I Want to be a Dancer!

Tonight is my son's spring show and preschool graduation. He's not pulling a Doogie Howser and finishing preschool two years early or anything. Just graduating from the 2yo class to the 3yo class. But regardless, there's a show. A show where they sing and...well, sort of dance.

Wyatt has been talking about the show nonstop. He has shown me his beloved stage (in the sanctuary of the church where his preschool is located) on multiple occasions. His teachers told me he learned the songs faster than the other kids and that he sings at full volume when everyone else kind of mumbles along in typical preschool fashion. It has occurred to me that when I tell him he's a rock star for using the potty in the proper way that he may actually believe that he is, in fact, a ROCK STAR. Or, you know, a cast member of Glee.

Part of me is thrilled. After all, I was a complete ham as a kid. I was the obnoxious child in the chorus who'd purposely mess up choreography because I knew everyone would look at me whether they wanted to or not. ATTENTION, PLEASE! Look at ME! I starred in my first school musical when I was in the 4th grade. I liked the spotlight. A LOT. So, naturally, seeing a little of me in him warms my heart.

On the other hand, I'll admit to the cliched sit-com theme. We're a red blooded American family. My husband played football. There's a certain assumption that Wyatt will be a jock. I know it's a stereotypical dilemma, but it's ours nonetheless. What if our son doesn't want to be just like his dad? What if he wants to be an actor? Or (gasp) a writer? (A blogger? Oh, heavens, no!) What if he gets his dad's broad shoulders and my family's height, and then he uses them on the stage instead of in the NFL?

Or worse; what if he goes into SALES? 

Amazon isn't Paying Me, I Swear.

I remember rolling my eyes when a friend of mine started talking about how much he loved his Kindle. As a die hard bibliophile, I found the idea of digitizing literature a little obnoxious. But sometimes I'm a slow adapter. I had the same reaction to MP3 players. I like the smell of books. The paper. The glue of the binding. I like the weight of a book in my hand. I honestly couldn't imagine enjoying a good book any other way.

Last Christmas, I finally decided to give the Kindle a try. Why? I actually have no idea. I was out of ideas for what I wanted for Christmas. I was pretty sure no one was going to foot the bill for an Audi Q7, so went with an easy book reader's request. I half expected to shelf the thing. (After all, I've certainly shelved a few books I thought I wanted to read in my day, right?)

But here's the thing. I immediately started reading more. There's something about getting books immediately for less. There's something about even the biggest books being lightweight. Packing multiple books into one place without having to haul around a library. Yes, I started reading more. Not just a little more. A lot more. About four times more.

So, am I more of a bibliophile for having 500 books in my library, or for actually reading them all on my Kindle?

The Great Blog Revamp of 2011

One of the least interesting things to read in the world is the inner workings of a writer's head. I was all set to explain, in depth, why I'm changing up my blog and starting fresh. Why I've decided that I want to be an actual blogger, not a housewife with a web page that gets updated every few months. (Did I really just refer to myself as a housewife?) That when it takes six months to get to your next blog post, something has to give. But as I started typing all about my thoughts on the subject, I put myself to sleep. Literally. Okay, not literally. (Don't you hate it when people use that word wrong?) But I was too bored to finish writing. And so, here you have it: the general idea. I've gone back to the original name. I'll be posting again shortly. It might even be about something interesting... or something that offends you... or something you totally agree with. (With which you agree... yes, I know. I know.) You get it. 'Nuff said.

On the Verge

I'm writing this on Saturday the 16th of October, but I don't plan to publish it until at least the evening of Monday the 18th, because that's when Ryan will be home. My blog is a little too public to announce to the world that I'm home alone with the kids for an entire week without the the protection of my big, former football player husband. I will say, however, that I'm an armed citizen and we have an alarm system, so breaking in while the man's away is still is a very bad idea for you, if you were thinking about it. To quote the country song, "Our homes are protected by the good Lord and a gun. You might meet 'em both if you show up here unwelcome, son." Heh. 

