The End

Well, today is the last day. The last day of writing every day this month. And the last day before I officially start work. Starting tomorrow I will no longer be scrambling to find something to write about every day. And I will no longer be a one hundred percent stay-at-home mom.

I'm not too worried about starting work. I don't feel nervous, in fact I think it will go well. But, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed and a bit...well, nervous. Not nervous for the job, but nervous to not be a stay-at-home mom anymore. I know, it's an extremely part-time position, only three mornings a week. I can hardly call myself a "working mother" now. But for me, who has been full time at home with my kids since 2008, this is a huge change.

I am nervous about the change.

I know that everything will be fine. The job will be fine. I will be fine. Nora will be fine. My mom will be fine. But I am still worried about how my mamaheart is going to feel tomorrow when it's time to say goodbye to Nora. Logically, I know that it is no different tomorrow than it is any other time my mom has watched Nora for me, but my heart knows that it's different because it's not just one appointment. It's not just here and there. It's not just once in awhile.

That is why, as I get ready for bed tonight, as I lay out clothes for tomorrow, as I start packing the girls' lunches, my hands feel shaky, my heart feels flip-floppy, and my eyes feel teary.

Everything will be okay. I'm not too worried about Nora. Although she may have a bit of an adjustment ahead of her, she also might not even notice the difference. And this job? It's a good opportunity for me, and a really good fit, for our family right now.

Maybe I just need to pretend that I'm going off to an appointment tomorrow. Maybe that will make me feel less sad, less guilty, less heartbroken about leaving Nora. Maybe I'll just pretend I'm going to an appointment every morning. Until the day that I don't. Because I know that someday (probably sooner than I realize) this will be the Normal, the Regular, the Routine. And everyone will be just fine. Even me.

*****

Thanks for reading my ramblings this past month. I'm really hoping to continue writing more regularly, although not every day.

Happy December!

xoxo, christine

One Day Away

Yesterday I had a day away from my family. A whole twenty-four hours away from being wife and mom. It was my first time being away from Nora for so long. It was her first time overnight without me. And me without her.

It was a quiet and relaxing day, enjoying the company of a couple of good friends. But my body is clearly in a routine because I woke up around 4:30 in the morning convinced that a crying baby startled me from my sleep.

It is amazing, sometimes, to think about how little of myself my life revolves around. The thing is, I want my life to revolve around my kids. I want to pour my energy and love into them with all of my being.

But.

But, I don't want to completely lose myself. I don't want to forget that I am worth making time for. That my interests and desires are just as important as my kids' and my husband's. Giving myself time away from the demands of motherhood and giving into my own needs is so necessary and needed.

It's hard sometimes, to remember that. As much as I want and need breaks away from my family, I don't want to miss out on anything. I wanted to know what they were doing and for my husband to send me photos of them throughout the day. I thoroughly enjoyed the time with my friends, but I missed my family.

I need to make time for myself. I need to make me time a priority, just like I do family time.

It's good for me. And it's good for my family. I am a better wife and mother and person when I am able to take a little time just for me. It can't always be for twenty-four hours, but even a few hours here and there can help reenergize and refill my tank.

But I'll take twenty-four hours too. In fact, I'm thinking this should become more of quarterly thing.

xoxo, christine

Bunk Bed High Jinks

We are all perched in the bedroom. One on the top bunk doodling in a notebook, another throwing her hands up while jumping up and down for her victory dance, a third one peeking over the dresser trying to find things she normally isn't allowed to touch, and me sitting against the wall with my legs stretching all the way to the bed, an unintentional divider splitting the space.

When the little one pulls at the bed, jutting out her chin and grunting her request, it becomes an invitation for the rest of us. As she flops her body back and forth on the mattress, snuggling under the covers and then bouncing up and down, we become like a moth to the flame, we must join the fun. The bed is beckoning us to climb aboard, and we do.

The four of us are squeezed onto the bed. The little one squeals and laughs, delighting in our participation. We wrestle each other into the pillows, giggling as we try to avoid knocking heads. The older two take turns driving what has now become the boat, and at some point we all start singing about the foot bone connecting to the ankle bone and all dem bones.

Eventually it is time to wind down, the little one has to go to bed soon and I realize that a quieter activity makes adjusting for bedtime a little easier. Our adventures on the bed are over, for tonight.

I am left with the sunny feeling of having this time with them. It was perhaps a small sliver of a moment, but I will hold it in my heart. Not all moments are so joyful and filled with ease when three children try to play together. But tonight, for that small moment, there was no arguing, no pouting, no tears. No yelling, or frustration, or anger. Just smiles and snuggles and being together.

And I hope that they remember it with warm hearts. I hope that they think back on times like this and remember how we all played together and laughed and lived so deeply in our connection to each other. I hope I remember it too. One of the memories I can pull out after a particularly frustrating day, and remember that the days aren't all bad. We have a lot of these good moments too. They are here, waiting to be remember, to be acknowledged, to be called upon at anytime.

This night time bed party just filled my tank to the brim. And I am so grateful to embracing the moment and climbing onto the bed with them. That the four of us crowded together with our feet in each other's faces and our arms wrapped around each other and our laughter echoing our hearts' content.

My heart is content.

xoxo, christine

Mr. Sandman, Bring Her a Dream

Nora is now ten months old. She still sleeps in a pack-n-play in our bedroom, that is, if she sleeps. Because, you see, she still does not sleep through the night. She is ten months old. She is waking up multiple times at night. I am feeding her multiple times at night. Yes, it's pretty bad. I am so exhausted and so done, even though I know it's of my own doing. When there's a fussing baby twelve feet from my ear, it's really hard not to get up and go to her, and go to her right away.

