Trick or Treat

Happy Halloween!

The Pardys are all over their colds from last week - back from the dead and ready to eat candy! It's Halloween!

Like most Americans, we will be celebrating in full-fledged pumpkin fashion, dressing up our children (so we have something to blackmail them with later in life) and parading them around, freely exploiting them so as to obtain obscene amounts of candy! Hooray! Yes, parents MUST have invented Halloween...well, scheming children who then grew up to become parents who still maintained their childhood passion for all things sugar, at least!

And, speaking of embarrassing...let me just cut to the chase and let you know now that this is going to be a blog (though, short as it may be) that will most likely go down in blog history. The kind of blog you pass onto your friends. The sort of post you might dog-ear/bookmark on your browser so that you can click on it when you need a good laugh in the middle of a hum-drum day. If you think I'm joking, then you haven't scrolled far enough down to see what I'm talking about.

I grew up in a very creative family. My mom is not only an excellent seamstress, she is also a bargain hunter. I'm gonna guess that, oh, back in say 1984 or so there was some brown corduroy on sale...probably right next to a rick-rack 2 for 1 deal...and an idea was born.

Now, still, to this day, I don't know if this was a trick or a treat for her. Did she actually think this was cute - or did she know that someday she could use this photo to make sure neither of us would ever be allowed to run for office or be famous (or make normal friends)??? Certainly, I was too young to take any blame. My sister (bless her) was most likely bribed into yet another "matching her sister" scenario with promises of candy or toys, or who knows what (a new Atari game? a new Easy Bake oven recipe?)

Nevertheless, that Halloween, we became: THE GINGERBREAD SISTERS

Be afraid, be very afraid! We will come and steal your children at night! Ok- maybe not - but can you stop cringing long enough to laugh, or can you stop laughing long enough to cringe? (I know - it's okay - it still creeps me out quite a bit too.)

Either way, it is a humdinger of a Halloween memory, and I'd say I have the photo to prove it.

I'd like to take a chance later in the week to reflect more on Halloween growing up (clearly, this photo leaves much to be discussed) and include some photos of tonight - when I get to embarrassingly dress up my own girls and then steal their candy (did I say steal? I meant share).

Until then, I hope this memory has been a treat for you. Now, what are you waiting for??? That candy is not going to eat itself!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Home Work

Today, my baby girl, Daphne, turns 3 months old. Today, would have been the day that I would have had to return to work if I hadn't quit to become a stay at home mom (SAHM). I could not be more grateful - to God, to my husband, and everyone else for their prayers and support - to be home today. I know exactly what it is like to leave home and go back to work, and I am relishing the fact that I get to be here at home today...and the next day, and the day after that... Truly, a blessing.

When Matilda was born, I took the whole 13 weeks off of work. I cherish those moments to this day - going on walks with her, nursing and rocking her, staring at her and snapping photos nearly every five minutes. Being a new mother was lovely and joyous - even amidst the spit up, the diapers, and the 3am wake up cries - I took pride in the luxury of giving Matilda my full, undivided attention.

But, as soon as she was born, I also felt something else that I didn't anticipate. A clock was ticking. As I had counted down the days to her arrival, I thought that the "ticking" would stop when she was born...but, instead, the clock continued...week by week...now counting down to the day I would have to leave her to return to work. The day I would have to adjust to a "new kind of normal" all over again.

I started crying about it nearly 3 weeks before the day came. I felt guilty, I felt sad, I weak. I felt nervous about things I'd never done before (how does one excuse oneself from a meeting at work to go pump breastmilk before her boobs might explode?) I felt self-conscious (can you see my Spanx under this top? what about my nursing pads?) I felt excited to catch up with everyone - to show off pictures of my new baby, of course! But, most of all, I just felt burdened. How can I do this? How do I juggle it all? How do I not cry at my desk all day? How will she make it through the day without me? How do I FIX this so I can stay home???

Don't get me wrong - work wasn't a horrible place or anything. Everyone at the office was very encouraging, empathetic, totally accommodating and sensitive...but, well, they weren't my baby! I kept reminding myself why I was doing this. First of all, we simply had no choice. We couldn't make enough "cut backs" in our life to afford to have me home. It wasn't a matter of adjusting our value system. And, since I was returning to work, I could provide wonderful things for my child in the meantime: health insurance (that's a biggie) and also social interaction with others for her sake - this would be good for her, right?

