Laundry and Children

How Are They Adjusting

For all of those folks who have been wondering how Rachel and Nicholas are adjust to their new baby brother, I think these pictures tell the tale.

Of course there have been some additional tantrums and at times Nicholas pretends that he has lost the ability to speak and instead makes Terodactyl sounds, but overall things have been going very smoothly.  The best news is that any jealousy that the kids feel is manifested towards us and not the baby.

In other news, I wore my pre-pregnancy jeans out in public today.  I attribute my speedy clothing recovery to the fact that there are times when I am hauling a baby carrier with an infant in one hand while I have a 40 pound two year old on my hip.  I now know why mothers put their hands on their hips when they are angry.  It is to discourage the children from climbing aboard.  I swear at times I am one part parent and two parts pack mule.

General Mom

Military strategy should be planned out by mothers of young children, because taking a hill would be nothing compared with getting three children under 5 dressed, fed, and out the door.

Case in point, and I was only trying to get Jack and myself out the door, was last night. I thought I was doing really well. I had to be at a meeting at 7 p.m., the sitter was going to be at our house at 6:30 p.m., my ETD was 6:45 p.m. We sat down to dinner at 5:45 p.m. (potato soup and beets). I even managed to breast feed the baby while I ate dinner. At 6:15 dinner was finished and the children were putting on their pajamas as I was cleaning up the kitchen. 6:30 and I met the babysitter at the door while taking out the trash. As we walked to the house Rachel met us at the door in her nightgown. Things were going as scheduled, but then I heard it. The sound of an unattended two year old in the bathroom and he was laughing. Never a good combination. As I climbed the stairs, Nicholas met me at the landing wearing his diaper, his shirt and one sock. What was on his head? Turns out in Nicholas’ world, shampoo is not just for bath time. He had pulled the shampoo out from under the sink and lathered up. Good bye schedule.

Amazingly, I was only 15 minutes late for the meeting, but on the way to there I thought about other instances like this one where on the fly crisis management was required. Last Sunday, I should have been awarded a medal for getting three children and myself not only dressed, but dressed up, packing a change of clothes for Marty, and getting us to a fundraiser in 45 minutes. Plus, at the event, no one spilled anything on himself or herself. But my coup de gras was last week… or was it my Calgon moment.

As Sophia from the Golden Girls used to say (and still does 4 times a day on Lifetime Television for Women), picture it, 5:30 p.m., Woodbridge, and I was making my first real home baked meal since Jack came home, lasagna. For those of you who have not had my lasagna, I must say that I am very proud of it because I make it from scratch, even the sauce. Perhaps this dish was a little ambitious for my first completely home cooked post-baby meal, but we learn through experience. I had the onions and garlic reducing on the stove when the baby started crying to be fed. Just then Nicholas announced that he had to go potty. While checking on the baby I saw Nicholas, pants around his ankles and diaper on the floor. He held up his hand and announced, “Momma, poopy.” Hungry Baby…Poopy Toddler…Hungry Baby…Poopy Toddler. The choices we are forced to make. I chose Poopy Toddler because he was mobile and I figured he would take less time to clean up. Apparently, Nicholas was very proud of trying to change his own diaper because he wanted to keep the TP with which he had wiped his tushy by storing it in his pocket. While I wrestling the stool covered toilet paper out of my two year old’s hand and my baby was squalling in the next room and my dinner was burning on the stove, the phone rang. I really must learn that I don’t have to answer every call. It was my mother. I told her I couldn’t talk, cleaned up Nicholas, turned down the stove and fed the baby. Thank God for Sponge Bob or Rachel might have gotten in to the fray too. Instead, after everything was back under control, she looked up from her favorite chair and asked, “When will dinner be done?” Right after Momma has a glass of wine and leads her troops over that hill.

Have You Ever Been THAT Family

Today was our first foray back to Mass after a short hiatus due to Jack’s birth. At 10:40 AM, we were all dressed in our Sunday best with tummies full and teeth brushed. It looked like we were going to make it to 11 o’clock Mass on time and in style.

