House of Estrogen

Is It Ski Season Yet?

I'm so ready for ski season. It can't get here soon enough. Didn't know I was a big skiier? Uh yeah... 'cause I'm not. The commencement of ski season, however, marks the transition from mountain bikers to skiiers riding the lifts up and then barreling down the mountains. During ski season, I won't hear, "It looks like it is going to be GREAT weather up at Snowshoe this weekend....". During ski season, I won't hear, "Since I bought a season lift ticket, it is practically FREE to go up there. It would be a crime not to go, what with the good weather and the lift ticket and all."  &*$% lift ticket.

Due to good weather and a season lift ticket, I find myself single parenting once again this weekend. Good times. Nina and Elise's screaming matches are at an all time high. Nina "accidentally" kicked Addie in the head this morning (although when you're hurling your feet wildly around people's heads as your frenzied mother yells, "Stop waving your feet around! You're going to kick one of your sisters!", can it really be called accidental?). Karma wins though. A little later in the day, Nina somehow managed to fall off the toilet and smash her own head on the floor resulting in a lovely forehead bruise. I still haven't figured that one out. I went outside for all of 10 minutes this morning and came back in with about 40 mosquito bites. After arguing over what to have for breakfast (what sort of warped 5 year old turns down going out for donuts?), we finally made it out of the house and to the Farmer's Market. Along with fresh fruits and veggies, I bought some locally raised pork sausage, all of which I left in the car when we got home. Nice. Can the pain from a UTI result in death? If so, I think I'm well on my way. To top it all off, just a few minutes ago, I discovered this lovely artwork on the bathroom door.

  

One might assume it is the masterpiece of a toddler, but odds are easily 50/50 that it is the piece de resistance of an unruly five year old. Considering her American Girl doll is once again in time-out for the star tattoos drawn all over her face, pink highlighter on a door is certainly not outside the realm of possibility.

Last weekend, one of Elise's Brownie friends was over here and said, "It is so crazy here. You guys have all these kids. I think you should have just had two." Gotta love the insight and honesty of a 9 year old! Maybe she was on to something though. Things are just... uh... a tad bit out of control.

So....here's to an early winter, lots of snow, and a long ski season! Here here!

 

Thank You, Hannah Montana?

Over the weekend, we went shopping for fall shoes and boots. In typical Nina style, Nina chose a wild pair of boots with a thick band of fur around the top, huge pom poms on the side and more heel than any five year old needs. They were actually cuter than I care to admit but just completely impractical.  They would never work with most pants because of the fur trim and pom poms. They might work with a few skirts, but they just weren't very versatile. Nina was totally enamoured however, and was not going to be swayed. Then Elise put on a pair of Ugg knock-offs. Nina said, "Hey Elise, those look like Hanna Montana!" I'm ashamed to admit I jumped all over that. "Wow! They sure do! Those look just like something Hanna Montana would wear. That is too cool!! You look JUST like Hanna Montana!"  My shameless exploitation of Hanna Montana worked, and we left with "Hanna Montana boots" for all three girls.

I'm a little scared though of the backlash when this little interchange comes back to bite me later. How do I eat my words when the girls come to me with a too tacky, too glittery, too short micro mini skirt exclaiming, "It looks just like Hanna Montana!!!"?

I'm in trouble, aren't I?

Sunday Morning Surprise

Friday night, I put Addison in a zip-up sleeper for bed. When she had a night terror later that night, and we went in to check on her, she was in her diaper only, having apparently taken the sleeper off. After the night terror ended, she handed the sleeper to me. I asked her if she wanted it back on. She nodded, so I put her back in the sleeper. By morning, she was once again in her diaper. As a third-time parent to a toddler, you'd think I'd recognize the "I can undress myself, and I'm really proud of it" stage and zip her in to her sleeper backwards. Instead, I made the rookie mistake of thinking, "She must not like wearing pajamas." You know where this is going, right? Last night, I put her in bed in just a diaper. This morning, I was greeted by a naked baby and a crib full of poo. Awesome.

Tonight, there will be duct tape involved at bedtime. I have learned my lesson.

