Confessions of a Professional Stay At Home Mom

'Tis the Season!?!?

2011-12-14T12:30:00.000-08:00

A college friend posted an interesting article on facebook today: http://www.kveller.com/blog/parenting/actually-you-cant-celebrate-hanukkah-and-christmas/

The premise of the article is best summed up with the following quote:

Specifically: the entire point of Hanukkah is to celebrate people who died rather than practice any religion other than Judaism. And to celebrate that AND a holiday that celebrates the birth of someone who Christians believe is the son of God does not make sense.

It didn't sit well with me, and I've been composing my thoughts on the subject all day. And here is where I feel the author gets it wrong: She is confusing "celebrate" and "observe."

My preggo brain is preventing me from really putting things together in any sort of succint manner, so I'm just going to muddle through my thoughts. Bear with me, please.

The subject has been on my mind over the last few weeks because, let's face it, Christmas is everywhere (and has been, commercially, since Novemeber 1st). I've mentioned before that we are part of an interfaith family. Although both my husband and I are Jewish and we are raising our children in a Jewish home, we have relatives who are Christian. In fact, since Irene destroyed our home, we have been living with Christian family members. We have chosen to be open about our differences in beliefs on a level that our children can understand. For instance, the Tatiman knows that he is Jewish so he can't eat pork--and that some people in his family are not Jewish, so he has to ask them if their food has pork before he takes a bite.

So, back to the Hanukkah/Christmas situation. The house we are living in is decorated for Christmas. My boys spent the better part of a weekend helping their grandparents decorate (and 're-decorate', ha!) with Santas and candy canes and gingerbread houses and lights and a tree. The boys loved it. The grandparents loved it. As the decorations came out, so did stories about the boys great grandparents, and great-great grandparents, travels, milestones, and family memories. The weekend spent decorating was full of celebrations.

A few nights later, I heard sobs coming from the back seat of my car. We were driving down a street in which every single home was decorated with beautiful lights for Christmas. The Tatiman was inconsolable because we cannot decorate our house for Christmas. I tried to explain to him that we can decorate our house for Hanukkah, but because we are Jewish and live in a Jewish home, he is right that we can not decorate for Christmas. He wanted no part of my explanation. I decided to rectify the situation by picking him up from school with a surprise trip to a store that I knew would be full of Hannukah decorations. We drove over an hour to the store, armed with my husband's credit card; I had no budget in mind, because I wanted the Tatiman to feel like his house could be the most beautiful for Hannukah. We arrived...and the Tatiman wanted none of it. Not a single decoration. More tears ensued because no matter what, his house would not be the most beautiful for Christmas. Honestly, it was heartbreaking. I did buy the tackiest string of light-up dreidels I could find in the hopes that once we are home, he will find some joy in seeing them light up his room each night.

I can understand what he feels like. I have a favorite pizza shop. Their pepperoni pizza smells amazing. Like more amazing than the most amazing smell you can imagine. Especially when I'm pregnant, which I tend to be most of the time. When we are there, my mouth waters for that pizza. It is truly intoxicating. Unfortunately, they don't have any vegan pepperoni to subsitute. That's life. Sometimes your convictions don't let you do something you might otherwise love doing. I believe those convictions make me a stronger person, and I believe it is important to raise my children with those same convictions. It's not always fun, but I do believe it is always worth it--and one day, my Tatiman will understand that.

The next day I ventured into the Tatiman's school-a small private school with kids from all different religions and cultural backrounds--to talk to his class about Hanukkah. His teacher pulled me aside to tell me that he had refused to take part in the St. Lucia day celebration because he "is Jewish, so he can't do Christian things" (in his own words). My heart broke again.

To me, a celebration is just that--a festive occasion that you share with friends and family. Celebrations make memories. Life is about memories. As much as I want my little guy to understand he is Jewish, I want him to see the beauty in other traditions, holidays, and beliefs.

An observance is a completely different event. An observance commemorates an event, in the case of Christmas, it is commemorating the birth of Jesus. An observance shows commitment to following a set of rules.

In our family, the Christmas celebration is all about Santa Claus, favorite foods, family time, and making memories. There is nothing un-Jewish about that--certainly nothing less Jewish than opening presents on Hanukkah, which has exactly zero to do with the Macabees or the miracle of the oil. Part of our celebration includes thinking of those less fortunate and giving (toys, money, trays of cookies) to the local homeless shelter, and delivering sweets to emergency personel that work on the holiday --a perfectly Jewish concept, if you ask me.

As a Jewish family, we cannot observe Christmas as the birth of Jesus. But I do believe we can celebrate the secular traditions of Christmas without compromising our Jewish beliefs (and hopefully without offending anyone with strongly held Christian beliefs). We can celebrate Christmas without practicing Christianity. We can celebrate a holiday with our family even though it is important to them for different reasons. We can honor their choice to observe the birth of Jesus without challenging our own beliefs. It may not always be easy, especially as my boys get older and ask more questions, but I truly believe we can, and always will, celebrate Hanukkah and Christmas.

Why My Children Sit in the Main Sanctuary

2011-10-12T07:57:00.001-07:00

This time of year is quite busy for Jewish families. We celebrate the new year with two biggie holidays, Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur. Each holiday is rich with tradition—and filled with hours of reverent prayer services.

This year, we elected to skip the babysitting, skip most of the tot and family services, and bring our boys to the main sanctuary for the morning services. The morning services that last about five hours. Five hours in Hebrew, a language neither of my children speak.

We were not immune to some of the side eyes, glances, and outright glares. My boys are relatively well behaved, but they are 16 month and 3 year old boys. No amount of spiffy suits or shiny shoes (or pockets stuffed with snacks, transformers and books) can keep them from acting like two little guys.

My boys are the products of an interfaith family. They proudly don their Buchanan tartan for the Celtic festival, have strong Scottish names, and open presents from Santa Claus. We keep a kosher home, light candles for Shabbat, and listen to Hebrew songs in the car. As their parents, we feel it is very important that they understand and feel connected to their roots, as unique as their particular set of roots may be.

But on the most holy days of the year, the High Holidays, we feel that it is essential that they participate in the real deal. We want them to see the real Torah, and not a cloth stuffed version. We want them to hear the prayers sung in the same way they have been sung for over 4,000 years, not a cutesy toddler tune. We want them to hear the silence pierced by the sound of the shofar, a real ram's horn, and not a plastic toy. And yes, we even want them to feel that bit of discomfort that comes with sitting and standing and sitting and standing over and over again. Its not always easy to be part of 5,772 years of history.

So when the Tatiman asked if he could sit closer to the Torah, we marched up to the very front and sat on the floor with an unobstructed view. We noticed the whispers, but we didn't care. When he asked, “What do we do to celebrate Yom Kippur?” we did not shush him. And when the Tatiman cried, not because we were still in services, but because we had to leave early to feed the Finny Bo Binny, we knew we had done something right.

