My vacation

The travel books in my parents' house of just some of the places they have been throughout the years. 
One of my guilty pleasures is to read these and dream of those places I need to go.  France, Florence, Ireland (need, need, need).

I’m back from my much needed, much appreciated night away from the house.  Staying with my parents was exactly what the doctor ordered – there is nothing quite like resuming the role of the child for 24 hours after spending many, many more of those days immediately preceding as the parent.

So, what did I do during my reprieve?  Pretty much nothing and it was HEAVEN.

I ate a leisurely lunch with my parents, walked Marshall and Max (they joined me on my vacation – I figured they could use a night with my parents, aka “endless suppliers of doggie treats”), took a long run in the afternoon, enjoyed an uninterrupted hot shower, had actual conversations that lasted more than thirty seconds at a time, fell asleep to the sounds of British accents as my parents watched “Downton Abbey” on PBS, slept in the next morning until an unheard of 7:30am, and headed home the next day.

I wasn’t the only one completely relaxed:



Can you find both dogs in this picture?



I returned to three eager sets of arms all hugging me at once and this sign:





Will had a great time with the kids and, not surprisingly, they all did well without me; but I was admittedly a bit relieved to hear that it was exhausting for Will, too.  I sometimes wonder if this whole ‘parenting F&G is hard’ is all in my head.  It’s good to know that their father feels it as much as I do.

As I was leaving Richmond for my vacation, listening to the radio and lost in my own thoughts, I wondered if I wasn’t being silly for leaving for the night.  Maybe I really didn’t need the time in Lynchburg; maybe I should have just pushed through and enjoyed the extra day with Will and the kids; was it really worth going away for just one night?

Now that I’ve been there, come home, and stepped right back in to the old routine I can safely say it was completely and totally worth it – I have been more patient, energetic and appreciative of this time than if I had just plodded through another weekend (because I also must admit that I missed those little munchkins and their daddy like crazy the entire time I was gone).

And having a good night’s sleep under my belt is never a bad thing in this house:

Happy Tuesday everyone!

Fly on the wall

The following conversation took place earlier this week when Will was saying goodnight to Frances:

Frances:        Daddy, I wish you didn’t have to work.  I wish you could stay at home every day like Mommy.

Will:               I know, sweetheart.  But I have to work. 

Frances:        Why?

Will:               Because I have to earn money.  We use money to pay for things—our house, food, things for Marshall and Max, books, new toys, clothes.

Frances:        (without missing a beat)  Daddy, I wish you worked every day, even Saturdays and Sundays, because I need new princess dresses.

Will:               *Gulp*

Undeniably.

Undoubtedly.

Unashamedly.

Wrapped.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Happy Friday everyone!

Break(down) time

So, I did it.  I did what I never thought I would do or at least what I promised myself I would never do.  I sent Will one of those “I need” emails.  Do you know the kind I am referring to?  The ones that go something like this:

I need a break.

I need a full day away from the house (sans children).

I need to NOT put the kids to bed one night.  Just one night.

I need to feel appreciated for what I do on a daily basis.

I need, I need, I need, blah, blah, blah, poor pitiful me, sniff, sniff, sooooobbbbbbbb!!!!

And in case you’re thinking that my “needs” aren’t so bad (please tell me you all were thinking that?), there are certainly some I omitted because of my colorful language or biting subject matter.  I was blunt; I was rude; I was downright mean.  And you know how Will replied (after calling me to let me vent even more, of course)?

Please, please feel free to escape this weekend.  Go to Charlottesville.  Get a hotel room.  Read your kindle.  Take a walk.  Sleep until after the sun rises.  Run through the law school campus.  Go to Starbucks.  Go to Bodos.  The day is yours.

Wow.  Okay.  Obviously my number four “need” does not apply and has never applied.  

So why do I feel inadequate, particularly when I am married to the most appreciating man on Earth?  I realize now that my issues aren’t with how much Will expresses his recognition for my days, but that no amount of appreciation would be sufficient during certain weeks – particularly this month (January; post-Christmas blues anyone?) and during George’s potty training boot camp.  It’s not helping that I am sick, George’s bladder is on strike, and we’ve got another cold, wet day in the forecast.  I don’t know how to fix my frustrations except to escape for a day and focus on something (someone) other than Frances and George.