Yet, even in my "doneness" I am so not done.

I still don't feel ready to put her in her own room. I desperately want to keep her with us, a symbol of her babyness I'm not ready to give up. But I want it to look like a bedtime snuggle, laying her down, all of us sleeping soundly, and then waking in the morning to a cooing and happy baby. And that is so far from what our nights look like right now.

I want to keep her in our room, but I'm so tired and at my wits end with the nighttime crying, I want to put her in her own room. And I want to help soothe her when she's have a particularly rough patch, yet it's getting so long and difficult that I just want to let her cry until she ends in exhaustion.

My heart is so wrapped up in her little twenty-one pound body, I am "that" mom, the one who doesn't want her to be too far away from me. She is my baby. I don't want to transition her away from us, even if I'm planning on sleeping on the air mattress on her floor for a few nights for comfort. My own comfort, of course. But she is two months from being a year old (What!?) and she really needs to learn how to soothe herself back to sleep, to be able to sleep through an entire night. And I need her to be able to soothe herself, and let me get an entire night's sleep.

Oh how difficult parenting can be, even the third child around. I've been through night time stressors twice before, yet it all feels as heartbreakingly difficult as if she were my first. In fact, it almost feels more difficult... perhaps because she is my youngest, my baby, my living child after a loss.

A morning snooze. Perhaps because she didn't sleep enough during the night?

I don't feel quite as worried that I'm traumatizing her like I did several months ago (although there's still some questions and guilt), but I just don't feel emotionally ready to be physically farther away from her. Yet I also don't feel emotionally functional to be physically getting so little sleep.

I feel like her being in our room is coming to an end, faster than I am ready for. I want to keep her in our room, but I really really need to be getting more sleep. Really.

It might be time to pull out the air mattress. Or maybe I'll give it one more night.

xoxo, christine

We're Still Adjusting Too: Truth Telling Tuesday

Even though Nora fits into our family perfectly, it's not all easy peasy lemon squeezy adjusting to life with three kids.

Like when I'm trying to put Nora down to sleep and a little blond head pops in whispering, Mom, can I have a snack? or Mom, can I watch tv? or Mom, can I play outside? I furrow my brow and wave vigerously as I want to scream, No. Nonono. No! Go away. Because if Nora sees a sister or hears a sister or even senses a sister is near by she is going to be ready to find out what kind of fun her sister is doing and how she can be a part of it too.

No matter how many times I remind the older girls that unless it is an emergency -- Is someone in trouble? Is someone hurt? -- then whatever it is they want to ask can wait. This is not a free-for-all "yes" to any question, it is a you-can-wait-the-few-minutes-it-takes-to-get-your-baby-sister-down-to-bed-to-ask thing. I try to emphasize that it takes at least twice as long to get Nora settled in if our routine gets interrupted, which means twice as long until I will answer their question, but it's a hard lesson to grasp.

We've also had a little realization that babies require a lot of attention, which means that if you're an older sister you get less attention, and if you're the oldest you seem to get the least amount of attention. This was part of a conversation I overheard the girls share in bed awhile ago. It's hard for their minds to understand the needs that babies have. We aren't giving them less attention, but I'm sure it feels like it because we have to provide all of Nora's needs. Plus, it's difficult when you're a seven-year-old and your two younger sisters are home with mommy getting more one-on-one time while you're at school all day.

Also, now that Nora is completely mobile they are starting to grasp that she can get into their toys. Mom? Can you grab Nora? We're trying to play here. I understand how frustrating it can be, to have a baby demolishing the elaborate set-up they made to play, and sometimes I will keep Nora away. But there are other times that if they want Nora kept out of their toys, then they are required to move their play into their bedroom. Sometimes they like to play with their baby sister, but lately there have been quite a few, Nora! Stop it!s drifting in from wherever they're playing.

Still, it is worth it all.

The way they rush to Nora's side when they hear her wake from a nap. The way Nora smiles when she sees one of her sisters walk into the room. The way Hope wants to feed Nora at dinner time. The way the older sisters giggle and copy the silly faces Nora makes. The way they fight over who gets to sit next to her, push her in the swing, give her more hugs, try to make her laugh. The way she looks at them, like they hang the moon, which as her big sisters, they do. They are her world. And she is theirs.

And the three of them, they are mine. I will take it all. The easy, the hard, the good, the bad. I will take it all because it is all where I am. It is all where I want to be.

xoxo, christine

Life is Good and That's the Way it Should Be

The good days, they make the hard days more bearable. Every door-slamming fit, every voice crying out about the unfairness of life, every reminder that dirty clothes belong in the hamper not the floor, every eye roll over homework, every tear shed over bedtime, every frustrated scream I hold in (and some I don't), they're all canceled out by the good: the snuggling up to read Laura Ingalls Wilder in the evening, the climbing and exploring in the backyard, the chalk drawings in the driveway, the giggles of the littlest one playing with her sisters, the hugs and the kisses and the "I love you"s.

When there's a particularly long stretch of good though, the hard takes me by surprise. I feel happy and free, like a child on a swing. Then, all-of-a-sudden the hard creeps up behind me and, like a bully, pushes me off mid-swoop, knocking the wind out of me. It takes me awhile to shake it off and catch my breath, to regain my equilibrium and get back up on the swing and start pumping again.

