Dear Sons, I want you to use your white privilege.

To my two white, middle-class sons: 

You may not have any clue what is going on right now in the world. Well, I can guarantee it. Mainly because one of you is only 4.5 years and the other one is waiting eight more weeks to come into the world. However, what you both may feel is Mumma's stress and worry. I want to apologize for that, but I can't. Actually, I won't. I am upset and sad and angry and worried about many different things going on right now. 

I'm upset that we are beginning to live in a country where crimes and complete bigotry are not only overlooked but acceptedly  practiced by those fighting to gain power. I'm upset that no matter how loud the public yells for help and acceptance, it struggles to be heard over the hatred and ignorance. I am sad that certain people feel the need to turn to violence and rioting in order to get seen and acknowledged. I am angry that young children all over are being left so far behind in education and essentially blamed for not being able to afford anything better. And that older children have no choice but to begin their lives so far in debt to pay for a further education. I am angry that women's health and rights are used only to the media's advantage when it creates headlines and controversy, rather than actual justice and safety. I am worried that I won't be able to teach you two enough about acceptance, compassion, and humanitarianism because of all the doubt, greed, and humiliation that fills our screens. 

The normal instinct of a parent is to shield a child from all of this. But I cannot do that.  I will not do that. I won't because you need to learn that these things are not acceptable. That injustice, bigotry, and hatred do not have to win. These things can be changed. I will raise you to become the change. Things like sexism, inequality, racism, etc. may not personally affect you. You are privileged to be white, middle-class males. But that is where your privilege comes in. Because these things may not affect you daily, you need to use your power to help those that it does. You will be surprised what has personally affected your mumma, your aunts, your family, your friends, and your community.  

I will not raise you to be "blind" to color, sexual orientation, or to anything else going on in the world. Being "blind" means more than not seeing; in most cases, it means ignoring. It means you also won't see the injustices or the beauty. I want you to fully see it all; to see, celebrate and feel deeply for it all. 

You too will get angry and upset at the unfairness of the world at points. And this is ok. In fact, it is great. Get angry and upset! Stand up for those whose voices are going hoarse from their screaming. Yell loudly to help them be heard. Believe in something and do not let those holding the power to silence you. You are a power. Use that to make it safe for your friends and family to walk down the street without being shamed. Use that to make sure the earth grows greener because you are living in it. Use your power to stand up for even those who have different views and life styles than you. Use it to make this world a more productive, educational, and equal place for all. 

I love you both so much. Now please go and spread that love. 

Love, 

Mumma 

Changing the World

As of recently, I have really come to dislike signing onto Facebook. While I love all the photos of friends getting married, starting families, traveling, hanging with their cool pets, and eating at delicious restaurants, those are not the only things filling up my news feed. Arguments about the correct views on current events and issues that the world is facing, blatant ignorance and hatred through "funny" posts belittling others for their choice of lifestyle, and the destruction of the human bond of compassion between individuals because of their differences. This is what I see more and more. And it makes me what to scream.. and cry. Instead of taking opportunities to educate themselves on the ever-changing world, people are stuck throwing out hatred for what they chose not to believe in. I am a huge supporter of different views. If everyone lived the same, looked the same, acted the same, what a boring and one dimensional life this would be for all of us. How would we grow?

I recently saw someone I love, who is very close to me, post a passive aggressive picture in which belittled one individual's courage to emphasize another's. I got very emotional about this. While I understand and respect our difference of opinions, for me to see such a hurtful and negative post to "get the point across" was baffling to me.

So I started to write. And I wrote and wrote and wrote. I wrote strong words of anger, of opposition, and I felt myself sinking into a very negative space. So I deleted everything and begin to write from a different perspective. I needed to say something. I needed the negativity to stop. I needed to feel like I could change what the world is going through right now. So I started to write as a mother.

I thought about blocking and deleting what bothered me on facebook. But how can I live like that? It's not realistic for me to stop seeing the negative. That doesn't void it out and make it not still very much alive. Being a parent gives me many opportunities to take the negativeness of the world and change it. Even if it's only through one child.

---

Being a parent gives me a chance to raise a human in a really difficult world to be grateful for his opportunities and to also use them to help and encourage others. I can help the universe create an open-minded, strong, and supportive individual, even when.. especially when the world seems to sometimes lack those qualities.

I can help him help others. I can teach him how important it is to respect himself, others, and most of all the earth. His opinions and views are not the only ones filling the world, but if he works hard enough and cares deeply enough, he can use his thoughts, feelings and ideals to make the world a better place.

I can show him how, even though he may not live through certain tragedies, his heart can ache and break with those who are living it. I can let him know it's okay to stand up against something if he truly thinks it is wrong. And more importantly, to stand strongly with those he believes in.

I can hold him when he cries and help him understand when he is angry. I can share tears and laughter with him, and explain how each are very cathartic. I can show him how a hug can heal and a smile can save.

I can show him that family is not just made of blood, but of a lifetime of bonds.

I am able to teach him that judgement is not for him to give, or for him to take to heart. That education is one of the strongest tools he will be given. And that his heart is the strongest thing he will be able to give.

I can tell him that love and acceptance do not come with terms and conditions.

I can encourage him to be brave in whatever it is he needs to do, and let him encourage others in their own bravery.

I can show him that life takes people to all different places, and when another's path crosses his, to cherish it. It may join him for a while or remain a quick crossroad he goes through; I can teach him how both are equally just as important.

I can teach him not only to say "thank you," but to feel truly thankful.

I can try to help him understand when sometimes people hurt one another. This one will be something him and I continue to learn the rest of our lives.

But most importantly, I can show him he has a voice, and that his life will reflect how he chooses to use it.

---

Ok, buddy, let's go. We are going to change the world.

Sometimes I look like Kanye.

I am not a huge fan of Kanye, but I cannot think of a better way to describe the look on my face every time someone asks me when I am going to have another child.

Better yet, when they tell me why I cannot have just one child. 

