Besties and Babies

Last weekend, my sweet friend Mandy and her little one made the trek from Ft. Drum to spend the weekend. Erik is away, and her husband is wrapping up his third deployment, so it was an excellent way to kill some time while they're gone AND get a girls (and kids) weekend. We had many good laughs, lots of wine and took a day trip to Niagara Falls!

It wasn't the easiest trip to start out, arranging car seats, strollers, babies, moms and later a few shopping bags, but fun was had and the boys LOVED the Falls!

I probably should have edited this before posting it, but...

He LOVED the "biiiiiiiig waterfall"!

Failed Falls Selfie!

Piper got pretty tired.

If It Makes You Yell

A while back I read an essay written for moms of kids about the holidays. It was all about how if something ends with you yelling, it's not worth doing. I got the point of the essay - forging holiday traditions and trying to be everything to everyone is pointless if you loose your shit trying to get said traditions forged and things done for everyone. I get it.

Here's the thing:

I'm pretty sure everything makes me want yell, and it's not just about the holidays. Constantly interrupted while talking on the phone might eventually lead to yelling. Having constant demands thrust upon you by a (pardon the repetition) demanding 3 year old eventually leads yelling. Someone trying to have a conversation with you while the baby is screaming and they're using the quietest tone audible to man eventually means yelling (and I don't just mean over the baby). Being asked the same question 7 times in the few minutes it takes you to read one magazine article eventually angrily yelling. You get the point. I can't not do things that cause me to yell. Yelling is the only way I can seem to let go of whatever anger or irritation is growing inside me. I HATE this about myself. HATE. But I can't seem to figure out the way to change it. I've prayed, I've begged, I've read books and found relaxation exercises. I'm just... an angry person, I guess.

I have figured out how to avoid triggers though. And that, my friends, is called low expectations. If I don't have anything to do, anywhere to be, or anything that requires my children to be up, fed, changed and in the car, I can go DAYS without yelling. If I don't have to be constantly interrupted (which means no reading, writing or watching of anything besides children), I probably won't yell either. It's when we're running late, the baby is covered in spit-up, G is demanding another drink of water and I still don't have lunches packed that my anger becomes an issue. IE: anytime I'm trying to do ANYTHING.

Now don't think that I'm yelling a blue streak at my children every day, because I promise, I'm not. I am actually leaps and bounds more patient than I ever expected and I grow more and more patient every day. And I'm my own worst critic, so this really must be true. But I do yell at least once a day (usually about twice or three times) and when I do, it's the culmination of whatever irritation I've been carrying for a few hours, so it's not pretty and I'm not proud.

My parents were yellers. I don't want to be a yeller. I don't want to pass on this can't-control-my-shit gene.

I found these on Pinterest and I'll probably have them on my fridge until my kids are out of school. I felt kind of silly posting it at first, but I have pictures of my kids and comics from my dad and and all kinds of other memorabilia from friends - all of which make me smile - why not something with a little weight, a little something that helps me plug along for the sake of those I feel are so important that they're posted prominently on my fridge. Someone stop me if I become some kind of self help guru, though...

Anyway, I'm writing this so maybe someday if my kids read this, they'll know I really did try, God knows I try. Even if I manage to fail every day.

 

Here is the full quote referenced above, it's one of my favorites:

“but the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three on them sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4, and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in a hurry to get on to the next things: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.”
― Anna Quindlen

 

Give Me Back My Hometown

G is in this ultra-inquisitive (re: never stops talking) phase. One of his favorite things to do is to pick a word or two out of a song on the radio and ask what they mean. I like it. We usually listen to country music (yeah, yeah...) and so far I haven't had to address any super awkward topics.

So the other day we heard Give Me Back My Hometown on the radio and he asked me what a hometown was. I told him it's the town you're from. And he asked the question all military families struggle to answer "What's my hometown?"

I kinda stuttered through an answer that culminated with "you were born in Honolulu, but so far, you've grown up here in Bradford." Close enough for government work, I thought. Wakkaa wakkaa wakkaa.

Until later he said "When we move from here, will that be my hometown?" Um... kind of?

