Clothing makes the woman

I think I’m having an identity crisis. In fact, I’m sure of it. The weather is getting warmer and Ryan is taking a nap, so I thought this would be a good time to pull out that old, dusty box of summer clothes that’s been hiding on the top shelf of my closet for two years. Yes, it’s sad, I know, this is the first summer in two whole years that I will not be wearing maternity clothes, and I was so excited about it until I opened that box. Inside I found T-shirts, shorts and super cute tanks. There must be an outfit for every glorious summer day.

Mustering up every ounce of courage I could, I tried on a pair of shorts. They don’t fit. Not even close. Looking at the size, I was hit with the cold realization that although I have lost most of the weight I gained during pregnancies (yes, that’s plural), I have not lost all of it and it means that pesky 15 pounds will prevent me from fitting into a single article of clothing from that box.

Saddened by this discovery, I sift through the clothes like a box of old photos, remembering the days when I could fit my skinny little butt into a size 4 with little effort. Depressing as it might be, memories of wearing these clothes and taking the time to examine them made me realize that maybe it’s a good thing I don’t fit into them. Some of the clothes I wouldn’t (and shouldn’t) wear today.

That's Miss Surly Wench to you. HA! I think the cat likes it.

This leaves me with the daunting task of having to buy myself an entire summer wardrobe. On the surface, I’m kind of excited about it. Being a little bit of a shopoholic, this is a great opportunity. I have to wear clothes, you know, which means I have to buy some that fit. But what do I get? Am I the same person I was two years ago? Has my style changed? Am I ready to adopt a more mature wardrobe? I think I know the answers to those questions, but I sometimes miss the old me. Plus, I really love this shirt and I’m dying to fit into it again, even to just wear it on weekends.

Don't laugh. Lucky 13, I love this shirt!

Since having my kids, clothes have become very important to me. My body has changed dramatically and it needs to be dressed properly. This may sound superficial and selfish, but it’s important to me. If I look good, or at least I think I look good, I feel good. When I’m feeling fat or depressed about how much I’ve changed physically and mentally, if I can look in the mirror and be reassured that I don’t look as bad as I my mind says I do, then I can get through the day with a general state of contentment. Properly fitted clothes do that for me.

I’m a little scared of the dressing room, so send good thoughts my way, I need them.

Hindsight really is 20/20

It's so true. Looking back at my recent posts (sometimes they are the best way to jog my memory of exactly what's been going on in my life), I can see the Ryan wasn't as symptom free as I first claimed. He probably wasn't hearing very well, but not because he couldn't hear but because he had an ear infection.

It's so easy to look back and see what I missed the first time around. I just wish I could have seen it then, rather than realizing what I missed. After I saw his rash, I did take his temperature, he never had a fever. He never lost his appetite, well, he did get a little fussy at meals, but he still ate. Maybe it's inexperience that creates these situations, I don't know. Having two babies right in a row, you'd think I would be a baby expert. But no, apparently I am still only human.

And then I think I did take him to the doctor. This always keeps popping up. Why did I do it? Was it intuition? Maybe. Even as I was calling the pediatrician to make the appointment, I wasn't convinced he was sick at all, but something made me call. Something made me watch the clock, waiting for the magic time of 8 a.m. when the doctor's office opens for business so I could bring my baby in and be reassured by a professional that Ryan was, indeed, completely healthy.
I know, I know, it's only an ear infection and hand, foot and mouth disease is extremely common in children, especially for this time of year, but what happens when it's more than a simple childhood illness? I hope I never have to find out.

***

Now for something completely different (wink, wink, nudge, nudge), Sometimes I don't get everything done I need to have done by the time daycare closes, so I have to bring the kids back to work with me so I can finish. The kids are usually good and my coworkers seem to enjoy the distraction. Since this was probably Sophia's 100th visit to work, she was greeted warmly and broke out of her little shell after about two minutes of bashfulness, at which point she climbed into a chair and got to work …

The princess and the, um, well, everything

It’s been well documented that Sophia is, shall we say, sometimes a little challenging. Challenging in that she has very strong opinions on what she wants to eat (or eat at all), wear, play and anything else that requires some kind of decision-making skill. Well, Mommy has found her weakness: Princesses.

That’s right, this little girl is obsessed with princesses. Apparently, there’s been a love of princesses brewing deep inside her and it’s finally come out.

It started after Ryan was born and our neighbor bought her the book Disney’s Princess Magic. It’s a seek-and-find book especially for toddlers and it quickly became her favorite book. Within a couple of days after getting the book, Sophia was able to find all the pictures on every page.

After a few months Mommy and Daddy grew tired of Princess Magic and carefully found a less obvious home for it. That is until recently when Sophia found her beloved Princess Magic book. She is still wildly crazy for this book except that this time she is a little bit older and has figured out what a princess is, and I’ve recently learned how to take advantage of the love of this book.

It all started Saturday when I got Sophia dressed. I put her in a dress and when she looked at herself in the mirror, she said, “Princess,” and pointed to herself. Great, I thought, how can I make this work in my favor? The answer: Make everything in our lives about princesses. It turns out that Sophia will eat breakfast if we serve Princess Waffles, rather than plain, old, every day waffles. She’ll wear what we put on her if we tell her she’s wearing princess clothes.

Basically, if we use the word princess before anything she will do it.

OK, so I know there are many, many anti-princess moms out there, but honestly, this works and if that means I have to make her into a princess every day so that she eats her dinner, by god, I’ll do it.

By the way, we took the kid to the zoo on Monday. It was Sophia and Ryan's first trip. If you scroll to the very bottom of the this page, you can see a slideshow of our trip.

I'd like some symptoms, please

My kids are pretty happy all the time, even when they're sick, and it's been a problem.

I know I'm going to regret saying this, but I'd really love it if they acted sick when they were sick. Let's use our latest sickness as an example. Today I took Ryan to the pediatrician because he had a rash. A rash, mind you, that really didn't concern me because I was pretty sure it was a heat rash. I only called because Ryan's only 8 months old and, as a general rule for my babies under 1, I always call the doctor if I notice anything unusual because of previously stated problem with mood not really reflecting illness.

After waiting in the office for an hour and 15 minutes, the doctor came in and in less than 5 minutes I learned Ryan has coxsackievirus, also known as hand- foot-mouth disease, and an ear infection in both ears. Apparently, he has a blister on the roof of his mouth, on his tongue and in his throat, too.