I also need to stop with the endless comparisons to other mothers.  The danger of blogging (and of reading other blogs) is that you find yourself looking at others’ homes, children, vacations, friends, and abilities (to name a few) with envy.  How the heck does she have three children under the age of 5 and find time to refinish her hardwood floors?  How can she be so fit, tan and happy and still manage to cook chicken n’ dumplings for her adorable brood who apparently play endlessly on the swing set in the backyard while she vacuums with her new Dyson?  Why can’t I have a local group of friends who go on once-a-week girls’ nights out (or the much coveted girls’ weekends) and children who watch movies for the better part of the next morning so I can sleep in?  Admittedly, these selfish thoughts have all crossed my mind.  And I find myself feeling inadequate for not having what appears to come so easily to others.

There is a great speech from “The Golden Girls,” one of my all-time favorite shows (I have seen every episode at least 10 times – a modest estimate).  Blanche, the self-described harlot of the group, becomes jealous of Dorothy, the smart divorcee, and her new-found boyfriend.  I call this the “Magenta” speech:

“Magenta…that’s what I call it when I get that way. All kinds of feelings tumbling all over themselves. Well you know, you’re not quite blue, because you’re not really sad. And although you’re a little bit jealous you wouldn’t say you’re green with envy. And every now and then you realize you’re kind of scared but you’d hardly call yourself yellow…I hate that feeling. Just hate it. And I hate the color magenta. That’s why I named it that. Magenta.”

And that’s exactly how I feel today.  Magenta.

I will not likely take Will up on his generous offer to travel to Charlottesville this weekend; but just knowing that it is an option is overwhelming (in a good way, don’t worry).  Instead, I think I’ll go to my parents’ house for the night—drink good wine, sit by their gas fireplace, talk about everything and nothing all at the same time. 

If that can’t help me I may just be a lost cause.  But it will help; I am certain.  Today is magenta but tomorrow will be seaside blue, candy apple red, or (if I'm really lucky) moss green.

Happy Wednesday everyone!

This and that

Frances tried out her new bike this incredibly beautiful weekend:

George was not to be outdone:

I suppose it’s never a good thing to get spring fever in January.  We definitely got a taste of good things to come in mid-March.

Garlic cheddar drop biscuits:

Daddy is much more patient with helping hands than I am:

Nothing melts my heart faster than seeing Will cook with the kids.  They love their father and they love their food – what more could they want?

And because I know you’re all dying for a potty training update, George is doing remarkably well.  It’s hard to imagine that a week ago today I was sick to my stomach with anticipation over how this process would go.  He certainly has his ups and downs but we are all doing 1,000% better today than last Monday—Frances, George and my frayed nerves.

Happy Monday everyone!

Favorite present

For weeks now I have wanted to share one of my favorite (and most fun) Christmas presents that I gave this year to Will’s side of the family; but for obvious reasons (most of the recipients read this blog) I had to wait until after Christmas to disclose my secret:

Cousin pictures!

Okay, I know I am slightly biased but are these not the cutest kids on the planet?!

One of my most trusted internet stores, Macaroy Kangaroo, had a special on monogrammed shirts in November and I jumped on it.  Kristen (the owner) is fantastic and incredibly fast – I had all four shirts in less than a week from placing my order.  Once they arrived, Becca and I scheduled a cousins play date for the next Saturday morning and the rest is history:

I captured a lot of cute moments, but the three I chose to frame for Will’s parents are below:

It felt like a small miracle that all four kiddos cooperated for their persistent mother/aunt and her camera.  But at the end of the day they all did great and I was so happy and relieved to have caught a moment (albeit it fleeting) in these little munchkins’ lives.

Happy Saturday everyone!!  That double exclamation point symbolizes the fact that not only is it Saturday, sunny, and 70 degrees outside, but that Will and I get a date night tonight courtesy of his parents.  I don’t even care what we do as long as it does not involve George and his bladder.  Double exclamation point indeed. 

Day 6 and counting

Yes, friends – George, Frances and I have made it to day 6 of George’s potty training boot camp and we are all still alive, breathing, and talking to each other.  I make no additional promises on how we are otherwise; but I consider the fact that I am able to type coherent sentences a victory.

Details aside, George is making progress but he is as stubborn as a mule and I am certain that David Copperfield himself could not hold a candle to the mental gymnastics that I have performed this past week trying to will my son to perform one simple task.  Or at least I think it is simple, but I must constantly remind myself that for over two years George has been wearing a diaper—and considering the difference in diaper versus no diaper, he is doing pretty well.