Ryan is in South Dakota. (Or he was, when I wrote this.) He's been there since Monday, and he's gone a full week. Up until today, it's been okay. We've had visitors or play dates or something to help the days go by. I even had this amazing "my kids are incredible" moment a couple days ago that took my breath away. But today, Saturday, I'm kind of on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The real problem is that Neva was up 3 time last night, so I'm exhausted. I have not had a single moment where the toddler, the baby and the dog have been w/out need at the same time. So I haven't gotten a nap to make up for the complete lack of sleep last night. I have had more than one moment today where I've considered locking myself in my room and letting the kids and the dog run the house, Lord of the Flies style. It's been a rough day.

Tomorrow, one of my favorite people on the planet is coming to visit us. Tomorrow will be great. Today, however, is slightly less than fantastic.

Twins

I'm a twin. My friends and family know that, of course, but you may not. I've lived a large amount of my life being called by a different name, writing fiction about characters in an identity crisis, and running away from just about anything that associates me with a group instead of as an individual. So you can imagine my shock when I gave birth to seemingly the same child twice, once as a boy and 2 1/2 years later as a girl. I'm not crazy! Look:



This is Wyatt when he was Neva's age.




Neva, today.

 
Do you see what I mean? They're  like little clones of each other, only one is male and the other is female. I'm very curious to see how it all pans out when they're older. Will Neva have to keep her hair long and wear skirts in order not to be confused with her older brother? I hope not. I foresee broad shoulders and an overall NFL-style physique for my man child. If my daughter is even remotely as large, I'm sure she'll never forgive us for passing on those genes. :)

Twins. Poor kids. Blimey.

Oh, I Get It; I Don't Get It

It's amazing how many things in life we think we understand. I took a class in college about office politics. It had a different, more academic name with numbers behind it, but you get the idea. I got an A in that class, so naturally, I assumed that meant I understood the workings of people in corporate America. Then, I got my first corporate job and realized how different theoretical knowledge is to practical knowledge. People have these crazy things called differences and personalities. Yes, even in corporate America. People are rarely textbook anything.

The same can be said for all aspects of parenthood. Again, obvious perhaps in theory, but I didn't really get it until these little munchkins entered my world. I had baby and kid knowledge, theoretically, from having nieces and nephews, from rooming with a post-partum doula, and from working nanny jobs while I was in grad school. I think I even referred to myself as somewhat of a "baby expert" to a new mom once. Cringe. What was I thinking? I guess it's true what they say: "You never know what you don't know." Here's the thing: caring for children is not the same thing as raising them. At all. I wish I'd known before I had kids, to just bow out gracefully instead of thinking I had expertise because of a class or a job or extended family.

I also didn't fully understand how different each and every child is until I had more than one. Yes, I'd heard that. I "knew" that. But I didn't really know it. I still half expected baby number two to respond in a similar way to things as baby number one. I mean, once you get a baby figured out, you just apply the same expert principles, right? Ha. Well, not exactly. Big picture principles, maybe. But small things can make a huge difference. Wyatt loved his pacifier. By about 3 months old, it was an easy sleep cue. Neva doesn't really take one at all. Wyatt had reflux. He drenched burp cloths hourly. Neva has pretty dainty spit-ups. Wyatt took to supplemental bottles with ease. Neva also takes a bottle when needed, but it can take her up to five minutes to reacquaint herself with the bottle's nipple before she really starts drinking. Before I was a mom, I wouldn't have understood how these little differences can affect so much about the way a day can go!

Here are my promises to you. I really hope I can keep them. I promise never to claim expertise on anything until I have practical, not just theoretical, knowledge. This includes any opinions I may have formed about parenting three or more kids. I now understand that I don't have a clue what that's like. I also promise not to assume that if something that worked for my kid doesn't work for yours, that it's not because you're doing it wrong. I now understand that it's because it's a different child. I promise not to assume that my advice is the best advice for everyone, and I will never ever ever assume that reading something in a textbook or forum or even a medical journal makes it absolute truth.

So I finally get it; I don't get it. And that's totally okay. Got it?

Get That Kid Some Schoolin'!

