Summer Is Almost Over

As the title suggest, summer is almost over, and I feel a sense of anxiety of how quickly time is passing. Today, I didn't have much work, so I said I would do some "housekeeping items." My husband got excited and thought I was going to do actual housekeeping. I told him that "housekeeping items" meant that I would do stuff that I've always been meaning to do and never got to. So with that, I edited a video that has footage that is only a year old. Only a year ago, but seems like too many years ago. I'm lucky to live in a wonderful neighborhood with only 12 houses and kind people who thankfully like kids. So here is a glimpse of last summer: 

Rain on the Front Porch

 Rosie turned 7 this month. Where has the summer gone? 

Just enjoying some rain on one of the last days of summer before school starts. 

The Mask Conundrum - Parenting During a Confusing Pandemic

 I believe masks slow the spread of coronavirus. If you do not believe this, this post will be hard to understand.

At the beginning of the pandemic, I was a little shy to wear a mask. But I’ve overcome my discomfort mainly because I want to still see friends and neighbors and talk with them. I do it because I care about them. In general, I wear a mask anytime I am within 6 feet of someone who is outside my family, whether we be indoors or outdoors. I require my kids to do the same, and for the most part, they follow my example. When those around me have not worn masks, I don’t think too much about it. I know everyone has their reasons, and I all I can do is try my best to not catch or spread the disease. So far, this has worked out okay, but recently I have run into a mask conundrum.

I live in Florida, where masks are required for entry to most businesses and public schools. The mask compliance by the general public, however, has been spotty. There are always three or four people at Publix without a mask or wearing them incorrectly. Parents, who are picking up their masked children, congregate outside the school and converse closely–without masks. There are still backyard gatherings where the cars of the guests snake far along the road. And at public parks, throngs of people pack in tight, no one wearing a mask.

A few days ago, I took my three kids to a park to ride our bikes. We all wore our masks (except for our littlest who is still a baby). We bumped into a friend and her children unexpectedly. They weren’t wearing masks, but again, I wasn’t too worried about it. My reasoning was we were outside and my kids had masks on. I was happy to watch them play as I caught up with my friend - it had been ten months since we had seen each other. I looked up and noticed my daughter, Rosie had pulled her mask down to her chin.

“Please wear your mask properly, Rosie.” I called.

She grudgingly complied and went back to gleeful playing.

About five minutes later, Rosie was running around with her mask down again.

“Please wear your mask, Rosie.”

Again, she adjusted her mask.

Another five minutes pass, and I see Rosie playing with her friend, but this time, no mask in sight.

“Where is your mask, Rosie?”

She pointed to somewhere off in the bushes. She had taken it off and hid it.

I told her to retrieve it and as she put it back on, I said, “Rosie, we need to keep your friend safe. Your school has had some outbreaks, and we need to be careful not to spread it to you friend. Do you want to keep your friend safe?”

Rosie nods.

“If you take off your mask again, we need to go home.”

Not one minute later, she runs past me with her mask off.

I quickly gather my things and tell Rosie we are going home. Of course there is whining and complaining, and when we get to the car, tears.

As I am buckling up the baby, I tell Rosie, “I’m really concerned with your mask wearing. Is that how you wear it at school?”

Rosie replies, “no.”

“Then why don’t you wear your masks like you do at school?”

“Because at the park, no one else was wearing a mask.”

I was quiet for awhile, looking at my daughter. I understood that she wasn’t acting under defiance, but under confusion. It was easy to follow the rules in a school setting because everyone else was wearing a mask, but change the setting, then the rules and decorum change dramatically–that can be confusing for a child.

And now we are to my mask conundrum. How can I explain to my child the importance of masks when she sees so many people not wear them? How can we expect our children to go to school with safety protocols when, we, as parents do not follow them ourselves? It is duplicitous and confusing for children.