We can not guarantee that our children will pass on our traditions. We can not guarantee that they will see value in being part of an unbroken chain. But we will do everything in our power to make them feel that their presence matters. That their voices are part of the music of the service. Hopefully, one day, they will do the same with their children.

Lucky.

2011-09-01T07:26:00.001-07:00

The last song we danced to at our wedding was “The Luckiest” by Ben Folds. It’s an awkward love song, but the simple chorus keeps playing through my head these past few days:

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

On Saturday night, Hurricane Irene (a mere category 1 storm!) ripped through our neighborhood, literally. The damage is like nothing I have ever seen before, and something I hope to never see again. A large tree fell on our house, causing significant structural and water damage to four out of our nine rooms.

But we are so, so, so very lucky.

The tree hit with a loud boom that shook our entire house. My boys were asleep in their rooms upstairs, and my husband said he doesn’t think my feet touched a single step while I ran up to find them. The Finny Bo Binny remained blissfully asleep and unaware until we plucked him from his bed and brought him downstairs. The Tatiman, however, was cowering in a tent in his room, afraid we had been hit by a firework. I grabbed him and took him down stairs where we all—all four point five of us—sat together on a single chair. Huddling together, taking in what had just happened. I told the Tatiman “We are ok, because we are together.” He believed me, even though I wasn’t so sure I believed myself.

In the days since, we have learned how lucky we really are. We are lucky that the tree did not hit one of the boys rooms. We are lucky that our strongly built home held the tree from doing even more damage. We are lucky that we have an insurance company that has worked very hard to line up a team to fix the damage. We are lucky that we have lost very little of sentimental value, and our house can be rebuilt. We are lucky to have friends and family offering us food, temporary shelter, warm showers, babysitting, and anything else we could possibly imagine.

We are lucky because we still have each other.

No doubt. I am the luckiest.

Tissues for Mommy

2011-08-22T17:57:00.000-07:00

One week from tonight I will be tucking my PRESCHOOLER into bed for the first time. I can not think that, say that, or type that without tears streaming down my face.

Don’t get me wrong, I am beyond thrilled with the school we have chosen for the Tatiman. He is BEYOND excited to start school. He has been counting down the days since we visited back in March. We told him that he couldn’t start preschool until he turned three. The first words out of his mouth on the morning of his third birthday were “Can I go to preschool today?” He is ready.

I am not.

For the Tatiman, this is the beginning of everything. This is his first foray out into the real world. This is his first chance to make friends without my influence. This is his first exposure to Spanish and raising goats and sitting in a reading circle and on and on and on…

For me, this is an end. I won’t have my little guy to snuggle on slow rainy mornings, eating golden raisins while we plan our day. He won’t be my sous chef when I go on a baking binge, shaking our granola bar mixture, or stealing blueberries from my muffin mix. I won’t be able to protect him from mean kids. I can’t read every snack label to make sure there is no kiwi and on and on and on…

But just like I knew, with all of my heart, that I needed to stay home with him after he was born, I know now, with all of my heart, that I need to let him take this first big step toward independence.

Our school supply shopping list included one box of tissues for the teacher. I was stoked when I got a 2-for-1 deal; I figured a teacher can never have too many tissues. Well…I’m thinking that I might have to keep that tissue box in the car for me.

Love Multiplied.

2011-07-12T17:55:00.000-07:00

Every now and then I read something that makes me nod my head in agreement, laugh along with the author, or in the case of this blog http://confessionsofaminivanlover.blogspot.com/ cry. And I'm not talking about a little tear rolling down my cheek combined with a little sniffle. I'm talking about full on sobbing, heaving for breaths, snot rolling out of my nose. Oh, P.S., I was sitting in my doctor's office waiting room while reading this.

I can remember so vividly my last day at home with just the Tatiman. We had big plans to spend the day with my sweet boy, take him to his favorite restaurant for lunch, and then drop him off at his grandparents house while we headed to the hospital. However, the Finny Bo didn't cooperate with that plan, and we ended up needed to drop the Tatiman off much earlier that day. I sobbed most of the way to the hospital because I didn't get my last lunch date with my sweet Tatiman. I spent hundreds of dollars on a "Big Brother" gift bag for the Tatiman to get when he came to the hospital to meet his new sibling. I was excited to meet our newest addition, but also filled with dread--yes, dread--that perhaps my greed to have more babies would ruin our family. Yes, "greed" and "ruin". Hormones obviously help me think clearly.

I don't think you can understand a mother's love until you become one. There is no way to describe it, but it is more powerful than any other emotion. I didn't think I could love anyone more than I loved my sweet Tatiman--until I met the Finny Bo Binny. In an instant, I realized that not only could I love him just as much--my love for the Tatiman could grow even more. Being a mom has taught me that it is ok to have different kinds of love.

I love my Tatiman with a sense of awe. He made me a mother. I got to experience so many firsts with him--first flutters in my belly, first time hearing his heartbeat, first time meeting the person I grew, first 1st birthday extravaganza...and even though I will repeat many of those experiences with his siblings, nothing will compare to the very first time.

I love my Finny Bo Binny with a fierce kind of love. The moment I laid eyes on him, I felt this intense need to protect him from the world, from others' expectations. And that was before reflux reared its ugly head. My Finny Bo Binny has made me a better mother. He has taught me patience, and to appreciate small changes, and to really, really, cherish the good times. He was the only one who could teach me these lessons, and I will forever be grateful to him.

We currently have Baby #3 on the way. This pregnancy is not filled with any dread. I don't feel greedy, just extra blessed. And I'm certainly not worried about ruining my family--I'm just so excited to watch our love multiply.

Oh, P.S., out of all the gifts that the Tatiman recieved on the day he met his baby brother...the Finny Bo is the only one he showed any interest in. This go 'round, the Big Brothers will get "Big Brother" T shirts and special lunch in the hospital cafeteria!!

Boys Will Be Boys

2011-07-06T08:37:00.000-07:00

I've read a bunch of articles lately (courtesy of facebook, my source for news) about raising 'genderless' children, preschools that refer to all the children as 'friends' instead of boys and girls, and specific ways we should talk to little girls. I found myself getting increasingly annoyed with these articles, because I think that ignoring differences in gender is just about as bad as pigeon-holing a person because of their gender. I think it is OK to tell a little girl she looks pretty, just as long as you also tell her that math is awesome, and she can play football if she wants to. There is nothing wrong with exposing boys to lots of sports, as long as you also expose them to painting, and dolls, and cooking.

At not-quite 3 years old, the Tatiman has some very definite views on gender-roles. He currently has a boy baby in his tummy, because “only boys can grow boys.” And when he grows up to be a daddy, he must grow a beard. Makes perfect sense.