I get told this a lot. 

It is amazing to me how many people, especially women who are already mothers, have such a strong opinion on the subject. It's bad enough I have a male dominated government deciding what should or shouldn't happen to my body. Now women are trying to take that choice away from me too. From coworkers to family to friends to complete strangers. Literally everyone has an opinion on the vacancy of my uterus. 

And I get it. The concerns and comments only come from a place of love. 

But so does my decision to have one child. I have to defend this choice to so many people. Including my husband. 

My omission of wanting a second child is due to many different things. And I find myself having to go through this checklist with everyone that thinks "Vedder CANNOT go through life without a sibling."  

First, I don't want another kid. To be honest, I never saw myself as a mother in the first place. But things happen. I  am now the mother of one of the most kick-ass kids ever! (I may be biased.) And I'm totally cool with that. I love being his mumma. My heart is so overwhelmed sometimes knowing this child loves me so much and so unconditionally. It's great! It's completely enough for me. 

Second, I live in NYC. I know many families here that do have two or more children here in the city, and I give more power to them. I do not have that power. Nor do I have that money. 

Third, big changes are coming for me career wise. I absolutely do not think it selfish at all knowing that having another child may keep these changes from happening. It's the truth. I would be putting my dreams on hold to have another kid. I'm not ready to make that sacrifice. I am perfectly ok with admitting that and feeling that way. I'm not ready to wait another few years to make these dreams happen.  They are happening now, and they will work around my family trio, and I couldn't be more thrilled. 

Finally, I have health issues surrounding reproductive organs. I have had endometriosis since I was a teenager and was just recently diagnosed with PCOS. I feel like yelling at women "You know those labor pains you felt? Yeah, they were nothing compared to what I feel monthly." But I don't (well, writing it, I guess now I do). In the next few months I will be making decisions that may keep me from being able to conceive in the near future. But that's for another time, maybe another post. 

For all of these reasons and more, I don't need the comments that I am depriving my child of a best friend. Have you met my child? He could make friends with a wall. (He takes after his mama like that.) 

I know that children, the number of or lack there of, will always be a topic among women, family, adults, or just people in general. I know everyone feels differently on the subject. My husband and I are two of those people. It's not as easy topic in our house. But like all families, we will work through it. 

(At the same time, I totally see the irony in myself when a friend tells me they're expecting their third or fourth kid and my reaction is to laugh and say "Good luck with that!") 

A family is not measured by how many people are in it. It can be three, four, five, or more. It can also be just two and I have the utmost respect for those families as well. A family cannot be measured at all because each one is so different. They are all made many different ways. The only common ingredient in all families is love. And that is really all that matters. 

"I'm gonna bash you"

I'm gonna bash you. 

Welp. It's begun. The rough'n'tough, crash'n'bash part of raising a kid. I definitely didn't think that this stage would already be starting a couple weeks shy of him turning three. And what I didn't expect even more is how I would feel about it.  

No fighting. No guns. No swords. No bad guys. 

WAY easier said then done. 

Actually, now that I have started this new phase in the wide range of WTF-do-I-do phases of parenting, I have found myself to be much more relaxed about the subject. 

This spring, while I was out of the house 16 hours a day, 7 days a week teaching and working on a play, my husband introduced Vedder to He-Man. The boy is obsessed. Hand him a sword or baseball bat or even a stick and he will recite the entire opening to the show. He has even talked about how he will be He-Man for Halloween and dada will be Skeletor. Whether or not he understands the show, it absolutely has sparked his imagination. 

When we went to Disney a few weeks ago, I cried walking down Main Street, watching Vedder in his new Mickey ears sit on Michael's shoulders, taking in everything. In the three years we have been a family, that has been one of my favorite moments. Then a little voice says "where's my sword?" and I'm snapped back into the silly reality that is raising this kid. "I need a sword to be a Mickey musketeer like Donald and Goofy." This kid never ceases to surprise me. 

Did I ever think that his sword fighting and "I'm gonna bash you" language would ever come from those family movie nights of watching old school Disney movies? Ha! Never. But they did. And now that's where his imagination goes to. 

And for now my mumma gut is telling me to let him go there. Are the wrestling matches with dad and the water gun fights with Nani going to really make him a bad kid? I try to remind him when he wants to pretend to "bash" that not everyone likes to play that way so he needs to ask first. And I try to remind him that sometimes being too rough can result in someone getting hurt. But I don't say no. I let him play like that. I let him use those words. Not because he's a boy. Because he's a child. Because he's fending off an evil giant to help bring food and sunshine back to his town. Because he is fighting off villains to save a princess who he loves. Because I don't want to tell him his imagination has to be limited to what is PC. Because he is not hurting anyone. And if one day he slips and makes a mistake or goes too far, that will be another moment for us to learn a lesson. 

But until that day.. I'll let him play. 

Baby on the Go

My son is now seven and a half months. Crawling, pulling himself up on every possible box or shelf or piece of furniture to stand, and tumbling down to the ground with a loud thud. All of this making my heart so excited and extremely nervous. And that is only in our apartment, never mind when we travel!!

I was born and raised in Massachusetts, and since meeting my husband four years ago ((and moving to NYC nine months after meeting him)), I have probably traveled between the two states around thirty times. I have done most of the traveling by bus and car. However, in December 2010, we took Amtrak for the first time and fell in love!! Since Vedder has been born, he has traveled to Massachusetts four times, twice on Amtrak and also loved it.

Just to clarify things, I do not work for Amtrak at all, nor am I getting paid for this blog post. I am just an extremely satisfied customer, and want to get the word out to other families.