A few years ago I read an article about how military kids were offended when people would ask them where they were from. They assumed that everyone should just know they weren't "from anywhere," and to be honest, I felt that the whole article portrayed military kids as having a huge chip on their shoulders. I do NOT want to accommodate such feelings, but seriously, until you're out-of-high-school-ish age, isn't everywhere you've lived a big part of your "hometown" experience? How could one be greater than the other, when so much growing and learning and roosting goes on in each? Maybe I just don't understand because I was born in the same town my parents were born in and went to school with the same kids from kindergarten until senior year. I have a clearly defined hometown - that I haven't been to in like 2 years.

Interestingly, this discussion coincided perfectly with the Army putting out the list of assignments for us to choose from after ILE. There are many lingering questions about this list and a few unknowns about our timeline, so I'm not quite as excited to "pick a future" as I have been in previous years, but more info should be forthcoming and we will be on our way in a few short months. I have enjoyed our time in Bradford, but I miss the Army. I miss Army wives. I miss people who've already answered the "Where's my hometown?" question with far more grace than I probably did.

Things I've Learned from Having a Garage Sale

1. When you're making signs, make them with more than just two directions of arrows.
2. It's more fun with a friend.
3. Especially if that friend has similar taste as you do and kids who are just a hair bigger than yours.
4. 2 $10 bills in your change bag isn't enough.
5. Put sunscreen on more than just your children.

"I Can't Get Any Worse" - Then It Did.

I had a really clever poem format idea for this post, but there's just too much to discuss in stanza form.

A few weeks ago, we and our best friends the Dave, Vickie and their kids took off for Colorado for a wedding.

First things first, I have, twice now, united with traveling companions at airports midway through our day of travel and I have to say - it's pretty fun.

So our family flies to NY and meets up with their family and we all fly from LaGuardia to Denver. On the way there the plane literally ran out of food. At dinner time. So that was awesome. We bought the last two sandwiches on the flight and split them six ways (luckily the babies don't eat solids yet). I'm sure that on top of having fit-throwing children for the first part of the flight, buying the last bit of food really made us popular. But gosh darn it, the kids would have been worse without sustenance. We, and our 16 pieces of luggage (hey, traveling with kids is hard) arrived in Denver and pack-muled all our things out to the meeting spot for the hotel shuttle to pick us up. We wait, and we wait and we wait. The shuttle arrives at :05 after the hour, and :35 after the hour. An hour goes by. I call. We're on the wrong side. We have 5 minutes to get all our crap to the OTHER side of the airport. Erik takes off running with everything he can carry. Dave follows suit. Vic and I are left to chuck 2 strollers 3 carseats a pack and play and a couple of suitcases over there. It took forever and we both felt our wrists breaking, but we MADE it. We get to the hotel, order room service (you know, because there was no food on the plane) eat the best grilled cheeses on the planet at 12:10AM (which I think is 3AM at home) and collapse into our beds.

The next day the boys went to get our rental cars and the ladies prepared for the shopping venture. We had rented a log home up in the mountains and we knew we'd save a lot on groceries if we shopped in Denver vs. Estes Park. So we did. $500 and two coolers full of food later, we headed up the mountain where we met my mom and Aunt Pat who had driven in from Oklahoma.

The next day (Saturday) was the wedding. The adults got ready to go and my mom and aunt babysat the kids. The parents headed out for the wedding and arrived just in time for the ceremony. At the wrong church. We arrived late to our friends RIDICULOUSLY BEAUTIFUL wedding. Ceremony in Ft. Collins. Fun.Was.Had. Piper wasn't feeling super well this day, many dirty diapers and she got sick a couple of times. I thought maybe it was because I was using tap water in her bottles and started using up our bottled water instead.

The next day, Sunday, we received 2 feet of snow. Ken's family had driven in from Wyoming for the weekend to come spend Sunday with us since they hadn't seen Erik for the better part of 20 years and obviously had never met our children. Obviously that didn't happen, since the mountain roads were wrecked. Vickie gets sick, we again attribute this to tap water.

