Still Stuck on the Move - Just Write

Brain dead.
Physically exhausted.
Overwhelmed with the chaos that is my house right now: boxes and Tupperware and drawers overflowing (literally) with clothes that are no longer even in any sort of pseudo-order.
The mattress on the floor is not too bad, though. With the exception of needing to put my knees practically up to my ears when I get up in the morning, the set up is surprisingly comfortable. (Maybe considering the fact that I am getting to the gym less and less these days, I should start counting that one exit out of bed each morning as a full squat/lunge.)
The original closing date for our current house was April 14.
Then it was April 16th.
Then it was "on or before April 30th."
Now here we are, living with a TV that has no cable; a kitchen containing only 6 spoons, 3 knives, 8 forks, one small pot, and one small pan; a refrigerator with only milk, eggs, left-over brie, 5 Coronas and one bottle of red wine; and we have no closing date.
Now we were told "it should be by this Friday."
I realize that this is not a Big Deal.
I realize that this is minor.
An inconvenience.
An annoyance.
But I'm really inconvenienced and majorly annoyed.
I am thinking it was a good thing we kept the beer and wine.

Join me and Just Write on Tuesdays! 

There's no inspiration

I don't necessarily mean that in a bad way.

More often than not, inspiration comes to me in the form of angst.
Drama.
Discomfort.
Heartache.


Lately, there's just been...Life.


Life without angst is a good thing. I am not complaining. I've got it good, but I'm not exactly longing for my laptop so I can pour out my musings.


Truth be told, I'm not musing much lately.

I'm too tired.
I'm just trying to keep up.


After the Summer Of Salsa, I find myself still struggling to catch up to Reality. I feel like I'm on a perpetual treadmill: always going, going, going.


None of it is "bad:"
I have a good job with good hours.
I have an amazing husband who truly sees our life as a partnership.
I have incredibly selfless parents and in-laws who constantly pitch in with babysitting.
I have time to myself almost on a daily basis.
I have two healthy, happy kids who (mostly) follow their tightly-set daily routine.

There are no crises, currently.

It's all good.


But still, I find that I struggle with day-to-day life. I find the everyday tedious and frustrating and, well, repetitive. I sometimes think that we spend so much of our life wasting away at jobs and errands and laundry and bathing children (even if I do sorta like my job and my children are pretty damn cute when they're splashing in the tub). It's just Life. Life is busy and hectic, even when it's good and boring and drama-free.


And then I feel guilty...guilty that I struggle, that I complain, that I'm always so tired. Because I am well aware of how lucky I am, how truly blissful life is when there's nothing to write about.

Lesson #372 of Parenting: The Terrible Twos WILL Find You

When Ben was a toddler, we kept waiting for the Terrible Twos. We read books about it. We asked friends how they handled them. We were ready.

But then they never came.

Well, there was one (yes, one) incident when Ben was two and a half and I took him to the bookstore and he threw a fit on the floor. I quietly picked him up, put him back in the stroller, menacingly whispered right into his face that "this was unacceptable and we were leaving" and we did.

And that was it. It never really happened again. Ben just seemed to skip right over those dreaded twos. (Before you get too envious, let me remind you that we have, however, had delightful moments of four-year-old-going-on-13-year-old-behavior, so really, you swap one developmental nightmare for another.)

But then there was Aidan...

Hubby and I have had to admit that They are here: The Terrible Twos.

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We're not gonna be so lucky this time around.

Now, I do realize how incredibly fortunate we were to not have had to deal with these horror stories with our first child, and I do realize that perhaps I never should have even slightly entertained the possibility that this kid would also give us a "Get out of jail free" card, 'cause, really, who gets that lucky??? But...you might remember that I have mentioned on just a few occasions that Aidan Kai SCREAMED his WHOLE ENTIRE first FOUR and a half MONTHS of his life.

So I thought that maybe, just maybe, I'd paid my dues on this one.

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Nope.

Not only has adorable-as-hell Aidan Kai turned into a foot-stomping-wailing-holy-whiny-terror, he also has turned into a not-sleeping-through-the-night-anymore-for-no-apparent-reason-wailing-holy-whiny-terror.