The first time Vedder and I took the train from New York Penn Station to South Station Boston was Thanksgiving Day 2011. Now I am not saying that Amtrak completely takes away all the stresses of traveling with a child, especially an infant, but they sure do make it easier. In November, Vedder was almost four months old. I had a huge stroller, carseat, diaper bag, purse ((which for me is a large bag)) and rolling suitcase. My husband brought us to Penn Station to help me with all the luggage. Of course my genius thinking of taking a 2pm train on Thanksgiving Day because it would save me $75 as opposed to traveling the day before or after the holiday didn't quite work out. I did not factor in that Penn Station is also on 34th street like Macy's. Yep. I completely did not factor in at all that while I would be trying to lug my whole life in 3 bags and a stroller, there would be those thousands upon hundreds of people who come to New York this one time of year to see the nations biggest parade. On the same street I needed to catch a train. Like I said, I'm a genius.

However, once we got there the employees of Amtrak were so helpful my very frazzled state was quickly calmed. They even allowed my husband to help get Vedder and me settled on the train even though he was not joining us on the trip. Many times throughout the four hour trip, a train worker approached me to see if I needed anything, even offering to get water from the cafe cart for us. So nice!!

Our second trip to Massachusetts was just a couple weeks ago. And I feel like as my son gets older, my brain gets fried a little more. On this trip, right after leaving Penn Station I realize I didn't print out my ticket from the kiosk. I only had a receipt of purchase email!! After having to purchase another ticket on the train, a worker gave me all the paperwork, explaining how to get a full refund for the previously purchased ticket. And then when leave Boston a few days later, because of said fried brain, we missed our scheduled departure. The man at the ticket booth was so calm and helpful, I didn't even have the chance to worry and freak out before he called a Red Hat over to help me and store my bags until the next train to New York. Phew!!

The designation between cars - cafe, business, quiet, and coach - makes it very easy to not feel like I am that obnoxious person with the child laughing, singing, and yelling on the train. The scenery of the northeast route from NYP to BOS is beautiful. While Vedder naps I am constantly snapping pictures of the gorgeous new England towns as they fly by. Then when he is awake we are either looking out the windows together, playing with toys on the seats, or walking to the cafe car where they have fresh fruit cups that I am able to slice up and share with him.

The only thing I would change, or have Amtrak add to better the experience for traveling families, are changing tables. Traveling with an infant as often as I do four hours is a long time to go without a diaper change. And even though the handicap bathrooms offer enough space for me to put a changing pad on the floor, the sanitary aspect of that is not appealing at all.

The Amtrak train to Boston passes right past our apartment in Queens and over the park we go to weekly. My husband and I are teaching Vedder that this is the train to Nana and Grandad's house. Even though he may not understand what we are saying, he definitely understands the noise of the train and stares up at it as it zooms. U.

Our next trip to Massachusetts is at the end of the month. I am very excited to be seeing my family again so soon and am looking forward to another pleasant experience traveling.

A letter to my best friend and soon-to-be mama

Dear best friend,

You are pregnant! The whole world is excited!! I don't think anyone on this earth deserves to be a parent more than you. Since we were little, you have always had the most compassionate personality. With everything you have been through to bring you to this day, you have conquered it all so gracefully. When it felt like everything was against you, you still smiled and pushed through. My love for you has 26 years of your unconditional friendship behind it and I cannot thank you enough for that. For all of these reasons and so many more, you are going to be an amazing mother. 

Now I know I started this blog writing about some of my aggravations with pregnancy and parenthood. But this letter to you is from one mumma's heart to another. 

First, through these last couple of months, resist the want to punch anyone in the face that tells you "Sleep now because you won't be after baby is born." You won't sleep normally through the last few months of pregnancy, or after he is born, or ever again. And after a couple years you'll get used to it and it will be ok. It'll actually be great. The reason you aren't sleeping is because this little guy you created needs you. He needs your help, your love and your comfort. He will eventually sleep through the night but you still won't. Remember that book our moms used to read to us as kids, I'll Love You Forever? Yeah well you will be that mom that even after he falls asleep, will crawl into his room, hold him just for a couple extra minutes. Why would you do that? Want to sneak into a sleeping child's room, risking the chance that you'll wake him? Because you're sleep deprived and can't think straight. And because you created this little human and it is the best feeling in the world and every chance you can get to give him love, you will.

Another thing, don't be disappointed when labor goes nothing like you had planned. I really wish someone told me this. I ridiculously, but whole heartedly, thought I could actually have control of all of that. And well it killed me that not even the smallest things worked out the way I had wanted. But now two and a half years later I can write this letter to you and say don't waste your time planning any of it. Whenever and however that beautiful newborn gets put into your arms, smile and let everything else go. 

A baby changes your marriage. It does. No one told me this either. You're no longer just husband and wife. You're mama and daddy. This may seem like a pretty obvious thing, but it's a bigger concept than, well, a new parent can wrap her head around. You and your family of two are no stranger to hard work as a couple. You have both defied so many odds that this could be something you both just laugh at. But when sleepless nights get the best of you, or your parenting skills of a little defiant toddler seem to be drastically different, or any part of this journey into parenthood makes you two scared,  it is important to remember you're not in it alone. And it's important to keep reminding yourself that too because sometimes we all forget. 

The heartache from anything you have ever felt in your life with be nothing compared to your child's first big booboo. Oh god. It still hurts. It will hurt you more than him. But you're both get through it. Him sooner than you. 

There is no such thing as a perfect mama. You're going to make mistakes, a lot of them. You're going to sometimes have no clue why your baby is crying and have no way to help him. This is ok, mostly because he probably doesn't know why he is crying either. And when he gets older, you're going to make mistakes too. There are days where you will have 100% energy to be a super mom and take on his crazy little imaginative world and fill him up with even more important emotional tools for life. You will take him places and teach him things. You will show him the many different worlds outside your home. And these days will be beautiful.. but exhausting. And there will be days where you don't have that energy. Where the tv will be on all day and all he has eaten is animal crackers. You've accomplished nothing except maybe showering, and he has watched the same episode of sesame street for past three hours. You need these days. Even though your guilt may overcome you about not being a "good" parent, remember, you need these days. Life is about balance. So is parenting. No day is perfect. We wake up not knowing what it will bring. The same is with being a parent. Part of being a great parent is finding the balance in between all of the days. 

