7 Quick Takes

1. It's over 50 degrees here today, which means my boys are cavorting in the backyard wearing only light vests and let's be honest, no socks. Shoes, but no socks. We're now that family.

2. I am still deeply mourning for the glory that was Downton, Seasons 1 and 2. If I wanted that kind of horror, frankly, I'd be watching CSI.

3. I am feeling a tad bit Romesick today after fielding emails from two of our dearest friends over there. I should probably click back through the 'ol archives to remind myself how emphatically un-rose-colored daily life there actually was, but instead I'll let the happy amnesia of time take away all the bad and leave only the good, sweet, and beautiful intact. Ah, bella Roma…

(American medical care, a mini van, friends and family, Super Target, Mass in English, traffic laws, air conditioning, … there, now I'm back to reality.)

4. I have this 3 year old and, oh, my goodness, what is it about this age? One moment they're a bundle of precious psuedo-babyness with chubby cheeks and they next minute they're bombing down the driveway (strictly against protocol) on their bikes and trying to get him by passing cars, I swear. Or yelling 'Stupid Mommy!' as one fruitlessly searches for one's keys in the Walmart parking lot. You haven't really hit rock bottom as a parent until you've been verbally abused by your offspring in the Walmart parking lot.

5. I am writing this fifth take from a perch on our milk box on the front porch, watching the Bobbsey twins fight over stepping each other's shadows with a baby strapped to my chest and sitting partially obscured by our dead Christmas tree which has yet to make the long migration aaaaaaall the way to the curb. I think this tells you all you need to know about this week.

6. The baby won't tolerate dairy or being put down for a hot second while the sun still shines, so the Ergo and tequila are still the winningest combination.

7. I've had so many inquiries and questions regarding travel to Italy with babies and specifically accommodations, transportation and sightseeing in Rome that I think I'm going to add a "life and travel in Rome" tab to the 'ol blog. All these people gearing up to head over for the canonization of JPII probably has a teensy bit to do with my aforementioned Romesickness, but it will be fun to put together a list of 'must sees' and advice for other happy travelers who are planning a great escape.

Boring, random, and right on time. Go see Jen for more.

Babies and Bonding

I've always prided myself on extreme self-reliance. An almost pathological self-reliance, truth be told. Chalk it up to a mixture of firstborn-child-meets-choleric temperament with a heaping dose of introversion and you have a lone wolf-ette who doesn't like to ask for help or work as part of a team. Ever. Even in high school the sports I chose were laughably individualistic: swimming, diving, cross country running, discus and shot put (not even joking) and…wait for it…pole vaulting. So yeah, I put the "I" in team.

Then I got married. 

More specifically, then I got married, got pregnant, and gave birth to our sleep-averse firstborn child. Fast forward 4 years and three babies and while this one sleeps a whooooole lot better (knock knock KNOCKING on heaven's big wooden door here) than her older brothers did/do, she is still up for portions of the night/morning I'd just as soon leave to the imagination. And then the sun comes up and the party really gets going because there are three of them. And they all want all of me, pretty much all day long. 

I try to divide and conquer the house/my work/their needs/my wants, but 4:56 pm on any given evening will find me frantically texting one hard-working hubby for minute-by-minute updates on his commute conditions. God help him if he texts back while still sitting at his desk. 

It's not just that I miss him during the work day, (and I do! Though perhaps not to the same level of creepy g-chatting intensity seen during our courtship. Ahem.) I desperately need him to tag team this burgeoning child army we're creating, for better or worse. Today, like so many other Mondays of recent memory, it was mostly worse. I think I let both boys out the front door, barefoot, to tear down the driveway to his still running (but parked) car in hot pursuit of the fun parent. I just sort of stood in the doorway, cradling a fussy newborn in one arm and vacantly patting my unwashed top knot while I wondered what the neighbors thought about barefoot children in 40-degree weather. Probably they love it. But I digress.