The Tatiman has had a 'Pincess' phase, and Finny Bo Binny happily pushes around a little pink shopping cart. The Tatiman loves Tinkerbell and princess stories, just as much as he loves Storm Troopers and Legos. I don't think of these as “girl” toys or “boy” toys. I think of them as 'toys', and by introducing my boys to a wide range of toys and imaginative play, I hope they will flock to whatever it is that they truly find interesting.

So, I thought those articles had no bearing on our lives. Until I got slapped in the face by a Happy Meal toy. We picked up a Happy Meal on our way out of town. The person at the counter didn't ask me if it was for a boy or a girl, and I didn't think to tell them. When I opened the box, I pulled out a Barbie head with long, flowing, blonde hair, and a pink comb. For some reason, I thought the Tatiman would be disappointed. The 'boy' toy would have been a Pokemon character (not that he knows who Pokemon is...but for some reason I thought he would like that better). Immediately, I said “Oh, this isn't a cool toy.” He asked me why...and I caught myself. I tried to rephrase and retract my statement as I handed him the toy. He thought it was SO cool. “It has hair just like when I have long hair just like Rapunzel has long hair!” Touche. I guess I need to pay a little bit more attention to what I say, and how it may play into my boys' senses of self, and thoughts on their place in the world.

I like to think of myself as a progressive mom. Although we have chosen a more traditional lifestyle with an at-home mom, and a working dad—I like to think it is because of the feminist movement that I was free to make this choice. I like to think that one day the Tatiman and Finny Bo Binny will have the same freedom of choice—and many more. To marry whomever they love, to have children that look just like them, or come from a world away. To stay home, or work outside the home, or do some combination that works for their families. To play sports, or dance ballet. To be scientists or fashion designers. I hope that my boys follow their dreams, whatever they may be. But, barring major surgery, they will always be my boys. Rough and tumble, sweet and sensitive, gentle, and stinky, and strong, and emotional...I love these little guys.

The Day I Became a Rocket Scientist

2011-06-29T19:18:00.000-07:00

I went to a Top 20 Business school for my undergraduate degree. I went to a Tier 1 law school for my Juris Doctor. All of that education left me woefully unprepared for the morning my sweet Tatiman woke up in tears—because I had not purchased him “Rocket Jet Shoes” while he slept, and “How could [he] possibly fly now?”

The Tatiman is not much for distraction. When he says something, he is bound to repeat it. And not just once or twice; he has a card catalog filled with events from his short life, and he has no problem reminding you of every minute detail. When he was about 18 months old, I dared to open the door at his Mom-Mom and Pop-Pop's house before he was on the front porch. That was nearly 2 years ago...and he often reminds me of the time I almost ruined his life by opening that door before he got there.

So, I knew I was in for it. Big time. The Tatiman is the grandson of an actual rocket scientist. And the son of a man who designs flight simulators (who also happened to be away on a business trip during this entire saga). His expectations are high, to say the least. And I failed calculus, repeatedly.

I decided I needed to do something. I remembered seeing something in a Family Fun magazine about using tissue boxes to make dinosaur shoes. How different could Rocket Jet shoes be, really? I got to work during naptime—using construction paper, scissors, tape, and an entire glue stick. Forty-five minutes later I had some lovely Rocket Jet shoes, just waiting for the Tatiman to wake up from his nap. I worried, however, that my preschool quality Rocket Jet shoes would not live up to his MIT dreams.

After nap, I told the Tatiman that I had a surprise. When he came running down stairs I proudly held out the Rocket Jet shoes. They were green, just as he requested. He quickly put them on and hopped around oh so happily. I snapped pictures and posted them on facebook. The applause rolled in.

And then the Tatiman stopped jumping and said “These look a lot like tissue boxes.” Wah wah wah wahhhhhhh. “And they don't really work.” ….exhale. As much as I tried to convince him that he could use his imagination to fly, he wasn't buying my story. He did, however, humor me, and run around in his Rocket Jet shoes here and there for the next few days.

Tonight, on our drive home, the Tatiman was quiet for a moment. That is usually a sign that I should brace myself. This time was no different. “Mommy, I need you to build me a JET PACK because the Rocket Jet shoes did not really fly.”

Thankfully, Daddy came home tonight. Phew.

Why I chose cloth.

2011-06-22T12:37:00.000-07:00

A lot of people wonder why I use cloth diapers on Finny Bo Binny Binny Boo Boo. There is a short answer and a long answer.

The short answer: Because I can.

The long answer: I actually bought cloth dipes to use on the Tatiman. I bought them because I thought they were so cute. I wanted to be able to say I used cloth diapers. Neither environmental, nor financial considerations played into my decision tree. I used cloth on the Tatiman for a few months, and then he got ginormous. I really struggled to find pants that fit him well and looked cute. Remember, my initial decision was all about appearances…and it was not an option for my first born to be dressed in stretchy pants every day. So, the cloth dipes got packed away, and I resumed using our favorite brand of disposable dipes. No harm, no foul.

Then the Finny Bo Binny came along. We used ‘sposies from the start with him. When he was about six months old, I started to think about those cloth dipes again. We were throwing $60 a month down the drain in disposable diaper costs. The Tatiman was potty training, so I knew that diaper bill was about to cut in half—and the thought occurred to me that I could eliminate it entirely. We are fortunate that $60 does not make or break our monthly budget, but suddenly the idea of literally throwing it out, especially in this uncertain economy, just seemed ridiculous. Plus, the Finny Bo is a little peanut, so adding a little fluff to his tush actually helped his fashion cause! I figured it was a win-win situation.

The truth is I am not in love with cloth dipes. I’m not in love with any dipes, really. They contain poop and pee, and then I rinse and repeat. That’s it. They are, perhaps, slightly more difficult than disposable dipes—only because they require a smidgen more forethought and planning. But I do feel good about my decision. I’m saving money. I’m not putting chemicals against the sweetest little dimpled tushy in the world. And, I’ll admit…I think they look really, really cute.

Kid Fears.

2011-06-15T06:47:00.000-07:00

I’ve come to realize that as a parent, I have three main fears. They are, in no particular order:

1. That something horrible will happen to my children
2. That something horrible will happen to me or my husband
3. That a sippy cup, filled with milk, will go missing in the playroom.

Just like Old Times…only Completely Different.

2011-05-11T12:47:00.000-07:00

During my senior year in college, I lived in a tiny apartment with seven girls. We made up our own sorority, Sigma Gamma Gamma. We spent countless hours hanging out at home doing ridiculous things, like eating spaghetti with chopsticks, making paper rings to drape around the entire apartment counting down the days until graduation, and being filmed for a TLC show. You know, typical college stuff. It was one of the best years of my life.

I just got home from my trip to L.A. where I visited one of these former roommates. She happened to marry my cousin, but that is neither here nor there. (By the way, my boys survived and thrived while I was gone…just as I predicted!). She has a beautiful new baby girl, who is my 2nd cousin thrice removed (or something like that), and I was dying to see her.