One last thing. This has been my proudest one to conquer (mostly because all of the above that I have written, in one way or another I'm still dealing with).  Don't worry about your body, now or after. Because you're gorgeous. You always have been and always will be. Every boy wanted to be your boyfriend when we were younger and now the two best boys in the world ((well one to be coming into the world soon)) have you!! Even if you never get back to "pre-baby body" it doesn't matter. The one thing I have let go of is that goal of being back to pre-baby. And I couldn't feel better about myself. Dude, I made another human being, I can keep on these few extra 25 pounds. I've earned that! 

So here is my letter to you. Of crazy, emotional, mama things. I think this letter was more for myself than you, but I am so excited to watch you on this journey. The love you have in your heart is no match for what is about to come. Some days it will fill so much it hurts. And some days it will just hurt. These are all good things. I love you so much and cannot wait to be this very lucky baby boy. 

Finding my balance

Well it is 6:30 am on a Saturday, and because my mind is on auto alarm for 5:20 am for the week, I am awake now while everyone else is sleeping. So I am deciding to write.  But to be honest, I'd much rather be sleeping. 

So maybe I will start off this "Saturday Morning Insomnia" post with a look into the other person who is on this WTF-am-I-doing ride that we call parenthood.

Michael and I celebrated 4 crazy years of mah-widge (the Princess Bride was to say it is the only way to say it) in December. Four friggen years! It's crazy to me. This may seem like a small feat or even still the honeymoon stage to some but for me, well I have a problem committing to absolutely anything. So, high-five, Hubby! Looks like I am on the right track! But to be honest, he makes it really easy..

A few things about Michael (my husband, not my dad -see other post- now we're back to this weird Freudian thing again):

I am married to a rock'n'roll singing, dish washing, best dad in the world shirt owning, dinner cooking, house cleaning, laundry doing, converse wearing all-star. Seriously. I'm spoiled. 

In my completely right-side-of-the -brain-parenting technique, I cannot be a good mom without completely destroying our apartment. I'm not kidding. I am worse than Vedder. A mom who makes more of a mess than her two year old son. Our lovely dining table is permanently covering in paint from various projects. We are still finding confetti glitter around the apartment from new year eve sensory bottles. I have a half done chalk mural on V's wall in his bedroom ((see earlier comment about not being able to commit to anything)). 

When I come home from work during the week, dinner is always ready. Always. Sometimes when Michael comes home on the weekends, he's lucky if his son has even had one full meal the whole day, nevermind a full dinner being cooked. Not that he always keeps his cool about all the mess, but who would? I even want to punch me in the face sometimes for half the crap I do. However, he does know he married an ADHD self-proclaimed artist who cannot commit to change long enough to make it stick. But I guess that's what made him fall in love with me, right? My beautiful free spirit? The way I can just go with the flow? Or my amazingly creative brain? 

No, it was none of that. We met on a blind date. The reasons he fell in love with me was alcohol and the fact that I have a big butt and nothing else. 

So here's a big THANK YOU! to the man who absolutely and willingly deals with my crazy antics and scattered brain. Thank you for teaching Vedder how to do things like hang up his jacket while I teach him about how we can open the window and take all the snow off of the sill to play with it on the kitchen floor. Thank you for putting us both to bed at night. Thank you for creating such balance in my life. And thank you so much for truly loving me through all of this craziness that you have fully committed to. 

You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. 

The night the Grandad Train came to our home

Twenty years ago, Michael (my dad, not my husband.. but now that I write that, I guess there is some Freudian thing going on) came into my life when he started dating my mom. I began calling him dad soon after and haven't stopped. They married when I was eleven. In the ceremony he also exchanged rings with my sister and me, us taking him as our dad. My brother did the same with a ring from my mom, ceremonially making us siblings. This day solidified our family. When I was thirteen, I changed my last name to his. My dad has always been the rock to our family. I have always been thankful for everything he has done for me (even though it took me years to show it). However, what happened last night is much more than I will ever be able to thank him for.

When Vedder was born, my dad said he wanted to be called "Grandad." We laughed and try to tell him not to give his hopes up. Vedder began to call him "DingDong." We laughed harder. Then not long ago Vedder started saying Grandad and hasn't stopped since. He talks about Grandad and the "Grandad Train" (Amtrak) every day. Last night, all he wanted to do was play trains with Grandad.

This breaks my heart. I live with my husband and son in NYC. When I moved here five years ago, I had no real plans for staying this long. However life happens. Now I am here (with still a hope in my heart that we will one day be back living in Massachusetts). I talk to my family often. I text with my sister almost daily, my brother frequently, and facetime with my parents every weekend. I dream of raising my child in the suburbs with a yard he can run in and I can watch him from the kitchen window.

But for now, a trip up to MA every few months and the everyday advances in technology, help Vedder to have a relationship with Nani, Grandad, Auntie, and Unc.

So back to my story about last night.

While facetiming with Auntie, Vedder kept asking if she talked to Grandad. "Where's Grandad? Do you talk to Grandad? I want to play trains with Grandad." So we hung up with my sister and called my mom. Mom instantly answers the phone. "Hi, Vedder!!" "Ummm, Nani, I want to see Grandad." ((My poor mom and sister. Right now in V's life NO ONE measures up to Grandad.))

As soon as they see each other over the iPad, they laugh hysterically. This happens every time we facetime, and lasts for the first few minutes of the call. Just looking at each other laughing. Warms the heart.

Then after talking a bit, Vedder said "I want to play trains with Grandad." We moved the iPad onto the floor of his room. He showed my dad his train tracks all set up. While Vedder pushed around the trains, my dad said "Chugga Chugga Choo Choo!"