And, as ideal a situation as it was (my amazing sister-in-law and her sweet daughter were going to watch Matilda at our home the 3 days a week I was at the office) it was simply hanging over my head. It was daunting and sad - and I just knew that the anticipation of it all had to be worse than the actual day-of. Indeed, it was. That first day was a hum-dinger...full of holding back tears and taking big gulps as people would greet me and ask how it was to be back.

I know this is all quite dramatic...I mean, I was going to return to her each evening, and she was going to be absolutely fine. But, let's face it, there's no "reasoning" with a mother who is separated from her child, no matter the time or distance. Bottomline: it sucked.

So, finally, finally when everything came together this last spring and my husband was offered a job that could actually support our family - we made the plunge into being a single-income home. Yikes! and Yippee! And here I am. Home. Babies napping, sipping on some coffee, writing because I want to be writing...dream come true. Sure, we worked hard to get here, we put in many prayers and hours towards this goal, but it is honestly only because of God's grace in opening doors that we are able to view this time for the blessing that it is!

What's awesome (well, not awesome, but you'll know what I mean) is that Matilda is actually sick today...and I didn't have to leave her or Daphne at all. Instead, I'm exactly where I should be. Staring at their little faces, not missing a moment...and wiping that sweet snotty nose for the umpteenth time today. Yup. This is where I belong.

Nap Time

It's nap time. That magical hour when the house falls silent and I can actually blink long enough to regain focus of my ever-elusive goals for the day and, oh yeah, finally get a second to wipe that spit-up off my shoulder that's been there since this morning when I was trying to balance baby on one side and a now-cold cup of coffee on the other while turning up the volume on the Today Show so I can at least act like I know what the heck is going on in the rest of the world...right.

But, this nap time is not so easy to come by at the Pardy home. Oh, no. I know there are many kids out there who have snooze-buttons built in...kids whose parents wind them up in the morning only to perfectly settle down at an appropriate time, sleep for a few hours, and get beautifully recharged, awakening at another appropriate hour as pleasant, well-rested children who are neither manic nor depressive and who, regardless of their lengthy siesta, still go down for bedtime at (you guessed it) another appropriate time of day. Yeah, this is not us. And maybe it's not you either (don't make me hate you)...but chances are good at some point you've heard "Oh really? She doesn't like to nap? Little Johnny gets in a good 2pm-5pm nap like clockwork!" Well, good for little Johnny. [Names have been changed to protect the innocent.]

Nope, not my eager-to-go-get-em (and by "em" I mean all things in the universe within her sight) miss Matilda. I'd say on average it takes about an hour and a half or longer to put this child down for a nap. We are in that ridiculous phase of giving up two naps and switching to one...only to find that this doesn't necessarily mean the child will understand the idea of "consolidating time"...so instead of two short naps, we get maybe one short nap!? This does not add up.

So, what does she do when she is supposed to be napping but not napping? Um, ANYTHING. The stinker has the stalling game down to a freaking science.

Up out of bed.

Reading books.

Playing with stuffed animals.

Dancing with said animals.

Diapering said animals.

Throwing said animals.

Singing.

Undressing herself.

Climbing the bed.

Climbing the glider.

Removing the cushions from the glider.

Removing the sheets and pillow from her bed.

Building a nest in the middle of the floor with said sheets and pillows.

Yelling and making airplane noises ("neeeeeer").

Yelling "I have poo!" only to fake us out once we go in there.

Yelling "I have poo!" and actually having poo which may or may not have made it onto the floor depending on how clothed she may be at the moment.

Knocking on the door, leading to throwing her body against the door, followed by hitting her head against the door.

And the list continues...

All of which begs the eternal question I ask myself daily as I sit and watch her in the video monitor "Do I go in there?" (Sigh of frustration). Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't, sometimes we start the nap time routine over from the beginning (new diaper, storybooks, sing "Jesus Loves Me", put her down, hit the glow worm and walk out) and sometimes I just return her to bed like a silent nap-time-nazi-robot-mother. The point is, regardless of routine, regardless of the amount of activity beforehand, regardless of eating beforehand, regardless of the time of day or the amount of yawning involved...there is just absolutely no way to predict if this child will go to sleep or not.

Suggestions? (This is the part where you give me your anecdote and free advice on how to all-but-give-Nyquil to my toddler).

