A perfectly-timed tantrum

This afternoon, I took Max to a class at an elementary school. It was fun to see him get a glimpse of what older kids are up to - he looked around at the kids in the lunchroom excitedly, and was smiling so big. The floors reflected the lights above, which made him hilariously afraid of walking on them. I ended up carrying him the whole way through the hall and up the stairs. Phew.

When the class was over, he had a hard time parting with one of the toy cars which led to an incredible tantrum. I carried him to the front office to sign out, where he laid on the floor screaming and rolling around. I hurriedly checked out and ushered his shrieks out the front door. He got a little more rambunctious, kicking his shoes off, flailing when I tried to pick him up, you know, the works! To be fair, it was smack dab in the middle of naptime and he had done so well up until this point. I tried to diffuse him by pointing out a penny on the ground, but he just wasn't having it.

It was then that I noticed a girl, a little younger than me, sprinting across the small parking lot. The way that she kept looking behind her while running so fast made me a little nervous. I glanced behind her and noticed a guy following her. Max must have noticed me tense up, so when I reached out to grab him, he finally let me pick him up. I thought we should probably just get out of there, whatever was going on. Then, I noticed a police car in the street. This was all happening so fast. The police car flipped on its lights and screeched through the parking lot, right towards us. I thought he was going to hop the curb and go after the girl, but instead he turned sharply and headed towards the guy. My body was so scared as I heard the tires squeal and I held Maxwell so close. I wasn't really sure what was going on, so I gave the policeman a look like, hello!?!? Could you not run us over please?? Again, this was all happening so fast. Before I knew it, the girl was gone and the policeman had gotten out of his car and was ordering the guy on the ground. The guy wasn't following his orders, so he kept saying, GET DOWN ON THE GROUND GET DOWN ON THE GROUND and in my wild mind, he had his gun pulled, but I can't remember for sure. All I could think was, oh god...there is going to be a shoot out...I need to get out of here...I ran back to the doors with Maxwell and into the front office. I was afraid to turn my back, like the guy was going to run after me in his desperation to get away. I was shaking and breathing heavily, and said "Um, there is an arrest going on in your parking lot..." The staff hurried to the front doors to lock them. As we watched from the windows, I had a realization. The guy was getting arrested right in front of my car. If Max had not been having his incredible tantrum, I would have been at my car, buckling him into his carseat just steps from where this whole scene unfolded. All I could do was laugh and kiss Max and tell him he was my little angel!

After just a few minutes, the police car was driving away. I was still a little shaky and couldn't believe what I had just witnessed. Max kept saying stuff about the loud car, as I made my way down my phone tree (Mike-Britt-Mom-Oprah) to tell them my tale.

I am reading Mindy Kaling's new book, and she mentions a few suggestions of things to bring to a dinner party - a new kind of hot sauce, an old picture of Colin Firth, or a great story of a near-death experience. I think this counts, so better get to an MK dinner party here soon!

What a day, buddy!

Crawl-baby

Miles has been worming around for a few days now, and then all of the sudden, he graduated to a strong army crawl. So, using the same standards I used for Max, I will now declare that Miles is crawling!

I'm coming to terms with the fact that Miles is moving out of "snuggly baby" phase and into "wiggly worm" phase. It's hard for me to realize when a phase is over. Lately when I hold him on my lap. he's been so wiggly. For whatever reason, I've been perplexed like, well what do I do if I'm not nursing him or he's not sleeping on me?? Hello helicopter mom, you can actually put him on the floor to play!!!

Oh.

So, I started to let him worm around on the floor and would you believe it, he's started to army crawl! Look what a little independence does for your babies.

Going for the nerf!

Maxwell kicked off his crawling while I was at work, so this time around has been less boo-hoo and more yippee! Thank goodness.

11.11.11

Four years ago today, Mike and I grabbed a table at the coffee shop across from my office after work. I remember that it was cold, only because I was wearing my favorite neon green gloves and they pretty much stole the show in the few pictures we had taken of us that night.

A deputy from the county clerk's office arrived with a large envelope, and after a bit of small talk, she administered an official oath to us. As a fellow-deputy myself, this was an oath I had given to people hundreds of times. Sometimes I was annoyed and did it hurriedly, not taking the time to savor the moment for the two sitting in front of me. Other times, I was really into it, and snapped photos of them with their right hands happily raised. My mood usually depended on my hunger level and how annoying my co-workers were being on that particular day. But you guys, the woes of my days as a county employee are not the point of this story.

