The Truth (?) Hurts

My 5-year-old, Rachel, has recently starting making her bed every morning as soon as she wakes up. She does a pretty good job of straightening the sheets and the comforter and arranging her princess pillows. A few nights ago as I was tucking her into bed, I told her how proud I was of her doing this and how it gave Mommy more time to play and have fun with her and her sister when she helped out with the chores around the house.

"So you have too many chores to do, Mommy?" she asked.

"Well, there's a lot we have to do to keep our house running smoothly, so every time you and Sissy help me out, it saves me some time and I've got more time to have fun with you."

She thought for a moment. "So too many chores is the reason you never play with us and you're grumpy all the time?"

Ouch.

Ouch.

And did I mention, "Ouch?"

I didn't know what to say. I wanted to hug her, kiss her, cry. I know I play with them. And I know I'm not grumpy all the time. My husband is definitely the "playful, happy" one on a more regular basis, but that I never play with them and I'm grumpy all the time? Yeesh!

I've thought about it a lot. Lost sleep over it, actually. And what it comes down to is that it doesn't matter if I think I play with them and if I think I'm not grumpy too much. It matters what they think. Their perception, not mine, is the reality, at least in this case.

Don't get me wrong, I've heard more than my share of "you never give me treats" or "you always make me go to bed before I'm ready." And I can live with those. What I can't live with is that my kid believes I never play with her and I'm grumpy all the time.

So the problem, of course, is what to do about it. 'Cause she's right. I focus on the chores, my husband focuses on the fun. I get grumpy when things go wrong or the to-do list is too long, my husband makes it a game or says, "oh well, the world won't end." Certainly no way I can go from my Type A personality to his Type B (trust me, I've spent a long time trying... ain't gonna happen!) but I know I can make changes to play more and grump less. Much as it hurt, I think it just took the smack in the face from my daughter to make me realize I needed to do these things.

I have some ideas... more to come on this blog (and yes, in less time than it's been since my last post here!). I'm planning a "Kat Mini Makeover" (for this and some other things, too) and would love you to join me on perhaps, a mini makeover of your own. If you don't need a makeover (and hooray!! for you if you don't!), I'd love you to follow behind me and kick me when I need it. Stay tuned....

Proud Mama!

I suppose I should start by saying that I'm a bit ashamed to have been so weak in this area to begin with, but the pride wins out, so I just don't care...

Rachel was 2 months old before we gave her a pacifier. We didn't want to, she didn't seem to need it, and we weren't gonna do it. Ever. Right....

She was such a LOUD sleeper as a baby, in the cradle next to our bed. She just made little noises in her sleep all the time and as new parents, of course, we jumped up for every single one of them. I clearly remember that October night, rummaging around in the dark, digging through the closet in the nursery, just positive there had to be a binky in there somewhere. Finally, I found one, it was clearly Heaven sent. She took it right away and we slept. All of us. Finally!

Fast forward a few years to the night before Easter about 5 months before she turned 3. I was 5 months pregnant and determined to break her of the binky before the new baby arrived. We had talked about how giving all of your binkies to the Easter Bunny meant he'd leave extra treats, and deliver the binkies to other babies' Easter baskets. This was all going well as she dropped each excitedly into the empty Easter basket before bed... until she got to the last one. She stopped. She looked up at me. Her eyes filled with tears. "But Mommy, this means I won't have any binkies!" Yes, dear, that's the point!

I looked at hubby, he looked at me. I could see his response in his eyes. "This was your idea, I'm staying out of it." And then I caved. She kept the last binky. But ONLY for bed and the car.

Then baby #2 came along. She wanted NO part of the paci and still we pushed it on her, right from the get-go. She had acid reflux and wasn't comfortable for a second of the first 11 weeks of her life, unless I was holding her upright, while standing, and bouncing. I am not exaggerating when I say I held her for 2 weeks straight from 6-7 weeks old. Anyway... the paci kept her calm, so we gave it to her ALL the time. And of course, with a new baby in the house who required constant attention, we were willing to "overlook" Rachel's increased (outside the bed and the car) use of the binky. A lot.

We finally weaned her back to "only" her two permitted spots. She turned 3 with the binky. And then 4. And then I'd had enough. MORE than enough. However, even the mere mention of taking it away elicited the most pained, tortured, someone-just-shot-my-best-friend sort of response. I wanted it gone, at any price. But hubby, who takes her and her binky-wielding little sister back and forth to school each day (45+ minutes each way) was not prepared to play along.

And then she lost it. Literally.

Last Thursday night, as I was tucking her in and she was saying goodnight through the binky (I hate that!) I mentioned again that soon, we'd need to get rid of it. She'll be 5 in August for cryin' out loud! Again, I got "the" response. Of course.