Unbelievable.

Before the rash appeared, he didn't exhibit a single symptom of any illness. He has no fever and his mood and eating were normal. How on earth am I supposed to know when my kids are sick if they don't act sick?

Hand-foot-mouth disease is really contagious. I'm sure it's more a matter of when Sophia gets it rather than if she gets it. My stepson was over all weekend and yesterday we went to his mom's boyfriend's grandmother's house for a barbecue where Ryan and Sophia played with even more kids. If he had been acting even a little sick we would have stayed home, I don't want to get other kids sick.

Our first year ends with one great vacation

It's that time of year when families get ready to go on their long-awaited vacations. We almost never take a vacation. Sure, we take off from work, but we never go any place of note. Last year, however, we decided to go on what my stepson would call a "real" vacation. We planned to drive to Myrtle Beach, S.C., and stay at a family resort right on the beach.

Oh, yeah.

I was excited about this trip. When I say excited, I mean jumping up and down and singing excited. This was our first real family vacation. Imagine, a vacation where we didn't work on the house. There would be no cooking, cleaning, laundry or any other daily chores. The only thing I needed to do was relax.

It couldn't have happened at a better time. I was 30 weeks pregnant and miserably huge. We planned the vacation during the week of the Fourth of July. This is an all-American holiday filled with fireworks, beer and lots of food, but it was also the same week my daughter turned 1. Her birthday is July 3. This meant fireworks on the beach for Sophia's first birthday (and for her Mommy and Daddy for surviving her first year).

Once we finally got to our destination, the first thing we did was head to the beach. I was so excited about showing Sophia the ocean and letting her play in the sand for the very first time. We slathered on the sunscreen, put a swimmy diaper and her brand new, first-ever bikini and headed to the beach.

First thing we learned was that Sophia loves the sand. Actually, she loves to eat it. OK, fine, let's try the ocean. Not a chance. The best she would allow was for us sit with her at the water's edge, and I mean the very edge, where she could indulge in the finest wet sand South Caroline could offer a finiky 1-year-old.

At the end of the day, she was covered head to toe in sand, with a majority of it taking up residency in her diaper. It probably added five pounds to her skinny little frame. No lie.

By the end of the week, though, she was running around the water's edge, still a little put off by the waves, but being as brave as she could while still eating as much sand as her tiny little hands could get in her mouth.

The whole week was so much fun. I think even my then 13-year-old stepson had a good time. But vacations are a lot like childhood, it went by way too quickly.

This summer, we aren't planning any vacation, but I still have wonderful memories of our last one. Looking back, no matter how much sand was consumed, it was a great time.

This was part the Parent Bloggers Network blog blast sponsored by Huggies Little Swimmers. They are giving way “Summer Fun Essentials Package” - a beach bag filled with summertime must-haves such as beach towels, pool toys, a sand castle building kit, and a cooler. Plus, products from the Huggies Little Swimmers line. There's still time to enter. Click here for all the details.

Careful, your genius is showing

Driving home from work we pass several horse farms. This is crazy to me. When I was growing up and living right outside the big city, we used to drive far away to see any kind of open space. Looking back, it wasn't that far. But when you’re a kid if you're in a car for more than 10 minutes it's far away. Now that I live in the sticks, I still find it fascinating that we pass horses, cows, sheep and even llamas during my 15 minute drive into work.

Sophia is terrible in the car, she always has been, so I often resort to pointing to things out the window as a distraction for her, like trees, flowers, horseys, baas (sheep. Don't ask, it's a Sophia and Daddy thing), big trucks, school buses and anything else I think might grab her attention long enough to stop her whining about being stuck in her car seat.

While driving home from work yesterday, I pointed to the horses grazing in this totally huge farm we pass every day. There are usually five or six beautiful horses hanging close enough to the road for Sophia to see them. Every day as we drive past, she says, "Hi, horseys." It's cute, but yesterday it was genius. As we were passing the horses, I pointed them out to Sophia. This is our exact exchange. I swear..

"Horseys, Mommy."

"Yup, Soph. There are the horseys."

"Horseys eat, Mommy."

"Yes, the horseys are eating dinner."

"Horseys eat grass."

She's only 22 months old. Her power of deduction is unbelievable. I never told her horses eat grass. In fact, I don't know what they eat; I'm assuming here that they eat at least some grass. She made this conclusion all on her own. Freaking amazing.

But wait, there's more.

We tried to have a calm, cool and collected dinner last night hoping that we could get her to swallow at least a couple bits of food. I made her absolute favorite, macaroni and cheese (because she asked for it) and vegetarian chicken patties (because it's at least some protein). These are two things I know she has eaten in their entirety in the past, which made me hopeful she'd eat at least some of it. She must have been hungry because she ate about half the mac and cheese and two bits of the chick patty. But here is the crazy part: My husband came home in the middle of dinner, went to the refrigerator and grabbed the rolls, bologna, cheese and mustard, and brought them all to the table to makes himself a sandwich.

Sophia, sitting across the table from Jon, happily munched her mac and cheese until Daddy started eating. This is when she started her yelling to get up. Instead of fighting with her, we just took her out of the booster seat and went about eating our dinner. Sophia then sat herself on an empty chair, took a roll out of the package and tore it apart to make herself a sandwich. She grabbed a slice of bologna and put it on the bread. Next, she took a slice of cheese and placed it neatly on top of the bologna. Finally, she asked Jon to spread mustard on her sandwich, which he did only after he was able to jolt himself out of his chair after being stunned by his daughter's sheer genius.

She then put the top of roll on the top of her sandwich and took a big bite.

My daughter made her very first sandwich — and ate it — before she's even 2. She made the sandwich by copying the exact steps Jon did to make his own sandwich.

Un-freaking-believable.

Ever since the sleepover party, her verbal skills, which in my opinion are extraordinary, have quadrupled. She's speaking in full sentences, using words like IS, ARE, HER, I, YOU, it's crazy. And now she's drawing conclusions and making sandwiches. Jon said those tweens probably treated and talked to Sophia like a peer for a whole day, so she picked up a lot from them.

Great. Now I have a genius almost 2-year-old who thinks she's a teenager.

But, let's not forget that is is not even 2 ...

