Motherhood Uncensored

Turning anxiety into awesome. Or where I star in the next episode of Hoarders.

When you walk around with your ankles shackled by anxiety on a regular basis, your mind can get trapped on a merry-go-round of crazy thoughts. But every now and then I can them, like the persistent one in which I convince myself that I'm going to die young, and turn it into a brilliant idea. 

Now the skin mole check, or whatever that unsexy exam where they mark all your freckles and moles on a paper and then scrape a few off with a razor is called, wasn't necessarily brilliant, but it was a smart idea. And phew, all clear. 

And there is the circus money I've started to stash away, which is really smart, or possibly brilliant if they all decide to major in art history or something.

Yes, so I was inspired by a Matt Damon movie. Shut up. 

No, the actual brilliant idea came about when I saw these pretty "Q" hoop earrings on Etsy when Quinlan was a baby. And I thought since she had such a unique letter, that it might be cool to collect jewelry with it and give them all to her when she was older and wanted to change her name because it was so weird.

KIDS. 

This then turned into a collection of initial necklaces and other fun trinkets for all the girls which I stuff on a regular basis into our fireproof box. 

But then THEN the real brilliance happened thanks to the lovely Courtney who posted a link and photo to a tin can on my Facebook Wall, which generally speaking I HATE when people post things on my wall but it was a can with Quinlan on it. 

No, not her face but her name, because apparently a long time ago there was a Quinlan pretzel company in Pennsylvania and so of course I had to buy the really expensive tin can, which led to a search for other such tin cans, which led to an obsession with finding ALL THE QUINLAN TIN CANS THAT EVER EXISTED, as well as old bar trays, and most recently, weird mugs with pretzel handles. 

This is all I could fit in the photo.

At the time, Drew was really into fire trucks, which he promptly grew out of the second I put a unbelievably challenging fire engine decal on his wall and purchased a whole gaggle of old fire truck toys, particularly old Fisher Price ones, all of which sit gathering dust on his shelf. 

Remember those?  

And while Margot was a bit of challenge, I did a little research and found out that her name means "pearl" so, duh, vintage pearl purses!, stashed haphazardly in a box that sits on a shelf in her closet. 

 

"These are my special purses, right Mama?" she says. 

So far, Bridget is racking up quite a collection of octopus jewelry, which, funny coincidence *I* have a pretty extensive and rapidly growing collection of octupus jewelry (ahem). Poor fourth kid. 

Of course, there's the stories I write here, that they can chuckle at and laugh over, which I might force them to do every year on my birthday, even after I'm gone, while pounding on tin cans, playing with fire trucks, and wearing pearl purses and octopus jewelry. 

Or they can sell everything I bought and go on a fabulous trip somewhere. 

And then at least I can say that all this stupid anxiety was worth it. 

If you're curious: I don't spend tons of hours or money doing this, really. I just search every now and then on Etsy, set a budget that I refuse to go over, then tuck everything away in a safe spot so they can't get into them and toss the $25 vintage fire truck off the 2nd floor deck.

Oh That Margot

It's what everyone says when they spend more than a few minutes with this girl, with her husky little voice, ridiculously mature sense of humor, and mostly easy going personality. 

Just don't piss her off. Or accidentally bump into her. 

In fact, I'm almost certain she's a wise, old soul, back for another round on this Earth. Oh how lucky we are to host her on this journey.

Happy 4th Birthday, Muggle!

{Yeah, I know. I can't believe it either}

Margot's Birth Announcement, The Birth Story, 1st Birthday, 2nd Birthday, and 3rd Birthday

Kids talk the darndest ways

I remember the first time my son said "orange," his longstanding favorite color. It wasn't really anything special, until my husband pointed out that it wasn't "aujun," the way he'd said it since he could talk.

Unlike Quinlan, who we dutifully corrected like some ridiculous parenting book told us to do so she'd speak properly and not require a private tutor and years of therapy, we just let it go.

We even committed the cardinal sin and called it that ourselves.

Oh shush, you do it too.

One of my own fondest childhood memories is recalling all the crazy shit my brother would call things; I still call helicopters "hoppo poppos," although, unfortunately, he does not.

These days, the funny words are fading fast, with Margot (and soon Bridget) keeping the dream alive, doing things "mybyself" and asking to read "The Turfin Tollboth" at bedtime.

And, like Drew, she begs us for some "beef turkey" after my monthly shopping trips to Trader Joe's.

I still correct Quinlan's "brung," "getted," and "more better," but I can't help but let the kiddisms run their course, as they always seem to do, often unnoticed.

To me they are the last bastion of my babies' childhood, the reminders that my kids are still kids, like LEGO pockmarks on my ass and crushed Cheerios under my feet on the kitchen floor, oddly comforting when I know full well it will be over soon enough. 

So beef turkey it is.

And beef turkey it always shall be.

So, tell me the funny things your kids say or used to say. Then do yourself a favor and go write them down.

3 is 3

You might think that as the 2nd girl and 3rd kid in the family, she'd have a lot to contend with. At least, that's what all the books would have you believe.

But really, it has more to do with our own guilt than anything she's actually feeling.

The hand-me-down clothes are new to her and she wears them proudly, the dresses often backwards because "that's how their sposed to be, mama." 

Why would people put the tag in the back where you can't see it?

The scuffed patent leather red holiday shoes she's dubbed her "tappin' shoes" and will, completely unannounced, break into a song and dance number.

"Tomorrow! Your bottom is only a day awaaaaaaaaay!"

And a mouth that will probably always get her in trouble. All while making everyone around her laugh.

"Mommy, can I have more pizza... ON MY BUTTCRACK? Knock knock? BUTTTTTCRACKKKKKK!"

The experts might somehow explain all her personality traits - funny, easygoing, content, but strong - because of her birth order or gender placement.

But what if she's just like that because she's Margot? And even though being the 2nd girl and 3rd child has influenced her indelibly, she is who she is because that's who she's supposed to be.

"You're my best mama," she whispers to me, with her forehead pressed against mine.

"And you're my best Margot" I reply to her, kissing the points of her smiling cheeks.

Happy 3rd Birthday, Muggle. Unlike your nickname, everything about you is magic.

Margot's Birth Announcement, The Birth Story, 1st Birthday, and 2nd Birthday

The Littles

This week, my husband took the older two kids on a whirlwind tour of Philly and the Jersey Shore while I stayed put with the littler two.

Since he had the help of his parents and my mom, and well, I had our sitter for a couple of days and um, just two little kids, we've both basically been on vacation.

I have to chuckle that I actually think two kids is a break, but it is. It's really one step below a week at the spa.

With the two of them, there's no fighting whatsoever. There are simultaneous naps where the house is completely quiet for two straight hours.

No cooking. Very little cleaning. And no guilt about a couple of television shows while I get a little work done.

It's magical.

I realize that having all the kids together means they do occupy each other. And in some cases, I do a little less with the older kids are around because I put them to work.

It's the first time in a long time that I actually emptied the dishwasher.

But I don't care how great it is to have all the kids together to keep the others entertained, there is something about the quiet and simplicity of the two that I've appreciated.

It's also amazing how much they miss each other, clamoring to talk to each other (and not me) when they talk on the phone.

"I want to go to the playgwound wif evweyone, Mom" Margot told me. She then listed off all the members of the family, in case I had forgotten. 

It's all she knows.

And as much as I appreciate the bit of respite this week, I feel the same exact way.

Just ask me how I feel tomorrow afternoon when the hurricane arrives.

And I'm not talking about Irene.