The Waiting Game

I have never been very good at waiting.  

Christmas can never come soon enough.  

I don't love sitting through previews before a movie starts (well, at least from what I remember from going to a movie at an actual movie theater in a previous life...)  

Calling Comcast and being on hold for eternity is my least favorite activity, right behind going to the Secretary of State's Office to renew my license.  

On the rare occasion my fingernails have nail polish on them, it is most definitely smudged because I can't seem to sit still quite long enough for them to dry.  

It is not unusual for me to burn my mouth on a fresh-from-the-campfire marshmallow because I can't wait for it to cool down to a temperature that measures less than the surface of the sun.

I'm sure this is not news to anyone.  I mean, really, who in their right mind really enjoys waiting? 

No one.  That's who.

So why am I writing the most obvious, unenlightened post in the history of the world?

Because I am right smack dab in the middle of one of the hardest "waits" of my life.  And it was either write this post or wear a path in the carpet.  So write it is.

I am sitting in the waiting room at the hospital just a few doors down from the room where my little sister is in labor.  She is resting right now, with her incredible, supportive husband by her side.  And we are all waiting.

I needed something to keep my mind busy, to keep my hands busy, and writing something seemed like the best option.  That, coupled with the fact that I have no handiwork talents, such as knitting, sewing, cross-stitch, origami or basket weaving, so typing it is.

I am well aware that my sister is the one doing all the work here.  Really, I should not even mention the word waiting, as she has been waiting 9 long months for this day to arrive.  (But she has no idea I'm even writing this right now, so I guess I can just go for it.  Sorry, sister, who is probably reading this while feeding your sweet baby girl in the middle of the night 5 days from now when you actually have a chance to read this...)  

The anticipation and process of getting down here today is probably not helping this whole "waiting" business, either.  My sister lives 3 hours away from me, and throughout her entire pregnancy I have hoped and prayed for above all, a safe delivery, but a close second was my hope and prayer that I would be able to be there when my sister was in labor and when my niece was born.  Babies are cute and adorable and lovable, but predictable on time of arrival?  Not so much.  Being out of town and having 2 little ones of my own, I didn't know if that would be a possibility.  

But it is.  I am here.  I am feeling beyond blessed to be here.  If I have to wait, I am glad I get to do it here.  I am glad I get to be a part of this day.  Even it involves lots of waiting.

Waiting. 

Waiting to meet my niece.

Waiting to hold her in my arms for the first time.

Waiting to hug my sister and brother-in-law.

Waiting to watch their first precious moments of Parenthood unfold.

Waiting for our family to grow once again.

Waiting to snap pictures that capture moments of a day that will be remembered forever.

Waiting for the memories and stories of this day that will be told over and over and over again in the years to come.

Waiting...

My amazing, strong, incredible sister, You Are a Good Mom.  You are so very close to holding your baby girl, kissing her sweet face, and cherishing this amazing little person who is the very best parts of you and the very best parts of Brian all wrapped up in one perfect little bundle.  I love all 3 of you with my whole heart!

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What I Say...What They Hear

As of late, I have noticed quite a discrepancy between what I say and what my children actually hear.  At one time I thought, "Hmm...maybe they really can't hear me."  Not the case.  I now officially know they can physically hear some sort of noise escaping my lips, proven by the fact that my son just passed his hearing screening at preschool.  

So I've developed a new theory:  Between leaving my mouth and arriving at my children's ears, the words somehow completely transform into an entirely different language.  I think we may be hiring a translator soon.

Because I have gotten pretty rusty speaking toddler or preschooler myself, I am simply making my best guess here.  But this it is.  This is my attempt at making sense of this mystical linguistic process.  

(I'm hoping a Nobel Peace Prize may be in my future for this ground-breaking, highly scientific work.  Or maybe Rosetta Stone will pick me up for one of their programs.  But let's not get ahead of ourselves here...I just hope you read the rest of this post.)

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What I Say:  "It's time for quiet time.  You may read books or play quietly in your room.  I'll let you know when rest time is over."