Then Marty noticed that his clicker wasn’t working for the car. Strange. We would have to get a new battery. Then I got in the car and tried to start the engine. Turns out it wasn’t the clicker’s battery that was dead; it was the car’s battery. Out came the jumper cables and at 10:50 AM we were on the road. OK, a little behind schedule, but these things happen.

We arrived at church and shuffled across the parking lot. Nicholas was having trouble with the bag of pretzels that we had brought for the food pantry. He dropped them a couple of times, but then I helped him get a better grip by allowing him to hug the bag to his chest instead of holding it from the top and our group made it to the front door. Little did we know that we had just made a fatal error in judgment.

As we entered, an usher motioned for us to come down to the center of the church. Mass was well underway and we didn’t want to make a scene, plus we preferred to sit up in the balcony where there is a little more room. We waved him off and headed up the stairs, first Mama with the baby asleep in his carrier, then the kiddos holding their food, followed by Daddy who was keeping the whole procession moving forward. Just as I entered the pew, it sounded as if someone set off an air cannon right behind me. I turned around to see Nicholas splayed out across the bag of pretzels, which until now had been held tightly to his chest. Then I looked down and half the congregation was looking up at us, including the lector. This bang was pretty loud. The force of his body had simultaneously caused the bag to explode (I swear there is more air in these things than food) as he crushed most of the pretzels causing a bang-crunch sound that reverberated off the ceiling of the church directly down to the 300 or so people worshiping quietly below. After Mass, we spoke with our friend Judy, who was doing the reading, and she told us that she didn’t know if she should halt the Mass because she was concerned that someone was seriously hurt. Blame it on lack of sleep or an upheaval of hormones, but I thought the whole scene was hysterical and could not stop laughing.

No sooner had we settled in to our pew, than Nicholas knocked the now wide-open bag of pretzels under the pew in front of us blanketing the floor in salty snacks. Being that the kids are small, I sent them under to clean up our latest disaster. Rachel claimed that she was unable to reach the lower pew and quickly gave up. Nicholas was little help as he thought his job was to clean up and eat the escaped pretzels. So down went Mama to clean up the pretzels. Seeing this, Nicholas figured his job was done and climbed back in to the pew and started eating the pretzels by the handful straight out of the bag. Everyone knows how quiet those chip bags are, so we were once again the center of attention, but this time just of those in the balcony. Nicholas hardly stopped eating all through Mass including taking a couple of munchies along with him for the road as we processed down for communion.

As Jesus said in Matthew 19:14, “Let the little children come to me, and don’t prevent them. For of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.” So we will continue to bring our kids to Mass, but next time we will be bringing a canned good for the food pantry.

Empty Arms, Open Mouth

I know there are parents out there who wonder if their little bundle of joy loves them. I on the other hand have no such doubts. My little guy wants to be in my arms 24/7. In the hospital this arrangement was no problem, especially early on. Food was brought to me on a tray, my other two children were 6 miles away being cared for by relatives and I was catheterized, all my needs were being met leaving me long periods of time when I could simply hold the baby. Of course, when I was in this ideal baby holding position, there was no baby to be held as he was lounging in his own personal tanning bed. However, now that there is laundry to be done, food to be prepared, other children to care for and (dare I dream) personal hygiene to attend to, Jack has decided that the only place for him is in my arms. To comfort myself, I am going to assume this instinct comes from love and not some detached desire for me to be his personal rickshaw of life.

Since I never developed the skill of one handed typing, I have not been able to post much on our family blog. However, since all the children are still in bed and I have full use of both hands,I will attempt to catch up with this grouping of random thoughts.

May the Force Be With You

For those of you who thought that we should have named Jack “Ben Ken Nohe” (say it fast and you will get the reference), here is your Star Wars fix. If you can wait until Halloween, you will probably get another.