I’ve tried to explain to Rosie that we wear masks out of love for others. But it is only one step in logic away for Rosie to think up, “well, why don’t they love me?” The last thing I want to do is vilify our friends and neighbors. So as I explain things to her, I have to be careful not to talk too much about the people who choose not to wear masks, or to give them the benefit of the doubt. But I end up feeling hypocritical. I hold my family to a strict standard but explain away other people’s laxness?

Can I blame Rosie for being anything but confused?

Now if you are reading this and worried about our last interaction and wondering if I judged you for not wearing a mask, do not fret. I was probably just happy to see you. The latest casualty in this pandemic should not be our relationships.

If you wanted an answer to the mask conundrum, there isn’t one right now. Perhaps the only thing we can do is be more compassionate to our children, who have started to see the world in more shades of gray.

COVID-19 Induced Homeschool

Before this year, I viewed people that homeschooled as other worldly. They had their lives together, their kids were really smart and conversed well with adults, and they had halos over their heads. I knew that it was something I could never do...so when Rosie's public school shifted to online learning in mid-March due to COVID-19, I felt a lot of trepidation.

I remember feeling excited the first day, like at the beginning of a race. But as time went on, my stamina bar fell to zero and never refilled. Here is how our day usually goes:

Rosie does homeschool on her tablet or on my computer. 

8:00 - Wake up and eat cereal.
8:30 - Rosie logs on to a "morning meeting" video call with all her class. She uses my computer (in the master bedroom) to do this. AJ goes into Rosie's bedroom/the office and starts his work. The door closes.
9:00 - I navigate the school's online system to gather all the assignments that Rosie needs to complete.
9:30 - Rosie does an online iReady program. If I turn my back for a second, she slips into the "gaming mode" in the program that doesn't count towards her weekly progress.
10:00 - Rosie does an online math program called Reflex. She complains constantly and shouts at the computer.
10:30 - I sit down next to Rosie as she watches videos filmed by her teacher. These videos include phonics and math. Rosie races ahead and tries to answer questions her teacher hasn't even reached yet. She falls down several times from her chair and gets mad at the chair.
11:30 - I let the kids play on their tablets while I stare at the ceiling and the baby pulls my hair.
12:00 - We have lunch. Sometimes, there is something called "lunch bunch" where Rosie has lunch with her teacher and a few of her classmates in a video call. It usually coincides with when the baby is napping in the same room as the computer.
12:30 - I'm still eating lunch. As I clean up lunch, I also clean up the morning dishes. AJ comes out of the office and grabs a shake. He goes back, the door closes.
1:00 - I let the kids play toys or their tablets again while I try to do something therapeutic for me. Sometimes it is work. Sometimes it is painting. Sometimes, I clean.
3:00 - I pull Rosie back to the computer to watch the last of her school videos, filmed by her teacher. The subjects covered are reading and a mystery reader. Rosie usually writes a sentence or two about the book she listened too, and I check her work.
4:00 - We try to complete some of the extra-curricular learning that Rosie's school provides, like P.E., Art, Music, and Chinese. As I turn in assignments, I stare in disbelief at the amazing art that other kids have turned in. I'm sure their parents intervened.
-or-
4:00 - We sometimes go outside in an attempt to ward off the vampire within. The kids ride bikes and draw with chalk while I sit just inside the garage, looking ahead with dead eyes.
5:00 - I make dinner. AJ is out now and playing with the kids.
6:00 - We have dinner. I sit slouched in my chair the same way a fire victim sits in the back of an ambulance.


So as you can see, homeschooling swallowed my life a little bit. I accepted that the two younger kids would have to be neglected a little in order to focus on Rosie. It isn't uncommon in the birding world to feed the biggest chick first because they are most likely to survive.

Simon lies face down during Rosie's homeschool - the neglected child. 

All while homeschooling went on, a thought crossed my mind. "Is this what it is really like to homeschool? What about so-and-so who does homeschooling? How does she hide the dead eyes so well?" If you are in the middle of homeschooling and feel the same way, here are some things to remember:

1. You are running a marathon you didn't sign up for.
There is something to be said about the mindset you have when you volunteer for something. It is more likely to be enjoyable to you because you said you would do it. I didn't volunteer for homeschooling, but I will try my best because I volunteered for kids. And it's okay if it's not my favorite thing to do.