Last night it started at about 1:20 a.m., and it was nearly 4 in the morning when we finally started to let our guards down long enough to dare close our eyes again.

And you'd think a child who'd spent a good portion of his day whining and stomping and carrying on would be pretty pooped out, especially when he spent a good portion of the evening whining and writhing and screaming and carrying on, but good ol' energetic and adorable-as-hell Aidan Kai? Up at the crack of dawn this morning. Barely 2 hours after we'd finally been able to get back to sleep. He was UP...demanding "Blue's Clues" and "meeelk!" and trying to force feed me cereal and pushing me "up! up! off! off!" the couch while I tried to sneak in just 5 more minutes.

The clincher?

He is, apparently, a serene and easy-going little fella when he is with others. Oh, and sleeps through the night, too. Yep. We spent this past week visiting our out-of-town friend, and when we left for one night and day of bar-hopping, shopping, and general alone time, our friend reported a very easy day with our little ball of personality...and the little shit slept from 7:15 p.m. to 8:10 a.m. in one shot.

Now I realize that parenting is all about stages. Everything is temporary. Just when you think you can't possibly go on like this any longer, the behavior suddenly disappears. OR, just when you think you've finally figured this one out, a new challenge pops up. I get it. Hang in there. This too shall pass. Be patient. Yada yada yada. But the sleep? I can't do it. Can't.

The main reason Hubby and I counted every second of the newborn stage was because of the sleepless nights. We can be pretty laid back parents in many areas, but we take our sleep training very, very seriously. It was the one area where we've always said "We got this." Our methods and preferences may not have been for everyone (yes, we let them cry, and no, we never, ever co-slept), but they worked for us, big time. Now, here we are, more tired than usual from dealing with the daytime tantrums, only to be robbed (yes, I said "robbed" and yes, I'm being melodramatic) of our much needed sleep to be awakened every 5 minutes throughout the night.

I mean, really, I know we lucked out and got the Terrible Twos with only one of our children. That is a 50% success rate, right? And perhaps we should be happy enough and just stop complaining... But is it too much to ask that the Random Sleeping Disruption Cycle have waited for the Infamous Twos to have been through with us?

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(It's a good thing he's cute...)

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I think I need to go on hiatus

During our recent getaway weekend to South Beach, Hubby and I were enjoying over-priced calamari and even more over-priced cocktails when we were distracted by a sudden frenzy of slightly important-looking people whizzing by, stopping to set up cameras, lights, and generally techie-looking equipment at a table a few feet away. Since stuff like this is quite the norm on South Beach, we weren't too surprised by the activity, but were curious as to who this was all for. That's when we saw Khloe and Khourtney Kardashian, along with Baby Mason, strolling down the sidewalk, all glammed up and shiny-looking, pretending to spontaneously select a table at a sidewalk cafe for lunch.
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I know a lot of people can't stand the Kardashians, but I find them slightly amusing (and, due to my own childhood traumas, have a particularly soft spot in my heart for Khloe, a.k.a. "The Fat Sister"), so I stood around for a few minutes when I was done eating and watched them film.

The two of them mostly chatted while adjusting their hair, but every once in a while, they'd pause and look over at the crowd that had gathered. I could be wrong, but they seemed almost surprised by us gawkers. And every time they'd look over at us and turn back to each other, each one would fidget a bit, adjusting her blouse or sitting up just a bit straighter.

I read in a recent US Magazine article (Yeah, so? I read Jane Austen too, okay?) that the Kardashians are in the spotlight so much that every once in a while they tell their people to "take them off the books for two straight weeks."

Even the Kardashians, queens of fame without talent, lovers of all things Hollywood, who've made a career (sorta) of getting attention, need a time out. Even they get overwhelmed by it all.