Hard to Stay Mad

Without going in to lots of details, suffice it to say that yesterday was not an exemplary day for Elise's behavior. School supply shopping quickly disintegrated into "Mom, I want...", "Mom, will you buy me...", "Mom, can I have...", and then escalated into a screaming match in the car between Nina and her. Then, in the afternoon, Nina narrowly avoided an ER trip when Elise threw a stick at her that missed her eye by less than an inch. Nina has a lovely scrape and bruise on her cheek to show for it but thankfully, her eye was spared. Clearly, Elise was not in my good graces most of the day, but it is hard to stay mad when I see these notes.

After shopping:

(You can click on it to see it full-size, or read the text below.)

 

Dear Mom,

I am vary sorey we were so noty today. I fell like I shud not be aloud to have deset [dessert] for a week or go out to eat.

Love your doter, Elise

Then, after injuring Nina:

 

Dear Mom,

"I am tarible soory that hapend"

I leraned a good lesen NEVER thero stecks.

Here are 2 dolers.

Love, Elise

Gotta love how she is terribly sorry "that hapend", and doesn't go so far as to say she is sorry for throwing the stick. My guess is that she is sorry Nina got hurt and that she got caught! Regardless, how cute is it that she gave me two dollars? Love that!

The letter to Nina didn't photograph well, but it said:

Der Nina,

I am taribile sory I acidentile bumed [bumped?] you. Here is a nuther marble.

Love Elise

and it had a marble taped to it!

I swear I think this is how children live to adulthood. They drive their parents to the brink of insanity and then do something so incredibly cute that their parents can't help but let them move back in!  It is like the toddler who makes you wonder why you ever had children when she throws her cup on the floor 50 times during the meal but then blows you a kiss and says "love you" for the first time just as you are dialing the number to an adoption agency to give her away. It must be some sort of survival instinct... understanding when you've pushed your parent too far, and then making yourself unabashedly cute to save yourself.

I Don't Think the Tattletale is the Problem Here...

Nina: "Mommy, Elise punched me in the stomach, and kicked me in the forehead, and pushed me against the wall."

Elise: "No I didn't!  Nina is just making that up to get me in trouble!"

Nina: "No I'm not!"

Me: "So, Elise, did you do those things?"

Elise: "Just two of them. NOT THE THIRD!"

Nina: "She really did! She punched me right here and kicked me right here and pushed me into the wall!"

Elise: "Nina, STOP TATTLING! YOU'RE MAKING ME FEEL LIKE A JERK!"

<followed by fits of silent laughter from the parents who can't be seen by the children>

 

Should We Be Nervous?

Elise and Nina: "Do NOT come in our room until we are finished getting it ready."

J.C.: "OK"

(10 minutes later)

J.C.: "Nina needs to come out to take her medicine and brush her teeth."

Elise: "OK. Do NOT go in there to get her. I'll send her out."

J.C.: "OK"

Elise: "Plus, the floor is wet, so if you went in, you might slip and fall."

Heart.Stopped.Beating

I was sitting at my desk this afternoon when I glanced at the clock and realized Elise would be getting off the bus any minute. J.C. typically meets her at the bus stop, but he hadn't touched base with me to let me know he was heading home which he often does. Then I remembered my manager had stopped by my office about an hour earlier to say he was leaving to go biking with J.C.. Putting two and two together left Elise getting off the bus by herself. We have conscientious neighbors who also meet their children at the bus stop and a very responsible bus driver, so I felt certain she would be taken care of if we weren't there. On my way out the door, I called one neighbor and left a message asking her if she could bring Elise home with her if J.C. wasn't at the bus stop. Then I rushed home. I got there about 10 minutes after the bus would have come by. I found Elise's backpack on the front porch. I looked in the garage, on the back porch, and yelled her name. She wasn't at the house, so I called the same neighbor I had called earlier. Nobody answered, and their car was not in the garage. I know they sometimes have after school activities, so I figured they had gone through the carpool line today before heading to ballet or choir. I ran to another neighbor's house whose children ride the bus, and they weren't home either. About this time, J.C. got home. He drove to another neighbor's house to look for her while I knocked on another door and called the one neighbor a third time. When I finally knocked on the door of someone who was home, as I tried to ask him if Elise was there, I fell apart in tears on his doorstep. He was on the phone, but immediately hung up and came outside to help me look for her. We both walked around the cul-de-sac yelling her name. It was like a nightmare... a really sick, awful, horrifying, wake-you-up-in-a-sweat nightmare... the kind that makes you run in your child's room to check on them in the middle of the night... but it wasn't night. I wasn't in bed. This wasn't a nightmare. It was my life.