This week's lesson: Yet to be learned

Not every weekly lesson can be learned without a little help. Not every lesson is specifically about me, so here is the lesson I'd like to learn this week:

We all have horror stories about our kids. Currently, my horror story is about how Sophia is refusing to eat in the kitchen. My last situation, so to speak, was when Sophia was sick and refused to sleep alone. It was an awful two week for the entire house. Both Jon and I were up at all hours of the night trying to comfort her and Ryan when she would cry loud enough to wake him. But it only lasted a week.

During those two crazy weeks, I shared my story about Sophia not sleeping well with a friend and that's when she told me her horror story. Her 15-month-old daughter simply refuses to sleep on her own. My friend was complaining that she hasn't slept in the same bed with her husband since her daughter was born.

How sad, I thought. But, it gets worse. I saw her yesterday and she asked me how Sophia was sleeping. I told her she was sleeping fine, but it was hard breaking her of the habit of waking in the middle of the night. She then proceeded to tell me that her daughter is still not sleeping on her own and has developed a nasty habit of making herself throw up after being put to bed.

How awful. I feel terrible for this poor woman. She says she "knows it's her fault" but she doesn't know how to stop it. So, my friends, anyone have any suggestions? I did a quick Google search on the topic and found lots of parents who are suffering in this same situation, but I haven't found any real answers to the problem.

What a way to end the day

Every night we go through the same routine. It’s a terrible routine and I wish we could stop it, but we just don’t know how. It starts out when we put dinner on the table, that’s when Sophia starts. Pretty much right after she gets in her booster seat, she starts yelling. “Done. Done,” she says as she’s standing up on her chair. Things just escalate from there. The yelling turns to screaming, all the while, Ryan is quietly eating.

Dinner has become a two parent job, one to take care of the “Sophia situation” and the other to feed the baby. Neither Jon nor I actually get to eat anything and we don’t have any idea how to stop it because we would really like to have a nice family dinner.

We’ve tried putting her in Time Out to calm her down (she calms down until we put her back at the table). We’ve tried to let her eat whatever she wants (her dinner becomes a huge buffet of things that never make it in her mouth). We’ve tried just letting her not eat (but how long can a mother not feed her baby? Not long). We’ve tried yelling at her, negotiating with her and pleading with her. We’ve even tried taking her out of the booster seat and letting her sit in a “big girl chair.” Nothing seems to work. She just will not eat at the table. That is until after dinner when, in a desperate attempt to put some kind of food in her little belly, we give her something that she can eat in the living room.

Now this doesn’t happen every single night. We probably have one, maybe two nights a week when she will quietly sit and eat whatever’s in front of her. But those days are few and hard to come by.

I know toddlers are picky, but I’m really concerned that she almost never eats dinner (or breakfast or any meal that we try to put her at the table to eat) and that she’s throwing an almost daily temper tantrum that we, clearly, cannot control. I also know that we are, somehow, creating the situation, but I'm not sure what it is we're doing or what to do to stop creating it. I’m worried that we are creating a family doomed to be on “Supernanny.”

Probably worried about nothing

Did you ever have one of those days where you think you might just be crazy? Today is one of those days.

During the last couple of days, my husband and I noticed that it seemed Ryan was not hearing. When we'd call his name, he wouldn't look at us and sometimes, no matter how loud we talked, he wouldn't look at us until we waved our hand or made some kind of motion. So, naturally, we were concerned, but not concerned enough to rush him to the doctor because he is babbling and making lots of noise.

Last night, however, Jon and I were discussing his hearing, and I found this Web site with risk factors of hearing loss in babies. I went through and read all of risk factors. Some of the risk factors mentioned on the I thought Ryan was experiencing are does not awaken to loud noises, does not freely imitate sound (unless you count the unending da da da da he says), cannot be soothed by voice alone, does not turn his/her head in the direction of my voice and does not point to familiar persons or objects when asked.

At the bottom of the site, it says if your baby has any of these symptoms, they are at risk for hearing loss.

This is when I started to get concerned.

So when I dropped him off at daycare this morning, I asked the teacher if she noticed any hearing loss and to keep an eye on it for me. Immediately, she sat on the floor next to him. She said his name and right away he turned to look at her. He heard her, no doubt.

While I stood there, feeling like a complete idiot, she continued to talk to me and Ryan and Ryan kept turning away from her and then looking back at her when she started talking again.

She did not dismiss my concern and said I should have a doctor test his hearing just to be sure.

Moral of the story: Get used to the kids making me feel like an idiot. This isn't the first time and it won't be the last, but don't ever disregard maternal instinct.

On my own

I know many of you find The Mommy Diaries by way of a link from The Mercury's Web site, effective immediately you will not be able to link from The Mercury to The Mommy Diaries. So if you enjoy reading this blog, bookmark me or subscribe by way of the RSS feed to your right and continue visiting this site on your own. I'm still hear and will continue regularly post.

Oh, I am in trouble

So, Ryan had his first marriage proposal. You laugh, but I think the 12-year-old who proposed was serious … and that is seriously funny.

Sophia and Ryan went to their first sleepover party Saturday night. It was very real 12-year-old girl sleepover party, complete with Paris Hilton pocketbook and perfume gifts for the guests, Sophia included. She didn't get perfume (thankfully), but she did get a pocketbook and a stuffed frog.

Here's how my two little babies ended up at a girl's sleepover party:

My husband's cousin was married Saturday and her wedding was an adult's only affair. It was a nice opportunity for us to get out, but that meant I needed to have someone watch the kids. A good friend of mine who has watched my kids about a million times, offered to take the kids overnight, but her daughter was having a sleepover party.

No way, I told her. I thought she was going to have her hands full with six 11 and 12-year-olds already and didn't need any additional kids. She persisted, saying that my kids would actually make her night much easier. She said the girls would absolutely love the babies and they'd give the girls some distraction.

Boy, oh, boy, was she right. When we picked up the kids Sunday morning I don't think they wanted to leave. Sophia had her finger nails and toe nails painted by the girls and they look so cute. Pink, purple, silver, almost every nail is a different color. It is soooo unbelievably cute. She danced with the girls, played with them and basically left the party thinking she was, in fact, a tween. I swear, after the party she was even talking in full sentences. I think this party sealed the deal, she is now more girly than I ever imagined she could be.

Ryan, on the other hand, didn't have his nails done, but he did have his first marriage proposal. Of course, I'm not in the business of marrying off my kids, so I had to let the little girl down easy. She took the news pretty well, but she did ask that he come back when he's older and marry her.

He's a charmer, what can I say. I'm sure that means trouble for me later.