I am off balance right now, recovering from landing flat on my back. My breath is shaky and I'm trying to figure out where this slip off the swing came from. I was feeling pretty confident up so high, my tippytoes inches away from the trees, my head tilted back to the sky.

Yesterday I spent an extra several minutes in the bathroom, just for a breather. My middle one found me out pretty quickly, but answered her own question when she asked what I was doing, "You just need some time alone, Mommy?" (So, clearly not the first time I've used this hiding place.) Then bedtime, too, was a struggle, for me and everyone involved. A time that can be full of snuggles and whispered stories and last of the day memories made, instead was curt goodnights, frustrated sighs, and a quick and desperate trip out for cheesecake to console myself for the evening.

I was hopeful that chocolate and my cozy bed would give me renewed energy for the morning, the hand up I might need to plop back on the swing and fly through the sky again. But the morning was more of the same. Actually worse. Temper tantrums and tears and sighing and trying to breath through it all. When my husband returned from his run I warned him, "I would recommend not speaking to me right now." I was not angry or frustrated with him, but I knew that any wrong (in my mind) comment would cause an eruption equal to Vesuvius.

I guess I'm still reeling from the fall, perhaps no longer flat on my back, but definitely still butt to the ground, brushing off the grass and dirt. Not quite feeling well enough to pull myself up and enthusiastically pump my swing up to rainbows and clouds and happy fairies.

I know I'll get there. I always do. Every time I fall off the swing, or get pushed, somehow I make my way back. Even though there are plenty of bad days, there are also plenty of good. And if I pay attention, the good do outnumber the bad. So I know I'll find my rhythm again. I know that the frustration and short patience right now will soon turn around. It's just the in-between is annoying, crushing, and discouraging. I just want to snap my fingers and jump back on the swing instead of having to take the time to dig deep to figure out what's caused my fall. I don't want to feel all messy and dirty and work hard and listen to whatever discovery my life is asking of me.

But I will get there. And if I take this time in my current discomfort, the good and happy will last longer next time. This is what I'm slowly learning. If I allow myself to explore and try to understand the bad, the good comes on stronger and last longer. So I'm going to take a couple breathers (or as many as I might need), do some writing and reading and listening, and tentatively sit back on my swing, perhaps with a little help from my village, and start working my way back up to the clouds.

xoxo, christine

Eight Months and a Day

Today.

Today my baby is eight months and one day old. In some ways it feels like it was just a blink or two ago when we were welcoming her into the world, and yet at the same time I can hardly remember what our life looked like before her. It feels like she has always been here, been a part of our family.

I suppose, in a way, she has always been here, just waiting until it was her time. Waiting and waiting until her presence could be recognized, a physical part of our family. It is as if everything before has been leading up to this exact moment. Which it has. Which it always does.

Everything before Hope led up to Hope. Everything before Paige led up to Paige. Everything before Nora led up to Nora. Everything before this moment, led up to right now, these eight months and one day.

It all led up to now. To two proud big sisters who can capture her attention like no one else. To the way she giggles when I nuzzle my nose in her neck. To the way she smiles when her daddy comes home, kicking her legs and squinting her eyes right at him. To her fuzzy brown hair, her rolly thighs, her big blue eyes that don't want to miss a thing.

She has been with our family before we even knew we were a family. When Adam and I were sitting at a restaurant in Ireland, nervously picking at our dinner, giddy with the anticipation of a date and another date and then another. When we had a brisk pre-birthday dinner walk on the Stone Arch Bridge and Adam got down on his knee to propose. She has been with our family when the two of us said our vows in the church I was confirmed in. When we moved into our first house. She has been with us since we welcomed Hope into the world, and two years later when we welcomed Paige. When we found out we were pregnant with Calvin, and then when we found out we would lose him.

She has been with us the whole time, patiently waiting. A glimmer in my heart. A spark. A butterfly. A secret that only my heart could feel. Only my heart knew.

We are an odd number in our house now, the five of us. And I worry sometimes about the three girls growing up and someone always feeling left out, of it always being two against one. Yes, I worry and we are an odd number, yet there is nothing odd about it.

She is the magical golden thread weaving into our family's pattern. Her thread was always there, intricately tied into all of our designs, waiting for its time to be noticed, to be seen, and now we do. Now we can see what a beautiful part her piece is adding to the whole. How is it possible that we ever existed without her?

Eight months and a day. Nine months before that. Years before that. A lifetime.

It all leads up to today.

xoxo, christine

Today's Jackpot

I know that it's not always this way. There is frustration and annoyance and overwhelming feelings of hair-pulling-out -- especially if you've had 192838 snow days like those in the middle of Snowpalooza 2015 east of here. But today was the first day off of a long weekend for my kids, which means all three girls were home today, and for me, who had plenty of time to mentally prepare and lineup moral support and not be stuck in our house because of more snow, well, it felt really good.

I was hoping to spend a little extra time sleeping this morning since there was no need to get my first-grader out and on the bus, but my almost-eight-month-old had other plans. Instead of falling back to sleep after nursing this morning she spent an hour babbling and poking my face and giggling and pulling my hair. There was a moment or two, as my body protested with waking, that I felt a little put off, but as I slowly adjusted to the idea of consciousness, I realized our "early" morning could be put to good use. A trip to the donut shop for breakfast.

On our way to meet friends (that prescheduled play date I mentioned), we stopped at a new-to-us bakery where Hope devoured nine donut holes, Paige nibbled at the frosting on her cake donut, and both girls drank a juice that had zero percent fruit juice, one hundred percent artificial dye, and one thousand percent of the daily serving recommendation for sugar.