2am, she shuffles in to our room. "Daddy, I can't find my bee-bee." Daddy rolls out of bed, trudges into her room to help her find it, it's usually buried under covers or on the floor between the bed and the wall. Only this time, it wasn't. He told her just to go to sleep, she'd live.

Until 3am, when she shuffles back in to the room. "Daddy, I still can't find my bee-bee."

"Go to bed, Rachel, you'll find it in the morning."

Tears. Little feet shuffling back to her bed, whimpering softly. My heart breaking, yet determined to stay strong. The child will not die if she has to make it through the rest of the night without a piece of plastic in her mouth.

Until 5am, when she shuffles to my side of the bed. I send her away. It hurt me, but I did it.

45 minutes later, she finds me downstairs making my coffee. "Mommy...."

I trudge upstairs to help her find the binky. I can't find it. Did she swallow the thing?? It is no where to be found, literally.

I think quickly and decide to use the opportunity, as any self-serving yet brilliant mother would.

"Rachel, do you know what this means?!?! You did it! You went a night without your binky! You're a big girl now!!!"

"I am?" comes the soft response, full of wonder, amazement, and verging on tears.

"Yes, you did!!" ((((Big hugs!!))))

She's not sure, but that's it, no turning back now. She got upset getting in the car to go to school, but I made sure to give hubby the "if you slip her the binky that I know you have hidden in your pocket, you will be sleeping on the couch for a week" look. And guess what? She did it! Again! All the way to school, no binky. On the ride home, she didn't even ask for it. And she hasn't asked for it since. Over four years of trying to get that thing away from her, and all it took was for it to literally disappear in the middle of the night. Why did I not think of that myself?!?!?

Honestly, I don't have a clue where it went. I've pulled her room apart, I can't find the silly thing. Maybe she's hidden it and pulls it out after I go to sleep, who knows. All I know is that I can see her smile and hear her voice, and it's the most beautiful thing ever.

One kid down, one to go....

Good thing, bright red package

Lest anyone think I play favorites... I don't! Yesterday I blogged about my baby, Jessica. Today, I'll write about my other little girl, Rachel. My other good thing, in a bright red package!

During my first pregnancy, my husband and I teased each other a lot about what color hair our first born was going to have. I'm blond, he has dark brown hair and I'm not sure why, but we had a little "competition" going on which of our genes was going to win out. Here's how the delivery went....

I was at the hospital, doing "practice pushes" with the nurse when all of a sudden she shouted, "Stop! She's in a hurry to come out, I need to go call the doctor." In the 20 minutes it took for the doctor to arrive, before we could finish the delivery, the nurse tried to amuse me with small talk. "I can see a lot of hair," she told me. Of course, she couldn't tell what color.

When Rachel made her debut (only 4 pushes later after the doctor arrived -- God bless her for making it so easy on me!), the nurse announced not "it's a girl," but "she's a redhead!" My husband turned to me and said, completely straight-faced, "um, anything you need to tell me?" You could have heard a pin drop in that room as the doctors and nurses stopped cold in their tracks to wait for my response. If you know my husband, you know that this is just his sense of humor, he was making a joke. If you know our family, you know that his cousin has two kids with bright red hair, so Rachel fits right in. The red is not a mystery, we just never considered that blond + dark brown = redhead!

She's so much like me, it's almost scary. She's smart and thoughtful and most important, kind. She's sensitive and emotional and strives to make everyone happy. She's also organized and meticulous and she does NOT like it when her plans don't go her way. Yes, she's Mini-Me.

Rachel is almost 4 1/2 now. She and her sister are total opposites. Rachel organizes, Jessie destroys. Rachel listens, Jessica laughs as she does exactly the opposite of what you tell her. Rachel is respectful of what her father and I say, Jessica makes her own rules. Night and Day, Black and White, these are my girls.

Do I have a favorite? Of course not. They're both my beautiful, perfect, precious little girls. Do I approach them the same? Of course not. They're totally different people, and I know how to parent each according to their own personalities. I love them the same, but I mother them differently. Is that right or wrong? I don't know. But, so far it seems to work for us, so we'll keep doing it.

Here's another picture of my little redhead (who's initials are R.E.D., by the way... a total coincidence since we picked her name months before we knew her hair color). She's playing with her little cousin, who can't seem to get enough handfuls of her bright, pretty hair. Of course, Rachel takes it all in stride and loves how his face lights up when he plays with her.




You know, this post and my last both had "good thing" in the title, but that's wrong... the right word is really "spectacular."

Good thing, small package

She looks so deep in thought, doesn't she? Actually, she's glaring at her sister, who has run off with her ball....

This is Jessica, my baby. She's 19 months old and she's "too little." I realize I'm biased, but I think she's perfect. Unfortunately, her pediatrician does not agree.