This week's lesson: It's been beautiful

This week has been one for the record books, but now that it's over, I can share some of beautiful moments we've been having aside from all the mama drama. Sometimes behind the scenes is much more interesting.

Ryan LOVES the swing. If you look really close you can see his brand new teeth.

Sophia also loves the swings.

What happens when you give a boy a flower ...

... He'll tear it up.

Sophia is showing off her brand new ponytail. She might be a girly girl after all.

Sophia's brand new best friend is our friend Hopey and Tom's gigantic sweetheart, Angus or "Big Doggy," if you ask Sophia.

This week I learned that although things may seem like they're spiraling out of control, if I take a moment, I can find so many more wonderful things to enjoy.

Making Friends

You may, or may not, have noticed the list on the left-hand side of this page under Making Friends keeps getting longer and longer. Well, my friends, this is my brand spanking new Blogroll. It's a list I've been compiling for the last several days of all the blogs that I'm reading. Some I read very regularly, others are an occassional read, but I enjoy reading all of them. So, when you're finished reading The Mommy Diaries, take a few moments and browse my list. I'm sure there are a few you'll find interesting.

I'm pretty new at the Blogroll-thing, so if you see your blog listed, please link to me on your site. And if you don't see your blog listed, comment on this post and I'll add you. There is a link under the list that says "Blogroll Me," clicking this link will automatically add me to your Blogroll.

I'm looking forward to reading and meeting you. If you have any questions, either comment or e-mail me. I will answer.

Daycare dilemma

I am fuming. I'm more upset than I have been in longer than I can remember. Yesterday, I picked Sophia up from daycare and she had a cut across the bridge of her nose. Her face looks terrible. Her left eye is a little black and blue from whatever happened, too.

Wait. What? "Whatever happened?" you ask.

Answer: No one knows.

Yup, that's right, no one has any idea how my daughter got a cut across the bridge of her nose during nap time.

Oh, I am indeed upset.

Here's the conversation between me and her teachers:

Me: Sophia, what happened to your face?

Sophia: Boo boo.

Me: Oh, I'm sorry honey. What happened (addressing the 3 teachers in the classroom)?

All teachers stop what they're doing and look my way.

Me: She didn't come to school with this, so what happened?

Teacher 1: We didn't see how it happened so we didn't write anything up, but now that we know it happened here we'll document it. (In their defense, these 3 teachers are not her regular classroom teachers, they are just with Sophia at the end of the day.)

Me: OK, so what happened?

Teacher 2 (Who IS one of Sophia's regular teachers): She must have gotten it during nap time while I was at lunch.

Me: So who was in the classroom?
(Teacher 2 names two teachers I've never heard before)

Me: No one saw anything?!

Teacher 2: It was during nap so the lights were off. I've said before that we need more people in this room.

Me: No one heard her cry? She must have had some reaction to getting hurt. Was the cut cleaned? Did anyone put ice on it? Did she get a hug or any kind of support while she was crying? You know, on Friday I found a bite mark on her back and I didn't get a report for that either. What is going on in this classroom? I'm going to have to talk to the director about this.

Teacher 2: Good, maybe you can get more people in here.

Argh!

This is my daughter's face we're talking about here. This is the place I bring my children every day. I do expect a certain amount of cuts and bruises. Kids will be kids. But I expect there to be documented reactions from the teachers when something happens. This incident was something that should have been noticed.

You can't even imagine how awful I feel at the thought that my daughter was suffering some kind of pain with no one there to comfort her.

It's just awful.

I tried to talk to the director last night, but she was on the phone and I couldn't wait around for her (which was probably a good thing since I was even more upset yesterday), so I talked to her first thing this morning. Her reaction was the same as mine. She said would be talk to the teachers. She then proceeded to tell me that in daycares, not just here, there is a high turn over rate for teachers in the young toddler rooms because the kids are such high maintenance that the teachers burn out quickly. This means little stability in the classroom.

But that is no excuse for no one noticing a cut on Sophia's face, I said. She agreed with me and said it is clear they aren't doing their job and they will be reprimanded.

You know, I drop my kids off at daycare every morning and go to work not because I need to get out of the house or because I don't want to take care of my own kids, but because I need to work. I need to contribute financially to my family. We, like millions of other families, need two incomes to keep the household running. I don't have the option to stay home, nor does my husband.

So what do I do? Do I change daycares or let it ride and see what happens? She's only in this classroom for another 2 months when she moves to the 2-year-old room where there is a teacher who's been there for a long time. What I'd really like to do is go down there right now and pull my kids out of daycare and put them both in a little bubble surrounding my house until I can find people worthy of taking care of my children.

But that's serious crazy mom talk.

Friends, family and lots of drink

Mother's Day came and went and although I was kind of hoping it would be the greatest of all days. But, I went out with some girlfriends Saturday night, and not being the party animal I once was, I spent most of Sunday nursing a horrific hangover. My not-so fabulous day was totally my fault.

We did get together with some friends for a barbeque. Two of my greatest friends in the whole wide world, Heather and Hope, had their first babies last year and because of this we haven't really been able to hang out. They are new moms who haven't yet rediscovered life away from their bundles of joy and I completely understand that. Heather's son is 6 months old and Hope's daughter is 4 months old. All of us, and a few others, met at Hope's house with our families for a barbecue. I was really looking forward to having the kids play with each other for the first time.

Since my kids are the oldest of the bunch, I went to the party thinking that Ryan would be the most advanced baby there. Boy, was I wrong. At 6-months-old Heather's son is a power house. This little guy crawls around military-style like he's got someplace to go. Fast. I was so amazed at how mobile he was. It was crazy. At 6 months, Ryan was just rolling over from his back to his belly. Watch out world, this little guy is ready for action.

Ryan did manage to keep up, so the babies did play together. It was so much fun watching all the kids interact. Ryan and the little guy were crawling all over together. Sophia was, of course, the mother hen of the bunch. She would crawl on the floor and the babies followed. When she wasn't playing follow the leader, she was making sure every baby knew that I was Sophia's Mommy and they should keep their distance. "My Mommy. No. My Mommy," was would say eye-to-eye with the baby closest to me. Yikes.

Hope's daughter, who is 4 months old, is a good baby. She was a bit young to crawl around on the floor with the boys, but she was happy to watch.