Then they ran it all out of their systems at the indoor park where we met our friends. I was pleasantly surprised at how well they did -- Hope running off to climb and explore but keeping me (mostly) in sight, Paige bopping back and forth between the closest play structure and the seat next to me, and Nora who was happy to rotate between my lap, the ground, and the arms of my friend.

Our play date was extended to a late lunch, and then (apparently I'm a high rolling gambler) I decided that after a full day out I might as well roll the dice one more time and run a quick errand before going home. While I didn't quite hit the jackpot, I also didn't have to fold either. We squeaked out of the store just in time to avoid a meltdown by two of the three. (The oldest and the youngest, in fact.)

By the time we got home I decided that I wanted to simultaneously crawl into bed at six o'clock for the night and get out of the house by myself and do something. Oddly enough (but not really) I did neither, which worked out okay too because I got to tuck all three of my girls in for bed.

Sometimes these days fall together just so, not because of anything I'm doing or not doing, but because they just do. I am fully aware that this day could've gone a completely different way. But I'm going to be thankful for the fun we had, the memories we made, and hope with all my might that my kids don't expect something equally ambitious on Monday, when they don't have school, again. I'll also send up a little prayer that I still have energy (and patience) left in my tank by then.

I joke about it, but really I know, today was a good day. We hit the jackpot with everyone cooperating and getting along and no major meltdowns or diaper explosions. It was as close to the perfect start to the weekend as it can get.

Now all I need to round out the perfection is to sleep in tomorrow.... (Nora, I'm looking at you.)

xoxo, christine

How to Sleep Train Your Baby

I feel like, the third baby around, I should be a complete baby-sleeping expert, with not an ounce of doubt or anxiety within. Of course, there is nothing further from the truth. I am a mess. When the question: How to Sleep Train Your Baby? comes to mind, my answer is: Don't.

It is so difficult at night when she is half awake and fussing. I know that the fastest and easiest way to get her back to sleep is to nurse her, so I do, because it's the fastest way for me to get back to sleep. And then of course, the bad habit is reinforced. So I know that it's my own fault we have a terrible middle-of-the-night routine. And now that she's waking pretty much every two hours and my uninterrupted sleep is becoming a distant memory and my fatigue is affecting my quality of parenting, I know that something needs to change. Unfortunately, it's not going to change on it's own, which means that I have to do something. I have to figure out a way to help Nora sleep without needing to wake up and nurse all night long.

But, oh the emotions! During the day I am full of resolve, confident in the necessity of putting her to bed, letting her scream (because she will) for a few minutes, going in to reassure her that we're still there, and then repeating over and over until she falls asleep. Then doing the same in the middle of the night when she wakes up. But when bedtime rolls around my resolve melts like snow on an unusually warm January day. I am a puddle of despair and uncertainty, convinced that she's still much too little and my heart is much too fragile.

I'm not ready for her to be in her own room in the crib. Having her in our room all night gives me peace and comfort. It feels so far away to have her in her own room. And, even though it makes little sense, I feel like if she's physically in our room I can better protect her. (From what I'm not entirely sure.) Which I realize is pretty irrational, but as my husband pointed out makes a lot of sense considering we lost our last baby.

Having her sleep in her own room would be a logical first step if we're going to be letting her cry (within minor back rubs for reassurance) at night. It's much easier to block out noise when there's a door and a hallway separating us. Plus it makes it easier for only the one "night-time-duty" parent to be disturbed by the commotion and racket. But last night, when it came time to put her down I couldn't. I just could not put her down so far away from me.

My husband lovingly suggested that if I wasn't ready, we could keep her in our room, which is what we ended up doing. Although we still did try to enforce a different sleep habit.

It was terrible, with a lot of crying, and hand wringing and heart breaking. We each took turns trying to soothe her and after two hours I couldn't stand it anymore. I broke down and nursed her (I know. I know!) and once she finally fell asleep she didn't wake again for another six hours.

I am completely surprised by how difficult this whole idea has felt (not to mention now that we're getting down and dirty in the actual process). In so many ways I am a more laid back parent than I ever was, but then something like "sleep training" comes along and knocks the wind right out of me.

My answer of how to sleep train being "don't"? It isn't because I can't. I know that physically I am capable. And she is capable. And we will all survive and sleep better for it. It's just that I don't want to. It's heartbreaking and much too hard. I feel like when she cries she is wondering why I'm neglecting her when all she wants is for me to pick her up, and maybe even a little milk. Why is that too much to ask?

No baby! No! It's not too much to ask. Here I am! I won't leave you! You can have my snuggles and even milk!

And here we are again. Where six hours ago I was ready to take on night-time with determination and confidence (because we all need sleep), now that it is here I am so upset and torn and wishing my baby somehow figured out how to sleep through the night all on her own because I don't have the stomach for all the tears.

(And speaking of stomach, it's possible I'm giving myself an ulcer over all of this. At least, if it's possible to get an ulcer from stress. I mean, c'mon, Christine. It will be okay. Let's get back to this third-time-around-is-a-breeze-laid-back-to-the-nth-degree mama you felt like not too long ago.)

With wishes of tearless nights and sweet non-traumatized dreams,

xoxo, christine

Goodnight Mama Whispering 'Hush'

Is there any method of getting my baby to sleep at night without letting her cry? And that results in both of us sleeping through the night?