We decided to take the envelope home, to a more cozy space. After grabbing a bottle of wine from the liquor store nearby, we headed to my tiny little house on Sylvan. The place where he dropped me off after our first date and I thanked him for not being a creep. The place where we had our first kiss. The place where I learned what a good cook he was, and he learned what a good cook I was not.

With two full glasses of wine, we got the marriage license out and proudly signed our names. It wasn't one of those magical moments where confetti burst into the air and we instantly felt changed. But the simplicity of the evening brought peace to me. For all the nights I had fallen asleep with a panicked heart, afraid of being alone forever, this night was washing away that gripping fear of never finding "him".

A big part of our story was written that night and reliving it now almost feels more special than it did then.

This morning, as Mike loaded us up into the car (in his bathrobe, like he always does...hi neighbors!), he said, Ash - you did it! You have completed your first term as my wife. As I laughed, Max laughed right along with me, like he totally got the joke too. And for all the days I peel out of the driveway in a hurry to get to where we need to be, this morning, I took a moment to just love life. Love my toddler's hearty chuckle, love my baby snuggled up so cozy in his carseat, love my husband waving at us from the driveway.

What an incredible joy it is to have these simple moments. I know I'll look back at these simple moments as the most special times in my life.

The post where I use the word "wonderful" 100 times

In my quest to not just be 'workin for the weekend', I have really been trying to be mindful of each day and how wonderful it is. Even though being apart from my boys is not wonderful, we have our little nights together and I feel like we are sort of, maybe, kind of, getting the hang of it. So, as each of our nights chugs along and is just plain ol' ordinary, I remind myself that ordinary is awesome. It's so wonderful to not have a pit of worry in your stomach about something. It's so wonderful to just lay around and feel accomplished and snuggle. It's okay that I'm not doing anything incredible right now, because the fact that I'm laying in a house that I share with a husband and two little boys that we created is pretty incredible, so calm down (is what I say to myself)

Some insignificantly significant moments lately...

-Max has been pretending to burp. Oops. I should probably take the blame for that one.
-Max starting to say "Oh my god." I know it's terrible to hear your two year old say it, but also pretty funny that of all the phrases he doesn't say, that's the one he manages to say so perfectly. Clearly an indication of how I speak to my sister on the phone. Again, oops. Blame me.
-Lately we've been going for a quick walk when we first get home at night just to clear our (my) heads and enjoy the cool fall air. We usually end up walking past some tennis courts, and it's a sure thing that each night we'll find a stray tennis ball or two stuck in a bush. Perhaps the moral police will tell me this is stealing, but I think of it as finding a treasure! Normally I give the ball to Max to play with, but this week, Miles started to show his spunk! He let me know in his 7 month old way that he wanted the ball this time, that Max can't have all the fun. Point taken, baby Miles!

Miles in his mountain formal attire at a wedding last weekend.
You can't even see the poop on his pants!

Max studying Mike's concealed weapon
permit book in his Christmas jammies.
Tis the season?

The Value in Weekdays

Yesterday I was in a foggy funk. My day started by dropping my smoothie cup, resulting in having smoothie splattered on my face, freshly washed hair, and in my EYES. Oh yeah and on my ceiling, my newly painted entryway, and all over the boys daycare bags. I mean....it was the worst.

In addition, my body was harboring a nasty bug that had me queasy all day. I finally gave in and puked in my "pumping headquarters" at work. I also took a hot car nap around lunchtime that did nothing but make me extra weird.

So today, I am feeling like a new woman! I was able to drink coffee, and my regular breakfast did not implode. Great success! I think this led me to an invigorated new perspective regarding weekdays. It happened as I was driving the boys to daycare this morning, and I found myself telling them - guys, it's Tuesday! We're getting closer to the weekend! But I immediately felt resentment for having that attitude. Why can I only look forward to the weekends? What's the value of ignoring and rushing through the weekdays? These are our precious days that we only get once!

I kind of know why I hate weeknights...usually Max cries from the second I pick them up until we get home, and Miles needs to be fed the second we get in the door. I'm trying to pack lunches for tomorrow, make dinner for tonight, do laundry, clean the kitchen so my OCD doesn't make me jump out the window, oh and also keep everyone happy and entertained...probably the same sentiments that are echoed from household to household throughout the world.