This lasted a few more minutes, but Vedder kept looking at me and saying "I want to play trains with Grandad." Obviously it was getting to the point where having Grandad watch from the iPad wasn't good enough. He wanted him there in person. This confused and longing look on Vedder's face broke my heart. And while my mind began to wallow in self pity for living so far away, something amazing happened.

I looked over at the iPad and noticed my dad. He had his head laying down on the kitchen table, imitating Vedder (he lays down on the floor to play trains). My dad had a small black Brio train in his hand, gliding it back and forth on the table. Vedder saw this and smiled. I saw this and cried. They were really playing trains together. Two hundred and fifty miles apart. My heart was so full it could have burst!

They played like this for a while. And as I became the official "FaceTime iPad Holder" I knew I was no longer needed (well, except to be the FaceTime iPad Holder). They played trains, made choo-choo noises, and watched each other. It was beyond the most perfect moment.

Like April 19th solidified our family years ago, February 5th is the day that solidified Vedder and Grandad's bond. They are best friends, and this moment is something they will have for the rest of their lives.


((SIDENOTE: I would also like to thank my parents. Not every family has the amount of love that ours does and I am so grateful for everything you have taught and shown me. It is because of your love and parenting - and our arguments, my rebellion, and your forgiveness - that has truly molded me into the mom I am today. I would be so lost without your constant love and guidance. Thank you for never giving up and always showing me that family is the strongest bond there is. Blood does not make a family, the people in it do. I am so proud to be your daughter.))

Funny thing happened on the way to see Santa..

..Well actually, on the way home after seeing Santa. 

Our two and a half year old was in full Scrooge mode last night yelling "no Santa! No tree! No lights!" for our annual holiday walk through Manhattan last night. Despite a few tantrums and obviously not at all being humbled with holiday spirit, we made it through the night with a few nice photos. 

On our way home we had to stop to grab Vedder a new sippy cup for bedtime. This is when full meltdown mode began. Trying to be calm and talk him through it didn't work, so the "no toys, trains or tv" came into play. We made our exit out of the store, grabbed slices to-go for dinner and headed home. There the three of us began to calm down and slowly unwind. While eating dinner this little voice said "Mumma, I want to say sorry to dada" (he had hit during his tantrum an hour before and that's when the "no toys when we get home" went into effect). I said "Ok. Dada is sitting right here. You can tell him" With these big puppy dog eyes and a little soft, shaky voice, Vedder said "So sorry Dada I hit." Our hearts exploded! He was beginning to think about his actions and was coming to apologize on his own! THIS IS HUGE! Michael and I smiled and looked at each other. We shared that "F-- yeah! We got this parent thing down pat!" 

That was until we heard what he said next. 

With out even breathing. "ok sorry Dada. Now I play trains" 

What? You just pulled that to get what you want and not because your mumma and dada have instilled compassion and the concept of learning right from wrong in you?!?! Damn it! That little sh-t! Are you kidding me? Two and a half and he' already calculating "I'm sorry so I can get my way." I was sure we had at least ten more years before the mischievous calculating went on in that little brain of his. 

No he didn't get toys or trains or tv. But he did knock down our parenting ego a notch. 

And now I can't help thinking that my karma is coming back to me.. in full force.  Damn it. 

Sorry, mom. 

The weekend we just lived.

I like to think I'm a good mom. I make time each night after work to sit and play, read or even watch TV with my son. I teach preschool during the day and then at night bring home exciting surprises like ABC flash cards to play with or play dough for of course fine motor. (Neither of these things does he truly care about but someday my future Harvard Grad will thank me.) On weekends I get no housework done because I would rather take Vedder all over the city discovering new things. We go to music class, the park, museums. I snap photos of our every adventure and post our moments on instagram and Facebook. Then the "likes" and comments come rolling in and I smile that people think these moments are as beautiful as I do. This past weekend was different. My last post was of a very happy toddler hamming it up in his car seat ready for his first official getaway with just mumma and daddy. Last post at 8 pm Friday night, goodbye new york and your busy streets. hello vermont and your amazingness, read the caption.

Now for some of you you're probably thinking "And? So you went a weekend without posting on Facebook? So what?" Others know how hard that task actually is. (I do have to admit, I did sneak in one instagram post on our car ride home Monday afternoon) I'm not an addict. I could probably go a week without posting no problem. But for my husband who believes I truly have an addiction, I made a promise not to post or even check Facebook for an entire weekend. I never thought it would actually have a serious impact. But it did.

Instead of instantly sharing funny, beautiful, or aggravating moments with my family online, I just lived them. I looked for no comments or likes or any sort of gratification via social networking. I just lived the moments, still snapping pictures, but it ending with that. Then I continued living.

In one moment, I tried to capture the perfect family photo and got aggravated because I couldn't stand the way my husband was unenthusiastically smiling and the way my face looked because the wind was blowing my hair everywhere. Vedder continued to just sit there smiling his ass off and of course looked perfect in every picture. This session ended with me and Michael screaming at each other and Vedder teaching himself how to hit the button and run to the couch before the timer finished and the camera flashed. This lightened the mood and we lived on.

Maybe it was the wine tasting earlier in the day mixed with the beers we were drinking, but in another moment I forgot about me and was just Mumma. Sitting at a table at Long Trail Brewery while having dinner, I bent towards Vedder, and he ran his car from my shoulder over my head back and forth creating a tangled mess. He laughed hysterically as I made obnoxiously exaggerated squeaks of "What are you doing to mumma? There's a car on my head!" I remember reading a mom's blog about getting in the picture. No matter that she hadn't lost the baby weight or didn't have makeup on or her hair done, she got in the picture with her son. This is exactly what I thought of as two matchbox cars rolled over my head, back and forth. When I would usually sit back and quickly fix my hair and find something else to entertain Vedder, I instead just sat there, with cars in my hair. Vedder isn't going to remember what my hair looked like, and to be honest, probably won't even remember the moment at all. But in the moment he laughed "haha mumma! Cars!" repeatedly and I will never forget it.