We are going through something. I think it's to do with my baby waking at night and instead of being able soothe herself, I nurse her. It's the fastest way I know she'll go back to sleep and then I can go back to sleep. The problem is, I'm up at least twice at night, it's starting to catch up with me, and I know I'm just making the habit that much harder to break later.

I'm not complaining. Not really. I know everything is just a moment. Every moment passes. Sometime soon she'll be sleeping through the night by herself, and I'll miss our nighttime nursing. Which is also why I'm not willing to let her cry it out. Not right now. Even as tired as I am, I just don't have the willpower to listen to her cry.

I keep hoping that something will miraculously cause her to sleep through without me having to do any "training," but so far that hasn't really worked out. Which I guess just means I need to prepare myself for more sleepless nights. At least for now.

Good night. I'll be up again in a few hours.

xoxo, christine

Rockabye Baby

It is three in the morning. We rock back and forth in the glider. I am getting her back to sleep. Just like I did an hour ago. Just like I did three hours before that when she (finally) went to bed.

Our eyelids start drooping, both hers and mine, with every swish of the chair. The pacifier in her mouth wiggles as she periodically sucks at it. It is our rhythm tonight. Swish. Swish. Swish. Suck. Suck. Suck. Swish. Swish. Swish. Suck. Suck. Suck.

I wish she was sleeping better, I think. But then I stop myself, because I do not want to wish away time and while, yes, I'd love for her to be sleeping better right now, she's not. But some day in the future she will, and I don't want to look back from that time and think, I should've appreciated those middle-of-the-night moments more.

So instead, I think, I am grateful for this moment. I am happy to have this quiet snuggle time, even if it means that right now, during this period in our lives, I am not getting as much sleep. I will never gets these nighttime moments with her back.

Thank you for this exact moment. Even if it is the third one I've had with her tonight.

It is difficult to do this though, because about a week ago she was sleeping great. Going to bed shortly after the girls, waking once for a feeding, falling right back asleep, and the not waking again until it was time to get up in the morning. It is hard to feel like we're going back in time, regressing back to those sleepless nights. But, I realize this is how infanthood/parenthood/adulthood/LIFE is. One day everything feels like it's progressing in the right direction, and then suddenly it isn't.

So, maybe for a month Nora seemed like she totally mastered the whole "sleep schedule" thing, but now she hasn't. And that's okay. And that's normal. And instead of freaking out about it, I'm going to try to change my perspective. It just gives me a few more peaceful and personal moments with my baby. Ones I'll never get again, especially as she gets older.

xoxo, christine

I Had to Parent Three Kids Alone This Weekend

I was solo parenting Saturday through today while Adam was away hunting. (How a vegetarian married an avid deer hunter is still a bit of a mystery to us all...)

It was not the first time I was parenting without my partner since Nora's birth, but the first time he and my mother were gone at the same time. Have I mentioned recently how much my mom does and helps out? It really is a blessing having her so close and available. But, alas, she and my dad left on Sunday, so I was without my two primary supporters for two whole days. Gulp.

I realize that there are many people who do this by themselves all the time, and I have to say, WOW. You are amazing. Parenting alone is hard. It is HARD. There is no "can you handle this", no "I'm just running out to the store quick", no "I just need to take a breather, can you take over for a minute". The only alone time I had were the precious moments after all three girls were asleep.

Which, by the way, was not at a decent hour because why would it be easy to get the kids to sleep? It's never easy. So of course it's going to be even harder alone. Bedtime was, by far, the most painful part of Adam being gone.

So, even though I was exhausted from the days and the getting three children to go to bed, stay in bed, and fall asleep, and I should have gone straight to bed myself to get the maximum amount of sleep, I'd stay up late because I was desperate for some Me time.

But, we survived. Children got fed and dressed and taken care of. Laundry got washed (just not folded). Dishes got cleaned and put away. Garbage and recycling was taken to the end of the driveway on the appropriate day. I even pulled the vacuum out once.

We got annoyed with each other, and even yelled at each other a bit, but we also laughed, snuggled together, and watched several movies. Overall, I would say it was a success, although I will quickly add I am in no hurry to solo parent again any time soon.

And I'm kinda looking forward to my weekend to hunt. Which is never. Because I don't hunt. But I might be tempted to take it up just so that I can get away for a few days and sit by myself in the quiet...

In any case, it's nice to have my husband home.

xoxo, christine

Sanctuary! Give me Sanctuary!

I am in the bathroom. Hiding from my baby.

Who does that?

With guilt above and beyond, I am sitting on the side of the tub, listening to my six-year-old and four-year-old successfully entertain their baby sister.

There is little time left for this day to redeem itself, and with the toilet as my current view, it's not looking promising.

I'm not sure what happened, but exhaustion hit me hard this afternoon and Nora decided to make this one of her Cat Nap days. Which maybe wouldn't be so horrible except that she cries bloody murder for about twenty minutes straight before she falls asleep. And then she sleeps for about five minutes before waking up and screaming again.

The emotions of this day came out of nowhere, and I'm feeling the shame and guilt like a big weighted winter coat.

But it's okay. (Right?) I am getting a few moments to myself. And my children are playing happily on the floor together. Maybe Nora needed a break from me as much as I needed one from her.

Perhaps I'll give myself another minute or two. I'm in the bathroom, I might as well pluck my eyebrows or something.

::deep breaths:: xoxo, christine

A Few of My Favorite Things

After recently writing about my difficulties with parenthood and grownuphood I feel compelled to document some of the things I love about being home with my family. Partially because I'm feeling guilty about my struggles, partially because I'm feeling kinda "meh" and I wonder if pointing out some happier things will get me out of my funk, and partially because I really do love being home with my kids and it's good to remind myself of that every now and then.