What They Hear:  "Please come in and out of room as many times as possible.  It would be great when you do actually stay in your room, if you could mess around with the door knob and make as much noise as humanly possible.  It would totally make my day if you could both arrange to have to poop at some point during this time, too.  Thanks!"

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What I Say:  "Please show kindness to one another and play nicely together."

What They Hear:  "This is the first stage of your training for wrestle mania.  Try as many holds on one another as you can.  Bonus points for whoever strikes first!  Stealing of toys and getting in each other's space is greatly encouraged as well.  The icing on the cake for Mom would be if you could whine a lot, too.  It would make the time I spend trying to make dinner so much more special!"

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What I Say:  "Put your shoes on.  We need to leave the house in 5 minutes."

What They Hear:  "It's play time, guys!  Dump out every single toy you have ever owned.  This would be a great time to go exploring under your beds and in the back of your closet, too, to look for any lost treasure that may be lurking there!  While you're at it, go ahead and take your socks off, put them on your hands and use them as puppets.  Doesn't that sound like fun?  Oh!  One last thing!  Mom would love it if you could try to hide in her closet or behind the furniture after you do all that other stuff I said.  Thanks so much!"

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What I Say:  "Please walk quietly by me while we make our way to the back of the library for story time."

What They Hear:  "On your mark...get set...GO!!  Is that all you've got?  You've gotta really want it.  I can't hear you...pump up that volume about 10 more notches.  That man in the quiet study room on the complete other side of the library working feverishly on his lap top can barely make out what you're yelling about.  Work those lungs!"

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What I Say:  "Finish eating your dinner."

What They Hear:  "Go ahead and play with whatever food is there on your plate.  Push it around a little bit, spill a little bit on the table and just kinda mash up whatever else is left so it is no longer recognizable as having once been something edible."  

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What I Say:  "No."

What They Hear:  "Yes!  But first, let's see if you can whine and carry on and really put on a great show.  Let me see what you've got here.  When we're in public, the louder and whinier you are the better, too."

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What I Say (in a barely audible whisper to their Dad while the kids are in the other room playing and talking to each other):  "Maybe after dinner we go for a bike ride and get some ice cream."

What They Hear: "Maybe after dinner we go for a bike ride and get some ice cream."  

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What I Say:  "I love you."

What They Hear:  "I love you.  I believe in you.  I value you.  I am so lucky and so blessed to have you in my life.  You are worth more than anything in this whole wide world to me.  You are loved now.   You have been loved since before I even saw your face.  You will be loved forever.  I am here for you.  I am here for you.  I am here for you.  I love you."

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As a side note, teenager speak is completely foreign to me.  And it scares me.  If any of you have the rare talent of being fluent in this language, please leave your contact information and I'll be in touch with you in about 10 years or so.

While you endure the selective listening and parent-to-child mysterious language transformation, hang in there and remember, You Are a Good Mom.

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What Not to Say to a Mom When She is 8.99 Months Pregnant

Today marks my little sister's due date with her first baby.  I -- along with my sister, brother-in-law, and both families -- am beyond excited to meet this sweet little bundle of joy.  My neice-to-be, however, has not decided to make her grand entrance into this world just yet.  

My heart goes out to my sister.  

Both of my babies were born past their due dates.  Every day past my due date seemed like a week.  To add insult to injury, every single thing someone asked me or told me related to having that baby seemed like the most annoying, insulting thing I'd ever heard in my life.  To the credit of the people making these comments, they were in no way actually annoying or insulting at all.  On the contrary, they were loving and supporting and comforting.  However, when I was just ready to not be pregnant any more and my hormones were raging and I pretty much couldn't do anything except eat chocolate ice cream, every last word seemed spiteful.

With that in mind, and in honor of my sister and all Moms who have gone past their due dates the world over, here it is...

A Guide for What Not to Say to a Mom When She is 8.99 months Pregnant  

All the comments below may appear innocent enough upon first glance, but be warned.  Keep your audience in mind:  A woman who is carrying around a full-grown baby and would love nothing more than to have a glass of wine, some sushi and a whole bunch of Feta cheese.  