The crazy thing? She goes down for bed (almost nearly) every night with no problem! Matilda the enigma. Granted, her throughout-the-night sleeping habits have been hit or miss. Some nights are perfect. Some nights she is up out of bed determined to start the day at 3am (the other night she even fell back asleep in her glider after getting up to read books to her animals...in the pitch black of her room).

And the majority of nights she just has very restless sleep, but manages to stay in bed. (We see her over the video monitor kicking and yelling, tossing and turning, rotating and completely sleeping with her head in every possible spot of the bed throughout the night.)

Apart from having this child tested to see just how much monkey DNA is in her blood...it's all I can do to keep up with her!

So, when there are moments like now - when she is down for a nap and (prepare for a standing ovation) Daphne fell asleep at the same time (thank you, thank you, no really - okay, thank you) I count my blessings, my lucky stars, and the chores on my never-ending to-do list. It's quiet enough to even hear the voice in my head - shouting out all the things I could do to fill this precious moment: shower? fold clothes? dishes? blog? eat? tv? nap? floss?

Well...I guess we all know now what I chose. You'll have to give me grace (and a breath mint) foregoing all the other options.

What's that noise? Crying? (Uh oh). Matilda is awake? Hello afternoon! Here we go...

Wipe Out

The other day, I was in Target (shocker!) and I overheard a mom talking to her youngster in the cart just a few feet behind me: "Uh oh, are your hands sticky?" the little girl was starting to throw a fit, smacking her fruit-snacked-hands together in dismay..."I'm sorry, honey," the mom anxiously continued, "mommy doesn't have any wipies, you will just have to wait. I'm sorry, I don't have any wipes!"

No more did the sentence leave her lips when I stopped in my tracks, jammed my only free hand into my purse, and whipped out a single wet wipe as I spun around in her direction: "I have a wipe!" (I'll admit I kind of felt like some sort of superhero coming to the rescue - albeit a single moist towelette being my secret weapon leaves much to be desired among powers...still...)

The woman paused for a second, glanced at my child-be-cumbered cart and smiled in relief. "Thanks!" she said as we exchanged short introductions followed by friendly "I've totally been there" anecdotes and typical mom "yay for Target" farewell quips. A single wipie saves the day again.

These wet wipes, I tell ya, they have got us moms hooked for life. They are the single deadliest weapon in a mother's baby bag arsenal. They have gotten me out of so many jams, I'm pretty much planning on keeping them in my purse from now on, long after my kids' behinds might need them. I don't know about you, but for me (in a pinch) baby wipes have been stain lifters, furniture polishers, underarm savers, booger pickers, feet cleansers, wall scrubbers, toddler bathers, cart disinfecters, ear swabbers, lense swipers, table dusters, paci sterilizers, and of course...bottom wipers. To name a few. (You can't tell me you've never given your kid a "hobo bath" to stretch their bath time onnnne more night???)

But, until that day in Target, I never thought a lone little wipe could be a conversation starter. Okay, it wasn't that big of a deal, really.

But, you know that moment when you are in a store and your kid hasn't napped yet, and all it takes is one tiny thing to set off the emotional bomb that your child is containing, but for some reason you still think "this will be a short trip, I only have to get such-n-such and we're outta here, surely we will make it before the bomb goes off" and you nearly would - you truly almost do - except that the dollar aisle caught your eye and you just had to stop and see if those $1 kitty halloween socks come in her size...and turns out those kitty halloween socks were the one tiny thing to trigger the end-all-be-all tantrum bomb of all time and...boom!

Toddler emotional explosion. Total wipe out.

Yes, well, I have been there. (See picture [please don't think less of me for snapping a photo of my crying child mid-tantrum...it was the exact moment her father texted to see how our day was going - and that was my text-photo reply, no caption, enough said.]) And, that day in Target I could tell that not having that single wipie to rescue her daughter's sticky hands was her child's "tiny little trigger"...and, well, I'm glad to say the bomb was diffused quickly and safely that day and no Target customers were harmed in the explosion of that toddler's tantrum that day.

So, stash your arsenal, mommies.

Wipes, dipes, and a good helping of encouragement

(emphasis on courage).

Maybe your kids won't need them on that outing, but you never know who will. Next time you see a mom in need, or a kid on the verge of total breakdown, resist the urge to think she doesn't have it all together (who does?) and offer her a smile (or a wipe if need be!) and pass on a little reminder that sweet moments are just around the corner. Sometimes it just takes a while (a deep breath, a good nap, and a hearty diet coke) to get there. (See picture). Ahhhh.