You know that feeling when you lose sight of your child for an instant in a department store or on the playground... how your heart stops beating, and adrenaline floods your entire body? Try that on for size for 10 or 15 minutes. I felt sick, physically sick. I ran up to the porch to her backpack to see if she had left a note. Nothing. I went back in the house to check the answering machine. Nothing. I got ready to call the school in hopes of talking to the bus driver. If that hadn't panned out, I really didn't have any other ideas besides calling the police. My.   Child.   Is.   Missing... mine... MY CHILD... MY FAULT... MISSING... an Amber Alert...  My mind kept going there which just made me feel even more nauseated. I felt so helpless.

I really thought I might puke, but I had to keep looking. But where?  Finally, J.C. called and said he had found her. She was at the home of the neighbor who I had called three times and left a message with who never answered the phone. The kids were playing and having a great time. The dad was busy lugging stuff in and out of the attic.

Elise had even left me a note in the mailbox telling me where she was. What a great kid...she didn't know I would be having a panic attack, but she knew I would check the mail... a perfectly logical, reasonable place to leave a note. If only logic and reason hadn't been ejected from my brain the minute I got home, I might have found her note.

She's home. She's safe. She's fine. I am not. I still haven't recovered. I know I shouldn't let my mind wander to the what ifs, but I'm not very good at controlling that. The what ifs make me even more sick.

This just rocked my world today. I want the day to end, and I want this out of my mind.

The Elizabeth Incident

My kids do things to make me mad every day... leaving dirty laundry in the middle of the floor, talking back, whining, not flushing the toilet... there is always something. That's just part of being a mom. Every now and then though, they manage to do something to make me really, really, REALLY mad. Nina took that prize on Thursday.

I was already upset with her because she had locked Elise out of the room that the two of them share. It turns out she had actually locked herself out too in an effort to hide her mischief. Yes, she KNEW what she was doing was wrong... she was well aware of that. That's part of what made me so angry. This wasn't just an innocent case of not knowing the rules.

When I unlocked the door, Nina told me I couldn't go in. Of course, that was like waving a red flag. I opened the door, walked in, and immediately smelled fingernail polish. Nina rushed in, ran over to Elise's bed, and threw her body down over the bed, covering up the crime scene.

I made her move, looked down, and saw poor beautiful, brand new,American Girl Elizabeth covered in nail polish. Remarkably, my kid-friendly-language filter was still intact, so the yelling that ensued was free from all the expletives that were ricocheting around in my head. The tone was still the same though, and Nina knew she had crossed the line from trouble to really, really, REALLY big trouble.

I ordered her to stay in her bed and not move until I came to get her. I ran downstairs with fingernail polish remover to seethe, brainstorm punishment, and try to rescue poor Elizabeth. I was able to clean up her legs fairly easily. I think her bum is a lost cause. The shoe (Elise's no less) is mostly cleaned up. The eyelids were the worst part (both were painted) as the nail polish remover removed both the fingernail polish and part of her eyelid color.

I'm not sure how long I left Nina in her room... an hour? I just really couldn't face her until I calmed down. When I finally did, I doled out the punishment... a long talk about her choices, responsibility, respecting property, and my disappointment in her decision. Then she had to put Elizabeth in a box to go in the attic until she turns five and proves she has earned my trust back. She also lost privileges to wear fingernail polish until she turns five, so her nail polish was removed from her fingernails and toenails. On top of that, I let her know that Santa was very disappointed that she had treated his gift to her with such disregard, so he would be watching her extra closely this year.

Then, of course, the Mamma Guilt comes roaring in to escalate my already spiraling-out-of-control emotions. Where did I go wrong? How did I raise my child to think this was OK? Was I wrong to entrust her with a nice doll at this age? Was I to blame for not having the fingernail polish under lock and key? Is she not getting enough attention, so she is acting out to get noticed?

There is probably some validity to all those questions, but I also had to remind myself that as I child I once took scissors to my original Madame Alexander Doll dress, to "hem" it to fit another doll. Children do these things. They make bad choices, but you have to hope that you can teach them and guide them into making better decisions in the future. I also have to acknowledge that being the middle child is tough. The baby gets extra attention simply because babies have more needs that require a parent's total focus. Elise often ends up with extra attention because she is school age and needs help with homework and projects. Nina tends to get lost in the shuffle some days, and that is something we need to work on. I guess this was our wake-up call... a very aggravating, expensive, infuriating wake-up call. I heard it though, and I'll strive to give everybody more equal time.