2. You have less "going-out" options.
Homeschooling during pre-COVID-19 could include different play-dates, subject-swaps, sports, museum and zoo trips, etc. Homeschooling after COVID-19 is confined to your house, your neighborhood, and if you are lucky, maybe a park. Your kids have less opportunity to let out steam or explore, so it's going to require creativity on the parent's side to not go stir-crazy.

3. A third thing.

The good thing is, homeschooling is coming to an end. This week is the last week. I know it is a possibility that schools will not open in the fall, but let us not speak of such things now. I feel like I have survived something.

Rosie's teacher was awesome.

To Rosie's teachers who put together an online learning system overnight, I feel a lot of respect and gratitude to them. They tried hard to connect with my 5-year-old, even as she spun around compulsively in her office chair during zoom calls, or filled their message chats with nonsense. They adjusted the amount of homework they gave as it become clear that parents were overloaded. Rosie's teacher got better at editing and put together a title sequence for a short cooking show she filmed for the children. She even came by today to hand deliver a present to a surprised Rosie.

And now, let us look forward to a good summer. In order to not be too depressed when looking into summer, my kids, AJ, and I made a list of things we want to do this summer. I was humbled by one of the things Rosie said. She wanted to have a pizza feast where we made our own pizzas. She made one shaped like a heart and she got the biggest smile as she ate it. I would suggest making your own list of things you want to do this summer to help you look forward to the future - even if it's just a reminder that the simple things of life are still here for you to enjoy.

Our list of things we want to do over the summer. 

The heart-shaped pizza.

Me, hiding my dead eyes.

Was homeschooling the same for you? I'd like to know. This can be a start to a therapy group.

Three is a Crowd

The first thing AJ did after I checked into the hospital to be induced for Baby #3 was to slather lotion on my legs. "That way the doctor won't be so grossed out by your lizard legs," he said as only a loving husband can. My scaly legs must make quite an impression, because the first thing my friends did when they arrived at my house on the morning of my wedding (9 years ago) was the same thing–butter up my legs. Fast forward (back to the hospital), I'm sitting on the hospital bed with moist legs and ready to give birth.

The Birth

My nurses were incredibly nice and relaxed. They laughed when I told them I thought my varicose veins were herpes and they imparted crucial knowledge to me from their past deliveries - like did you know STDs smell like fish? Everything progressed normally, with a pitocin drip, breaking the amniotic sac, and increasing contractions, an epidural, but all I could think about was how hungry I was. The doctor had instructed me not to eat anything that day in case I became nauseated from the drugs or the need to operate, but I was borderline delirious from hunger in the afternoon. My husband ate a hamburger from the downstairs cafeteria, and I shed some tears watching him eat it. When the doctor came in and predicted that I would give birth around midnight (in eight hours), I felt dejected. My mind did the math. I thought to myself, "If I want to put in a dinner order to the cafeteria before it closes at 6:00 p.m., I need to give birth within the next hour." And like magic, it was so! The doctor came back in to check on me and then there was a calm but rushed gathering of their tools because I was ready to go.

The nurses each grabbed one of my legs for support because the birthing stirrups were broken, and I began to push. "Mmmm!" the doctor commented, "cucumber melon!" That was the scent of my leg lotion. To push the baby out, it took longer than my last one because he was "sunny-side up," but at a quarter to 5, the baby made his loud and slimy appearance. "I'd like the turkey and stuffing dinner!" I told the nurse.

As I first held my baby, I noticed how loud he was for such a little guy. He lay on my chest, crying and hacking up fluid from his lungs. It was cute. I held him for a long time. Hen-hen.

Living in the hospital for the three days after was great! I pursued the cafeteria menu and planned out the wonderful things I would eat. I watched hours of, "My 700-Pound Life" and "Hoarders," on TV. I did no house work and only took care of one kid! I was sad to leave.