If this husband in question were to offer me, in fact, the choice between a shopping spree at Tiffany's or  a solid month of evenings during which he would be home one hour earlier than usual every day, I'd pick him over diamonds. Truly I would.

I need him in a physical, emotional, and spiritual way that I could never have envisioned 4 years ago, standing up on the altar all skinny and mascara-clad, full of good intentions and heartfelt vows. I'm still getting back into the mascara habit, thanks to the fraternal (sororital?) correction of my little sister, but I'm definitely not skinny any more. And I probably won't be for quite some time if things keep going the way they've been going (courtesy disclaimer: not currently pregnant). And that's fine. It's not what awesome, but it's fine, because this is what babies do to women's bodies: they change them. For better and for worse. Mostly worse, but honestly, I don't mind all that much any more.

So babies change our bodies. And they also change our bonds. I remember naively listening to Dr. Janet Smith's famous treatise "Contraception, Why Not?" as a college student and nodding along sagely as she spun her anecdotal wisdom about marriages involving children being fundamentally more difficult to walk away from, because you're not just a pair anymore, but a family. There's more at stake if the thing blows up. I get that, now. I'd never dream of leaving Dave for any reason, but the thought of walking out the door on our children makes me physically ill to contemplate. There is a bond we've literally co-created that physically, psychically, spiritually links us for all eternity. Actually, we've got three of them. We're in real deep. 

Real, real deep.

And I love that. I love how deeply I depend upon him to come walking through the door at night to rescue  me from the scrabbling, sticky paws of tiny monsters who can't stop touching me for two seconds and who absolutely won't sit still for a perfectly lovely episode of "House Hunters" at 4:30 pm because mama's trick bag is not only empty, but there's a gaping hole in the bottom, but who will beg mercilessly for Curious George the whole time I'm trying patiently to explain the superiority of coffered ceilings and crown moldings. I mean really.

Then comes prince charming, zooming up the street in his noble Toyota Camery and suddenly I am rescued, I am not alone, I am not doing this by myself…and even though I look like a lukewarm mess and 100% of my outfit involves some percentage of spandex, I know he'll come through the door, kiss me, take a baby off my hands and tell me to go pour myself a glass of wine. Or water, as Genevieve would have it. 

Am I enslaved to this man whose life is pledged to me and mine to his? I guess that's one possible interpretation. But it is a sweet, sweet bondage, forged in the crucible of the delivery room, the late-night runs to Super Target for diapers, the monthly roller coaster of charting and calculating and discerning, and in the endlessly-needy love and adoration of three tiny people who have his blue eyes and my strong will.  I've yet to come across a form of contraception that can offer those kind of benefits.

(Cross posting at Catholic Exchange today)

Crutches

1. My Ergo

2. Alcohol

3. Amazon prime streaming

4. Blackest black espresso

5. Driving aimlessly through the burbs in my minivan because I've forgotten where it is we're trying to get to. Truly.

Enough with the listing though. This week has started out on a rough note. Suspected RSV in the wee one (mercifully not, but still sleepless in Seattle.), a potentially broken finger in the medium one (x-rays on a one-year old are surprisingly do-able.), and endless amounts of willful tantrum throwing and truly horrifying behavior from the resident pre-schooler. Except he's not in preschool yet. But God knows he should be, because he asks me all day long one million and one questions about life and its intricacies, bosses his poor brother around like an indentured servant, and begs me to teach him how to read.

Honey, mommy hasn't taken a shower since Friday, phonics are not happening this winter. Or possibly ever, as the price of tuition leads me to believe.

Even now as I try to string a meager 200 words together he is at my elbow, shoving a chapter book in my face and  dumping shelled pistachios in my lap in some bizarre attempt to capture my attention. I know it's all he wants, my attention, but sleeplessness and nursing and work and dishes and too many demands on a mama's time = go watch more Curious George. Except please don't, because I truly hate the sound of that monkey's voice.