Born almost 3 full weeks early, she weighed in at a healthy 6 pounds, 6 ounces. This put her in the 35th percentile for newborns, which was great given that she was early. This means that 35% of newborns are smaller than she was, 65% are bigger. She gained weighed between each of her checkups, but not as fast as other kids. She slipped from 35th% to 15th% to 5th%, where she remained for about 9 months. Then things changed.

From 12-15 months, Jessie-Boo gained only 2.5 ounces. This put her below 0% on "the curve." Great that she had gained, but she gained much less than her "normal" rate. The pediatrician said we needed to start checking her weight every 6 weeks instead of 12. If she continued to gain, even slowly, that was fine.

In the first 6 weeks after her 15 month checkup, she gained 3.5 ounces. Still below 0%, but a gain is a gain. In the next 6 weeks, though, she lost 9.5 ounces. That put her down 6 ounces in the 3 months from 15-18 months. Not a good thing.

The pediatrician checked (for the ump-teenth time) for a heart murmur, no sign of that. Blood tests were next. What a horrible experience, to have 4 people holding down a screaming, frightened little girl to get 6 vials of blood. I'll never forget her scream, or the looks on the faces of the people in the waiting room as we were leaving -- they were full of contempt and accusation that we'd do such a thing to such a tiny little girl.

Results came back: Nothing stands out. She was in the low end of the normal range on 2 things, but nothing worrisome to the pede.

Next, a urine sample. Yeah, right! You try to get a urine sample in a plastic sticky bag from a kid who wears diapers. We have tried multiple times, no luck. The next step is a catheter and I refuse to do that unless there are simply no options left.

Here's another picture of Jessie, taken last night. She weighs 18 pounds, 9 ounces, which is about average for a 9-12 month girl. She's 19 months. I use this picture because these are 12 month pajamas on her... you can see how big they are!





Am I worried about her? Actually, I'm not. Not about her health, anyway. We're not a big family. I'm just under 5'6" tall and on a fat day, I weigh in at 115 pounds fully dressed and soaking wet. My sister (who is 25) still buys most of her clothes in the children's department. My husband is the same height as me, and none of the women in his family are taller than 5 feet. I think that Jessie-Boo just happened to get the small genes, a super-high metabolism, and is just meant to be little. There are a lot worse things in life!

She has more energy than I've ever seen, she's a happy-go-lucky kid. She's cute and smart and funny and mine. In my eyes, she's perfect.

I'll continue to keep her on a high-calorie diet. I'll continue to check her weight and monitor her growth. But I'll also continue to know in my heart that she's just fine, she's just little. She's my good thing in a small package.

In My Daughter's Eyes

I'll spare you the gory details of my rotten, completely out-of-left-field day at the office yesterday, the fact that I worked until midnight and got up to work again at 4am. I'll save the story about how my much-anticipated vacation next week will likely be severely dampened by a curve ball my job threw at me. Because right this moment, it doesn't matter.

Tired and frustrated, I was getting my 3-year-old dressed this morning and she started asking me silly questions, typical 3-year-old questions. I gave her silly, 3-year-old answers. The conversation had nothing to do with work or my lack of sleep or my busy week or the distracted vacation I'm now anticipating. It had to do with pretend money to buy pretend bread for a pretend dinner she's making for her pretend babies tonight. But you know what, that simple little conversation with my 3-year-old put a smile on my face when I thought one was not possible, reminded me that this is the good stuff, this is what life is about. Not work, not stress, not impossible and unrealistic deadlines.

I'll work my butt off the rest of the week -- and probably sleep very little -- to do what I have to do to get ready to be out of the office for a week. But when I step onto that cruise ship on Monday, the office will stay on the shore, all thanks to the inadvertent reminder from my 3-year-old that life is more fun when you're silly. To my precious, smart, amazing little girl, a great big thank you for reminding Mommy that there's more to life than conference calls and emails. This song is for you, kiddo, thanks for being my little girl.

In My Daughter's Eyes
(Written by James Slater, performed by Martina McBride)

In my daughter's eyes I am a hero
I am strong and wise and I know no fear
But the truth is plain to see
She was sent to rescue me
I see who I wanna be
In my daughter's eyes

In my daughter's eyes everyone is equal
Darkness turns to light
And the world is at peace
This miracle God gave to me
Gives me strength when I am weak
I find reason to believe
In my daughter's eyes

And when she wraps her hand around my finger
Oh it puts a smile in my heart
Everything becomes a little clearer
I realize what life is all about
It's hangin' on when your heart has had enough
It's giving more when you feel like giving up
I've seen the light
It's in my daughter's eyes

In my daughter's eyes
I can see the future
A reflection of who I am and what will be
Though she'll grow and someday leave
Maybe raise a family
When I'm gone I hope you see
How happy she made me
For I'll be there
In my daughter's eyes