Appreciation

The greatest part of my existence right now, and I can hardly believe I'm going to say this out loud, is helping Egan practice his viola. This morning he came bumping down the stairs toting his pint size viola in hand, rubbing his bleary eyes with the other. In his Spider Man boxers. At 7:30 am.

"I brought down my viola because it's time to practice."

I filled my coffee cup and follwed Egan and his dragging viola case into the family room. He narrated his every move while uncasing his prized instrument.

Something I am beginning to embrace is the very fortunate hassle of parenting. Not sure if it's observing other parents or finally growing into my role. As you may recall I often struggle with what I'm supposed to do. Being selfish and putting off my kids can be a lot easier than forcing myself to spend time with them. Because honestly? That's how I feel most of the time: that I have to FORCE myself to hang out with them. Perhaps falling into parenting created this monster. At this point it doesn't matter. I am doing the best that I can with what I've got. And that's a whole hellofa lot.

Hands off

A lot of my girlfriends are finally having their first kids, some are on to the second. I'm beginning to realize the difference between the stages in parenting and I'm finding relief from what I'm discovering.

So many of my friends are all, "THREE KIDS?! How do you DO it?" And I'm all, "Ummm...I just, do?"

These girlfriends devote all of their time and energy to Kid 1, and of course Kid 2 if it applies. Most of them are SAHMs because I'm thinking, really you guys, that if we do work as mothers we're sort of frowned upon. Let's face it. We are expected to throw aside our goals, dreams, and professional aspirations to raising our kids. Or we satisfy all of those dreams and aspirations before having the family, but I don't know about that. What I do know is staying at home to parent children is of course a tremendous feat in itself while adding FULL TIME WORK on top of it means you're Super Mom. Or a selfish bitch, depending on who you ask.

What I'm really witnessing here is the different stages of parenting. I did my Kid 1 and Kid 2 obsessing when these girls were still worrying about which bar to go to. Of course, I would rather die than miss the party so I'd try to meet up with them, puking into bathroom sinks at 10:00, then pumping and dumping my beer infused breastmilk. Priorities, people! I devoted much of my time entertaining Allie and Gil, worrying about their soda intake and exposure to sugary snacks. Rigid schedule keeping and bathing every other day. Doing arts and crafts all day. Television watching for a two-year-old? Nothing but minimal PBS and maybe Baby Einstein.

I was just telling a girlfriend about Egan's exposure to things I'd never even dream of letting him experience if he were Kid 1. Or Kid 2. Nope, welcome Kid 3. Kid 3 knows the difference between Bob the Builder and Handy Manny, drinks soda when given the opportunity, stays up late, AND WILL GO WITHOUT A NAP!

My point here, dear readers, isn't about you and your parenting. It's about me and mine. You guys are doing the little kid stuff while I have moved onto the pre-teen big kid stuff. Having discussions about girlfriend drama and crushes with the same little girl who used to toddle up to me in her plastic footed one piece PJs, whispy hair in ever-requested "nuggets," asking me, "How are doin, Mom?" Or when not quite finished with her snack would announce, "I save it to later." Now I have to beg her to let me even think about putting her hair in nuggets. Or braids. Or ponytails. Apparently I don't know as much about fashion as I thought I did.

As I'm surrounded by you newer moms I found myself questioning the amount of interaction I have with my kids. With a sigh of relief, the big kid phase is far more hands-off. With the exception of Kid 3, Kid 1 & Kid 2 are independently brushing their own teeth, bathing themselves, playing outside for hours on end, packing their lunches for first and fourth grade. They read to me often times at bedtime. They even read to Kid 3 from time to time, giving me the opportunity to snuggle while reading but with my eyes closed. Until I'm woken up by Egan clip-clopping around in dancin shoes, asking me to paint his nails.

All's I'm saying, Internet, is that things change when your kids get older. You kind of feel like you still need to give them the same amount of hands-ON attention, when really, after you adjust and pat yourself on the back for a job well done with the little kid phase, it's a lot more hands-OFF.

In the name of Egan

The other day I was tidying in the kitchen the way I do 137 times every day. This particular moment was just after school: the big kids were in their designated instrument-practicing locations while Egan freely roamed from room to room. This, however, is one of Allie's least favorite times in her little brother's afternoon. He'll loiter around her doorway until he slowly makes his way into her room only to pound on her keyboard or somehow cause a desk drawer's contents to tumble crashing to the floor. This is when I hear Allie shriek, "MAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHM! Can YOU tell EGAN to get OUT of my ROOM?!"

So predictable, isn't it?

Without a doubt, poor Egan's feelings have been crumpled like a spare sheet of office paper and thrown haphazardly out of Allie's room, door slamming behind him.

As Egan was making his sobbing way down the stairs to tell me all about it, with about 2 more stairs to go, Egan screams bloody murder. At the top of his lungs. Like was just BOO!ed at last year's haunted house.

Allie comes down the stairs, Gil comes running from the family room, and I walk over to find Egan slumped over, bawling into Allie's lap, refusing to go down those final two Steps of Doom. Allie responsibly reported "Egan says he saw a bug."

Gil and I searched around at the base of the stairs only to find a stale Cheerio, a knitting needle, and a stuffed lion puppet. "No bug!" we happily inform a terrified Egan. Only he's not buying it. I picked up Egan to show him the area is as free from bugs as a winter lawn.

About 10 minutes had past when I told the kids I'd offer to walk Daisy. Egan was assisting me, making sure I had everything I needed: leash, poop bag, a capeless right-legless Bizarro Superman. Just as I was shutting the door behind me, I hear Egan's shrill cries for help once more, only I don't buy it and continue to walk the dog. Upon returning, Allie, Gil, and Egan come to the door to inform me that yet again Egan was surprised by a bug. "The SAME bug!" Egan assertively stated, refusing to walk into the kitchen.

While rationalizing with Egan that no bug deserves that kind of attention, I turn to wash my hands and just about step on the very bug causing Egan's conniption. Quickly I squash the damn thing with my Croq (I don't think I look like a dumbass wearing them.). Being one of those Million-legged bugs, I had to stomp, drag, stop, drag, making sure all the little legs stopped twitching, proving the insect's demise.

To this day, Egan reminds me of the bug he once saw at the foot of the stairs and how I heroically killed it in the name of Egan.

Happiness is...

...being three-years-old and enjoying the endless comedic affect of a Whoopee Cushion.

Egan will walk around the house, puffing his slobbery breath into said cushion, then squeeze out the air close to your unsuspecting bum saying, "Mom, you have gas."

His own greatest audience, he laughs hysterically as he continues the process only to sit on the cushion himself in the middle of the kitchen floor, stating through belly-laughing hilarity, "I have gas."

The other night

As a commercial for teeth whitener interrupted our Charlie Brown Christmas, Egan turns to his brother and gently asks in almost a whisper: Gil? Are your teeth white?