Sometimes even all the good stuff is too much stuff.
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Recently, I mentioned to a friend that I thought I might have a vitamin deficiency. When he asked me why, I explained how tired I felt all the time, how it didn't matter if I slept 4 hours or 12, how every day I needed at least 4 cups of caffeine just to make it through the afternoon. His response? "You don't have a vitamin deficiency. You have two kids under the age of 5 and you still try to do everything you used to do before you had kids."
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It's true, I guess. I refused to stop living my life when I had children, so that means that I somehow had to figure out how to squeeze in the raising of 2 human beings into an already pretty full life. Date nights dancing 'til 5, working out at least 4 times a week, reading the stack of novels on my night stand, hanging out with girl friends, spending quality time with my family, a full-time teaching career, general household duties....all of this has to be smushed in with turning two little boys into happy, wonderful grown men (and enjoying it while I'm doing it!).

There is a lot of good stuff in my life. Adventures, activities, and play. There are a lot of wonderful people around me who need (and to whom I want to give) my attention. When I am advised to "cut back" or to "do less," I can not find one thing that I am willing to give up. All of it makes me a happier, more fulfilled person. All of it is required for me to feel like Me. And to be honest, there is a whole list of things and activities (writing courses! mountain biking! girlfriend night outs! belly dancing classes! play dates!) that I wish I could add to my Must-Do's.

But sometimes it all gets to be too much. Even the good stuff.

This week has been one of those weeks. I have nothing to really complain about: I had an amazing weekend "away" with Hubby, my 4-year-old had a successful and relatively painless surgery, my students completed their state tests. But I feel spent. Burnt out. Raked over coals. I feel like the noise and the chatter and the excitement and life in general is drowning me. I feel out of sorts and I just want everything and everyone to stop.

Stop the world; I want to get off.

But I don't have "people." I can't tell anyone to "take me off the books." And the truth of the matter is, I don't think I'd really want to. I like the stuff my life is filled with. I like the people I'm surrounded by. I like planning and doing and playing. It's what makes all the hard stuff easier. And so, I guess, Khloe and I have more than our weight issues in common...we both sometimes fidget with all the attention, but we can't really get enough of it.

I WILL enjoy the holidays, DAMMIT!

I am exhausted.

Exhausted and sick and discouraged and stressed.

And feeling guilty about it.

It is The Holidays. I love this time of year. It's my favorite. Christmas has always been a big to-do around my house, ever since I was a teeny little kid. Add my birthday to the mix...exactly one week before Christmas...and well, December has always been good to me.

And I'm big on the gimmicks, too. On my mental To Do List every year is: watch holiday movies, drink hot chocolate, take pictures with Santa, wrap presents together, count down the days on the advent calendar, participate in every Secret Santa available, buy extra special gifts for everyone on the list, send out cool Christmas cards, take kids to a snow day event (we're in Miami, people), listen to Christmas music, decorate the house, go to a holiday park....the list is endless. This year? Um, we've managed the tree, some lights outside, and maybe a Rudolph movie or two (but not really to enjoy as a family...more to get the kids to sit still and be quiet for 28 minutes).

When I complain about all of this to Hubby (oh, wait, sorry, I mean Chris), he laughs: "What do you mean, 'We haven't done anything this Christmas'? Sure we have...we've done pink eye, multiple ear infections, throat infections, bronchitis, stomach viruses, fevers, colds....We've done plenty this season!"

Funny.

I realize I shouldn't take it so seriously. I understand that what we've been dealing with is nothing...simple, inconsequential, annoying stuff. I know that we are incredibly lucky. Just this morning I found out about an acquaintance of ours, 42 years old, an athlete, a competitor, a health nut...died last night from stage 4 colon cancer. 42 years old. I realize his wife and family would give anything to be dealing with colds and ear infections and eye gunk. I should not whine. I have no right. And that's when the guilt kicks in. And then I'm more stressed because I think I'm so damned ungrateful and whiney.

But...
I am exhausted.
Sick.
Discouraged.
Stressed.

I think the lack of sleep is finally starting to affect me. It's been a couple of weeks now, and my head is in a perpetual fog. Even now, as I write, I have all these points I intended to make...these themes I planned on writing about...but now, I feel like I'm still participating in the Half Drunk Challenge, because although I'm sober, I'm pretty damn sure I'm not making any sense.

Even this blog (and all those I love to follow and comment on)... it has become yet another thing to be stressed about. I have no time, no energy, no...zest.