This handy little guide may just save your life someday.  File it away for safe keeping.

[The responses below do not reflect the view of my sister or my current self.  They belong solely to my "past due date self" from years ago.  This "past due date self" claims responsibility for all responses in italics, and the level of snarkiness contained therein.  It is quite possible that these responses have become even more snarky by being bottled up all these years.  I suppose writing this blog post was cheaper than therapy, though.  My profound apologies.  From my "past due date self," of course.] 

"When are you due?"
Does it really matter?  I obviously have not had this baby yet, so "due date" no longer means anything.  I am "past due."  I am thinking of collecting some sort of fine from my doctor.  The library does it, and that's just for some stinkin' book.  I have been focused on that due date for 9 months now.  I think my doctor may have arbitrarily picked a date and given it to me as some experimental form of torture.  No, I don't want to talk about it.  No, I don't want to discuss it.  Unless you're getting me chocolate ice cream, please leave me alone.

"Didn't you have that baby yet?"
Yes, as a matter of fact I did.  I just loved hauling around a watermelon for the last few months so very much that I stuck one up my shirt and I'm continuing to waddle around just for fun now.  And my newborn baby is in the nursery at the hospital.  And I'm at the mall.  Thanks for asking.

"I had all my babies 2 weeks early!"
Great news for you.  Sucks for me.  Unless you're getting me chocolate ice cream, please leave me alone.

"Just enjoy these last few days before your baby arrives."
I would love to, but I can no longer "enjoy" anything, including walking, sleeping or breathing.  The thing that I want more than anything in this world is to meet my child.  Enjoying anything but chocolate ice cream right now is physically impossible.

"I'm sure that baby will arrive before you know it!"
No, it won't.  I will definitely "know it."  "Before I know it" would have been 2 weeks ago or even 2 days ago.  That ship has sailed.  We have now moved into "I know it" and are getting dangerously close to "After I know it."

"My {friend/sister/cousin/co-worker/any other random person pregnant mom doesn't know} just had her baby yesterday!"
Great news for them.  Sucks for me.  Unless you're getting me chocolate ice cream, please leave me alone.

"Your baby must just be so very cozy in your tummy they just don't want to come out!"
Yup, I'm sure that's exactly what it is.  My uterus is so awesome at comforting my unborn child, they may just stay in there until they graduate from high school.  Or college.  At least that's what it feels like to me.  Therefore, I am cancelling their cable, disconnecting their Internet and delivering an eviction notice to my little tenant.  I may even bribe my baby with chocolate ice cream as their first meal when they do finally arrive.  By the way, could you go get me some chocolate ice cream?

A Guide for What to Say to a Mom When She is 8.99 Months Pregnant

"Let me get you a second bowl of chocolate ice cream."

Yup, I think that pretty much covers it for that section.

Whether your child was early, late, or right on time, You Are a Good Mom.  

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"Parent"dox: Birthdays are for Parents

Sunday Night "Parent"dox #9: Birthdays are for Parents

Remember when you were a kid and waiting an entire year for your birthday seemed like a lifetime?  Counting down the days until your birthday felt like an eternity, like time had literally frozen, and in severe cases -- such as anticipating a birthday party at Show Biz Pizza or waiting for the all-important double digit milestone of 10 -- it could feel like time was actually going backwards.  

Now, as an adult, those years fly by much faster than I care to admit, and a birthday is often just another day of the week.  

I was reminded just how fast those years are flying by when I was leaving my son's school this week.  I was talking to our neighbor, a 1st grader, in the hallway as I was on my way out the door.  As we were talking and laughing, one of her classmates came walking up to join in our conversation.

Kid:  "Hi.  What's your name?"
Me:  "Carrie.  What's your name?"
Kid:  "Jeremiah."
Me:  "What a great name, Jeremiah.  It's nice to meet you.  Are you in Kelly's class?"
Kid:  "Yup.  Are you Kelly's grandma?"

Grandma?  Grandma??  Thanks for that, 6-year-old kid I don't know.  You are doing wonders for my self esteem.   