Our last moment of our family vacation was definitely less than perfect. As we settled back in at home, unpacking and getting ready for the work week, Vedder got ready for bed. Michael asks me where Ted (Vedder's bear that goes absolutely EVERYWHERE) is. As we begin to search, we both get a bad feeling. He was left in the rental car. I frantically called Hertz while Michael continues to search the house. No one was answering. There was a few inches if snow already on the ground and the wind was whipping more snow around. Not to mention it was freezing out. No hope. What if he fell out in the street while we unpacked the car? We went out to search. He had to be in the car. NO ONE IS FUCKING ANSWERING!! We were freaking out. Vedder was just sitting watching Backyardigans, having no clue the chaos and stress going on around him. Michael put his shoes and jacket on and walked 28 blocks in the snow to the rental car company. I put Vedder to bed trying to distract him with a bottle, a few bunched up blankets and other stuffed animals in hopes that he would be to distracted to notice Ted was gone. Five minutes later "Is Ted? Ted? Is Ted?" I called my parents and cried. After an hour or so waiting at Hertz, Michael called. "Got him!" He was found outside the old rental under inches of snow. I was so happy I cried again.

Three days of traveling, eating, playing in the snow, shopping, cooking, taking pictures, laughing, loving, loosing Ted and then finding him. Three days of living together as a family of three and nothing else. In all its craziness it was perfect.

And now as I share these moments on my blog, Facebook and twitter, you're probably thinking? Well what's the point, you just contradicted yourself by writing this entire post. The point of my weekend wasn't giving up ever sharing photos and stories. It was just giving up instantly sharing them. This weekend allowed me to live the moments, appreciate them and reflect on them. And then share with the world :)

Yes, my child just RAHH'd at you.

Well I know I haven't written a blog post in 6+ months. Or I should say I haven't posted one. I have about eight in the draft box but never seem to finish them. So here is a quick overview of the past few months..

Vedder started daycare around 10 months old and I got a full time teaching job at a preschool in July and love it but barely get to see Vedder so I overly make up for it by taking him to the zoo, park, museum, etc every weekend. His first birthday party went off great but then he got the stomach bug on his actual birthday so we never got to give him a cake and now he is 15 months going on 15 years old and I have no clue what I am doing.

This is exactly how my life feels right now - a long run-on sentence with no break. At the same time, while life seems to feel exhausting, I could not be happier! Vedder is growing into his own personality (oh, and what a personality it is!). I absolutely love being in my very own classroom. And my marriage seems to be in the best place it has ever been!!

But enough about all the happy things. Parenting is where I feel like I have absolutely no clue what I am doing. While Vedder's verbal and fine motor skills seem to be up to par ((due to my obsessive behavior to make sure he remains well educated even at 15 months)), it feels like sometimes I am dealing with a teenager! He has begun the temper tantrum phase where he will dramatically throw himself on the ground or strain to push tears out of his eyes if he doesn't get what he wants. As soon as the first tear falls he runs to me or my husband hugs our legs and throws his head back like it is the absolute end of the world. It truly is an Oscar winning performance. I have video taped a couple bouts and replayed them for him ((a tactic I have heard works with some children)) but initially thought maybe he wouldn't understand. When he watched the videos he laughs so hard at himself. That's when I realized we're screwed.

Along with the temper tantrum, there is hitting when he gets angry at us for taking something away ((or removing him from the kitchen after he successfully puts toys in the oven)). I sternly grab his hand and loudly say "No! We do NOT hit!" Surprisingly that stops that behavior in its tracks. But his newest this is.. well I don't really know what to call it.. growling, I guess. He makes this loud roar/yell at everyone. I mean everyone. When I come in smiling to take him out of the crib in the morning - RAHH! When the waiter wants to clear our table after we're done eating - RAHH! When the nice woman, man, cashier, grocer, person leans over and says "Hi little boy, how cute is he!" - RAHH! Everyone gets a RAHH! I smile, mortified and embarrassed, and say "Oh Vedder we don't yell like that at the nice people. We say hi!" ...RAHH!

Fabulous.

It's funny because going through the new born phase a year ago, I always thought that was going to be the hardest part about becoming a parent. That phase where you lose your independence and 100% of your energy goes to now taking care of this child 24 hours a day. Then they begin to sit up, crawl, eat on their own, walk, run, fall, get hurt, become picky eaters, want to play with the gas stove or microwave their trains. Then you sit in the middle of the floor exhausted having been climbed all over, punched, bit, hit with a toy, and feel defeated. As you put your head down, covering your face with your hands and take a big breathe as not to scream at the top of your lungs, you begin to hear giggling. You uncover your face, looking up, seeing a very happy, healthy, smart, beautiful child who thinks all you are doing is getting ready for a new game of peek-a-boo. 

Damn it. I do love being a mom.

Race you to the park??

Most of my posts have been about the good mixed with the bad. I am finding it very therapeutic to write about the difficult things of becoming a parent. I very rarely ((if ever)) want to ask for help. And when I feel overwhelmed and write, getting responses from people about how they feel the same way makes this chaos feel a little more normal.

However this post is only about the good. Actually the GREAT!! This morning Vedder and I went to music class where we sang and wiggled wih about 20 other families. Clapping and singing away the case of the Mondays. And now I am sitting in the park writing this blog while Vedder takes a nap in his stroller. The sun is shining and it's 70 degrees out. By the way, it's March 19th. As soon as he decides to wake up he will have a bottle and then we will go play on the slide and swings. This is one of my most favorite parts of being a parent, being able to be a kid again.

Having a child gives you so many great excuses. Don't want to go out? "Oh no. We can't get a babysitter." ((which sometimes back fires when you do want to go out and really cannot get a babysitter)) Want to leave a family party early before all the usual family drama goes into effect? "Gotta get baby home to bed!!" But my favorite excuse that I use so often it is starting to create a problem: "Household chores? Cleaning? Laundry? Dishes? They can wait. Baby wants to go outside and play!!" I am a daycare teacher and more often then not find my energy skyrocketing on the walk home from work due to excitement about being able to roll around and play with Vedder. I get so excited, like a kid, when I see the forecast for the week and know that it is quite possible that the park and zoo could fill up very day in the week.