While I was there, we decided to skype with one of our other former college roomies. She is also home on maternity leave, with an 11 week old son. We chatted for a while about random whatever kind of stuff. About the word for earthquake not being the same as the word for Vermont (you had to be there)…and then we started talking about boobs. Just like old times. I remember many conversations about boobs in the SGG house…who wanted them bigger, who wanted them smaller, who was showing too much to a guy, who wasn’t showing enough—you know, the usual. But this time, we were talking about breastfeeding. Oh, the trials and tribulations, and successes, of breastfeeding.

When we lived in our tiny apartment 10 years ago (gasp!), I can assure you I never imagined a day that this would come. Sure, I hoped I would maintain a friendship with these ladies for the rest of my life. But there was no way to even comprehend technology like skype, or that our boobs would one day serve a much higher purpose. Cheers to that.

I lost my cell phone in LA. I had to call my hubby from a payphone to let him know I landed safely. That part was totally just like old times.

For my Mudder.

2011-05-08T05:17:00.000-07:00

My mom was my Brownie troop leader. My mom provided (the best) snacks for an entire neighborhood of kids. My mom painted sets for musical productions. My mom sat freezing her tuchus off in an ice skating rink. She brought oranges and water bottles to soccer games. She hand painted shirts for my elementary school teachers. She came on pumpkin picking field trips. My mom worked full time and somehow never missed a school concert, talent show, conference, class party…the list goes on. I used to think my mom was so amazing because she could do it all. But now that I’m an adult, and a mom in my own right, I realize that she couldn’t do it all—nobody can—she made countless sacrifices to make me feel like whatever was going on in my life at the time was the most important thing. That makes her even more amazing.

My mom made a home that wasn’t just comfortable for me and my brother, but was a second home for all of our friends. She was a surrogate mom to so many of our friends who really needed a place that they could come ‘home’ to.

My mom cooked meals from scratch, every night.

My mom taught me to make Shabbat.

My mom gave me the love of baking in mass quantities.

My mom showed me that it is ok to be afraid of something, but it is triumphant to
face that fear.

My mom taught me to bring hostess gifts.

My mom taught me to throw a party. Not just a little shin-dig, but a full blown fete.

My mom taught me that it is important to find reasons to have a celebration.

My mom always challenged my crazy ideas. I called it pessimism. She called it realism. Whatever you call it, it made me dig deep to get what I thought I wanted.

My mom threw me a wedding that was better than my wildest dreams.

My mom is an amazing grandmother. Her grandchildren have no idea that she is
constantly making sacrifices to make them feel like they are her number one priority. I know one day they will have that realization, and they will feel her love even more.

My mom isn’t perfect. But her flaws have shown me that there is beauty in being a real woman.

Happy Mothers Day to my Mommy. I love you to the ends of the earth. And I thank you today, and always. Even though some days I’m louder about other stuff, so it’s easy to miss that.

Daddy Daycare

2011-05-04T07:24:00.000-07:00

I’m leeeeeaving on a jet plane!!! Mama is packing her suitcase (just one!) for a little 3 day getaway! More than one person has asked where my children will be. Sit down for this one. Are you ready?

With their father. *GASP*

I know, I know. Ca-razy. I actually trust the man I married, the man I chose to make these children with, to be fully responsible for their care. My husband is a pretty mild mannered man. But if you want to see him get riled up, suggest that he has to “babysit” his kids. Fair warning…step FAR away before making that suggestion. He has wanted to be a dad since long before he met me. In fact, I would bet he had second thoughts about me because I’m not endowed with birthing hips (hello, 44 hours of labor!). Our boys are 50% his (well, by looking at them you might guess they are closer to 98% his), and he takes at least that much responsibility as their dad. He changes diapers, he does middle of the night feedings, doctors appointments, bath time, meal time, and of course he rocks at playtime.

Does he do it differently than me? Probably. But here is a confession for ya: I forgot to patent my awesome and amazing parenting techniques. I know, shocker. But I fully understand that my way isn’t the only way. It isn’t even always the best way…ok, most of the time it is (I joke, I kid!).

So as I pack my suitcase today, I’m full of excitement for two reasons. 1. I get to visit dear friends and family, including our newest family member and 2. I know my boys, all of them, are going to have a rocking time at home without me.

A Graduation of sorts.

2011-05-02T17:43:00.000-07:00

On February 8, 2002, I woke up with what looked like a golf ball lodged in the middle of my chest. I remember the date clearly—not because it was the start of a 9 year adventure—but because it was the morning of the Olympic Opening Ceremonies, and I was hosting a huge party complete with a 10x20 foot projection screen for watching the event. The party was awesome...and when I woke up the next morning, the lump was still there. By Monday morning, I was sure that lump wasn't a figment of my imagination, and because I knew I hadn't swallowed any golf balls, I decided it was time to go see a doctor. My doc saw me that same day, and sent me straight from her office to an ultrasound. The ultrasound tech uttered the words that changed my life, “It is a tumor.”

I was blessed to live close to one of only two doctors in the entire world that specialized in treatment of my type of tumor. He removed my pectoral muscle, some lymph nodes, and part of my rib cage—my body was clearly ravaged, but my spirit held strong. I relapsed in 2003, and again in 2004. Each time, my amazing doctor treated me with dignity, careful skill, and optimism. It is because of him that I have remained lump-free for the last 7 years.

Today, that same doctor uttered these words: “You've graduated.” No more trips to Hopkins. No more tearful nights before my trips to Hopkins worrying about whether the tumor has come back. No more worrying about 'what if' the tumor comes back. Of course, I know that there is a chance that I will relapse again. But I've beaten the odds by making it this far. I beat the odds when I stood under the chuppah on my wedding day. I beat the odds when my Tatiman was born, and again when Finny Bo Binny joined our world. I intend to continue beating the odds every day, for the rest of my life.

No graduation is complete without a speech. So here goes:

At my brother's wedding, I gave a toast that started with this saying: When you love some one, it gives you strength. And when you're loved by someone, it gives you courage. I want to thank my friends and family for supporting me all of these years—I haven't forgotten the 7-layer cookie tray, when you saw my butt through the hospital gown and laughed, or the times you picked me up for drives on sunny days. I especially want to thank my amazing husband and my two beautiful boys. You make every day I beat the odds worth it. You are my strength and my courage.

Bittersweet.

2011-04-28T13:02:00.000-07:00

I just cleaned out Finny Bo Binny's closet so I can pull the Tatiman's old summer clothes out of storage and move them into Finny Bo's room. Finny is a slow-grower, so this is really the first time I've done a mass-exodus of the closet, and I found myself tearing up as I packed away some of my favorite outfits.