I tried to rationalize that one as much as I could.  These are some of the things I contemplated on my drive home to console my wounded ego:

1.  Maybe he knows Kelly's mom, and knew I wasn't her, so he just went with the next relation he could think of.  (Although, for the record, I would have preferred "cool aunt" or "hip cousin" much better...)
2. Maybe he meant Grandma as a compliment.  I mean really, to a 6-year-old, there is no more amazing person on the planet than Grandma, am I right?
3. Maybe he failed his vision screening.
4. Maybe I should stop wearing my hair in a bun.

After all the rationalizing, though, all I could do was laugh.  Truly, I love the unfiltered thoughts that tumble out of kids' mouths.  They always seem to serve as a good reminder not to take things too seriously.  

Like birthdays.  And getting older.  And age.  

Age is just a number. 

 Actually, it's much more than a number.  That number represents another hard-earned year's worth of laughs enjoyed, obstacles overcome, tears shed, experiences lived, relationships deepened, fears conquered, boundaries pushed and wisdom gained.  I am thankful for the years God has given me; thankful for the people He has put in my life in those years; thankful for  the happy memories that serve to mark each of those years; and I'm learning to be thankful for the challenges that have made me stronger over those years.  

It is a number to be celebrated; a number to be cherished; a number to be treasured. 

So, yes, there is no denying it, today is my actual birthday.  On this day that celebrates my birth and glorious introduction to this great big world, I have been thinking...  I didn't really do anything that day.  I was born.  Piece of cake.  (Maybe that's why this day is commemorated with cake?)  Really, let's think about the people we should be celebrating here...the people who actually made that very first birthday a reality.  

My parents.

Here is my request for this day and for years to come...don't send birthday wishes my way, send them to my parents.  

Happy Birth Day to both of you!  Thank you for all the work (aka labor) you did that day to get me here.  Thank you for getting our family of 2 (soon to be 3) to the hospital safe and sound.  Thank you for getting through contraction after contraction.  Thank you for cutting the cord.  Thank you for holding me when I was just minutes old.  Thank you for not passing out at any point.  Thank you for encouraging and supporting and celebrating that day.

To my parents, on my birthday, You Are a Good Mom (and Dad!).  Thanks for loving me and supporting from that very first minute, that very first breath, and for every minute and breath since then for the last 34 years.  I love you guys to the moon and back!

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Drive Thrus* for All!

I would never, ever run for political office, for a very lengthy list of reasons.  But if I did, I'm pretty sure I could secure at least a portion of the Mom vote with this platform:

Drive Thru* Windows in All Places of Business

I'm not just talking fast food here people.  [In fact, maybe the second part of this platform would be to remove drive thrus* from fast food places in an attempt to help me finally lose my baby weight.  I know my baby is turning 3 years old next month.  You didn't really have to point that out.  On second thought, keep the fast food drive thrus.  With the way my kids sleep, I need drive thru access to fountain Coke at any time, night or day.] Now that that's settled, back to the matter at hand...

Drive Thru Windows in All Places of Business!!

As a Mom of kids in car seats, I believe drive thru windows are pretty high up there on the list of best inventions in the history of the world.  Electricity.  Sliced bread.  Drive thrus.  In that order.  

Picking up a prescription at Walgreens?  Sheer bliss.  Depositing a check at the Credit Union?   Absolutely delightful.  Driving through the car wash?  Entertainment while completing an errand...pinch me, I think I may be dreaming.

The importance of being able to get things done while leaving your kids buckled in their car seats cannot be overstated, as illustrated in the following story.  

On Monday, I had two seemingly quick errands to check off my list.  The first was taking paperwork to my kids' pediatrician to be completed for their kindergarten and preschool registration.  I parked the car, unbuckled my daughter, reached over and unbuckled my son, served as a referee while my son tried to push his way past his sister and out the sliding door of the Minivan, negotiated with my daughter while she whined and cried because she wanted to jump down by herself, explained to both of them that their behavior needed to change, all the while fearing my pediatrician may have been watching the entire thing first hand.  (Fear not, he didn't.  Fear not again, he has four kids of his own, and his youngest two are the same age as my two kids.  Did I mention we love him?)  We finally made it inside, dropped off the paperwork, and were back out to the car in a grand total of 48 seconds.  

