rain can be done by throwing it all in the back without rolling a camp pad or stuffing a bag.
W is for Willa, my sweet sweet easy baby. Oh my goodness how I love this little (big!) bundle of fleece in my lap!
X is for the pedestrian X-Ray, which we did not need to examine the fish spines we found on the beach.
Y is for yurt, which we were not staying in, unlike many of the families. But now we know how to spell it!
Z is for the zealous love that I feel for this camping family of mine.