What kind of mother forgets to bring a camera (or even her phone) with her when taking her baby boy to his first day of preschool? This kind, apparently. To be fair, it was my first time, too. I was frazzled, because I didn't want him to be late. He ate his breakfast in slow motion. So did his baby sister, who I actually had to wake up to feed. We pretty much ran out the door. Now, Ryan would call these excuses, but I simply call them facts. That's just how the morning went down. We'll get practice every Tuesday and Thursday. We'll get there. :)

I didn't really know what to expect when I went to drop him off. Would he cry? Would I? The answer to both questions is no. He reluctantly kissed me goodbye, met a little boy who said "hi" to him, smiled and took off to play. I was a little sad, I guess, but it didn't kill me. More than anything, I was just curious about what he'd be up to for 4-4 1/2 hours without me. I kind of wanted to spy on him. See if he's a sweetheart or a bully. A genius or the class clown. But instead, I went to Starbucks for a Pumpkin Spice Latte and then to Target for some essentials. It was amazingly easy to run minor errands with just Neva. Then we went home and I did housework. I pretty much blinked and it was time to pick him up.

Wyatt is one of the only Tuesday/Thursday kids who only does half days. So, when I went to pick him up, pretty much his entire class was down for nap time. He was sitting nicely inside the door, waiting for me with his teacher. (I wonder what he thought when all the other kids had to take a nap and he didn't. Probably just that the world revolves around him, so why would he have to nap, anyway, haha.) The teacher said he did really well. He got along with the other kids. Was pretty interactive with the teacher, and only cried once for his mommy. It was right before lunch, and the arrival of food made it all better. (He's already drowning his sorrows in food! Time to get him a therapist, heh.) We drove home, where Wyatt did, in fact, have to take a nap. Because that's how we roll.

I feel good. I think we're all going to benefit from Wyatt's new occupation as a student. I hope he likes learning for a living. He's going to be doing it for at least the next 16 years.

Morning Person 101

I am not, by all natural standards, a morning person. If there were no other forces pulling me toward sunrise, I would stay up late every night and sleep until well into the day. But a funny thing happened sometime between scheduling my college classes after 10am and now. First, a job where I actually got to write for a living had me on the freeway by 6:30am to beat downtown LA traffic. Then, I married an amazing, hard-working man who gets up at 5:45. Now, my house is full of little munchkins who're morning people just like their daddy. And so, by circumstances and plain old true love, I have been forced into the role of a morning person.



Speaking of smiling kids...

 Here's the thing, though: I actually like it. Not to mess up my raging night owl rep or anything, but it's starting to grow on me. Did you know that kids smile more in the morning? That coffee tastes its absolute best before 7am? That even on a triple digit furnace of a day, you can open your windows in the morning and feel a cool breeze? Yeah, I didn't know that either until the crazy morning people in my life took over. It's not so bad, really. In fact, it's quickly becoming my favorite part of the day.

Well, except for when the stars align and I actually get to sleep in. On those wonderous days, you can forget everything I just said.

Little Man

I'm in a very good mood, and it has almost everything to do with sleep. No shocker there. I know I'm not the only one whose mood can be easily dictated by sleep. First and foremost, Neva slept 8 full hours last night. And Wyatt, who usually graces us with his presence during the 6 o'clock hour, slept in until 7am. It's just so normal. I slept as if, gosh, I didn't have a new baby and a toddler in my house.

When he wakes up, Wyatt calls to us from his room. This morning, I went in to give him permission to get up as usual. He said, "Ma, can you turn on the light? You turn off my radar detector, Ma?" His radar detector is actually his sound machine. Ocean waves. But it has a similar shape to the radar detector in Ryan's truck. It got me thinking about how much Wyatt idolizes his daddy. He refers to the backyard as his office. "Can I go to my office, Ma? Drive my truck?" When he wants a granola bar, it's "I want a cigar, Ma." (And yes, he calls me Ma. Because we obviously live on Walton's mountain.) Looking just like Ryan was clearly only the beginning, and that's a good thing. I tend to think Ryan is a pretty great role model (well, minus the cigars, heh). I'm lucky he's the one Wyatt wants to emulate. As he grows up, he'll learn that rewards come from hard work, that happiness comes from a well-balanced life with family at the forefront, and that no matter how big and tough a man may be, his only true strength comes from God. I'd say my little man is definitely on the right track.