Yes, that's it. Zest.

My zest has been all zapped out of me. And I'm usually a zesty kinda girl, you know? I like things big. I like things loud. I like things fun. I'm all for the whimsy, the silly, the metaphorical tinsel. But I feel like we're running on empty around here. It's been 10 weeks now. 10 weeks of colds and infections and fevers and complaining (mostly, mine). I'm sick of hearing myself talk about it, write about it, think about it. I just want to enjoy these next couple of weeks...my upcoming birthday trip, Christmas Eve, Christmas morning, my family, the kids, us. All of it.

So perhaps I have to force myself to let go of all of those things I think I am supposed to be doing in order to enjoy the holidays, and just...enjoy them. Maybe the less pressure I place on myself, the more I will actually get out of all of this? It always comes back to the same stuff...whatever our issues are...they keep coming back at us in different scenarios. My issue has always been letting go, surrendering, just existing. And it creeps into everything I do: work, losing weight, relationships, blogging, traveling, even Christmas. It's no wonder I'm exhausted. It's not the kids making me so tired; it's myself.

I guess this is evidence of how important writing is for me. It really is cathartic. Just by writing this all out, by going almost stream-of-consciousness, by complaining and venting and explaining it, I almost snap myself out of it. I remind myself of everything I need to learn: surrender, stop stressing, stop demanding perfection, be grateful. Breathe.
Let go.

Child #2: The Plague Continues...

This kid never stops.

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Aidan Kai is a mover and a shaker. Always has been.

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He cried for the first 4 1/2 months of his life...not a typical newborn's disgruntled mew. No, this kid wailed. Shrieked. Screamed. Indignantly.

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Around the time the crying stopped, the exploring began. He just couldn't sit still. He couldn't even lie still. He'd wriggle around the crib so much that he'd bump his head several times a night. Now? He gets into stuff. He pulls things off counters. He climbs into drawers. He whops his big brother on the head. And he does (almost) all of it with a big toothy, dimply smile.

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Tonight? Not so much.

Tonight? He just wanted to be held. He wanted to be still.

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We had an H1 scare over the weekend. After Ben hit 104.3 for a second time, we took him in to see the after-hours pediatrician, who diagnosed him with H1...just off the top of her head, really. Then, after insisting there was nothing to be alarmed about, she insisted that if the baby got even 101, we had to bring him in "immediately."

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The baby hit 101 yesterday. And yes, I was alarmed.

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Turns out, according to our family pediatrician, who knows all of my kids' quirks by heart, there is no H1 in the household (Hurry! Knock on wood!!!). This is a product of all these damned colds and viruses that have been swimming around here for 8 weeks. So now we deal with more antibiotics, more ear infections (currently, 3 out of 4 children's ears in this house are officially infected), more green slime coming out of noses, more coughing and sneezing.

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Ben is finally getting better (will it last longer than a week this time?), but Aidan Kai is in the worst of it (we hope). This will be our 5th night in a row during which our alarm will ring every 2 hours so we can check a child's fever, apply a cold washcloth, administer medicine or hugs.

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I'm not real big on blogging about my kids' day-to-day stuff. I prefer to limit my posts to when I really feel like I have something to say...or share...or complain about. I try to make this blog more about my struggles and victories with being Me while being Mama. But these last few days, this is all my life has been, and so it is during these times that that side of Me that I often write about...the one I work so hard to hold onto and help grow...the non-Mommy me...the Just Me...that one is pushed (shoved) completely out of the way for a bit, so the Mommy Me can be out in full force. When my kids are sick, I can't be anything other than Mama. Nor do I really want to be.

You mean it gets worse?!?

It was one of those moments...I had the 25-pounder on my hip, a full blown wrestling match necessary to keep him from sliding down my side again and onto the floor, where he desperately wanted to reach the elevator alarm button.

Errands with a 15-month-old are not easy. No, let me correct that: errands with this 15-month-old are not easy. My first kid? I could go to the mall on Black Friday for 10 hours and he'd sit happily in the stroller the whole time.