I love that I can spend part of the day snuggling a napping baby, her warm body tucked against my chest.

I love that I am (most likely) here to witness that wobbly first step, complete with wonder and bewilderment on the baby's face as she falls back to the ground.

I love that I am the one who gets Hope onto the bus in the morning, and am here to greet her when she comes home in the afternoon.

I love that I get to take them on adventures to the park, the zoo, the mall, or just a walk around the block.

I love that if I've had a particularly rough night, I can find a moment (or two) to nap the next day.

I love that if one of the girls is sick we don't have to worry about who will stay home and miss a day of work. I am the one who can provide cuddles and movies and sips of juice for an aching tummy.

I love that if an urge to bake arises, I can invite them into the kitchen with an afternoon of making a mess for the sake of goodies.

I love that if an appointment needs to be scheduled and attended, I am here and home and able to be a part of it.

I love that I get to hear the older girls when they're playing nicely together. That I get to witness some of the best of their imaginative games and make-believe.

I love that I get to listen to long-winded stories and baby coos and breathless accounts of school happenings.

I love that I am here to kiss boo-boos and shush fussiness and apply band-aids to scraped knees.

I love that I get to be home, even on the days that I don't love it.

And I always, always, love to be their Mommy.

xoxo, christine

I'm Not Always Feeling the Rainbows and Unicorns

This has been ruminating on and off for awhile now, but I've been too scared to post it. See, I care a little bit too much about what other people think and I'm afraid people will think I'm a terrible mother and horrible person. But, on the off chance I'm not alone, I've decided to test the waters. Of course, instead of dipping my toe in, I'm gonna just cannon ball into the deep end.

::Splash::


Can I be totally and completely honest here for a moment? Sometimes I just feel done. Not with life or anything, but yeah, kinda with life.

(I realize that given my history of depression this could come across as a very concerning thing and all, but I assure you I have no desire to ::whispering quietly:: die, and I'm fairly certain this has nothing to do with depression. Just, you know, being a responsible grown up.)

Sometimes I feel so overwhelmed with things that are always needing to be done and are never done, and the constant noise and chaos going on around me that the energy needed to avoid Shut Down Mode is almost too much.

It's like those movie scenes where the character is standing still in the middle of a room and they do some sort of fancy camera or editing work where the room and people in it are just spinning around that one character. I am frozen in one spot and everyone's voices turn into Charlie Brown's teacher. "Waw, waw, waw. Waw, waw."

Can I be real here and admit that I am so incredibly tired of repeating myself 71582398 times that dirty clothes go in the hamper and garbage goes in the garbage can and please clear your dishes and pick up your toys and get in bed and no you can not have a snack right before a meal.

I can not stress enough how much I love my daughters, and how my heart explodes and cries and hurts with love for them. I would run in front of a speeding car for them and wrestle an alligator for them. I love them to the moon and back a million times. But arguing about what I've made for dinner for the three-hundredth night in a row kind of makes me feel all crazy.

I am not Suzy Homemaker. I do not find it rewarding scrubbing soap scum out of the bathtub. I do not find it comforting to spend time cooking a meal from scratch. I do not find satisfaction in getting stains out of the laundry.

But I love to be home full-time with my kids.

I just suck at all things house related. Of course, I don't mean "suck" as in I can't do it. Unfortunately I am very capable of swiffering the floors, not burning down the house while cooking dinner, and keeping clothes in decent shape going through the washer and dryer. I just stink at keeping up with any of it. Because it's never done. NEVER.

And some days, it feels like too much.

Am I alone here? Please reassure I'm not alone here. Because it feels like, in today's world, it's not okay to admit that sometimes parenting is not fun. It feels like if there is even a whisper of frustration or unhappiness or doneness, that this somehow means we don't love our children, or we don't deserve them, or we aren't appreciating them enough.

Trust me. I'm perfectly capable of piling on guilt over how I should have unlimited patience and appreciation for all moments and times with my children (especially after losing Calvin -- oh how the guilt when I'm frustrated can pull me under like the ocean's waves).

But having to be a grown-up? It's hard. And sometimes, it's not fun. And sometimes, as rewarding as parenting can be? Sometimes it's just not rewarding.

I don't want to give off the impression that I don't like motherhood, or that I can't handle it. I just... I'm just not an everything-is-sunshine-and-rainbows-and-happy-happy-all-the-time kind of person. Believe me, I wish I was. I feel like life would be so much easier if I could always see it through some rose-colored glasses. (Someone tell me where I can get a pair of those!)

It's not all hard, no it most definitely is not. But sometimes it is hard. And I guess I wanted to get this out of me, and share it, and hope that maybe I'm not alone? It would be nice to know that when I'm having one of those days, nights, moments where I just want to throw my hands up and shout, "I QUIT!" that I'm not the only one, that instead of feeling like an isolated leper, there is a larger community of moms out there who (at least occasionally) feel the same way.

Perhaps then instead of dying to crawl upstairs into bed, I can imagine the solidarity with other moms. I can pour myself a cup of tea, clink with an imaginary glass or two, and know that no matter how many more hours there are until I really can be done for the day, there's another mom out there who's clinking an imaginary glass with me.

xoxo, christine

I Will Keep My Arms Open

I hate that we live in a time and place where Lockdown Drills are a part of my children's realities. But I understand the need, and am glad that my daughter goes to a school that has policies in place to help keep her safe. But that doesn't mean I'm happy about it. That doesn't mean I'm not left with a sick feeling in my stomach when she comes home with a report of a Lockdown Drill at school that day.