Monday, we decided we needed out of the house and head in to Denver for the Children's Museum. We had planned MANY outdoor activities in Estes Park that obviously didn't pan out, so we were DESPERATE. The two families all piled in to a rented suburban and off we went. 30 minutes into the trip, Piper pooped and we pulled over. 20 minutes later, Vickie was carsick (or something) so we pulled over. Finally, we reached I-25 into Denver and as we're on the on-ramp, our friends little boy starts getting sick. All over himself, his mom and Erik, who was sitting next to him (between he and Grant). We cross our fingers it's carsickness and press on. Little known fact about Erik: Vomit is his kryptonite. Obviously, this is now in the running for the most miserable car ride he's ever been on.

We arrive at the Childrens Museum and the little boy (whose name I don't want to put on here because I didn't ask his parents) got sick AGAIN, so they decide to wait in the car. Later, they decided to take him to the ER because they're super worried and we finish up the childrens museum and head up the street to the aquarium.

We finish at the aquarium just as Grant starts to tell us his tummy hurts and that he's hungry. Erik's hurts too. We hope this is hunger too as he was obviously not hungry for lunch after the car ride. I was in the front of the car when the vomiting started, so I happily ate one of the sandwiches we'd packed. Incidentally, G was also unaffected by the vomiting as he was asking for chips WHILE the other little boy was getting sick.

ANYWAY

We decide to go to the Aquarium Restaurant to eat and kill time before Dave and Vic came back from the ER to pick us up. Grant refuses food and eventually vomits at the table. So that was awesome.

We get our bill and call our friends that they need to come get us ASAP. We can't just sit in the restaurant with the sick kid.

They arrive about 45 minutes later, after we'd holed up near the family restroom, Erik and I taking turns with a sick Grant, and obsessively OBSESSIVELY washing our hands.

Before we leave Erik gets sick.

The good part of our friends having gone to the hospital is that they told the attendants that they were in a big group of people and the hospital gives enough anti-nausea meds for everyone. Dave and I go into Walmart for Pedialyte, the prescription and a gallon of hand sanitizer. Oh and soup. I call my mom to let her know what's up and that we're on our way - she's sick too.

The ride from Denver in to Estes Park was what I can only assume it's like to work in a Sanitorium. The little boys and Vickie are in the back row. She's giving small drinks of Pedialyte to her son, while holding the throw up bucket for mine. He was sick the whole way home, in spite of the meds. I was in the middle row with the babies. Willing that the germs would stay away. Erik and Dave were in the front. About 30 minutes from home, the bug hits Dave, but he's able to keep everything contained until we get to the house.

The next day (Tuesday) was a flurry of vomit bags, Lysol, people running to the bathroom and me taking care of all the sickies while my 80 year old aunt hid in her room away from all the germs (we sent her there, don't worry, we didn't feel abandoned!)

On Wednesday everyone was back to feeling better, but not quite at their fighting weights. Dave and their little boy were still a little icky, but we decided to take a little trip to a local park. It was nice and was the only time we got to play outside. That evening, the other little boy starts getting sick again.

On Thursday Erik and I decided the only way to break the cycle of germs is for at least one family to check out of the "Plague House" as we were calling it and go back in to Denver. We were checking out of the log home on Friday anyway. We priceline a room and it happens to be in the same hotel we were planning to stay in on Friday anyway. Thank God. We, and the other family, headed in to Denver. On the way, we met our friends Lori and Nick (the newlyweds!) for dinner and then went and played at a local park for awhile (so I guess saying the the other park visit was our only outdoor activity was a lie...). That night at dinner I started feeling ill and loaded up on Zofran. I woke up in the middle of the night knowing this was it, I was going to be sick. I went and sat on the bathroom floor thinking "this is it, I'm going to have to fly home sick." Luckily, that was the last bout of nausea that I experienced.

Friday everyone in our family was better (poor Dave was sick the longest, and he was SICK!) and we puttered around Denver. We went to Bass Pro and had lunch (because those restaurants and stores are always AWESOME for little's!) and hung around.

Saturday, it was time to go home and I can't say I was sorry to see it end...

Sunday, Erik left for Thailand. Thankfully, the curse didn't follow him.