Today was the second day in a row when I'd had to spend hours on my own with Aidan Kai while trying to accomplish something. Simple tasks such as buying a loaf of bread or dropping off a pair of glasses for repair become full blown tests of physical endurance and mental strength with this kid.

Yes, he's cute. Reeeeeeal cute. And funny. Reeeeeeal funny. But that baby who wailed the entire first four and a half months of his life? Still there.

So as I was standing there in the elevator, wondering how in the world women who don't work out can physically handle their toddlers when I thought surely I'd end the afternoon with either a broken back or a broken baby, a woman steps into the elevator with her teenage son. She looked serene. Her hair was brushed. She smiled at me. She made cooing sounds at Aidan Kai. That's when she points to her son and says wistfully: "Awwww, it's hard to believe he used to be that little." Another woman who had been standing behind me immediately piped in: "Yeah, they really do grow up so fast."

My response?

"Yeah, I hope so!"

It was my attempt at a bit of humor and a bit of honesty.

These two women with grown children did not think it was so funny. Or true, apparently.

"Oh, no, no, noooooo. Enjoy it. Trust us." They both nodded emphatically, nearly in unison.

At this point, the elevator door opens and as we all step out, the woman with the teenage son slows down enough to let him walk ahead. She turns back to me and conspiratorially whispers (complete with the hand over the mouth for dramatic emphasis): "You know how they say this is the best time?" She pauses and motions to Aidan. "It really is true." With that, she shuffles along to catch up with her son.

And I am left standing there, blinking. Discouraged.

You mean this is IT? This is where it peaks? Then I'm screwed, because most days, I'm not digging this part so much.

Look, I get it. I know I will look back and ooooh and ahhhh and nostalgically remember the days when my boys were babies. I already do that sometimes with Ben. I get that these days really will fly by in the grand scheme of things. I understand that they are only little for a very short time. I do know that. You realize it all the more when you've had one already grow up into a small boy, all scruffy and rough-and-tumble and occasionally stinky. So I do take time to inhale all that baby/Cheerios/milk/drool smell Aidan Kai manages to harbor in his neck and, amazingly, the very tippy top of his head. I do still make sure to take tons of pictures, so I never miss out on any lasting memories with the second child. I do try to keep in mind that this will be The Last Time In My Whole Life that I will see my child learn how to walk and say a new word and discover Mickey Mouse.

But I also think: it's gotta get easier. It's got to. Because, quite frankly, I can't do this much longer.

I often find myself fantasizing--we're talking full out theatrical production complete with narration going on in my head here--about when the boys will be old enough to be self-sufficient. No, I don't mean get jobs and move out. I don't want to fast forward that much. But an independent bath and butt wipe would be lovely. To be able to go to the beach, come home, and call out "Okay, everybody to the shower and then we're getting a pizza and a movie!" To be able to run an errand without lugging a wriggling, borderline-tantrumy sack of potatoes back and forth. To be able to unload a dishwasher without having to use one foot as a mid-air gate to keep the baby from climbing into it.

So, really, how bad do things get after this? Did that woman in the elevator know something I don't? Is this like when parents don't tell people who are thinking about having kids how tough it really is because a) they don't want to frighten them and b) misery loves company?

I've spoken to many women who tell me that they absolutely loooooved the baby stage. Sometimes I wonder if they really did, in fact, love it while they were in it, or, if maybe after the years have passed, they love the memories of it. Maybe once it's all over and you have grown kids running around, with their own set of issues and challenges, you just remember that fat wriggly cooing baby and wish for that simplicity. You block out the sleepless nights, the ear-splitting tantrums in the grocery store, the mashed peas thrown across the room. I read somewhere once that scientists have discovered that the brain tends to forget unpleasant memories. It's like a defense mechanism. I suppose if you couple that scientific logic with the everyday aches and pains of babyhood, it makes sense that we'd remember only the good.

The next time Aidan Kai is screeching, stiff-legged, refusing to sit down in the shopping cart, I will try and remember that woman with the teenager. I will try. And maybe, just maybe, one day I will walk into an elevator and see a struggling mom with her struggling baby and smile knowingly, maybe even long for the smell of Cheerios and drool. But I don't think I will tell her to "enjoy it." Because really, that's kind of unnecessary.