I'm so happy my friends have children who are the same age as my kids. As new mommies, it’s hard to make time away from home. But with all our kids so close in age, it will make hanging out much easier as they get older. I'm looking forward to summer for picnics and future barbecues. I'm sure there'll be a time when we're going to amusement parks together.

And as the babies get older, my friends will have a little more freedom for Girls' Days. This will be better than any Mother's Day.

Oh, my husband did get me a pair of the most awesome sunglasses (as soon as I get a picture of them I'll show you) in the world and he cleaned the inside and outside of my car, so I did get more than hangover for Mother's Day. Those gifts combined with his incredible ability not to make fun of me or be upset with me for drinking too much the night before is a great reminder that I do have a super great husband.

I take it back. Good friends, great family time and a super husband (minus the hangover) makes for a pretty great Mother's Day.

All the mothers in my life

This is a submission to my Mother's Day mom story challenge. It's from my mom, who came through with the first submission. Thanks for writing. You can also read this, and several other mom stories at The Mercury's Mother's Day 2008 blog page. You have to scroll pretty far down the page to read the stories, but they're there and they're worth a read.

I have known lots of mothers over the years. Some are good mothers, some are bad mothers, some are spectacular mothers. I wish I could say that my own mother was spectacular, but she just fits into the “good” category. I can’t say that there was anything that stands out in my mind that she did special while I was growing up. She was not overly affectionate, but back in those days, the way children were raised was so completely different from the way they are raised now.

I know everyone who has e-mail has seen the “jokes” about the “Old Days,” and probably think of them as very silly and not based on reality, but it’s all true. Yes, I did go out and play every day. When it was time for dinner, my dad, when he was home, would stand at the door and whistle his special whistle for me to come home. And no, I did not feel like he was calling a dog! That was my special whistle and I couldn’t wait to hear it. It meant dinner time. That was special because then we all sat around the table and ate and talked. I would make it a point of at least once, running my fork over my teeth to drive my sister crazy. She hated that, so of course I had to do it.

One of the things I insisted on after I got married and had children was dinner at the table. No television, no radio. Sound boring? Ask my kids. That is something that they still talk about now. We ate in the kitchen around a small table. Five of us all crammed around that table. But it was fun and we had some “interesting” conversations. As the kids got older, and the girls had boyfriends, I would tell them to bring their boyfriends over for Sunday dinner. They were a little afraid since there was no guarantee that the conversation would be appropriate for company. The boyfriends had to get to know us before a family dinner and sometimes they were still “embarrassed” by what we spoke about. But it was fun. I think the girls try to enforce that in their own homes and my son, David, swears he will when he finally settles down.

Eventually as we grow older, we turn into our mothers. I know I do things today that my mother did back then and when I catch myself doing them, I want to smack myself upside the head and say “What are you doing??, this is exactly what she would do!” I can’t say I have any lovey dovey feelings for her because I don’t remember too many special things that we did while I was growing up.

I guess I could say the one special thing was baking cookies at Christmas, but even that was strange. She would get annoyed if I did something different from how she did it so again, it wasn’t anything really special. I looked forward more to eating the cookies than baking them. Of course, when I got married and moved into our house, I got elected to bake the cookies every year. She was getting older then and she just didn’t feel like doing it any more. So now I bake cookies every year using my mother’s hand written recipe that is held together with tape. I soon plan on giving it to my girls to let them do their own cookies. I almost did it last year, but with my daughter, Diane, just having her new little one, Ryan, and Sophia just over a year old, I thought I would give her a break. Carol and Diane, be prepared this year! Cookie recipes coming your way!

Other mothers I have known over the years have been neighbors of my parents on the street where I grew up and my sister, who left us too soon and really didn’t have a chance to see her own daughter, my niece, grow up to be the beautiful independent woman that she has become.

Also on my list of mothers I have known are my own friends and neighbors. I have always found it amazing how differently we all raised our children. We all have our own sets of rules, regulations and family values that we base our lives on. But in the long run, our children have pretty much turned out the same. Most have their own lives to live away from their parents, and some are still struggling to figure out what they want to do.

Being a mother is a never ending journey, even when your kids are grown with their own families.

Diane, you have made this Mothers Day special and I thank you for it. I always said that you had a knack for writing, and your blog this week has proven me right (again!!). Keep up great work.

Love Mom

My Mom: My biggest fan

** This is my post as seen on The Mercury's Mother's Day 2008 blog. I wanted to republish it for anyone who may not have followed the link.

My Mom: My biggest fan

There are some things your mother does that, as a child, you don't realize how important they are until you grow up. My mom has always been my head cheerleader and it wasn't until recently that I realized how important it was for me.

Growing up, my mom was always there for any, and every, silly event I participated. I never sat and waited for her to show up because she was always there in the audience. Waving and shouting things like "Yeah, Diane. Way to go!"

I don't remember too much about things I did as a really young child, but I know she was there for ballet and tap recitals, gymnastic classes, swimming lessons (lots of swimming lessons) and school assemblies.

It wasn't until high school that I really noticed my mom's presence. It started when I joined the color guard in high school. As weird and uncool as it was my mom was there 100 percent, and that made it not-so uncool for me. Having the love and support of my mom made my high school band experience a wonderful, fun time that was filled with opportunity and real life lessons.

One of the biggest lessons I learned was the one of commitment. When I first joined the color guard I had no idea what it was. I moved from Catholic elementary school to public high school in ninth grade. I only knew one person and that one person was in the band and since I had (and still have) absolutely no musical talent, the only way I could participate in the same extracurricular activity as my only friend was to join the color guard.

After the first practice, I wanted to quit. I didn't want to start at my new school doing what I assumed was the dorkiest activity there was. Plus, I had to go to band camp. In August … during the hottest week of the summer … to run around outside with a flag.

I wanted to quit that day and I told my mom. She told me that I made a commitment when I joined the band and people were counting on me to follow through with my commitment. She said if after the first year I didn't want to do it again, I didn't have to, but I had to give them the year. If it wasn't for those words, I would have missed out on so many opportunities I couldn't have had any place else.

I didn't quit and I continued performing in the band and in the off season I joined the indoor color guard for the duration of my high school years. It was fun and I made lots of friends who weren't dorky and uncool. Plus, I got good at it and I got to do a lot of traveling. It was an experience I'm glad I didn't miss.