And while the dirty clothes may start to pile higher than my son when he's standing, it's ok because we'll be outside everyday this week so we won't have to see all the laundry.

Race you to the park??

Happy Spring, Everyone!!

Me became we, then became he.

While I did dedicate this blog to writing about the good and the bad that comes with parenthood, I don't think I realized just how hard it would be. To write I mean. I have kind of settled with the reality of how hard actual parenthood is. I have many saved drafts of posts that I just cannot seem to finalize. And the one below I think has taken the most time, and is still a difficult learning challenge we are living with daily as parents now.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Me became we, then became he. 

The past six months have been, for lack of a better metaphor, a rollercoaster. From the highs of seeing our infant grow into this babbling amazing personality-filled baby, to the lows of post-partum and hormonal change, it has all been an experience. However, no one told us that we would lose ..us.

Since the day Vedder was born my heart has never felt so full!! At the same time, I have never felt such heartache. Michael and I found that we were no longer husband and wife. We were Mama and Daddy. Our conversations about life were only about Vedder. Even though they were great conversations about how we cannot imagine life without him, they were only about him. Then there were the fights. I am a Leo. I am stubborn and loud and always right. I think fighting in a relationship is just as important as loving. Both very passionate emotions and with enough balance are essential to a passionate relationship. However, after a baby the fighting definitely out weighs the loving. I resented my husband for being able to leave every morning to go to work while I was on maternity leave. He got an hour to himself on the way to work and an hour on the way home to listen to his ipod, read the newspaper, or just be alone. I was never so happy to hear his keys in the door so I could take ten minutes to shower. The sleepless nights, the heartache of not being able to breastfeed, and the pain of a healing c-section were all so hard to deal with. Then I would look at this absolutely beautiful life we made and feel so guilty for all the bad feelings. Then again I would look at Michael and blame him, regardless if he deserved it, for me feeling so emotionally messed up!!

Then one afternoon while the baby cried and changing, feeding, and rocking didn't work, and Michael got aggravated and I yelled, we finally realized it. "Now I know why people get divorced," Michael said. Now reading this you may be thinking Oh no!! That's so sad. However, that isn't what I thought at all. I thought, "yes, you're right!" Don't jump to any conclusions. We are NOT getting divorced. Not even close!! If anything this revelation we had actual cleared things up and put us on the path back to husband and wife. It was then that we realized we had lost our way and needed to make changes as parents and spouses to avoid the "D" word.

Now as Vedder nears seven months, we are not completely back to normal. Nor do we think we ever will be. We have changed as individuals and as a couple since our little chunk came into our lives last summer. We have accepted that change and are now embracing it. Getting back to the new us is an everyday effort. The challenge of starting a family, raising a child, and keeping a marriage is huge but totally worth it. Moments like right now. Me curled up on the couch typing my blog with Michael and Vedder playing on the floor in front of me. All of us are smiling and life feels full.

Me plus He and Baby makes Three. 

Broadway vs the Beach

So let me start this blog off with a little story. Yesterday I was leaving Barnes & Nobles in Manhattan when a woman stopped me. She asked me if I was a New Yorker because she needed directions. I gladly gave her directions to the Met which was only 3 blocks away. However by doing this, she labeled me a "New Yorker." I do not consider myself one at all. I love my New Yorker husband who was born and raised and has lived 31 out of 33 years of life here, but marrying him doesn't make me one too. I am a New Englander. Plain and simple.

Now that I have said that, living here in NYC definitely impacts the way we are raising our son. He is only 12 weeks old but has already adapted to the lifestyle. Sleeping through fire engine sirens and the horn of the Amtrak train that flies by our apartment. Smiling at the screeching breaks of the approaching trains in the subway. Calmly sitting in his stroller while mama bumps up and down the stairs of our apartment building. All of these things I believe he has inherited from his dad. Me not so much.

Where as Michael grew up ten blocks away from our current apartment, it feels like sometimes I grew up worlds away from it. Plymouth, Massachusetts is not the middle of nowhere. Like NYC, it is filled with tourists coming to see the "foundation" of this country, America's Hometown. And while Rockafeller Center may be impossible to walk through from early November until after the new year, Plymouth can hold its own in the tourist industry, especially around Thanksgiving. That said, I don't believe that the population of Plymouth would even fill the first 20 floors of the Empire State Building.

I grew up in a neighborhood. Not like anything here in the boroughs. A place where we would have block parties with all the families. BBQs, bike races, camping in the back yard, getting lost in the woods between houses, coming home for dinner when my mom would ring a bell. Yes. That is right. My dad hung this big cast iron cow off the back porch that had a bell hanging from it and when we heard it ring we would run home from where ever we were in the neighborhood. My dad also would bake homemade chocolate chip cookies every Friday when he got home from work, and me, my sister and brother would always have friends over. We had a tree fort in our back yard and when we were old enough, were allowed to ride our bikes down the road to Bramhall's Country Store to get ice cream. No, I did not grow up in the olden days. This was only ten to fifteen years ago.

Fast forwarding to now, 2011, living in Queens, NY, I do not see myself raising my son in the same way I was raise. This sometimes really makes my heart hurt. Years ago I never even imagined ever having children, nevermind worrying so much about how I would raise them. I, myself, have definitely adapted well to the "city life." I love not having a car, being able to walk a few blocks to get everything I need, having fresh fruit and veggie carts at every corner. I like being able to walk eight blocks to my job, and the convenience of being able to get pretty much anything you need 24 hours a day. However, it kind of sucks knowing I won't be able to just ring a bell for my son to come home from playing in the street with the neighborhood kids. ((There DEFINITELY isn't any "playing in the street" here.)) And he won't be able to go play in the woods, or even in a yard for that matter, without having to walk 24 blocks to the nearest park.