Life After Birth

Now that I am back home and AJ is back to work, I'm awakened to the cruel reality of three kids. Rosie, the oldest, is incredibly jealous of Hen-hen and has chosen to win our love by being snarky and rude. Simon, once a fully functioning 3-year old, has decided his legs no longer work and needs to be carried everywhere. Hen-hen is a good baby, but chooses to contribute to the chaos by producing diaper blow-outs daily. Sometimes at the end of the day, my ears are ringing from the constant noise. This must be another reason they say, "three is a crowd."

But I am learning slowly how to handle the herd. After a hard week with Rosie - in which she proclaimed she no longer believed in God and that everyone hates her - I lay in bed pondering the situation. I'd received several rounds of advice, all urging me to spend more time with my kids or pay closer attention to their needs. This frustrated me because as I sat, I thought to myself, "I don't even have time to pay attention to my own needs." That was when I had an epiphany. I imagined an empty cup trying to pour liquid into several other little cups. Nothing happened, because the first cup was empty. That was when I decided to break the cycle by being a little more selfish. I was going to take care of my needs first.

Most the time, I'm so frazzled with taking care of Simon and Hen-hen during the day that when I go to pick up Rosie from school, I'm like a wilting flower. I'm barely able to say, "how was your day?" Now, before I go pick her up, I try to do some things that are enjoyable and restful to me. I read a book. I eat chocolate. I take a nap. I shower. Sometimes, I even go to the bathroom. I try to save my best energies for her at the end of the day by being more selfish earlier in the day. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, but it has helped me curb the downward spiral.

And so while two is company, three is crowd–at least it's never boring. With each new stage, I'm learning something new. Gotta go! I'm going to pick up Rosie from school; I want to be one of the first ones there.

The Eve of Baby Three

The Waiting Game

Baby #3 is coming just around the corner. I am officially due October 20th, but I would really appreciate if the baby came on October 10th. In this way, the date will be easy to remember, creating more mental capacity for other pursuits. But alas, there is no safe/sane way to control this. The doctor said it is just a waiting game now.

I decided to take a glamour shot of the belly. I was never enticed to take maternity pictures because I feel especially grungy during pregnancy, but I thought it might be good to have some sort of photographic evidence. 

Photographic Evidence:

About the Belly

I get approached all the time by strangers saying, "You must be having a boy." When I ask them how they know, they reply, "Your belly is low and in front like a basketball." I've looked it up (and so I know everything), and it seems to be a very popular myth. The shape of the belly more has to do with body type/torso length/whether this is the first baby or not/etc. The thing that made the most sense to me was that this being my third baby, my stomach muscles are stretchier and so everything hangs lower. I know, very appealing.

I'm glad this pregnancy is almost over. I've been especially cranky this pregnancy, sometimes snapping at my kids and huffing at the hubbie. They've adapted quite nicely, and they know to leave me in a dark room with the door closed. I'm glad Simon is old enough to respect, "the nap." He can play by himself for one hour blocks of time, so it has facilitated a means to continue living.

About the Name

For the longest time, I've wanted to name a boy, "Henry." The boy next door laughed when I told him this, and he said, "When I picture a Henry, I picture a nerd with glasses and a button-up shirt." I said, "Exactly! That's the kind of boy I want." One of my favorite apostles is named Henry B. Eyring, so I liked that this name could produce someone sensitive and intelligent. But A.J. was so insistent on naming this one, "Luke." Luke as in Luke Skywalker or the apostle from the Bible. I felt Luke was too masculine of a name, and it was hard to give Luke a nickname because it was already one syllable and rhymed with puke.

We debated over this for several months, refusing to give in, referring to the baby as, "Baby." Finally, I decided it was okay to name him Luke, as long as his middle name was Henry and in the house we could refer to him as, "Hen-Hen." It was a tense compromise, with A.J. cringing every time I referred to the baby as, "Hen-Hen." Even the kids joined in the "Hen-Hen" chorus, until I could see it was mentally chipping away at A.J.'s defenses. Just this last week, A.J. started to say, "Hen-Hen"–whether consciously or not–thus the psychological, passive-aggressive battle was won.