During band and indoor guard season, my mom was always in the stands cheering as loud as she could. She took on the roll of band parent as best as she could. She went to high school football games to see the band perform the half-time show. She stood in the freezing cold week after week to see me perform in competitions. She was there for me when we had terrible performances and she would jump up and down and scream her loudest when we had great ones.

After high school, I went to college and she was just as supportive even though I was becoming an adult and pushing her away. She never became discouraged and now, through my adult years, she is as supportive as ever.

It's not just that she's supportive; it's that she is genuinely proud and interested in everything I do. From my wedding and the birth of my children, to new jobs and new homes, my mom has been there for me proclaiming to anyone who will listen that I am her daughter and she is proud of my accomplishments.

Most recently, I was talking to her about my blog. She said, "I'm a fan of The Mommy Diaries. I'm probably your biggest fan."

Yes, I know you are, Mom, and I love you for it. Thank you for always being my biggest fan, no matter what I did. I am the woman and mother I am today because of your encouragement. I can only hope that one day my own children can look back and say I was just as supportive as you were to me.

Thank you, Mom.

Overcoming the odds to bring families together

There was a time in the not so distant past that I didn't like her very much. Society would say I shouldn't like her very much and that our current relationship is extremely unnatural.

Some people would even say our entire family dynamic is completely crazy. I would say that without her, things wouldn't be the way they are today.

Who is she? She is the mother of my stepson and my husband's ex-wife. Her name is Bernadette.

When Jon and I first started dating, there was a power struggle between the two of us, as is common, I imagine, between ex-wife and new girlfriend … especially when there is a child involved. We didn't really talk and when we did it was a terribly tense situation.

However, what I learned from Bernadette is that the bond of family is way more important than any real or imagined power struggle. This is a lesson that many divorced families never learn or simply cannot learn.

It didn't happen overnight. It didn't go from us not liking each other one day to best buddies the next. It was a slow process. We didn't have any talk about it. I didn’t plan things to work out the way they did, they happened because Bernadette would not have it any other way. We were all a family whether we like it or not. She did it for her son and I am so lucky to have her as my husband's ex-wife. I couldn't imagine having to live a life full of anger and resentment between me and the mother of my stepson.

Study upon study will say that divorce is terrible on children. They feel guilt and they feel torn between their parents. Bernadette knew that it was not in her son's best interest for us to ooze hatred, so she made the extra effort to bring our families together.

It takes a lot of courage and determination to put your own feelings aside for the sake of your child. She did it without even batting an eyelash; or at least seemingly so. Because of her, Jonathan doesn't have a regular split family. Jon and Bernadette talk regularly about parenting strategies and his development (he'll be 15 in a few short months!). We get together as a family often. My daughter plays with her daughter all the time. We even have sleepover parties for the girls.

The dynamic of our family is so unusual to so many people that we are often asked how we do it. I've had co-workers ask me about it. Friends of Bernadette have asked her about it. Some of them don't even know how to talk to me when we all hang out together. Even my mom has told me she doesn't really understand our relationship. I think in time, everyone will get comfortable with our situation because it's just the way it is going to be. I think it's sad that more families can't do this, but I understand why.

It takes a strong mom to do what she did and I'm proud to include Bernadette in my family. Yes, it is unusual, but it works for our family. I think Jonathan is a better person for her efforts.

Happy Mother's Day, Bern.

This week's lesson

This week, although it’s not over yet, has been filled with learning experiences I never imagined I’d learn from writing a simple blog post. Since this is The Mommy Diaries, I thought that this would be the perfect place to celebrate motherhood. My husband said to me last week: “Mother’s Day should be like Christmas at The Mommy Diaries.” He was right. Again.

So with fresh inspiration, I put together a week (it’s not over yet, this post is a sidestep) of mom stories I wanted to share with you. I was hoping (there’s still time, you know) that some of you would take up my challenge to write your mom story, too. I thought this would be a perfect place to celebrate mom and all her glory. So far, not a single reader has shared their mom story, but I’m holding out that at least one of you out there will participate.

What I learned this week from my posts is that there are so many moms out there who are not told nearly enough that they are appreciated.

With that being said, there is still time to celebrate your mom, or any mom you admire, like a friend, your daughter, your grandmother or any other form of mother I’m forgetting. If you don’t want to post on The Mercury, just e-mail me your story and I’ll post it here for you.

Give mom more than just a day … give her an entire week.

My journey to motherhood

The truth is that I’m having a hard time writing my next mom story so I’m going to procrastinate and tell you my story, since, well, I am a mom, you know, and I do have a story that I haven’t shared.

This is my journey to motherhood.

My husband and I were married on April 21, 2001. I was 25 and he was 27. Shortly after the wedding, Jon and I had the conversation about starting a family. I said I wanted to have a baby before I turned 30. Jon wanted to be sure we could afford to have a baby, but agreed with the 30 part. So we waited, sort of.

By the end of 2001 and early 2002, we were actively trying to get pregnant. Month after month I failed. It quickly became a terribly dark time. After several failed attempts, I became depressed. Month after month my husband did the best he could to sympathizing with my pain. I wish I had the words to accurately describe this time in my life.

It became a burden not to be able to get pregnant. I started taking clomid and still couldn’t get pregnant. Friends began getting pregnant and having babies while the stress of not being able to have a baby was destroying the foundation of my marriage.

During this time, so few people surrounding me knew what I was going through. Jon and I told very few people about our baby plans. My family kind of knew, but we never really talked about it. Some of my friends knew what was going on, but I didn’t tell them too much, because, frankly, who wants to hang out with someone who complains every time you talk to them? Not me. So I kept everything inside. The few times it burst out were completely inappropriate.

In 2003, I went to the doctor and had this test done called hysterosalpingogram (HSG) to make sure my uterus was OK. It was. The doctor’s had no explanation for why I wasn't getting pregnant. The whole experience just made me even more upset.

If you can’t have a baby and you’re really trying to have one, it messes with your head. I started to feel like if I couldn’t have a baby, then why on earth was I even married? I was frustrated and stressed and in need of some serious help. I started therapy. My therapist was the most amazing woman on the planet. But as amazing as she was, my husband and I still separated in 2005.

We only separated for 9 months. During that time we were both in therapy and going to marriage counseling. I came to terms with the fact that I may never have children of my own and I learned to be OK with that possibility. I had worked through my anger, gotten rid of my stress and Jon and I decided we wanted to save our marriage.

Around this time, I decided that if I couldn’t have children of my own we would adopt a child. I didn't want to go through the stress of IVF. Our plan was to start the adoption process when I turned 35.