(But I digress...)

Last week my first grader's school had one of these drills. Her class was not in their regular room with their classroom teacher, which is kind of unfortunate in itself, but still good to get practice in any situation. There were a few boys who were not staying quiet (a requirement in Lockdown Drills as much as lining up quickly and quietly is for a Fire Drill) and finally, in what I'm assuming was frustration and exasperation on the part of the teacher, the teacher said, "We would be dead by now."

Of course, when I heard about this, I immediately felt outraged and yet I completely understood what (could have) brought her to say this. Perhaps these boys weren't grasping the importance and seriousness of the situation, so they needed a reality check. Unfortunately, for a sensitive someone like my daughter, it is pretty much the worst possible thing to be told.

When Hope came home and shared with me about this particular part of her day (thank goodness she shared with me about her day!), and how she cried and felt afraid, I just wanted to hold her and tell her nothing bad would ever happen to her. Ever. Ever, ever, ever. She will be safe and protected and the world is a wonderful happy place forever, amen.

But of course I can not lie to my six-year-old, not when she already knows that there are bad people in the world, which is why they practice these drills, in case one of these bad people decides to visit their school. So, we talked about it as much as she could handle, but Hope is a child who gets more anxious the more stressful things are discussed, so after awhile she just wanted to stop. And we did.

But I keep thinking about my baby. I can feel her pain and fear so acutely in my heart, and it hurts. It hurts. I can feel her shock as she heard the words spoken about dying. I can picture her face and her posture as she sat at the table unsuccessfully holding back her tears. And with every beat of my heart, I can sense her discomfort and fear for the rest of the day.

I don't know if this is part of being a mama, or if it's just my own personal sensitive heart, but, damn, it hurts to think about and know that my child was hurting. It is SO HARD to know that she worries and stresses about life things, already, at just six-years-old. I want to be able to protect her from feeling anxiety about the horrible possibilities in life, because I have those anxieties so I know how hard and distracting and unhelpful they are. I don't want my daughter to struggle with that, too.

And, the thing is, I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. I don't know if my words are helping her understand and cope and handle stress, or if they're making her worries worse. I don't know if we should talk and talk and discuss and discuss, or if I should just drop it.

But oh, as I think about my sweet and sensitive little girl, I just want to squeeze her tight and curl up on the sofa under a warm blanket and never let her go. I don't want the world to touch her and hurt her. I just want to homeschool her and keep her home and live in a little bubble.

Except that I don't. Because I know that school is such a wonderful place. She is learning so much and getting so much out of it. And the world is a wonderful place. (Except when it isn't. Ugh.) And she has to experience life and live and feel things and try things and have hard experiences and I have to stick up my shoulders (and overcome my desire to hunker down and stay in bed and cry and cry) and be strong. I have to be the person that she can come to, with arms open and heart open and love overflowing. So that when she does get stressed out or kicked down or terribly worried, she has a safe place to come back to. I want her to know, that she always has us, we are always here. And we will do our hardest to help her and give her the tools she needs to manage whatever feelings she has.

It is okay to be sad. It is okay to be upset. It is okay to feel scared about a Lockdown Drill. We are here for you, Hope. We will talk with you and hug you and wipe away your tears whenever you need us to. And when you need us to not talk about it, and to distract you with happy thoughts, well, we're hear for that too.

xoxo, christine

The Rhythm of the Night

I peek into the room. The glow from the hallway casts a wedge of light on them. He is gently unbuckling her, extracting her arms from the harness. Her loud cries turn to whimpers as he tucks her securely into his arm, learning his face close to her head. I can not hear his words, but I imagine them, warm breath in her ear, "Shhh. It's okay. Daddy's here. I love you."

He begins the evening ritual, the hardwood floors creaking under his feet like the beginnings of a strange percussive song. Down the hall, circle the living room, up the hall, circle the bedroom. Repeat. Repeat. His footsteps thumping and whispered "shhs" accompany the rhythm of the creaking floor. With every loop around I see her body relax until she is limp with comfort, and sleep.

Her relaxation is mirrored in his shoulders, his posture visibly falling as he makes his last loop. When he kisses the top of her head I catch a glimpse of the love in his eyes. His love for her.

All at once the percussive rhythm is replaced by her quiet breaths and squeaks from her sleep. He settles into the chair with her snuggled against his chest and it is the most at ease he has looked in many days. Her rest and comfort radiating to him. His comfort and love radiating to her.

It is his turn to tuck the big girls into bed, but I do not want to move her, so content she is with him. So content he looks with her. I usher the girls into their room, whispering and tiptoeing down the hall to keep from interrupting his moment. Their moment.

Soon she will wake, ready to play, ready to fuss, ready to eat. But for now she is quiet. Peaceful. Sharing her peace with the one person who needs it most right now.

xoxo, christine

There Goes My Baby

I just sent my first-born off on the bus. To first grade. All day.

I wish I was one of those parents who jumps for joy when their kids go back to school. I want to be doing a happy dance. Instead I feel like crying. And little bit like puking too.

There's nothing to worry about. I do know this. She loved Kindergarten and has been eager and excited to start first grade. Her best friend from last year is in her class again this year and we met her very friendly teacher last week. She's familiar with the school and thrilled to be eating lunch there, even if she doesn't really know the specifics of the lunchtime and recess routine yet. She will adjust and pick things up easily, because that is how she is.