I buckled everyone back in and drove down to the zoo, where I needed to drop off paperwork for my son to attend a zoo day camp this summer.  I parked the car, looked in the backseat to find my daughter asleep in her car seat, removed her as gingerly as possible, unbuckled my son, made our way out into the balmy 31 degrees (yes, it was April, and yes, it was Spring Break), went to three different doors, and finally located the office we needed.  I presented my son's birth certificate, signed a consent form, and 63 seconds later, we were on our way back to the car.  By the grace of God, my daughter stayed asleep the entire time, even when I re-buckled her in her car seat.  (I think this was the first time this has happened.  Ever.)  We drove back home, and as I feared, my daughter woke up from what turned out to be her nap for the day...all 23 minutes of it.

Imagine with me, if you will, a parent's paradise...a world where all places of business are equipped with drive thru windows.  I swing by the pediatrician's office while my kids sing along to the radio, then zip through the zoo school office, while my daughter remains wide awake because she hasn't had time to fall asleep due to completing errands in world record time.

Drive thru windows:  Good for parents, good for kids, good for businesses.  Sure, it may not be super practical for some businesses, and yes, it may require a ridiculous amount of construction, but really, these are minor obstacles to overcome in the big picture.

If we band together, we can make this dream a reality.  

Once I'm able to institute my drive thru initiative, my second order of business will be

Double Shopping Cart Seats for all Grocery Stores
  
(Thanks for leading the way on this one, Costco.)

Please contact me if you'd like to be my running mate.

When you can run errands and actually get something done, You Are a Good Mom, whether you have to unbuckle everyone in your car or not.

*I have no idea if "thru" is a word.  I'm pretty sure my English major and teacher Mom would say it is not.  I am spelling it that way based on my extensive research of the McDonald's signs that read "Drive Thru."  Very academic, I know.  Plural is even worse.  Typing "drive thrus" has been borderline painful for me.  I apologize for any pain it may have inflicted on you while reading.

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"Parent"dox: When a Minivan is Cool

Sunday Night "Parent"dox #8: When a Minivan is Cool

A MiniVan is many things.

Practical.  Versatile.  Family-friendly.  Sensible.  Dependable.  

Cool, however, would not be one of those things.  Now don't get me wrong.  I am one of those Moms who really loves my Minivan.  Really.  I am just well aware of the fact that "cool" would not be on the list of adjectives used to describe it.  

Unless, of course, that list was being composed by my 4 1/2-year-old son. 

This lovely little "parent"dox all began a few weeks ago, when we drove across the state to see my aunt and uncle.  We had been in the car for a couple of hours, and were oh-so-close to their house, when traffic began to get thicker, we began to hit every red light possible, and our two littlest passengers began to get dangerously close to entering into a full blown nuclear melt down.  That combination, my friends, is a dangerous little cocktail.

While turning right at a red light, my husband may have incidentally produced one of the coolest noises known to man (or little boy) -- squealing tires -- on my completely uncool Minivan, all in the name of getting us to our destination and out of the car before anyone completely lost their mind.  

Upon hearing this cool, fast, testosterone-filled sound, my son perked up from the backseat.  

"What was that, Dad?"

I think the answer he was given may have been "It was just us in the Minivan" or "The tires on the Minivan when we started driving" or something along those lines.

What my son heard, though, was "Blah blah blah blah blah blah MINIVAN!!!! blah blah blah."

I'm fairly certain this is how he hears most of what I say anyway.  

Fast forward a few weeks.  The word 'Minivan' has taken on an entirely new meaning to my son.  It no longer refers to the vehicle in which he is riding.  It has been redefined to mean a strategic driving maneuver, exuding both coolness and speed.  I truly think he believes there is a button or something that can be pushed to enter into totally sweet, blazing speed "Minivan mode."  Note: Please request this feature on all cars you purchase from this day forth.  It will boggle the mind of car salespeople far and wide.