In Conclusion

So our crib is just barely set up, our baby clothes still somewhere in the attic, and a pack of too-big-but-on-sale diapers tucked under A.J.'s nightstand and that is our version of ready. With the adventure of pregnancy almost over, a new one is about to begin.

When a 4-Year Old Grapples with Existential Questions

Lately, my oldest who is 4, almost 5, has developed a more sophisticated part of her mind - the part that has empathy for characters in books and movies, the part that worries about the future, and the part that frets about the inevitableness of death. 

Last month, I took her to an OBGYN appointment and as we were waiting in the exam room, I showed her a cool 3D model of a woman’s reproductive system. There were slide out cards that showed different things that could go wrong in a pregnancy - placenta previa or C-section. She became very disturbed at the C-section drawing and started to cry, “I don’t want you to have a C-section.” I tried to reassure her that C-sections were usually for emergencies. This led to a bunch of follow up questions throughout the day about what qualified as an emergency. It also led to discussions of the baby possibly dying without the option of surgeries. It preoccupied her mind. Later that night she burst into tears and said, “I never want a baby. I never want a C-section.” I was surprised and maybe a little unempathetic that she was STILL worried about it! 

This is only one side of her obsession with mortality. One day, she started asking me about death and what it felt like. I told her, “it probably feels like falling asleep and never waking up. But I don’t know, I’ve never died.” She then asked me when I would die. My answer: “Maybe in 10 years.” This seemed to satisfy her for awhile, because to her, 10 years is forever. Then randomly, while lying in the dark before sleep, she asked me, “Mom, when you die, can I have a spot next to you so we can be buried together?” It seemed strange to me that of all the things to think about before sleep, she was thinking about this. 

But this is growing up. No longer does she simply worry about toys or friends but now hypotheticals and death. They grow up so fast...

The Week of Vomit

It has been a rough couple months. In two separate occasions, I've seen the sudden onslaught of a highly contagious illness strike our family one by one – like a dark game of dominos – until we were all moaning on the couch like the undead. I know, this is just life, but it was horrible enough that I had to write about it.

The Stomach Flu

Friday: 

It all started when AJ bought the rotisserie chicken from Costco. We brought it home but didn't eat it right away. Later that night, we reheated it and enjoyed it's scrumptious meat (even writing about the chicken makes me ill now, but at the time, it was scrumptious).

Later that night, Rosie woke up in the middle of the night crying. I sat beside her, waiting for the tears to subside, but instead the crying intensified until vomit ensued. I will try to describe the vomit because it is essential to understanding the horror, but you are free to skip to the next paragraph. The vomit was a sick purple-brown and it was deeply digested. Sometimes when food have been in the stomach for a short amount of time, it come up looking a little chewed but not too bad. This one had been stewing and the smell was a permeating reek of chicken and acid. Also, this vomit was sticky - like mucus and snails. Just being in the same room as this vomit made me gag.

Alright, so after the first round of vomiting, I cleaned it up in relatively high spirits. Rosie went back to sleep and all was well, till a couple hours later she woke up again and there was more vomiting. This time, we were able to get half of it in the toilet, but there was still quite a bit of clean up for me. After I cleaned it up – through bleary blood-shot eyes – I sent Rosie back to bed, but my suspicions had been aroused.

"Was this an isolated incident? Was it the chicken?" I thought to myself.

Before returning to bed, I carpeted the room with our junk towels in case we had a repeat performance.

Later that night, before dawn broke, I heard a different child crying. I went to the kid's room and this time it was Simon who was throwing up. The throw up was identical to his sister's, and I strongly suspected food poisoning.

Saturday:

This round robin of vomit continued as the sun came up and well into the day. By this point, we were just feeding them water (a little at a time) and a little bit of rice porridge.



At this point, I was very tired, but still in high spirits. I had figured out a system where my kids laid on towels all day so if they every had to vomit, they could just vomit on the towel. I know people use bowls or trashcans or toilets, but it was too hard to get them to the toilet in time and I think their vomit aim was not good enough for a big bowl.