In October 2005, Jon and I moved back in together. That same month I got pregnant with Sophia. The pregnancy just may have been the biggest shocker of my life, just when I had come to terms with things, everything changed.

After Sophia arrived, I nursed her for a while, but when I went back to work after my maternity leave, we started her on formula and that’s when I started the pill.

Apparently, and this is something no one ever talks about, once you resume your period after having a baby sometimes things aren’t exactly in order. In my case, I had a period that just wouldn’t go away. I mean, seriously, it last two whole months. So I foolishly stopped taking the pill hoping that it would level out my hormones. I told my husband what I was doing. We figured it took so long for us to have Sophia that the odds of us getting pregnant again so soon were astronomical.

Obviously we were very wrong. My next cycle never started and that’s when we learned about Ryan. I couldn’t have been more surprised.

So, this is the extremely abbreviated version of my journey to motherhood. There is a lot here I never shared before and I'm a little nervous about this post. But, whatever, I think it's important to know that the journey to motherhood isn't easy, whether it was easy to get pregnant or not. I've experienced both. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter how the child got here be because the journey to motherhood is only the beginning of the journey of parenthood.

Beautiful on the inside and out

My mom always said that if you have one true friend in your life, you are truly blessed. I am indeed blessed.

My dear friend Tammy, has been a part of my life since the day I was born. Our mothers are friends and we were born exactly one month apart. She was born Feb. 5 and I was born March 5 of the same year. (Coincidentally, my younger brother was born May 1, 1984, and her younger sister was born July 1 of the same year. Weird, right?) So when I say we've known each other since the day I was born, that is a pretty literal statement.

We've always had a unique relationship. Each of us has our own lives and our own set of friends who generally don't intermingle, but we've always remained friends. As far as I can remember (now she might say different, I don't know), she and I have never had an argument or major disagreement.

She is also a mother I truly admire.

I have to admit that I have not always been a very nice person. Tammy is another person who got pregnant while my husband and I were in the midst of our pregnancy struggle. She and I planned (independently) to have a baby around the same time. She was successful and I was not.

When she called me to tell me her big news, I tried to be as happy as possible for her, but I was actually crying while saying I was happy. I was happy, I was just disappointed in myself, too. In hindsight, I should have been adult enough to wait until I got off the phone with her to cry, but if you've ever struggled to get pregnant (or keep a pregnancy) you know how emotional it can really be. I did apology for my behavior. I think it was the very next day when I called her in a much more composed state and told her how happy I was for her. I really was. The thing about Tammy is that instead of just accepting my apology or being upset with me, she told me she completely understood my reaction. She was not upset with me and we were able to get on with her pregnancy.

I'm not proud of some of my past behavior.

Anyway, Tammy is a terrific mother, wife and woman. She is a music teacher at an elementary school. She plays a variety of instruments that include the piano, bassoon, saxophone, violin and who know what else. She performs in concert bands and teaches music lessons. Her husband is an elementary school art teacher who moonlights as a "real" artist.

On top of all this, their son is the most pleasant and well-mannered boy I know.

What I really love about Tammy is that she is not afraid to admit when she's wrong, she accepts advice openly and is a fantastic listener. I wish I could be as good of a listener as she is because I think it would make me a much better person.

She is a fighter who will always stand up for her family. She has unshakeable determination to do what she feels in best for her family. I've never heard her say an outright bad thing about any member of her family or friends. That, my friend, is not a characteristic many woman have. I admire that trait in her.

Tammy is a beautiful wife, mother and woman. She's beautiful on the inside and the outside and she deserves an extra special Mother's Day.

***

Don't forget to share your mom story at The Mercury's Mother's Day 2008 blog. After you submit your story, let me know by commenting to this post or e-mailing me. I will be sharing stories here about my favorite moms through the rest of this week. I would love some company during this journey through motherhood, so please share your stories. After they are featured on The Mercury site, I will also post them here.

It takes strength to be a mother

My sister is one of my favorite moms. As a mother, I look up to her. I always have.

When we were young, my sister was probably my worst enemy. We fought like no one's business and, as my parent's can attest, we were terrible. She was popular and pretty and four years younger than me. I don't think she looked up to me, she was her own, independent person and didn't want me as a role model.

At 19-years-old, my sister got pregnant. She had just graduated from high school and had the world in front of her.

She called me on my birthday to tell me she was pregnant. I believe I was the first family member she told. To the horror of my mother, I suggested she get an abortion. I don't regret those words, but I am certainly glad she didn't have one because she gave birth to my nephew, Jimmy, and he is the coolest and he's my favorite boy on the plant.

When my sister got pregnant with her second son, Matthew (the second coolest little boy on the planet – next to Jimmy, of course), I was in a bad spot. My husband and I were going through a very rough patch that was caused partly by our two year struggle to have a baby. She called me on my birthday, again, and I cried. I was so angry at her for "accidentally" getting pregnant for a second time when I couldn't get pregnant even once.

I do regret my reaction to her news. If I were her, I probably would hate me for it. Somehow we overcame my selfish and childish reaction and she blessed me with the opportunity to be with her when she gave birth to Matthew. I couldn't believe how strong my sister was. I never saw that side of her before and I'm so glad I got to be there. Before that moment, I didn't know the strength it takes to deliver a baby.

After watching that unbelievable event, I walked out of the hospital room and said to my husband (who was waiting in the waiting room) that I was glad I hadn't gotten pregnant because there is no way I could deliver a baby. Three days later, I found out I was pregnant with Sophia. When I called my sister to tell her the news, she was so happy for me. She cried out of joy and I wish I would have done the same with her.

My sister now has an 8-year-old and a 2-year-old and she's raised both almost completely on her own. It takes a strong woman to do what she has done. Despite facing adversity that I could never have dealt with, my sister is raising her boys to be wonderful people. She works hard and she doesn't get enough credit for it.

This isn't nearly enough, but here goes anyway:

Carol, you are a wonderful mother and I don't think you are reminded of that often enough. You love your kids with a fierceness I admire and your children love you unconditionally. You have been through more than your years would ever suggest and you've kept your family together and happy despite the odds. I am so proud of you. Happy Mother's Day.