Confessions of a Non-Writing Writer

Hmmmm. So it seems my blog has been sitting dormant for more than four months. A few things have happened since my last post, and I'm almost embarrassed to have to catch up on so much. But here I am with my tail between my legs.

If you do the math, you'll notice that our new daughter must have entered the world by now! Yep, Neva Katherine was born on August 7, 2010. She shares her name with my Grandmama and her birthday with my mom. I guess we take that maternal line pretty seriously around here, heh. She also came a week before her due date, which surprised us all! More on that in a moment...

Neva (pronounced with a long E) is almost 7 weeks old. She is lovely. An easier newborn by far than her big brother was, and already sleeping pretty well at night. And the older she gets, the more she looks like Wyatt. In the looks department, I may have given birth to the same baby twice. And speaking of giving birth, I will now share my birth story. (Edited for public consumption...) If you're not a fan of birth stories, feel free to skip past the prolific italicized section below.

Our kids don't like to be told when to do what. When my son was born 2 1/2 years ago, we instructed him not to come on April Fool's Day. So, of course, he chose that day to enter the world. This time, we told our daughter not to come the weekend of August 6-8. My doula (also one of my best friends) and my secondary support person (my sister-in-law) would both be out of state. Tons of family would be out of town. Very inconvenient all around. And so, naturally, she arrived that weekend.

I felt the first "real" contraction while making dinner on Friday night. I told Ryan, "Hey, this is a real contraction. I remember these from last time! Wow, not a Braxton-Hicks!" And then we went about our evening. They started coming, not too painful, every 10-15 minutes or so, and kept that very slow pattern for several hours. I honestly thought it was false labor, because I was just coming up on 39 weeks, and I figured since Wyatt came 3 days past his due date, Neva would probably be similar. I went to bed around 9:30, I think.


I slept maybe an hour. Woke up to a stronger contraction, and then a pattern of those. Every 8-10 minutes. Stayed in bed for a couple more hours, but couldn't sleep through the contractions anymore. Woke up Ryan around 12:30am. Consistently 7 min apart. They hurt enough that I couldn't talk through them anymore. Rested and waited things out at home for 4 more hours until they were averaging about 4 minutes apart. Off to the hospital! We met my brother-in-law in the parking lot. He took Wyatt, and we were admitted just before 5am.


The BAD news: The doctor on call was the same doctor who delivered Wyatt. The doctor we'd filed a complaint against 2 1/2 years ago. The only doctor in the practice I PRAYED would not be on-call. The GOOD news: I was already dilated to 5cm and 80% effaced. And evil doc only had 4 more hours on his shift.

I didn't just go with the flow this time. I took my birth experience into my own hands, but I did try to be diplomatic about it! Those of you who know me well know I'm not much for confrontation. Evil doc checked me 2 hours after I arrived. 6.5cm & 90%. He said he was going to break my water. I told him not to do it until after I had my epidural. He frowned but said okay. Got my epidural when I was at 7cm, 100% effaced. Then the nurse came in and said the doc wanted her to give me pitocin. I told her no thank you. The doc came in and tried to talk me into it. I asked him if I was contracting regularly on my own. He said yes. (I already knew, b/c my epidural was pretty light and the contractions still hurt.) I told him, "Well then, I don't think I need any pitocin. I'm not in a hurry." I also knew his shift was almost over! So yeah, even less in a hurry.

The new doc came in at 9am. He was AWESOME. Very personable. Asked me my opinion before doing anything. Rad. They broke my water when I was at 8cm, 100% effaced. The contractions got very intense right away, and I was at 10cm w/in 20 minutes! I pushed for another 20 minutes. The doc was there the whole time, and was very thorough in doing everything in his power to prevent any unnecessary damage. Neva was born at 10:43 am. Just over 5 1/2 hours after our arrival at the hospital. I came out of the experience basically unscathed, which was a miracle compared to my delivery with Wyatt. Neva weighed in at 6lbs 15 oz. She was 19 3/4" long.

And that brings us back to present day. Wyatt loves his baby sister. He has certainly tested us, but he seems to take out his frustration on us and not his baby sister. A very good thing. We're enjoying our newly expanded little family. I have my complaints, (I'm sure you'll be hearing about them along the way), but overall, I feel amazingly blessed and complete.