Things are so different this time around. The Tatiman grew and changed so quickly, I just had to grab on and enjoy the ride. There wasn't a whole lot of time for reflection before we were on to the next of everything—the next clothing size, the next milestone, the next adventure. But my sweet Finny Bo Binny is moving at is own, much more relaxed, pace. He hasn't grown into a new clothing size in over 5 months, he doesn't have any teeth yet, and he still wants me to hold him 99% of the time. I think marching to the beat of Finny's drum has kept me in denial. Denial that my baby is growing up, and before I know it, he will be a running, jumping, chattering (occasionally defiant) toddler.

Finny will be ONE in just over two weeks. When the Tatiman turned one, I was just weeks away from discovering that our little family of three was on its way to becoming a family of four.

It is different this time around because I don't know if Finny Bo Binny Binny Boo Boo will be my last baby. With the Tatiman, I was so sure I was done having kids, that I just enjoyed every second. But this time, I really feel a longing for another child. I don't know when or if our lives will ever be ready for a third little person—and as I packed the clothes away this time it hit me hard that this may be the last time I see these outfits that I picked out with such excitement during the Tatiman's first years. So, while I still watch in awe as my babies are growing up—this first birthday will come with a little bittersweetness along with the cake and ice cream.

Boring is as Boring Does.

2011-04-22T17:11:00.001-07:00

It has come to my attention that there is a website devoted to mocking parents that post facebook statuses about life with their children. The idea is that people should tattle on their friends who “used to be fun” but now have babies, by sending in copies of the offensive facebook statuses. Really? I mean REALLY?

If these contributors lives are so exciting, I wonder how they can find the time in their wild and crazy daily schedules to contribute to a website that's sole purpose is to make fun of proud parents? Here's a thought: if you can't comprehend that a child changes your life in the most amazing ways, just ignore the people who can. It's really that simple.

Is my life a barrel of monkeys at every given second? Nope. Was it ever? Nope. But, if anything, having children has brought more excitement into my life. Sure, I can't spend every Thurs-Sat night at a bar with the same six people talking about the same six other people while I pace my drinking to get enough of a buzz, but avoid a hangover. That was fun for a few years. Then I graduated from college.

There is nothing boring about my life these days. Different? Absolutely. Boring? Never. Sometimes I wish it was! Having a child changes everything. And the most exciting part is that it keeps changing. My boys prevent me from becoming stagnant. They grow and change and develop new interests faster than the tides change.

As for me, my autonomous self, I still have many of the same interests I had before becoming a mom. I'm always finding different ways to incorporate them into my life. But having my boys (husband included) has also broadened my interests. I've met people I never would have met without spending a little extra time at the playground. I've been challenged in ways no career could challenge me.

Yep, I'm guilty of posting way too many tidbits about our daily life on facebook. It is one way I can stay connected to my friends and family. I'm sure I've said a few things that seem like I'm a little obsessed with my kids. I make no apologies because, well, I am. I think they are the coolest things ever.

While I'm logged in, I oohhh and ahhhh at pictures of friends' cats, because I know they find their antics simply charming. And I would never go as far as to suggest that posting repeated status updates about your daily commute, or your gourmet dinner menus, makes you boring. Live and let live, people. Live and let live.

Cherish.

2011-04-12T19:03:00.001-07:00

Tonight, I got to do something I haven't done in a long time—rocked my Finny Bo Binny Binny Boo Boo until he fell asleep. I soaked up every sweet, warm, snuggly breath of it.

Finny LOVES his sleep (I never thought I would utter that statement about this little guy!). He plays hard, and then sleeps even harder to recharge his batteries. I used to nurse him, then snuggle and sing him to sleep. Now, he wants nothing to do with me at bedtime. He is very serious about his routine: Pjs, a quick kiss, and then PUTMEINBED. He will practically jump out of my arms into his crib if I don't move fast enough. There are no bedtime stories. No sweet snuggles. No extra kisses on his chubby little hands. He is usually face down, buried into his blankie, and snoring before I even close his bedroom door.

But not tonight. Tonight, we did our routine, and he started sobbing when I walked out of the room. I listened for a few minutes, and he didn't stop crying, so I decided to go in to check on him. The Finny Bo looked up at me with his big blue eyes and just sighed...so I picked him up, and we snuggled in a rocking chair until his full weight was resting on my chest, and his long soft breaths were in tune with mine. Pure Bliss. I would have held him all night if I could have. I know these moments are fleeting, and I know that in no time, my sweet baby boy is going to be a quirky little toddler...and on and on and on.

But I will hold on to tonight, and the smell of his sweaty little head, and his pudgy little fingers, and the sound of his balmy little breaths forever.

This is where I draw the line.

2011-04-12T11:47:00.000-07:00

The Tatiman has a Star Wars obsession. He sits for hours every day pouring over the six Star Wars books we checked out of the library. He can pick Star Wars books out of of his daddy's book shelves. He hasn't seen the movies (but for a few bits and pieces), yet he just knows, deep inside his being, that he is a Jedi in training. Well, he was a young Jedi until this past weekend...he announced that he wants to be Darth Maul when he grows up.

I found this development quite shocking, especially since the Tatiman lives in a world of rainbows and unicorns. He doesn't like bad guys. In fact, he finds the mere hint of a bad guy to be terrifying. Since he only knows about Mr. Maul from looking at pictures in books, he doesn't have any clue that the red and black face staring at him is that of a bad guy. Today he asked if we could “do a project to make a red and black Darth Maul face and a light saber with two red blades.” So, we did. I was sure that the sight of himself with a scary red and black mask would end his Darth Maul obsession. I was wrong.

But here is where I draw the line...along with declaring himself a young Darth Maul, the Tatiman would like me to respond to “Jango”...or when he is really trying to butter me up “Jango Mommy.” I refuse. I can only indulge him so far, and Jango is just a few small steps over the line for this mommy. I hope he never brings this up in therapy.

Clothing Wars

2011-04-07T19:41:00.000-07:00

Today, the Tatiman wore a brown shirt with a pug on it. This was a momentous occasion. “Why?” You ask. Well, because we're coming off a bender where the Tatiman wore his R2D2 shirt for 6 days straight. In the spirit of the upcoming Passover holiday, I'll go ahead and clarify. By “6 days straight” I mean the night times, too.

To be fair. Tati's grandmother was able to pry the shirt off of him once during the
6-day standoff. I'm told he sat shirtless, in protest and solidarity, waiting 45 minutes for the ding of he dryer.

This is one of those places where I have to walk the fine line between letting the Tatiman choose his uniform (after all, one shirt doesn't really count as a 'wardrobe'), and teaching lessons in hygiene and socially acceptable clothing traditions. And, I suppose, I'll just plan our weeks so we don't visit the same place twice.

Channeling my Inner Michelle Duggar

2011-03-31T18:40:00.000-07:00

...and I'm not talking about her uterus.