(Oh good, the doctor's office just called with reports of swelling but no fracture in JP's finger. I heart American medicine.)

So just to review: little sleep, few 'wins' in the engaged parent department, and pistachio shells littering the entire main floor of our house. Also, does anyone have an opinion on relieving nighttime congestion in newborns, aside from the usual and obvious? We even bought a nose frida…we're those parents, now. I read one mommy message board advocating straight up mouth-to-nose suctioning, so I'm not feeling completely disgusting…yet.

And finally, Downton: you're dead to me. Honestly, I am in no state to entertain that kind of trauma. I'm still getting over Matthew. How can you be so cruel?

Not a Link Up

But not a real post, either. I am severely blocked. Or perhaps just really busy and really tired and confused when I look at the blank space before me in Blogger and think about perhaps putting something in there to fill it up. I kind of forget how to write, and definitely how to write things that are not lists. I can do lists still, but not paragraphs full of sound and cogent arguments. I can probably muster up a complaint/gratitude litany of some sorts, too, but I doubt anyone wants to read that.

So, a list.

1. I am so bad at responding to comments. Seriously, it's embarrassing, because on the one hand I LOVE getting them and I eagerly lap them up like a lonesome puppy when my iPhone dings with the arrival of another bit of cheer from the outside world in my inbox…but I can't seem to keep on top of responding to them. It's a hideous intersection of introversion + a reluctance to reply directly on the comment chain itself + inefficient little chunks of time in which to craft some semblance of a coherent reply worthy of somebody's eyeballs.

So. I end up sitting down for 43 minutes one random night in the week, banging out 17 or 30 replies straight, pat myself on the back and feel a huuuuuge sense of accomplishment, and then realize that well over 50% of those replies I just sent went to "comment@noreply.com" or something like that, and then part of my soul withers because I just spent 20 minutes emailing the black hole of the internet and wasted valuable emotional energy on non-persons. Moral of the story: link your email to your comments, pretty please. And look the other way when I reply to you 5 days late and out of left field,  causing you to wonder what you may have even said in the first place. Prettier please.

2. So. (That's an inappropriate way to begin a sentence. My honors english teacher is rolling her eyes in disgust right now, somewhere out there, because I no longer excel and grammar, nor do I even properly execute most basic grammatical rules.) So.

3. I yell at my kids. A lot. I'm trying really hard to curtail the shrewing that goes down around these parts, but it's a painstaking gain of inches each day. I must say that when Joey tells me "Mommy, you scared me with your scary voice" I find new motivation and new levels of parental guilt I could not formerly access. Thank you, tiny son, for showing me the ugliness of maternal vs. offspring throw downs. I'm trying to moderate my decibel level. Maybe you could moderate your destruction level?

4. This baby sleeps awesome still, provided that I consume no dairy and no beer. She lets me know from both ends, immediately, how very deep her disapproval is of both substances, and so I'm on a weird tequila, lara bar and asian food kick these days. Hoping she'll mature out of it, but also hoping that the baby weight finds its way out the door a little quicker as I gulp shots of black espresso and look longingly at the box of fudgecicles in my freezer.

5. And now to wake both toddlers up from their naps prematurely to trot down to the dentist's office for a friendly afternoon appointment. My first foray into semi-public (does the grocery store count? Or restaurants?) solo con tres bambini. We shall see. And we shall probably wail, but perhaps not gnash our teeth, because I'm not sure dentists approve of such behavior.

Probably she'll kill me when she's older. Just killing (nap)time.

Ciao.

7 Quick Takes from Under a Rock

...aka life with a newborn. Or at least the way life ought to be with a newborn.