I am also trying desperately to ensure that Frances isn’t getting lost in the shuffle, which is no easy feat.  Thankfully she is a natural-born cheerleader and has embraced the “reward system” wholeheartedly—when George performs, we get to do something FUN.  Playground, Monkey Joe’s, children’s museum, movie time.  Obviously she would rather be on the playground than stuck in our tiny half-bath with her dry-as-a-bone little brother, so he has lots of encouragement from the women in his life (now that I think about it, I am pretty sure that must drive him crazy).

So that all is not lost, I have learned some interesting tidbits these last six days:

First, boys have bladders of steel.  Three hours after downing two full water bottles, George was still going strong.  Amazing.

Second, I am surprised and slightly ashamed to admit how much stress I have felt during this process.  I knew it would be hard (I do have a four-year-old after all); but unlike with Frances who was in full-time daycare at 2-years-old, I am the sole adult driving this potty ship and it is hard.  Really hard.  And I haven’t just felt the mental anguish I anticipated but I have been having physical reactions to the stress—I want nothing more than to curl up in my bed and watch the “Kardashian” marathon in E! or Style or whatever channel is currently showing it (and I don’t even watch that show).  My motivation to be productive has dwindled to zero.  But the saving grace has been that I don’t have the option to give up or hide from reality – I have two sets of eyes looking to me to guide them through each day.  But for Frances and George, I would very likely be in my bed and feeling miserable.

Third, this process is all-consuming and I need to find a way around that if for no other reason than to make my blog posts more interesting.  My promise to all of you is that my next post will not be about potty-training (or at least not entirely).  Maybe that pledge alone will keep me from going completely bananas by the weekend.

And on that positive note, I will end this post with some unrelated pictures of Frances in her new ballet clothes from Nana.  She acquired these during her week-long visit and are the 1,230^th reason Frances loves Lynchburg:

And here’s the boy (also in Lynchburg), sitting in a diaper, happy as a clam:

I wonder if he’s upstairs now dreaming of the good ol’ days of diaper-hood.

Happy Thursday everyone!

New year, new banner, new appreciation for my mother

Day four of my captivity.

We’ve had some successes and many failures during these first days of George’s potty training and I can safely say that this has been the most challenging aspect of stay-at-home motherhood thus far (and yes, I am well aware that you parents of teenagers are snickering at this notion that I can become so undone by wet underpants).  Please excuse my bluntness, but I never imagined that I would find myself staring so hard and for so long at one tiny appendage silently begging it to do something it has no interest in doing (only to beg it not to do that very same thing while its owner is racing around the local playground).  I have been warned not to stop the training midstream (no pun intended) and that at 2 years and 3 months George is physically ready, so onward we plod.  I’ll keep you posted, if you dare to read.

On a happier (or at least drier) note, I toyed with the idea of using a quote in my blog banner this season but decided against it in the end (maybe aesthetics; maybe fear of coming across too “preachy,” if that’s even a word).  It’s a quote that has kept me going these last few months as I am learning to appreciate my new role and this new life I have:

“Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin.”  ― Mother Teresa

I love everything about this idea; it is a great reminder for me to enjoy each and every moment of my day because once they pass, those moments are gone.  Will and I both are forward-thinkers by nature.  We live frugally and save nearly every penny we can for our future (F&G’s college, our retirement, that much-coveted vacation house).  We both exercise and eat as well as possible, not because we necessarily enjoy it but because we hope such a lifestyle will benefit us in the future.  We teach Frances and George the joys of anticipation, recently demonstrated by our excitement over Christmas Eve (for the life of her, Frances could not understand why the heck Will and I loved Christmas Eve so much when clearly the greatest day of the year was Christmas Day when you actually got presents).  But with this eye on the future comes the downside of often failing to appreciate today.  And to Frances and George (and all children), today is the only day that matters.

And so follows my New Year’s resolution to ensure that at least once a day I take the time to appreciate and truly enjoy at least one special moment with each child—crashing cars on the kitchen floor with George, reading to Frances, playing Zingo or (the dry-heave inducing) Dora game with both of them.  I want them to lay their heads on their pillows and close their eyes each night thinking back on their days with smiles.  We have only today.

How lucky we are. 

Happy Tuesday everyone!