Will everyone just please be quiet for a minute?!?

I want to sit on the beach. That's it. Just sit. And be quiet.

For the last 4 days, I've been surrounded by noise. Constant noise. Some of it good noise, some of it bad noise, but all noise.

There has been work noise: socializing after a summer off, meetings droning on and on, confusion and chaos over schedules and student lists, the screeching of desks being shoved and pushed into place for a fresh start.

There has been Mommy noise: "When is Dada coming home from his trip?" "How many days 'til school?" "Aidaaaaaan, let goooooo of myyyyyy toooooyyyyys!" "But I don't waaaaaannnnaaaaa share my popcorn with Grandpaaaaaa..." And from the other one: "Waaaaaaaaaaah!" (which translates into: "Hey Mama, I'm up. I don't care if it's not even 6 a.m. yet and a Saturday and you've been working all week and I woke you up twice last night because I couldn't find my blankie. I'm up now. So come feed me and then play with me with great enthusiasm.")

There has been socializing noise: The hours and hours of talking with friends who come over to keep me company or help with bedtime routines while Hubby is away (I know: I have good friends).

Tomorrow there will be more noise: the noise of the first day of school. For both "Me's": the teacher Me and the Mommy Me.

I just want to be silent. Literally and figuratively. I want to sit on a beach and breathe and not speak and not listen and not tend to and not make small talk and not discipline and not have any demands placed on me. I just want to Be.

We interrupt this regularly scheduled blog to bring you...Exhaustion

Have you ever been so tired, you can't sleep? You know, kinda like when you're hungry and hours go by and you can't eat and by the time you can, you're almost too sick to eat? (Or maybe that's just me.) But seriously, all I have wanted all day is for the day to end so I can get in bed, and now I'm sitting here writing because I'm too tired to sleep.

It's been a looooong week. I'm playing New Teacher and Single Mom all at the same time. And I'm tired. Really. Really. Tired.

School was back in for teachers this week, and after 3 years of being the librarian (don't even think about starting with the geek jokes), I am returning to the classroom. For those of you who are not teachers and have no idea what it takes to get a classroom ready for 50 (yes, 50) little eager minds, here's the short version: unpack a million dusty boxes; clean roach-infested cabinets; find a place for all your Teacher Pack Rat Resources and General Essential Junk; magically turn the room into a colorful, inviting, warm learning place; attend a million hours worth of (mostly pointless) meetings; plan lessons and activities; create procedures and rules for everything from fire drills to bathroom attendance to homework collection; and fend off parents who are peeking in your room and trying to get to you early.

I've been doing all this while Hubby has been gone for a race in Utah, which means that I've been mostly on Single Mom Duty. (Shout out to the Single Moms, by the way!) I have said many times before how lucky I am that Hubby is one of those Rare Finds: he does not "help" me; he parents. Equally. Sometimes even more so. So when he's gone, I feel it. Bad. Again, lucky me, I have an amazing support system, so my dearest friend and general guardian angel has come over every night to help with The Bedtime Routine. And my other Fab Friend came over to keep me company for a couple of hours. And my parents will be dropping by to cover Baby Duty while I take the Big Brother to his school's Open House. I've got help. Lots of it. And I'm still frickin' tired. Work-wise, this is by far the worst timing for Hubby's trip, but it was an amazing opportunity, and one that I really wanted him to have. I'm thrilled he is where he is, doing what he's doing with the people he's doing it with. But I will be thrilled when he's back and it's back to Team Parenting.