 

 

 

Is that Love In His Eyes or Is He Aiming

It turns out our little Jack has a bit of reflux which leads to occasional spitting up. Not wholly uncommon in newborns. I first noticed the problem when Jack started to make Pug noises after I fed him. No, he didn’t start barking, but he did sound a little congested and there was a gurgling in his chest. When I took him for his routine check-up at the Pediatrician’s office, she suggested holding him up right after feedings and if that didn’t work we could put him on baby Zantax.

This leads me to the topic of baby’s sleeping on their backs.  Stay with me, I swear it will all come together. You cannot look at an item related to babies sleeping without seeing the phrase “Back to Sleep.” They put it on sleepers, sheets and, I swear, it is written in three languages on Jack’s diaper, “Back to Sleep,” “Dormir Boca Arriba,” and “Dodo, sur le dos.” God bless these companies, because they are helping to reduce the rate of SIDS and that is a very good thing. However, when you talk to anyone one generation older and this topic comes up there is almost always talk of how babies used to sleep on their stomachs followed either by, “We didn’t know any better,” or “It worked fine in our day. With what they tell you now, it’s a wonder any baby survived. I mean we didn’t even use car seats; we just strapped the babies to the luggage rack.” Then there is invariably the discussion of why babies should sleep on their backs and how it is related to spitting up. It turns out that if a baby is on his stomach and spits up, he could breath it in and choke. But then a person, usually someone without children will ask, how it doesn’t happen if they are on their back. Wouldn’t the spit up just come up and go back down the baby’s throat causing the same kind of choking? No.

Picture it. A young mother is sitting on the edge of her bed. She has finally showered and is dressed. Someone alert the Vatican, because this miracle must be recorded. She is gazing in to her infant’s eyes and for the first time he seems to be staring back. She can actually feel that special mother to child bond that all the books talked about. What an amazing moment. And is that a smile? The next thing she knows, she is a reluctant player in a scene from The Exorcist and her beautiful infant is doing his best Linda Blair impression. While the young mother is covered in warm spit up, the baby is almost completely dry. You see, that look of love was really him taking aim and that smile was actually confirmation of a locked target. This incident was my education regarding babies sleeping on their back. No they won’t choke on their spit up; they won’t even get it on themselves.

Jazz Baby, Jazz

Rachel started dance class last week. She goes every Saturday morning for a half an hour of Jazz. The first week Marty and I were introduced to a new aspect of raising children, Competitive Parenting. You see, the way we looked at the situation Rachel was taking a fun little dance class. We dressed her in clothes that were easy to move in and made sure her socks had good elastic so as to not fall off. Apparently, we missed some sort of memo. The other girls in Rachel’s class were decked out to the nines in tutus, dance shoes, and all sorts of dancing accoutrements. Rachel had a great time in dance class, but Marty and I felt like we had done something wrong. Clearly, this was not a dance class; it was a parenting pagent and we had come in last. Yet, there was a part of me that felt like coming in last in the evening gown competition actually meant that we had made it to the finals in this parenting pageant. I felt a twinge of moral superiority basking in my own reasonable perspective of this dance class. But, that didn’t stop me from going out and getting Rachel some pretty dance clothes. Come on, high moral standing is one thing, but being the only girl in socks could set the poor girl up for therapy down the road.

Now, I still think it is a bit ridiculous to dress your 4 year old like she is performing at Rockefeller Center, however, when I put Rachel in her new dance clothes for this week’s class (a modest set of black tights, a black leotard, a pink dancing skirt and ballet shoes), her comment was, “I will never be so pretty again.” I thought, I will never find a deal like this again. I mean the skirt was three bucks, which was a steal next to the $15 tutu. Besides, I if you treat every dance class like a recital, how special will the recital be at the end of the year. From what I hear for more experienced mothers of daughters, it will be about $50 special for the outfit she’ll wear only once on stage and it will miraculously cease to fit about five minutes after the performance.

 

Pictures of Jack

Marty and I realized that we had only a few pictures of Jack by himself. Pictures of someone holding him are really pictures of that person since you can hardly see the baby. To rectify the situation, Jack and I had our first photo shoot this weekend and here are some of the results. You can click on any picture in a posting and it will open up bigger in another window.