Nonetheless, even knowing how terrible nights can be, I still felt an urge to make them better...more fun...to just look forward to our evenings instead of "endure" them. But as I continued to pursue this new perspective, I felt a wave of guilt. How is it even possible to make the weeknights what I want them to be? These days, I spend more time nursing the baby than playing with the toddler. I can't do anything I want/need to do as I sit on the couch with Miles. I start to wish away this season. Wish for the days of both boys walking and talking.

And there I go again! Wishing away the current days for future days that I have just assumed will be better and easier. I can't do that anymore. I have to learn to love (or at least find the joy in) my current season.

I want to feel like I'm the one raising my kids, and with me spending 4 days a week away from these kiddos, I have to make the time count. I don't want to ignore the weekdays, just because they can be messy or overwhelming. I want to find the fun and the pleasure in each day, not just the weekends.

In a few hours, I'll be in the car with Max sobbing for a snack, water, a blanket, his dada, etc... and I'll remind myself of all these words I've spewed today. Tonight is my night to live it up! Wish me luck!

Boys showing their Arkansas Valley pride,
courtesy of the one and only Grandma Blanche!

I love when Max insists on holding Miles.
I also love how they look the same size in this picture!

To celebrate the end of a work week,
we stop for ice cream on our way home on Thursdays.
It's a sure-way to stop Maxwell's end-of-day tears :)

Validation

I've mentioned that in college, my sister and I would joke that people always wanted to win the "worst-life competition". It was like whoever had the most homework, the hardest tests, the busiest life, got some sort of prize, so there would always be one-upping conversations of who had it the hardest.

As a free-spirited Communication major, I never entered this competition. My classes were fun (at least the ones pertaining to my major), my teachers were interesting, and if my homework was hard, I just half-assed it so I could get on with my social life.

Well folks, I now find myself wanting to throw my hat into the ring for consideration of "worst life", subcategory "hard situation". And the situation I'm referring to is breastfeeding.

When my sister started having kids and I learned of all that is breastfeeding, that was only half of the picture. When you move from the cautious observing sister to the actual breastfeeder, it becomes outrageous as you begin to understand the hour-by-hour struggle. This might sound dramatic but I assure you that in my case, it's not.

Let me walk you through a typical day:
4:30am - I set my alarm to wake up an hour early so I can lay with Miles and feed him, so that I don't have to pump while I'm getting ready. This also helps me make it further into my work day without having to pump
7:00am - I rev up my smoothie with some enhancements that are known to increase milk supply - flax seed, oatmeal, brewers yeast...can I get a YUM YUM!
10:00am - I warm up a "lactation cookie", which contains the ingredients mentioned above, because, I want to be a milk machine!!!
10:30am - My alarm goes off to remind me to pump. Sometimes I get too busy and forget, or I'm in a meeting and simply can't. But, around this time, my body starts to let me know. Tingly boobs and painful engorgement is hard to ignore when you're sitting in a meeting, so a lot of times I exit early. I assume my co-workers know whats going on, but I run through a few "what would I say"scenarios to make sure I'm prepared should someone call me out on my early exits.
11:30am - Pump session over. (Bonus points if no one has pooped in the bathroom prior to my hour in there.) The amount of milk I just pumped will either break my spirit and make me sad, or leave me feeling invigorated like YES I CAN DO THIS! I AM DOING IT!
1:30pm - Boobs get tingly. Should I pump or can I wait? Should I pump or can I wait? Should I pump or can I wait? I'll have this back and forth until the tingle wins, and I head down to the room of doom, I mean, the bathroom, to pump. After this round, I'll need to wash all the parts. If you think doing dishes by hand is fun, try doing dishes by hand in the bathroom at your workplace. Woo woo!
**sidenote: this is all just a typical day. Some days are just wacky and I'm pumping in my car in the parking lot of an expo; in the bathroom stall of a museum where we have an all-day event; in the basement of the courthouse during jury duty. I mean!!!!!????
2:30pm - Get a text from the nanny "Miles has been hungry today! He already drank 4 bottles!" Well isn't that peachy. Pop a lactation cookie in my mouth and google other ways to increase milk supply
4:00pm - Option to leave now and work out to fight stubborn post-baby blubber. But, boobs are getting tingly again, and working out would be so painful unless I was wearing 3 sports bras.
4:45pm - Pick up the boys. If traffic is bad, I wish I could get a loudspeaker out and announce "Guys, if I don't get home in the next 10 minutes to feed my baby, I will literally explode. SO MOVE IT."
5:00pm - Feed Miles while fixing dinner for Max. This is one of my greatest accomplishments and although I feel like a zoo exhibit while doing it, I always take a moment to high-five myself. So sue me.
7:00pm - Once boys are bathed and jammied-up, this is the golden hour. Max can watch a show while I put Miles to bed.
7:30pm - Miles is asleep. How many hours do I have until my boobs let me know action is required?
2:00am - Answer: 6 hours. Now the question is, do I wake Miles up and feed him or pump? Pumping will wake me up and is also the worst. But waking Miles up might create bad habits in his sleep patterns. I'm low on frozen milk so I should just pump. But I hate pumping and I'll have to wash the parts.
2:05am - I'm pumping.
2:30am - I'm too awake now to go back to sleep. What should I clean?
4:15am - Ok maybe I can fall asleep now...zzzz
4:30am - Time to get up and feed Miles!