"The Minivan" has become one of his favorite requests, I might add.  These are phrases I now hear on a daily basis:

"Mom, can you do the Minivan?!"

"Are we doing the Minivan right now? Or are we just driving regular?"

"Put on the Minivan, Mom!  Let's go catch that other car!"

"Mom, we need to do the Minivan.  We are losing the race!"

[At this point, I should also mention he has watched "Cars" more times than any human being should.  He, therefore, believes every time we are in a vehicle, we are in a race.  And because there are always cars in front of us, we are always losing.  In his mind, his mom is a total disgrace to Lightning McQueen and all his name represents.]

My personal favorite was when he said this to me last week: 

"We're gonna be late, Mom.  You better turn on the Minivan!"...while I was driving my uncle's Ford Escape.  

No matter what you are driving, and whether you can do "The Minivan" or not, You Are a Good Mom.

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Until I Became a Mom

There were a lot of things I thought I knew about being a Mom before I became a Mom.  But come to find out, there were actually a lot of things I didn't know -- things no one could have just "told" me; things I had to experience for myself -- until I became a Mom.

Until I became a Mom, I didn't know...

...I'd run a full dishwasher on a daily basis.

...it would become commonplace to remove boogers from someone's nose other than my own.

...so many of my conversations would be about poop or pee...when, how much, what color...

..."nap time" would be the two sweetest words my tired ears could hope to hear.

...I'd keep my 2-year-old company by sitting on the bathroom floor and reading her books as she sat on the potty, and I'd actually be excited that day had arrived.  

...my decisions would carry such weight; not just for me, but for my children and my family, too.

Until I became a Mom, I didn't know...

...the theme song from "Wonder Pets" and "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" would be sung nearly 'round the clock in my house...frequently, by me.

...just how difficult, yet important, carving out time for myself; time with my husband; time with my girlfriends would be in maintaining my own sanity.

...I'd hear my mother's words coming out of my own mouth.

...I would spend the night in a steam-filled bathroom with my croupy 4-year-old to make sure he could breathe, and I'd be full of worry and compassion, not frustration and impatience.

...there would permanently be Cheerios or graham cracker crumbs in some part of my house or car at any given time.

...I would want so badly to  be able to take someone else's pain away and make it my own.

...the laundry would never, ever be "done" again.

Until I became a Mom, I didn't know...

...I would purposefully take the "long way" home, based on the sliver of hope that the extra time in the car would get my infant to fall asleep.

...I'd be able to have my heart nearly burst with love and adoration, just watching someone sleep.

...I could be out-negotiated and out-stubborned by a toddler.

...reading the words "I love you, Mom" in preschooler script could completely melt my heart.

...that 7:00am would now be considered "sleeping in."

Until I became a Mom, I didn't know...

...sometimes just taking a shower would be a victory for the day.

...I would laugh out loud everyday, just from the things my kids would say and do.

...I'd be wearing maternity clothes long after that baby was here and in my arms.   

...that Popsicles and Band-Aids can fix just about anything.

...how hard it would be, how rewarding it would be, how exhausting it would be, how amazing it would be and how nothing else on earth could truly prepare me for all that it meant to answer to the title of "Mom."

Until I became a Mom, I didn't know...

...a piece of my heart would now forever live outside of me.

Until I became a Mom, I had no idea just how precious those words -- You Are a Good Mom -- would be, and how I would carry them with me long after hearing them.  I didn't know how much I'd need to hear them, to remind myself of them, especially in the moments when I least felt like I was living up to them.  

Whether you are desperately in of need them today, or they are just a happy reminder, from the very bottom of my heart to yours, please know You Are a Good Mom.

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What things did you not know until you became a Mom (or Dad)?  Write in the "post a comment" box below, or click on "# comments" and a comment box to write in will open so you can add yours to the list.  Thanks so much for taking the time to share! (Feel free to share any other thoughts, feelings or reactions to this post, too!)

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