I know this probably sounds absolutely ridiculous. I am laughing at myself as I type this. Plymouth is not worlds away from Queens. It is actually only a 4.5 hour drive! I look at the surroundings of my childhood and the surroundings of my husband's, and they are just very different. Part of me feels like my son is going to miss out on alot not being able to grow up like I did. Another part of me is excited for him to experience a city that has so much more than was ever offered to me in a small town. There is a lot of different culture here, from museums to even the corner deli. But Plymouth has great history, too. While NYC is the mecca for the most different types of art, it is small towns on Cape Cod that inspire such beautiful works. Where Manhattan offers a great enviroment for those business people with the need for speed ((well maybe not in this economy right now)), New England offers that slower, simpler life of many family owned businesses that towns are founded on. All my thoughts of raising a child seem to be caught up in a vicious cycle of this vs. that, here vs. there, Broadway vs. the beach.

Daddy Daycare

Today I am getting ready for our first roadtrip as a threesome to Massachusetts for the week. This is a trip Michael and I have been making six to eight times a year, but never with a little one. Making lists of everything we need for Vedder, I feel like we are packing the entire nursery!! But as first time parents, I'd rather be safe than sorry. ((Even though I know that packing stuffed animals for a seven week old is a little much, but I just cannot seem to get myself to take them out of the bag.))

Taking a bit of a break this morning, I picked up my Parenting Magazine and began to read. Skipping over some articles (("Family Unplugged," because I'm denying all thoughts of how my attachment to my blackberry may be borderline unhealthy)), I came across a page titled "The Okay Dad." Written by a father, it talks about how most fathers just consider themselves to be "okay" at parenthood. In a big orange circle in the middle of the page, reads a very frightening statistic: 6.5 HOURS - AVERAGE TIME MARRIED FATHERS SPEND CARING FOR THEIR KIDS PER WEEK. This makes me so sad!!

The article also pointed out the fact that the percentage of fathers who do not live full time with their children has sharply risen over the past 50 years. This statistic made me even sadder!! Both my husband and myself grew up in what some people call "broken homes." Divorce, custody battles, visitation, splitting holidays, fill memories of parts of our childhoods. Fortunately, my mother remarried to a man, uniting two families and fixing our "broken home." ((Little Known Fact: At the age of 13, I went to court to legally change my last name from Turner to my "step" fathers last name. More Widely Known Fact: I hate writing "step" because I consider him to be the only father I have ever had.)) I also think this is why both Michael and I put alot of pressure on ourselves to be the absolute best parents we can be. I especially think my husband is his worst critic.

Getting back to the article, it also stated "More than half of dads say fathers are replaceable by mothers and other me." MORE THAN HALF!! I see my husband everyday interact with our amazing son and to think that he could be replaced my anyone upsets me. Especially having a son, I consider the father's role to be even more crucial. I think already the time he has had with his son is critical to the growth of both Vedder as a child and Michael as a father and man.

After this vacation in New England, we will head back to New York and I will head back to work. As much as I am going to miss my daytime with my already chatty newborn, I am very excited to get back to work, even if it is only parttime. Whenever this topic gets brought up, the first questions people ask are "Where will Vedder go? Will he come to work with you?" I respond with "He is staying home with daddy." As awful as it is having opposite schedule from my husband, it allows us to save on childcare and offers the opportunity for Daddy Daycare three days a week. It warms my heart to know that we have been giving the opportunity, for atleast Vedder's first year, that Mama and Daddy will be doing the raising. I know this is not the case for most families ((my job is being a daycare teacher)), that is why I feel so fortunate to have our situation. It makes me so happy after reading this article to know that Michael will be be blowing the daddy care time statistic out of the water. Three days with Daddy, four days with Mama, six nights together as a family. I am so excited for the childhood memories that will be made with both of us and Vedder, together and separate.

The Dating Scene

Four years ago, I was newly single and enjoying my first few months of freedom to their fullest extent. Friday nights were dedicated to my girls. After a long week of work, getting dressed up and my drink on was the highlight of my week. I was 23 years old and soaking up all the bar scene had to offer. Meeting guys, exchanging numbers, going out on dates. The single life dating scene was fun and carefree for me. I knew I didn't want to get serious, especially so soon after ending a very long term relationship, so there was never any hesitation. I dated here and there and just enjoyed each day ((or night)) for what it was. The only draw back was how exhausted ((hungover)) this type of dating scene got after a while.

In February 2008, I agreed to go on my first real blind date. Having absolutely no clue what this guy looked like, or really anything about him besides he was 6 years older and from New York, it was the first time a date actually made me nervous. Long story short, the date went great and we saw each other three more times that week. Then five months later we were engaged and a year later married. Now three years later we have a beautiful baby boy. Having those single days far behind I have found that the dating scene doesn't really go away. It just changes. Instead of purses and heels, it's diaper bags and flats. Instead of bottle of jameson, it's bottles of formula. And instead of meeting guys that could be prospective dating material out at bars, it's meeting moms that could be prospective playdate material out at baby classes or the playground.

The biggest difference between these two dating scenes for me is that the latter makes me nervous. The whole playdating scene is a bit uncomfortable for me. Years ago I was open to dates with any type of guy. I had no real "type" ((except in my single days the bad boys were always much more appealling)). Now I feel very concerned already about who I will chose to have playdates with. My concern is not really for me. I love meeting new people and can hold a conversation with a wall. But for my son. Who is this mother? How does she raise her children? How will our families click? Will this relationship encourage or stunt my child's growth? Those once "bad boys" I would gravitate towards were now what I worried my son will turn into if he hangs out with the "wrong crowd." Granted I am very well aware that he is only six weeks old. I just tend to over think things now and want what's absolutely best for my son. ((Boy, don't I sound just like my mother!!))

I have left the dating scene of "me" and ventured into the dating scene of "we."