Seriously. I don't know how she does it. She has 19 kids, most of them boys, and she never yells. NEVER. Like, not even at all. I'd like to know what she's smoking.

I don't believe in yelling. I don't like it when somebody yells at me, and I don't want to raise my boys to think that yelling is a proper way to speak to people.

Yet, every now and then I loose it. I'm not proud of it, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't happen. And it always over something ridiculous, like this exchange, which may or may not have happened today:

**kick, kick, kick**
“Tati, please stop kicking the back of my seat” (Said completely calmly, in my sweetest Mommy voice).
**kick, kick, kick**
“Tati, please stop kicking Mommy's seat” (Repeated, in my sweetest Mommy voice)
**kick, kick, kick**
“Tati, please stop kicking Mommy” (Repeated in my terse whispering voice. This is where I channel my inner Michelle Duggar...)
**kick, kick, kick**
“PLEASE STOP” (YELLING)

...and then I'm upset because I lost my cool. And because who YELLS “please”--it kinda loses it's polite-ness, doesn't it?!?!

So...wise readers...what do you do to keep your cool in times like these?

College Preparatory School.

2011-03-24T20:35:00.000-07:00

The Tatiman will be three in August, which means I have spent the past few months touring preschools.

Yes. Touring. Yes. Preschools.

If you had asked me a few years ago if I would foresee myself touring a single preschool, much less multiple preschools over a 3 month period, my answer would have been a resounding NOPE. Heck, I only toured college campuses for an excuse to visit Boston and see cute college boys.

Yet, here we are. I find my actions shocking, yet shockingly necessary.

It's not that I feel like one school is going to give the Tatiman a better shot at being a world famous finger painter. I'm pretty sure that he will learn sandbox etiquette wherever he goes. And I know he already has snack time down pat, so I've got no concerns in that area.

It's just that becoming a parent changed me. Suddenly every decision seems so big, so important. When I see that driving past a water tower can spark a discussion about gravity—I feel like these years are so precious, and they play a huge role in forming the person that my Tatiman is growing into.

I know he has to leave the cocoon of my protection, but I want it to be in the environment where he will blossom. I want his love of learning to be nurtured. I want him to believe he can do anything. I want him to be encouraged to try things far outside his comfort zone. I want him to make friends. I want him to sing and dance and learn to make all the rocket ship noises that little boys learn to make.

And more than preparing the Tatiman for the outside world, preschool must prepare me—for all of those bigger decisions that I know are coming way too fast.

Grow down, little Tatiman. Grow down.

Everything Nice.

2011-03-11T20:37:00.000-08:00

I have two baby boys. Two beautiful baby boys. They are everything I have ever dreamed of, and so much more.

Yet, people are always asking me “Are you going to try for a girl?” These people mean well, I'm sure. But I don't think they get it. Or maybe they just don't get me.

I have always wanted to have a son. When all the other little girls wanted their Cabbage Patch Kids to have the long corn silk hair...my mom was waiting in line all night to get me a bald baby boy.

We did not find out the gender of either of our children while I was pregnant, but I not-so-secretly hoped that the little people kicking me from within came with their own kickstand. And I was lucky. Not just once, but twice.

My boys are the perfect combination of sugar and spice and frogs and snails. They are cuddly and winsome and sensitive and mischievous. They are brothers. They are Mommy's little guys.

There are times when I think about the adult relationship I have with my mom, and I think that it would be nice to have that one day. I loved planning my wedding with my mom by my side. I love sharing a bond that I have with her, now that I am a mother myself. But having a daughter certainly doesn't guarantee that kind of relationship.

I don't feel cheated because I have closets full of overalls and polo shirts instead of patent leather shoes and pinafores. I don't feel like our family is incomplete because we don't have a Daddy's girl.

I have always dreamed of having a big family, and we may add to our little crew one day. But we won't be “trying” for anything other than a healthy baby. I'm sure that if we ever have a girl, we will feel like she is meant to be our daughter...but if we have a 3rd, or 4th, or 5th boy (my husband is having a heart attack as he reads this, ha!) it will be because we are filling our home with little people we love, and not because I have a pressing need to shop for tutus.

Hostage Situation.

2011-03-03T18:56:00.000-08:00

So, I was held "hostage" in my bathroom for about 15 minutes today.

I went in just to pee. I left the door open because Finny Bo Binny Binny Boo Boo was in the kitchen and I was (stupidly) thinking that with the door open I could just dash out if I heard a crash.

Instead, he followed me. No biggie, until he closed the door. No biggie...I'd just open it slowly. Until he put his finger ON THE HINGE. I could see it as I cracked the door, and I was worried that I would smash his little fingers if I opened it any more.

That little stinker thought I was hysterically funny talking to him from inside the bathroom door...but he would NOT move his had. Finally, he got bored of me, and crawled off.

I feel like I live with a pair of ferrets that are plotting my downfall.

Here is My Secret.

2011-02-21T11:16:00.000-08:00

"Seriously, you amaze me!"
"You handle two kids so well"
"How do you pull it all together?"

...just a few comments I've received lately.

Here's the truth: My life is complete, total, and utter chaos. Let me repeat that: My life is complete, total, and utter chaos. Emphasis on the chaos.

I think it is hysterical that I (apparently) project this image of having it all together, when the truth is, I'm about as far from it as possible!!

My house is a disaster. My car has at least an inch of graham cracker crumb dust. My laundry is never done. My grocery bill is too high. My two-year old hits, kicks, pushes, and paints on windows with his drool. My 9 month old just came out of a 7 month long scream. Yes, one scream seemed to last the entire 7 months. My husband has to suffer through PB sammies 3 or 4 days a week for lunch, and act like he loves that I pack his lunch. I carry around a ginormous diaper bag, yet I often leave the house for a day trip without a single diaper.

But, to steal a line from Oprah, here is what I know for sure: None of that 'stuff' matters.

And THAT's my real secret. Very little matters. It is just that simple. We have our health, and we have eachother. And those are the only things that are truly important to me.

Today I made glitter pictures with the Tatiman. I pushed Finny Bo Binny Binny Boo Boo on a swing. We walked down a wooded path collecting at least 37 sticks. We ate lunch together.

A day full of chaos. A day full of perfection.

Confession Time.

2011-02-17T12:18:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about changing the name of the blog for a while. I don't confess much, and I'm really just an amateur mom. But, I haven't come up with anything better yet, so for now, the name sticks. In the meantime, I offer you these confessions:

1. My family room looks like this:

2. My boys have been napping for two hours. Rather than spending even a second straightening the family room, I sat quietly on the couch, working on a photo album.