I, on the other hand, feel like a hot mess. I have been having back-to-school anxiety dreams for weeks. Visions of putting her on the wrong bus, a friendless classroom, the school turning into a maze... these have been haunting me, confirming that I was more nervous for this school year than my six-year-old.

My heart feels ripped in two, with one piece desperately trying to follow the bus, keep up with my baby, hold her and cradle her and protect her from any feelings of loneliness or fear.

I know I sound like a crazy lady. And I promise that I am well aware of this and trying my hardest not to be. I mean, just because my heart breaks at the thought of my daughter's feelings being hurt, doesn't mean that I'm going to run over to the school and stick my nose in. Just because I want to butt in and shelter her forever and ever doesn't mean I'm going to.

But my goodness, this parenting gig is hard. I love it. And wouldn't change it for anything. But it is hard. (And this is only first grade. This isn't even the really tough stuff.)

I will just keep reminding myself that she will be fine. I will be fine. And I'm not going to think past first grade because, well, let's just take one thing at a time.

Happy First Day of School, I raise my box of tissues to all the crying mamas out there. (And the rest of you can laugh at us.)

xoxo, christine

In the Middle of the Night

We are exhausted. I am exhausted.

I have two Big Girls who are right now packing their suitcases full of underwear and plastic food, and who somehow really believe they are driving themselves to Washington D.C. today to visit their Auntie. And I have one Baby Girl who is snuggled on my chest snoozing away.

All of this I want to be soaking up and enjoying fully, yet instead I am exhausted, finding myself vacillating between complete indifference and extreme irritation. (Yes, apparently when I am sleep deprived my irritability comes out like a maniacal monster.)

This beautiful miracle asleep with her legs curled under her and arms splayed, with her head of dark hair and pursed lips, with her chunky double chin and pointy elf ear, sleeps so peacefully.

Except when she doesn't. Which is usually at night.

Oh, hello. You mean I'm supposed to be sleeping right now?

The first several weeks were fine, good even. The next two weeks, when Adam was back at work, even seemed survivable. But this fifth week, my darling third daughter's fifth week of life is kicking me, hard.

I am coming off a week of mastitis and nights where I was awake with her anywhere between one and three hours at night. She is not crying uncontrollably, something I know to be incredibly grateful for, but anytime I try to put her to bed after nursing she wakes up and fusses. And the fussing turns to cries until she is picked back up, soothed, and rocked to sleep. All of which began with a sleep deficit already in place.

I am a zombie. I am one of those bleary-eyed, sleep-deprived, new moms. Except there's nothing funny or amusing about any of it. I am one "Mo-om" request away from breaking into sobs, one whiny-pout away from screaming.

I am not enjoying my three beautiful-spirited daughters, I am surviving. ("Surviving" is probably even questionable.) If I could, I would wrack up some major guilt. They are spending too much time in front to screens. They are not getting outside, going to the pool, seeing friends, getting out of the house, enough. Their diet is mostly snacks. I am crabby. I am short. I snap and sigh and spend too much time on the couch with my eyes closed. But I don't even have the energy for guilt.

There is no doubt in my mind this will all change. I know that eventually we will find our way, that Nora will get into better sleep habits, that none of this will last forever, or even very long. I am not wishing time away because already I feel like this month has flown by and my tiny newborn is quickly turning into a chunky baby. I know that everything is a season and I will look back and miss these early days, even though (or maybe especially because) they are foggy and filled with desperation (for sleep).

But right now I am tired. Oh-so-tired. And I am just trying to survive. Trying to remember to relax. To breathe. To not let my grouchiness get the better of me. To apologize. To give hugs. To love every minute I can -- even the ones I am awake for in the middle of the night. And to forgive myself when I can't.

xoxo,
christine

I'll Take an Quadruple Shot of Espresso, Please

Well, it's only taken about four weeks, but I think the lack of sleep is finally catching up with me. Don't get me wrong, I've been exhausted since the beginning, but the past few nights Nora has needed extra cuddles and last night I was up with her from 2:00 until 4:30, and I'm pretty sure my patient parenting is fading quickly.

I have no problem giving her the cuddles she needs. In fact, I've spent the past four weeks feeling overwhelming love when she wakes me up at night (after the initial grogginess clears), smiling at her and whispering sweet words to her, even when she's awake multiple times per night, even when I've just put her down and snuggled back under my covers, only to be summoned back minutes later for more rocking and cuddles.

But like all humans, I have a breaking point, and there's a reason not letting prisoners sleep is a form of torture. I'm not quite the hot mess I expected to be today, but I can tell that a meltdown is bubbling just below the surface.

I am bone-tired. And when I'm tired I feel overwhelmed and grouchy and like I am lacking in all my titles. The big girls bear the brunt of my crabbiness, unfortunately, although I noticed last night that it was harder to smile and coo at Nora after already being up for an hour. This makes me unhappy on top of my lack-of-sleep irritability because I like being a patient and gentle parent. And I'm not feeling very gentle or patient today.

I know that all I need is more sleep, whether at night or napping during the day, and everything will be put back into perspective. I know that I am not a bad parent, that I'm just tired, and this tiredness will someday (soon?) be a distant memory. I need to go to bed earlier (even if Adam is still up) and sleep more when Nora does during the day (even if my older girls already feel like I'm napping too much).

I just need more sleep. And while I'm at it a couple of large coffees wouldn't hurt either.

Wishing you sweet dreams.

xoxo, christine