Mothers deserve more than just a day; How about Mother's Week

I think mothers deserve more than just a day. For all the work we all do, we should be celebrated for much more than 24 hours. So this week, I'm asking you to share your stories about your mother at The Mercury's Mother's Day 2008 page. Submit your story by e-mailing it to fausteileen0.mothersday@blogger.com or to efaust@pottsmerc.com It can be as long or as short as you like. You can even include pictures; just add them in your e-mail.

Don't be shy, give your mom the tribute she deserves. It's the least you can do, she did raise you, you know. After you submit your story, let me know by commenting to this post or e-mailing me. I will be sharing stories here about my favorite moms through the rest of this week. I would love some company during this journey through motherhood, so please share your stories.
I told my mom story and you can read it here. My post is called "My Mom: My Biggest Fan." Follow the link and you'll learn that I am not only a mother, but a pretty big dork too. But none of that ever mattered to my mom who was, and still is, always cheering for me.

Thanks, Mom.

Sorrow followed by joy

I've taken up the challenge to share some things I've learned about having a second child. I'm doing this in honor of the upcoming birth of some of my favorite mommy bloggers' second child (oh, and maybe to win a prize).

So here goes:

When I found out I was pregnant with my second child I cried. I cried because I was disappointed in everything my daughter would miss out on being an only child. I cried because I was so upset with myself for being so stupid and getting pregnant, again. I cried because I hated being pregnant. I was so swollen and uncomfortable during my first pregnancy and I knew what was in store for me for the next nine months.

Sophia was only 5 months old. It's a time when your child needs you to be able to crawl around on the floor with her and pick her up and carry her and play with her. I was so miserable and I felt so alone.

But during my pregnancy I met a lot of women who had children 12, 13, and 14 months apart. My children are exactly 14 months and 9 days apart. Anyway, I was shocked at how many women I randomly ran into who experienced the same situation I was in – the disappointment in being pregnant again and crying, everything. I met them at the hair salon, at the grocery store, day care, the nail salon, the shoe store, really, it was everywhere. And every woman I met said the same exact thing. "It's hard in the beginning, but it gets easier."

Oh, yeah. I didn't believe that for one second.

Oddly, every woman I met said that exact phrase; and now, almost 8 months after having my son, I can proudly say that the last 17 months (pregnancy included) have been the hardest thing I have ever been through, but the older Ryan gets, the easier things have become. Honest.

I found that the first couple of months after Ryan was born, life was very stressful … and exhausting. Sophia needed just as much attention as she got before Ryan was born and he needed even more attention then Sophia. There was no rest. I had very little time to spend watching Ryan sleep. There was very little time spent just holding him and staring at him. That time doesn't exist with the second child, but we bonded anyway.

I found that with the second baby, I learned to trust my instincts much more than with the first. After I had Sophia, I read and read and read and read everything I could think of about raising a baby. Even when I was pregnant, my main concern was that I was doing everything right with Sophia. She ate solid food exactly when the books said I should start them. She nursed exactly how the books said she should and she slept exactly when she was supposed to sleep. With Ryan, it really is less stressful because I have already filtered through what is crazy mom stuff and what is practical for me. I know what works and what doesn’t work for my family and that is a great comfort. Of course, things come up that didn't with the first, but experience makes things a little more manageable.

You know how to hold a baby. You understand how to comfort a screaming newborn. As a mother, you've already learned all you need to know about how to bond with your child and care for her. The first child gets you over that hump. This time, it's all about putting everything you learned with the first child into practice.

The second child assures you that you are, as you've always suspected, Wondermom.

She can really make him laugh

I don't know what it is about her, but Sophia can make Ryan laugh like no one else. For some reason he just cracks up every time she looks at him. She is so good at making him laugh that if he's crying and we (Mommy and Daddy) can't get him to stop, we'll call Sophia over to make him laugh. I guess it must be love, see for yourself.

(By the way, I have no idea who Johnny is, but Sophia calls his name all the time. Weird.)

This week's lesson

Last week we had no lessons, but don't worry because this week there is plenty to make up for it.

This week I learned that sometimes you just have to let them cry it out. I know it may seem like a lesson I should know pretty well already, but it's not. Three days ago, Sophia started waking up in the middle of the night screaming. The first night it happened I thought that maybe she was having a nightmare. She woke at about 4 a.m., so I just brought her back into bed with me and her daddy. The next night she woke at about 11:30 p.m. and she was, again, completely freaking out. The scream was shrill, like she was in pain. We tried to let her cry, but after about 10 minutes neither my husband nor I could listen to the high-pitched scream any longer. This time he brought her back into our bed, where she slept until 6:30 a.m.

This brings us to last night, which was the worst night I've had in months. Really. Sophia woke the first time at 8:30 p.m. After about 15 minutes of her screaming, Jon went and sat with her. She wouldn't let him leave her side. We gave her some Motrin, thinking that she probably had a headache from all the screaming and 45 minutes later, he was able to sneak out of her room.

At 11:30 p.m., right as I was resting my head on my pillow, the screaming started again. After listening to her scream for several minutes, I went in and sat with her … until 2 a.m. I refused to bring her in our bed for a third night and I would not sit in her room all night and hold her. I need sleep just as much as the next person. At 2 a.m. I was frustrated and exhausted, so I just left her and that's when the screaming really got bad.

"Mama. Mama," she was screaming while smacking her crib. Obviously she was trying to make a point. She normally calls me Mommy, except over the last couple of weeks she started calling me Mama when she is demanding something from me.

And she claps.

"Mama." Clap, clap. "Mama." Clap.

I hate it.

I digress; I learned that sometimes it's best for everyone to just let the child cry it out. I felt really guilty about leaving her alone because I want her to feel secure and I want her to know that her father and I will always be there when she needs us. But I also needed to get some sleep and I wasn't going to get any sitting on the floor next to her crib.

This week I also learned that no two children are the same – not matter how much they look alike.

Sophia and Ryan, both at 7 months. I can't believe how much they look alike!

When Sophia was teething she was pretty relaxed about the whole thing. She did some extra chewing, mostly on fabric, but her mood never really changed. On the flip side, Ryan was living proof that babies feel tremendous pain from teething. He wouldn't sleep, eat and was generally in a terrible mood. He didn't want to chew on anything, all he was interested in was being held. He wanted nothing else. That is until his little tooth poked through his sore gums. Overnight he went back to being his cheery little self. I'm desperately hoping the rest of his teeth aren't nearly as painful for him.

I also learned that there are so many things I didn't know before I had children and now that I have them, I'm learning more and more about myself ... and them.