3. The album is for the year 2009.

4. We spent the morning outside and had a lovely picnic lunch: PB & J, veggies, fruit, figs (yes, I know they are a fruit. The Tatiman thinks they are candy, shhhhhhhh!), tofu, crackers, cheese. A real mish mash. When we got home, I put the bag with the leftovers in the fridge. I'm contemplating taking the boys back out to play when they wake up. I'm contemplating just grabbing that bag, and taking it with us for dinner. And if, by chance, there is not enough food left in the bag for dinner, I'm contemplating supplementing with ice cream.

Whew. I feel better getting all of that off my chest!! Carry on...

Pregnancy...the Second Time Around.

2011-02-16T18:37:00.000-08:00

Women say that once you give birth, you forget about all the pain of labor. Women say that when you hold your baby for the first time, you forget about how sick you were for the 9 months leading up to that moment. Women say that once you get through those first few months of newborn insanity, you forget about the sleepless nights and shower-free days.

Women lie. A lot.

I did not forget about the 25 weeks of round the clock vomiting, punctuated with two bouts of the stomach flu. I did not forget about 44 hours of pitocin induced contractions, the first 24 of which were completely free of pain medications. (I may have mentioned that before, and I will probably mention that again. In fact, I like to mention it once in a while to the Tatiman, just so he understands that he is lucky I didn't call off the whole thing around hour 23.5 of labor.) I didn't even forget about newborn insanity. But the second time around, I went into it armed with the knowledge that all of that is SO worth it.

My second pregnancy started off way better than the first. Looking back, the roller coaster I rode when I was 5 weeks pregnant (and did not know it) was a metaphor for the next 33 weeks. I stopped nursing (well, pumping) the Tatiman when he was a year old. A few short weeks later, I felt off...and since we were heading to an amusement park, I took a HPT, just to be safe. Negative. Off to ride roller coasters I went!! Somewhere around the 2nd dip on the first coaster, I felt the contents of my stomach gurgle up into my mouth. I *knew* that HPT had to be wrong. Fine time to find out you are preggo...halfway through a roller coaster ride, with your entire family waiting at the exit gate.

A few weeks and a confirmatory u/s later (where I was happy to see that roller coaster ride had not scrambled the fetus's parts), we informed the world. You get some fun reactions when you have a 13 month old, and a little popping belly. People lack filters. But, that's a post for another time!

So, at about 7 weeks pregnant, I made my fatal mistake. I mentioned, casually, that this pregnancy was so EASY compared to my last. I mean, I was a little queasy, but I was able to eat. The smell of the refrigerator was not offensive, nor had I developed a sensitivity to air.

And then it hit me. Pregnancy #2's nausea was clearly out to prove that Pregnancy #1's nausea was a wimp. I am generally anti medication while preggo, for fear of what it could do to my growing baby (Roller coaster riding...check. Anti-nausea medication...no way!). Which meant I spent my days barfing, peeing (often while barfing...so lovely), and crying. Oh the joy that a little bundle brings!!

And the Tatiman. Poor, sweet, innocent Tatiman. The Tatiman who, up until that point had not watched any TV. The Tatiman who was used to dining on 100% homemade, organic meals. Well, that Tatiman was quickly introduced to Elmo and spaghettiOs (which he, thankfully, refused). I had many a cry about my perceived failures at motherhood-while-preggo, but we were in survival mode. And, I'm happy to say, survive we did.

Thankfully, the nausea subsided around week 16, and aside from a few other wonky things (Finny Bo Binny Binny Boo Boo was a fan of laying sideways, trying to wrap around my back...requiring two actual versions and one attempted version), the rest of the pregnancy turned out to be easy peasy. Imagine that.

And this time, the moment I held my baby in my arms, my first thought was about getting to do that all over again, because there is nothing else in this world, quite as amazing.

I'm baaaaa-aaaack

2011-01-05T19:11:00.000-08:00

Tonight, I witnessed one of the most amazing things ever: my boys, playing together, completely unaware of my presence.

That's right, my boyS. I've been promoted. Since I last wrote, a lot has happened. Namely 9 months of a difficult pregnancy followed by a comparatively easy 36 hour labor and birth, followed by 2 months of bliss and 5 months of pure H-E-Double Hockey Sticks.

And here we are: Today the Tatiman is 2 years and 5 months old, and his little brother, Finny Bo Binny Binny Boo Boo (not his real full name, although his real full name is almost as long) will be 8 months old next week.

I haven't written because I spent 4 months heaving. Not dry heaving, because I was always sure to eat my daily dose of Mrs. T's Perogies (they come up as easy as they go down—lessons learned during my first pregnancy), but heaving nonetheless.

I haven' t written because I spent the rest of my pregnancy running to high risk docs twice a week to be monitored for a whole bunch of things that turned out to be nothing.

I haven't written because I had a beautiful and peaceful newborn.

I haven't written because that beautiful and peaceful newborn caught a virus at 7 weeks old that required a hospital stay that left him with the horrible 24/7 reflux cycle that goes something like this: SCREAM-eat-barf-SCREAM, rinse and repeat for 5 months.

But really, I haven't written because I felt like I was out of things to say. I was in love with my life. It was easy. It was exciting—in the 'shall we go to the playground, boardwalk, or woods to play today' kind of way. It was perfection. And, who wants to hear somebody ramble about perfection all the time?

But tonight, I saw my boys playing together, and I felt like I had something to say again. So, allow me to ramble. We'll get caught up, and then hopefully I'll keep up. Or not. Such is the life...

We didn't 'plan' on my promotion to Professional Stay at Home Mom of Two (Under Two). My pregnancy with the Tatiman was horrible. I never knew one could vomit so much in a 24 hour period, for so many months on end. The 44 hour labor was the icing on that cake. I was not eager to repeat that experience ever. We considered adoption after I swore I would never, ever, ever serve as a gestational vessel again. But, when it came down to it, we both felt that the Tatiman met our every parenting need. We felt complete. Our little family of three. Bliss.

But we both have siblings. And we both feel special connections to our siblings. And we both started to think about the Tatiman's best interests, and how one day he would have to deal with us as old people, and it would be nice for him to be able to share that load.

And though I had decided I would NEVER choose to get pregnant again, we also decided to leave it up to fate. Apparently fate thought we should get pregnant that week....38 weeks and 36 hour of labor later (an improvement!) we welcomed Finny Bo Binny Binny Boo Boo.

Thus, I accepted my promotion, and began a wholly new adventure.

When is "Good Enough" well...Good Enough?!?!

2009-10-01T12:37:00.000-07:00

I can vividly remember my mother telling me, "Good enough, isn't." She said it when I tried to half-arse a school project, take less-than-enough time to pick out a special gift, or make my bed--barely. Although I can't remember which of her relatives instilled that value in her, I can hear her saying it in my head (when she isn't saying it in person) as I go through my day-to-day tasks.

As I swiftered my kitchen floor today, I caught myself looking at the not-really-sparkling-clean floor, and muttering outloud "It's good enough." But...is it? Yeah, I think so.