By the end of the day, Rosie was feeling better and I was optimistic, until she threw up again. Then AJ started feeling sick and laid on the couch looking pale and sweaty. He, however, never threw up. He channeled it downward, he said.

Sunday:

We all stayed home from church and the kids felt well enough to color and cause a mess.

Lots of toast and bananas and bland stuff.

I went to Publix looking like a mess to buy Gatorade and saltine crackers. "Everyone in my family is sick." I told the cashier. He looked at what I had bought and then back at me. "Well, they are all counting on you," he replied, "just make sure you don't get sick as well."

Choice last words.

Monday: 

By now the vomiting has slowed down, but it still hadn't gone away completely. Especially poor Simon, he couldn't keep anything down but he was so hungry and constantly begged for food, any food.

"Max and cheese!" he begged. "Milk!" he begged. "Fruit snacks!"
I was good and didn't feed him dairy, but there was still a lot of things his stomach couldn't even handle, like Saltine crackers. We had him on a diet of saltine crackers, rice, gatorade, and rice porridge.

Later that day, I feel really sick, like I can't even stand up. Then I give in and join the vomit club.

I think AJ went into work for a half day, or maybe not, but at the end of the day we are both really worried about Simon. He is super lethargic, crying a lot, sleeping a lot, wanting to be held all the time.

I called his pediatrician and she suggested he go to the emergency room. So we rush off to Wolfson Children's Hospital at the ripe ol' hour of 9 p.m. Simon sits limply on our lap as we wait in a crowded reception area. There are little kids and angry parents but there are loud groups of adults too. "What are they doing here?" I ask myself as their loud conversation drowns out Spongebob Squarepants on the TV.

When we got in to see the nurse, they gave him a little white pill (Zofran). Apparently Zofran is given out to those suffering from nausea because of chemotherapy or early pregnancy. It worked wonders on Simon, and half an hour after taking the pill, he was sipping Gatorade and munching happily on animal crackers like nothing had happened. When the doctor came in to see him, I felt a bit sheepish, like I was wasting their time with this seemingly okay boy. The doctor was very kind, and gave us some tips on what to watch out for. "Basically," he said in a calm, slightly drone-like voice, "if they are drinking and hydrated, it's not a big deal that they are throwing up. They can go a long time without eating without serious consequences. It's hydration that is the real worry."

When we got home, I felt really hopeful, like maybe we had turned a corner. We just needed to give him the anti-nausea medication every 8 hours for the next few days and it would be okay....

Tuesday: 

Early morning, Simon throws up again.

Wednesday: 

Simon is feeling well enough to eat popsicles and ride bikes. We are super prompt with his medication, fearing a small lapse will cause him to throw up.

Thursday: 

We are all feeling mostly better, though Simon has horrible diarrhea.

Friday: 

We think we're well enough to go down to Orlando to see AJ's parents for the weekend. We have Wendy's and set out for the two-hour drive. Half way down, Simon throws up all over himself. He ate a lot. We drive with the windows down even though we are going 70 on the freeway.

I had to clean this up with Wendy's napkins at a gas station. 

Simon throws up again when we arrive at his parent's house - but we blame it on the chocolate milk he drank. We only have 2 doses of pills left. It is super worrisome.

Saturday: 

We go to  Trail's End, an all-you-can eat Disney buffet. Simon hardly eats anything and lays down on his chair. We are getting worried about him again.

We call our pediatrician and ask if she can give us more anti-nausea medication. She suggests we go to the emergency room again. We aren't keen on the idea. The last emergency room visit cost $1088.40 which was adjusted down to $457, but we still have to pay that out of pocket. We buckle down and just hope Simon will be okay.

Later that night, Rosie comes into the guest room crying because Simon has thrown up all over her.

Sunday: 

AJ's dad goes in to work but feels so horrible that he just lies on the floor of his office. Later, as he tries to drive home, he throws up out the door of his car. Now we feel terrible, and we pack up to go home.