One more thing on the To-Do list that didn't get done this week

What do you mean, 'I haven't posted in a week'?!? What about the post about "Ben and Mama Day"? The one about how I took the day off to take him to his end-of-year party, lunch at his restaurant of choice, and then the movies, but he still wanted Daddy to read him books at bedtime...? You didn't read that one? Hmmm...What about the one about Aidan, a.k.a. The Vomiter, who decided to puke just as I sat down to dinner with my girlfriends? Oh but surely you read the one about how I went mountain biking and fell not once, but twice, on the same elbow--nearly breaking it? No? Didn't read any of those? Such a shame, 'cause they were funny and poignant and nearly award-worthy.
Oh wait. You couldn't have read them...because I only wrote them...IN MY OWN HEAD. I did. I swear. I walked around all week blogging away, but just never got around to sitting at the computer and writing it down where it counts. Some days I was just too busy. Some days I was just too tired. Some days I was just too busy and tired. And I'll be honest, when I get to That Point at the end of the day, when all I can think about is crawling into bed and either watching mindless TV, reading, or just going to sleep, I don't care enough. I mean, the thoughts are there. The words are there. The stories are there. I tell myself to get up, go to the computer, type them all in. But I can't. The all-consuming desire to Just Stop--stop thinking, stop trying, stop doing--is stronger than the desire to write. (Not to mention the fact that I think when I am that tired, if I tried to write, it'd be so bad, you all would stop following me.)
I have found this the toughest part about blogging. I thought the tough part would be finding enough material, or being willing to put myself "out there" for everyone, or even figuring out how to use the blogging program. But no, none of those have come close to the difficulty of finding the time and energy to post as often as I'd like. So...I suppose this post is one part apology, one part request for suggestions. How do you all manage it? How do you get around the demands of parenting, working, marathon training, scrapbooking, cooking, exercising, sleeping, living, (whatever!) and still find time almost everyday to post so many great, funny, honest, cool blog entries? Go ahead...advise and inspire.

T.G.I.F.

Friday nights used to mean happy hour...or napping and then going out clubbing...or on a quiet night: take-out pizza, beers, and a rental movie.

Now?

It is exactly 8:34 p.m. and I am too tired to watch either of the movies we rented. After this post, and my hot vanilla milk (yes, I swear, it's true...it's from Starbucks...does that make me any less nerdy and geriatric-like?), I am going to bed.

And instead of happy hour there was a 15-minute trip to the public library so Ben could check out some new books. And instead of take-out pizza and beer, there was frozen Kashi pizza, ice water, and Tylenol.

Oh...yes. And after I ran out to the liquor store (more on that later), I returned to find my ever-optimistic husband changing crib sheets, Lysol-ing, and chuckling while a re-bathed (and quite giggly) Aidan Kai crawled around on the floor of his room.
He had been sleeping when I left, but apparently he was also coughing...and those of you who have been following this blog and/or my family, know that he's a vomiter and yes, he struck again. That's our baby: cough, cough, gag, vomit. Everywhere. I just stood there, slightly horrified, glad I was the one who had volunteered to go buy the Bacardi, while hubby? He just laughed...and commented on how happy HE was that I had been the one to go buy the Bacardi, because I would've had a nervous breakdown (his words, not mine).

I have to laugh at myself...at us...at our lives. We're not even sure how we got here. How did we go from people who were pretty cool, fun-loving, spontaneous, always on the move, to people who are too tired to sit on a couch and watch a movie (not even a deep one, mind you...it's not like we rented "Schindler's List" here, people) and sip warm milk on Friday nights? Oh yes. We had kids. Right.

So...the rum run? Thankfully, I have a mother who still fully believes that we should try and hold on to that part of us we used to be...a mother who, at 68 years old, excitedly buys herself new earrings and shoes to wear to go out dancing--yes, DANCING--with my soon-to-be-70-year-old dad who she's been married to for over 45 years. And so tomorrow, gloriously, blessedly, thankfully, joyously we will have A Babysitting Day thanks to my dear mom...our first time alone in a couple of months...and we will sit on the beach and drink rum. And I'd like to think that at least for a few hours tomorrow, we can feel like our Old Selves again...just Liz and Pablo, The Couple...instead of Mama and Dada.