Do you see what I mean? All day long. ALL DAY LONG. I had no clue. I thought breastfeeding was just...breastfeeding.

I struggle with the fact that my boobs own me, but I'm motivated by my client, Miles, who I want to keep happy and full. I struggle with the fact that I'm doing what nature intended, but I'm still left googling "how to increase milk supply" and I struggle with the fact that I am trying SO HARD (I hate trying) but I'm still not convinced Miles will make it to his first birthday on breastmilk alone. And no, there is nothing wrong with giving him formula. But the point is, this is something I'm actually trying to make work, and shouldn't it be easier?? What if this was the year 1815 and there was no other option?? Add to that the fact that if I got to stay home with the boys and didn't have to pump, I think breastfeeding would be pretty breezy. But me whining about having to work is a whole different story.

So, I need some validation. I need people to know that what I'm doing is hard and that it consumes me. Why is that? Would it make me feel better if I was among the winners of the sub-category of "Hard Situation" at the Worst Life Awards?

As I write this I know how ridiculous it sounds. There are absolutely harder situations. I know, I know, I know. But this is my hard, in my reality.

I guess, in the future, if Miles and Max have children and the mothers of their children decide to breastfeed, I can support the crap out of them. I can validate them, I can bake them lactation cookies, I can buy them books to read while they pumps and listen to their woes. I mean, assuming they are validation-needing kind of gals like myself :)  And even if they have wives that breastfeed, Miles and Max may never full understand the nitty gritty details of the breastfeeding dog and pony show.

The conclusion I'm drawing is that I have to be fine with doing something so hard and never having it be truly understood and appreciated. And I guess that is true love: giving your full attention to something that you may never get validation for.

Did you poop?

On Sunday we embarked on a cleaning rampage. Nothing makes me happier than to be in the mood to clean. I was working my way from room to room and really going to town, while Mike was deep cleaning the kitchen - putting random gadgets in a "garage sale box", taking apart drawers and cleaning the insides, throwing out old condiments, etc. I was loving every minute of this.

Sweet baby Miles was entertaining himself on the floor with some toys, but Maxwell was all up my business. He was being mostly cute, like using his toy vacuum alongside me and my toy vacuum. But as I was scrubbing the bathroom floor, his cuteness turned to mush. He started spraying me with Windex, unraveling paper towel, stealing the duster and using it as a sword...basically anything that falls into the category of counterproductive. Finally I just turned around and said, "Max, you are so annoying!!!" And as I said it, I realized how terrible it sounds but my goodness, it was so true. Even though Max owns a very large chunk of my heart, that kid sure can be annoying.

However, he is also quite hilarious lately. Just in the past few weeks it feels like he is really turning a corner in his talking. He is learning some key words and phrases to get what he needs. The best part though is that he has now started to accuse everyone of pooping: "Did you poop?" That must be one of the most common things we say to him, as now he's really taken it and made it his own. Ha. The face that he makes when he asks this question is so disapproving, like he's just disgusted with us. I really hope that is not what we do to him...although, where else would he learn it?? And whenever I change Miles, he's the first to exclaim, "Ew!!!" while plugging his nose. Interestingly enough, he doesn't think much of drinking the bathwater that he just watched Miles pee into. I guess he is still developing his cause-and-effect thought process.

Max and his favorite tool: the pointed finger.