Later in the day, AJ's mom says she is feeling sick.

Okay, I'll end the timeline there because after that day, things slowly started to look up. But as you can see, it was a horrible, horrible week of vomit that slowly spread from Rosie, to Simon, to AJ, to me, to his dad, to his mom. I thought it was food poisoning at first, but with how long it stayed with us and with how it jumped from person to person, it was probably a bad virus.

So I'm hoping there are a lot of things you could learn from my experience, if not, hopefully it was entertaining.

Pink eye

Currently my family is battling pink-eye, so we are no stranger to the contagious diseases. I'm so sick of sickness, but I'm also numbed out to it and just hope that I can take it slow and let the disease run it's course.

Pink eye

Potty Training a Boy

Yesterday was my first official day in attempting to potty train Simon. He is a little past 2 and a half, and his bowel movements were getting gross to clean, so I thought it was time. He has good communication and reasoning skills (like his sister did when I trained her at 2 years) but he is A BOY and I heard boys are harder to train. I was itching to prove that theory wrong....



I started the potty training right after we dropped his big sister off at preschool. I found his, "Once Upon a Potty" book, sat him down and read it to him, took off his diaper, put on his new P.J. Masks underwear. I showed him his potty seat (no way was I going to relive cleaning out a little kid potty), and showed him how to climb up and sit on it. I showed him the jar full of Pez (his favorite candy) and told him that he will get one once he pees in the potty. Then I gave him a juice carton and waited for the chaos to ensue.

The first few accidents were cute. They were little dribbles here and there, not like the huge puddles his sister used to make. After each accident, I'd run him to the potty to see if there was anymore. We'd wait a long time, maybe 20 minutes, then get off again. Then within 5 minutes of getting up, he'd have another accident. I tried to calculate in my head, "Does that mean if we had waited for 5 more minutes, he would have peed in the potty? Or did he not pee in the 20 minutes because he was sitting on the potty?" Mind games.

Mid-day, I was frustrated. We had successfully wet 7 underwear and 7 pants - all of them in a pile in the tub, and he had gone a couple times successfully in the morning but it seemed to be completely by accident. It was like this boy had no on/off switch. He would just go whenever there was a tablespoon of pee. So while it wasn't very much, it was near constant. The one thing he did learn, however, is he'd tell me, "pee pee!" as he was peeing. At times I tried to soothe myself by saying today was just a day to learn what pee pee felt like. At other times, I felt exhausted and darkly depressed.

After we ran out of underwear, I just let him run around naked. At this point, he was getting the process of climbing up on the potty and sitting down. In fact, he thought it was a game and would tell me he needed to go, then sit down for one second and say, "let's try tomorrow." He did this so many times, it was like the boy who cried, "wolf." At dinner, he did this enough that I said, "Okay, you go yourself if you really need to pee pee."

He went off to the bathroom himself, and because he was without pants, he didn't really need me. Two minutes later, he came back with a big grin on his face. "I did it! I went pee pee." Incredulous, I peeked into toilet and saw little pee droplets on the splash guard of the potty seat. It was a miracle! Of course I showered him with praises and Pez and with a new understanding of how this boy, MY BOY learned things. He needed lots of mechanical practice - the act of getting on the potty, and he needed it over and over again. He also needed some space as well. All the while I was watching him and coaching him turned into hilarious but ineffective breathing exercises. He succeeded when I was too tired to care and let him handle it on his own.

I know it's a long road to potty independence, but I'm hopeful. Today marks Day 2 in the potty training adventure, and he has gone pee in the potty 4 times (1 time was poop) – all of those he initiated the potty trip, and had 1 accident. Not too bad!

Who knows, tomorrow I may be eating my words...

Update: It's been one week since our potty adventures have started and I am very happy! He's had a couple accident free days (which included staying dry at night) and he is very consistent in telling me he needs to go to the bathroom. I think that is the biggest hurdle - getting him to tell me when he needs to go BEFOREHAND. The best part of it all, I don't have to clean up log-like poop anymore!