Parenthood: The Original Endurance Sport

My husband and I competed in a mini-adventure race this weekend. For those of you who don't know what adventure racing is, imagine an extreme off-road triathlon on an unmarked course. Adventure races run the gamut from 2-hour minis like this one to 7-day expedition races. Hubby's been doing them for years and anything under 8 hours is like a warm up for him. For me, this was another Life Experience...another adventure to add to my Do-One-Thing-Everyday-That-Scares-You List. We ran, kayaked, and biked for exactly 2 hours and 23 minutes. We came in 2nd place overall, so we did pretty darn good, but during the race I fell twice, waded through murky water, portaged a kayak through knee-deep shoe-sucking mud, and got bitten by a mosquito on my eye lid. I have scrapes and bruises I can not even account for, and aches and pains in muscles I did not know I had. But I feel AWESOME.

In the past, when we competed in any athletic events, we'd come home and just crash: shower, rent a movie, and eat our traditional "We Raced Today So We Deserve This" meal of pizza, wings, beer, and ice cream. We wouldn't move. Sloth and gluttony. It was glorious.

But then we had kids.

Instead, we found ourselves bouncing and jiggling a fussy 8-month-old and throwing foam blocks with a squealing, hyper 3-year-old...our muddy wet clothes still in the truck, my bloodied scabbed knees stinging, and both of us counting the minutes 'til at least one of us could sneak away for a shower. Wings and pizza were replaced by teriyaki chicken (one of Ben's favorite take-outs) and a bowl of cereal. And instead of a rented movie, we sat through "Monsters, Inc." for the third time. We were in bed by 9:00...only to be awakened 4 times during the night. Ben woke up with an ear ache and an attitude. Aidan with his usual random senseless wailing. I almost laughed...almost. At 3:00 in the morning, exhausted and aching, I realized that from now on, when we are thinking about competing in an athletic event, we have to take into account not only the race itself, but the "post-race requirements" a.k.a. Ben and Aidan. We simply do not have the luxury anymore of being too tired. We will have to know, going in, that after the strain, challenges, and exhaustion of the race itself, we will then have the strain, challenges, and exhaustion of parenting waiting for us when we get home.

I could do it all...if only I could stay awake

My children are not my life. I have a life. Perhaps that is the problem.

The boys are a huge part of my life, but I have a whole lotta other things always going on. My mom, in fact, always says that I'm "always inventing something." I think she thinks that I not only have too much on my plate, I am constantly heaping additional spoonfuls onto it. I don't know if this is necessarily true, but I do know that I am Tired. Exhausted. Spent. All the time. Sometimes it's more a mental exhaustion than a physical one, and to be quite honest, that is even worse. I know a lot of moms who have told me that when they had their kids they took a sort of hiatus from their personal lives. They stopped going to the gym, going on trips with just their husbands, reading, scrapbooking, shopping, whatever...their hobbies and passions were put on a temporary hold until their kids got older. I can't do that. At least I try not to. I still work out, I still subscribe to a ton of fashion and athletic magazines (and yes, I read them...along with all the novels I read too!), I still watch my favorite shows, I still spend quality time (alone!) with Hubby, I still go out with my girlfriends. And now I blog (and TRY to get used to and accept the phenomenon of Facebook). And of course in addition to all of this, there is the endless list of everyday life's Must Do's: groceries, bills, laundry, cleaning, working, appointments...and somewhere in all of this? Sleep.

So yes, I have a life of my very own, in addition to being a mom. I'd like to say I've got it right. I've nailed it: the whole juggling motherhood and yourself. But sometimes I think it is the moms who have given stuff up who are wiser. It's certainly easier. Maybe they are happier. Maybe they aren't needing to wear concealer every single day of their lives just to try and cover the bags under their eyes. But I just can't do it. I know me. I would be miserable. I would feel like a sell-out to myself. I would miss Me. But as I've come to learn you really can't have it all...at least not at the same time. So what I do choose to give up, I suppose, is energy. Calm. Time. Maybe that's not a smart thing to do. Yesterday I was at the doctor's for my annual physical. (Listen, I know what you're thinking...I'm complaining about having too much to do, so why not skip my physical? My doctor won't let me. Believe me. I tried.) I explained how tired I was all the time, how I crashed every single night by 7:30, how I never really felt 100% well.... Surely there is something she can suggest? Surely she can prescribe an extra special multivitamin for multitasking moms? You know what she prescribed? Exercise and sleep. Well, gee thanks. Got that. See you next year.