1. This is my first go-round where hideous, creeping PPD hasn't been on the menu for the post partum period, and oh my GOD is it a game changer. (I say that prayerfully. I am so profoundly grateful for not having to shoulder that cross this time around.) I am actually experiencing those moments of joy and wonder where I've got nothing more pressing on my agenda than staring at my sweet baby's fluffy duckling hair and pink cheeks. Okay, that's a lie, I've had a fair share of weepy/enraged outbursts and, okay, certain members of this household have really let their personal hygiene standards sliiiiide (I'm looking at you, 21 month old who pissed on the oriental rug yesterday morning) … but for the most part, it's like a honeymoon. If a honeymoon involved very little sleep, relaxation, or clothing that was attractive in any way, shape, or form. But still, it's good. So good.

She looks the grumpiest, but she's really the best.

2. I've been trolling everyone else's blog and reading some of those end of the year recap posts and thinking about what I want to accomplish/shoot for this year, and to be honest, it's not really something I generally go in for. New Year's resolutions are somewhere between wearing green on St. Patrick's day and eating hot dogs on the 4th of July in my hierarchy of holiday observations, but I think reading some excellent and insightful content from other peoples' mental to-do lists has inspired a touch of aspiration in me. Just a touch. I thought about the possibility of having a word to inspire/aspire to for the new year, and I came up with 'Focus.' Which is really fairly ridiculous, because I now have 3 kids 3 and under, the best sleeper in the lot is 18 days old, and I'm stupid tired all the time. But I think I might be stupid tired for the next several decades, actually. So I want to sharpen my moments, if you will, into something resembling meaningful experiences, be they tedious read-alouds with the non-verbal set or cathartic late-night vacuuming sessions to soothe my tired soul. (Please tell me I'm not alone?) So, Focus. As in, wherever you are, be there. Be all in. So 2014, I'm going all in. And I'm going to start by purchasing 3 different sizes of diapers in bulk.

3. Reading actual books. I spend so much time on the internet and so much time reading 800 word snippets of news! information! breaking! relevant! now! that I'm kind of rusty in the practice of actually consuming entire volumes of thematic information. And I don't think it speaks well for my intellect that the past 10 works of fiction I've dipped into would all be on the same shelf at the library, and that shelf would also include the Twilight series. Dystopian YA fiction, we're on a break. I'll call you when I've had my space. I'm loving reading her list and also hers, and then I happened upon this one last night and basically i have my work cut out for me. And speaking of libraries, I should probably start using one again because Kindle will bankrupt us on my watch if I'm not more careful.

4. Okay also this one.

Because a friend of mine wrote it. And I love this picture of Papa. I'm really hoping to work through EG as a couple this year, but daily reflections are probably more along our stupid tired speed right now.

5. My baby, that adorable squishy fluffy haired baby, hates dairy and alcohol. I'm like, seriously kid, you were friggin conceived in Italy, put your game face on… but she's like, "No thanks mom, I'd prefer if you'd stick to seltzer water and lara bars. Okay, and scrambled eggs are fine with your black espresso."

Little tyrant.

(Hence the above-pictured lime soda water I'm currently enjoying for my midday happy hour on the front stoop. Did I mention it's 60 degrees in Denver today?)

6. In the spirit of being more 'focused' I'm going to try really hard to write at the same time each day, be that for the blog, for Catholic Exchange, for CNA, or for some other publication. What that translates to on a practical level will be a steadier stream of content, I hope, though perhaps slightly less frequent posting overall. But the fact that my nap-boycotting three year old is shrieking at me from his room right now is probably a fair indication of how this will pan out.

7. Speaking of being up to my ears in babies…does anybody out there in blogland use a mother's helper? Where did you find such a magical creature, what do you pay them, how many hours per week do you employ them, and how do you define their roles? Ideally I'm looking for 10 hours of housework/meal prep/kid entertaining so that I can either a. nurse the baby b. hit a deadline or c. leave the house for a mental health break/a work meeting. Can a mother's helper meet these pressing and exciting needs? Should I offer a 401k package? Do I need to clean my house frantically every day before she shows up so I won't engage in self-shaming behavior the entire time she is here? Do tell.

Head over to Jen's, the list-whisperer, for more.