I can look back on this now, a couple days later, and know that in the grand scheme of life, if fingernail polish on a doll is the worst thing we're faced with, we'll count our blessings! I know that's true, but it certainly wasn't easy to get to that place in the heat of the moment!

Addison Grace

Naming your baby is one of the first difficult tasks you are given as a parent. It is one of those "weight of the world on your shoulders" decisions. The stress can be almost overwhelming trying to come up with that perfect name that suits the baby, works with your last name, sounds good with siblings' names, isn't too hard to pronounce or spell, isn't too popular, isn't the name of an ex-boyfriend or childhood enemy, has a nice meaning, and doesn't spell something offensive with the initials. Making this seemingly impossible task even harder, both parents need to agree on the name, and you're often juggling family names in an effort to honor one family member without alienating another. When Elise was born, we had three girls names and three boy names on our list. All the names met our requirements - traditional, but not overly traditional, not too hard to spell or pronounce, and no higher than #100 in the list of popular baby names. When Nina was born, we had a list of three girl names and about eight boy names. Fortunately, she was a girl, so we lucked into having the shorter list to consider after she arrived. Once again, all the names met our criteria. By the time we got to girl number three, coming up with yet another girl name suddenly seemed exponentially harder. We arrived at the hospital with a list of about 7 names, none of which were Addison. After she was born, we slowly started vetoing names and adding more to the list. We both loved the name Addison but hesitated for two reasons. First, we didn't want people to think we named the baby after the character Addison Montgomery-Shepherd on the wildly popular show, Gray's Anatomy. Second, we knew it was climbing steadily in popularity. It was certainly higher than our #100 criteria that we had for the first two children.  After discussing it until the hospital staff was starting to make a paper airplane out of her blank birth certificate, we concluded that it fit her better than any other name, and we loved it more than any other. All hesitations aside, we finally agreed, and Addison Grace she became.

As we shared the name with friends, my good friend Tonya exclaimed, "Oh, it will be easy to remember her name since the hospital on the show Gray's Anatomy is Seattle GRACE Hospital!" You would think that after all of our concern that people would associate her name with that show, we would have made the Grace connection ourselves! Nope. Even though we watch the show, that just never entered our minds. It was right after Tonya's observation that I made another realization of my own... want to guess who delivered her? Take a guess... really... this isn't hard. One guess... Yes, Dr. Gray. How uncanny is that? It wasn't even a doctor I had ever met before. She was a resident, not one of my regular ob's... Dr. Gray was the one who delivered Addison Grace. So much for not being connected to Gray's Anatomy. I'd say she is forever linked to that show at this point.

As for our second concern... the popularity... I received two emails today - one from a friend who just gave birth to twins yesterday. They named the girl Addison. The second email came from BabyCenter.com announcing the top 100 most popular baby names of 2008. Think Addison is on the list? Uh yeah... number 8. She definitely won't be alone on the playground with the name Addison.

So, I think we missed the mark on traditional (it certainly isn't), easy to pronounce (no, she is often Maddie or Madison), popularity (only seven others more popular), and the TV link, but in the end, I still love her name. I wouldn't change it for the world, and it definitely suits her. Sometimes, you just have to break your rules and go with your heart. In this case, I'm glad we did.

Sneak Peek

We have always taken our own family pictures - finding a location, posing ourselves, setting up a tripod, and either using a remote control or racing back into the picture trying to beat a timer. As our numbers have grown, that task has become exponentially harder. We finally decided to bite the bullet and bring in the professionals. Last weekend we had Catherine of Catherine Keene Photography take family photos for us. As if taking pictures of a family with three young kids isn't hard enough in itself, the baby hadn't napped, and Nina took to punching Elise ("Don't touch me!!!") when Catherine would ask Elise to put her arm around her. Nice. Proud parenting moment that was. Regardless, it seems as though Catherine was able to squeak out some pictures, and even captured a smile or two on Addie which I thought was Mission Impossible given the lack of nap. Catherine posted a sneak peek on her blog here: Notes from Catherine Keene. Thanks Catherine!