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.

One of these days

I love to understand how life is full of various seasons. Each season comes with good and bad, but we know it won't last forever. That's just the way it works. With the all-consuming season I'm currently in, I sometimes forget that it won't always be like this.

I won't always have to step around a kids stool, a kids toilet, a plastic bath, and 5 million toys to get into my shower each morning.

I won't always have to draw up a Super Bowl-worthy game plan just to go to Costco with both boys in tow.

I won't always need to keep a full snack cup in my console just so that Max doesn't cry all the way home each night.

I won't always make dinner for one child while nursing another child.

I won't always know about their poop contents.

I won't always start my day with a crying toddler who doesn't want to get dressed/wear socks/get a new diaper.

And as I look forward to those days, I have to remember what I'll be losing when this season comes to an end.

I won't always be able to hold these boys entirely in my arms.

I won't always be able to hold them as they fall asleep.

I won't always be the first person they see in the morning and the last person at night.

I won't always be the one they need the most.

So even though this season overwhelms me, and leaves me in tears on the bad days, there are enough good days sprinkled in that remind me to just laugh. These tiny humans will one day be fully capable adults. We'll share meals and conversation. We'll all take care of our own hygiene.  This season is just too wonderfully ridiculous to not find it absolutely amusing.

One year ago

One year ago yesterday, I found out I was pregnant with our sweet Miles. We had just returned from a week in Mexico, and I realized I hadn't had my period yet. I was just sure of what I was about to find out, so I loaded up Maxwell and off to the nearest drugstore we went!

I grabbed a box of pregnancy tests, and to keep the trip interesting, I also grabbed some sunscreen, then entertained a 5 minute conversation with an employee about her three kids. If I was her, and noticed a girl holding a wiggly 14 month old in one arm and a pregnancy test in the other, I would probably leave her alone to let her go find out her fate. But that's just me.

Spoiler alert: the pregnancy test was positive. I laughed and freaked out a bit, then tried to have a moment with Max, who had no clue wassup.

Knowing this would probably be the last time I got to tell Mike I was pregnant, I went into a frenzy on how I would tell him when he got home later that night.  My Pinterest/internet/blog search stressed me out, so I just did a little DIY. I took a Popsicle out of the freezer, carefully unwrapped it, then wrote "pregnant" on the stick. I put the Popsicle back in the wrapper then back in the freezer, since I knew my friend Mike would come home and hit the Popsicles hard since it was a million degrees and he had just spent 3 hours at the fields. Thankfully, my artistic ability did not overshadow the big announcement.

Two days later I was on a plane to North Carolina for a wedding.  I proceeded to spend the next 2 days pretending to get drunk. I also thought I was going blind/dying 10 minutes before we walked down the aisle, but it turns out that was just the beginning of a few wacky pregnancy migraines.

Hard to believe that funny week was a year ago. Just as all the old ladies in the grocery store tell me, time sure does fly. But the fun part about that is the memories you capture along the way. Like last night, Max was so obsessed with wearing one of Miles' diapers that I had to put one of Miles' diapers over Max's diaper. I mean come on. He was a hilarious sight, so content to be wearing his lil bro's diaper.

This could become an expensive request.

I told Britt I was pregnant with Max on Addy's birthday, and I told her I was pregnant with Miles the same date she told me she was pregnant with Brynn, just a few years earlier! I love dates. Interestingly enough, Brynn and Miles look identical as babes, and Max and Addy also look strikingly similar as babies. I don't care how insignificant these things may seem....these are the things I want to sit around and force my grandkids to listen to. This is the story we are building!

My new mantra

At the end of a long day (or any day really) I can feel so overwhelmed by life's little tasks. Dishes. Packing lunches. Bathtime.

Because of Mike's work schedule, most nights I'm doing these tasks alone with the boys. It's not uncommon for all 3 of us to cry at some point throughout the night. Miles cries because I've laid him down to get something else done. Max cries because he's two and it's tough to be two. I cry because they cry and I feel like I should be able to handle it all better.

The other night, as I finished up bathtime, I repeated this in my head: "This my privilege. This is my privilege."  I must always remember how lucky I am to be overwhelmed by caring for these boys. I must always remember that doing these simple things is a privilege I've been given. Even when it's hard and even when I'm tired and even when I'm doing it alone for the millionth time, this is my privilege.

Earlier this year, we had an older woman volunteer at our office for a few months. Organization was her "hobby", so she would come in and organize various closets or cabinets. While I was out on maternity leave, I got an email that she had passed away. Even though she was in her 80's, it was still surprising. I read her obituary and realized that this little lady had led quite a fascinating life. Her family fled Germany when she was only 3, and they lived in the Dominican Republic for a few years. Because her parents needed to work so much to pay the bills, they arranged for her to live at a boarding school 6 days a week - Saturdays were the only day they all spent together. As a teen, she was sent to another boarding school in South Carolina, because her parents wanted her to have a chance at a better education.

I can't even imagine making the heart-wrenching decision to send your child away, in hopes of creating a better life for them. I can't imagine having to work so much that you only get one day a week with your child.
For me to get to give my babies baths each night, and to tuck them into bed, and to wipe up their messes and make meals for them - what an absolute privilege.

So, even on the nights when I'm overwhelmed and the only thing I feel like doing is crying, I'll continue to repeat my mantra: This is my privilege.