So in the end, was the theory that boys are harder to train a faulty one? I'm not sure, because I waited longer to start with Simon, but overall, for me it was a smoother experience. I understand potty training is different for everyone, boy, girl, 2 or 3 or 4 or more. I'm just glad I didn't give up that first day, or the next, or the next.

Read about my experience potty training a girl. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. 

When Two Christmases Collide

My husband and I had very different Christmases.

My Christmas was a modest affair of two or three presents per child – one of those presents being a book or clothing. Sometimes I'd make presents for my mom, dad, and siblings. Some years I'd go to K-mart to find on-sale items for gifts for my family. One year, I felt especially bad for my father who had no pajamas and wandered around the house in his undergarments. I was so proud that I had found flannel pajamas for only $5, and bought it for him. I was disappointed when he opened the present, laughed, told me to return it. I now realize he went about in his undergarments by choice.

Santa came ... sometimes. On the years he did come, he never left more than one present. I can still remember looking at the tag on the present that Santa left and realizing it was my sister's handwriting.

But Christmas was no less exciting or wonderful. As a child, I loved the memories we had – the snowmen we made, the sledding down our street onto oncoming traffic, peeking at our presents and rewrapping them while the parents weren't home.

Me, 4 years old, in front of our house in Murray, Utah. 

My husband's Christmas was very different. He and his siblings received four or five times as many presents as I did, as well as mini presents and candies in the stocking, and multiple presents from Santa the next morning. There is nothing wrong with this, in fact, their family's language of love is giving gifts, but it has imbued a mindset in my husband that is now clashing with my mindset. This becomes most apparent when we talk about presents for the kids:

"What else should we get Simon?" My husband asks.
"What do you mean?" I reply.
"Well, we have four presents for Rosie, and three for Simon, maybe we should order more things off of Amazon."
"That's okay. We already got them big things from Santa."
"Yeah, but they need gifts from us too."
"We don't need more. I think Simon is okay with three presents from us. Plus he is so young, he won't even remember it."
"But I will remember it."
"Maybe I can make something for him."
"No, no, none of this making things for gifts."
"Well, they are already getting lots of gifts from grandparents..."

And another conversation about my wrapping the presents:

"Look," I say proudly, "Look at how I've wrapped Simon's present from Santa."
"What? Why is it so big?"
"I wrapped his three Ninja Turtle toys together so it looks like one big present."
"No, don't do that. It will look like Santa gave him less."
"That's okay. It will make it look like a bigger present. One big present."
"Did Santa only bring you one present?"
"Yes."
"Maybe we should get a couple more presents for the kids from Santa..."

To my husband, I must seem like the one always reining us in from spending appropriately on each other. And to me, I'm wondering why my frugality isn't better received. The merging of two childhoods is difficult but not without its lessons.

Lesson #1:
Sometimes the gift giving is more for the giver than the receiver.
It's true that the children won't remember their first few Christmases, but for the parents, it means something to be able to provide for them – give them a surprise.

Lesson #2:
Your child will love the Christmas you give. Especially if they are young, their expectations are moldable. Just give what you can and spend lots of time with them, and their childhood eyes will add sparkles and a warm haze to all of their memories.

So while my husband and I have had different childhood Christmases, we've learned a lot in melding it all together. After all, our Christmases together don't have to feel like the Christmases of old. They can be a new thing, like every adventure we take on.

My kids, 6 months and 2.5 years. 

Grandma Comes to Visit

The last few months have been a blur. Ever since Rosie started VPK, it seems like we can barely keep up with the frantic demands of...well, waking up at a certain time. Nevertheless, Rosie loves school and talks all about her favorite subjects: Victoria, Anna Claire, Beth – all of her friends. "But did you learn anything?" I ask. I guess it's good she is learning relationship management.

With all the craziness of life, it was nice to take it slow and easy when my Mom came to visit. We got to walk a nature trail and sweat and breathe fresh air. Here is a glimpse of some of the memories we had that day:

It's a quick, slapped-together video, but I can't get hung up on perfection. After all, the kids are growing up so fast.