Why? Because it's not that important. I clean my floor at least once a week, sometimes 3 or 4 times...and within minutes, it has a mashed blueberry, or a smattering of milkbone crumbs, or (lately) some soup drippings.

I just don't have time to focus on that right now. Yes, I'm a SAHM. Yes, my full time job is to keep my house in order and my son taken care of. Sure, I can always make the time to get down on my hands and knees to scrub the floor...or I can spend that time taking my son to the park, or reading him a story or perfecting our dance moves.

...and anyway, although my floor may not look clean enough to eat off of, if you time it just right, it's like an all-you-can-eat buffet!

Simple Pleasures

2009-09-24T08:30:00.001-07:00

I don't write as much as I originally thought I would, because I don't always feel like I have anything interesting to say. But maybe that's the point. Most of my days are filled with simple things that make me, the Tatiman, DH, and the Du (our golden retriever) very happy.

I thought about this yesterday, while the Tatiman and I enjoyed a simple peasant lunch--grilled cheese and soup. Seriously, what could be better than a crisp* fall day with homemade pumpkin bisque and granny smith apples, brie, honey, and fresh homemade** croissants, all gooey and warm from a stint in the panini press.

After lunch, we went down to walk along the boardwalk. We watched countless planes flying overhead, stuck our tootsies in the water, and tried to stand in some other family's photographs (ok, only one of us did that--you decide which).

A perfectly simple day...simply perfect.

*By "crisp" I mean it was like 80 and muggy...WHERE is fall?
**By "homemade" I mean I pulled the croissants, that were made at the Giant and brought for a playdate a month ago, out of the freezer--but I did freshly defrost them.

Mommies say the Darndest Things.

2009-09-17T08:19:00.000-07:00

…sooooo I’ve been slacking a bit on the blog. I’d like to put an optimistic spin on it: I haven’t really been slacking on the blog so much as I’ve been too busy living life. In the past few months we have: flown to Florida, and home. Flown to California, and home. Visited Pennsylvania. Gone to the lake for a week. Spent not-a-single-weekend in over two months at our house. Attended countless playgroups. Started and finished swim lessons. Oh…and started a baking business.

But now I’m back, here to blog for your enjoyment. For those keeping up, the Tatiman is now 13 months old. He has managed to earn himself 3 black eyes and 1 fat lip since he started walking. Now he is running. I’m terrified.

Before I had a kid, I said all kinds of things I never imagined I would say. Many of those things were said after a frosty beverage, or three, but I digress. Now that I am a mommy (or, Daddy, as the Tatiman insists on calling me), I find myself saying all kinds of things I NEVER imagined I would say.

I think I’m going to compile a list, and write a book.

So far on my list:

1. Please don’t lick your shoes.
2. Please don’t put your chopsticks in your poop.

I know its early to contact Houghton Mifflin, but it’s a start.

What have YOU said that made you snicker as it came out?

Book Review: Comeback Moms

2009-08-12T04:31:00.000-07:00

“How to Leave Work, Raise Children, and Restart Your Career Even If You Haven’t Had a Job in Years” by Monica Samuels & J. C. Conklin.

This book should be required reading for anybody contemplating becoming a SAHM. The blurb on the front cover says it all:

Millions of educated, professional women are quitting their jobs to stay home and raise their children…You worked hard for your degree and even harder to get to this point in your career…Once you have a baby, your life changes in ways you’d never imagine. Some of your friends and family members may think you’ve gone a little crazy…

Yes. Yes. And Yes.

Comeback Moms is all about strategy—setting the groundwork for one day (even if that day is 10 years away) re-entering the workforce. It is the only book I’ve come across that seems to suggest that women really can do it all—just not all at one time—and that is a marvelous thing.

A few of my favorite tips:

1. Handle money issues up front. As a former divorce lawyer, I know finances lead to the breakup of many-a-marriage. You are an adult, you should not receive an “allowance.” Set a family budget that meets both of your needs. Discuss splurges before you purchase them—this goes for both of you. Nobody wants to stare at a large screen TV that they resent…or feel guilty wearing a hot pair of pumps.

2. Count your blessings. Really. Millions of women would love to be in your shoes. Yes, raising your children is the hardest job in the world. But just because your husband is going to an office every day does not mean he is not also raising your children. It is hard for both of you—for different reasons—acknowledge that. And then think about how lucky you are to be able to spend these precious times at home.

3. Keep your career title. This one really hit home. I remember the first time I had to fill out a form at the pediatricians after I stopped working…I had no idea what to put in the “occupation” section. People do think differently of you when you are ‘just a mom’. So, don’t be ‘just a mom’—be an ‘attorney/stay-at-home-mom’. Or a ‘consultant’ or a ‘writer’—you still are whatever you were before, just on hiatus. Plus, you never know where that next job opportunity might come from.

4. Remind yourself that you are a smart person. Ahhh, the dreaded cocktail party. Another ‘just a mom’ situation. You are still an adult, and you are entitled to enjoy adult conversation.

5. Keep a foot in the door. If you intend to go back to work—ever—make sure you keep up with contacts. Schedule a lunch date once a month. Volunteer in a place that people in your field are likely to be working. Not only will you enjoy staying in the loop, it will keep fresh in the minds of potential future employers.

6. Use the time at home to prepare for your future career. Seems kind of crazy—but think of your time at home as an opportunity to decide what you really want to be when you grow up. If you loved what you did—the decision is probably easy—go back to it. If you didn’t—you can volunteer in any number of potential future career situations—and decide what your passion may be. It is a luxury, don’t miss out on the chance.

In addition to tips for the already-at-home-mom, Comeback Moms offers advice for preparing to leave your career to stay at home. I only wish I had known about this book before I embarked on this adventure…

It's Happening...

2009-07-20T20:25:00.000-07:00

Just a few short weeks into my SAHM adventure, I wrote about Dr. Laura, and my thoughts on her Today Show appearance to tout her new book, In Praise of Stay At Home Moms. In that post I said "Dr. Laura went on to use terms including “denigrated” “not supported” “made to feel stupid”…and that there “isn’t much in society that says what you are doing is wonderful”. Maybe I’ve just been really lucky—I haven’t run into any of this. In fact, my experience has been quite the opposite... In fact every single person that has made a comment on our decision has made a positive comment."

That was then. This is now.

It's been a wonderfully adventurous summer here in Tatiman-land. Full of challenges for the Tatiman. Learning to walk-Check. Learning to say "please"-Check. Learning to 'baaaa' like a sheep-almost there (Tatiman says 'daaaaa'...like a dyslexic sheep). Full of challenges for the mommy, too. Taking the Tatiman on a cross country flight-Check. Attempting to get back in shape-Check minus. Feeling totally comfortable in my SAHM role-RUH ROH RORGE.

I'll admit it--my pride has had a few dents and dings as of late. The first came while on our trip to California to celebrate my college roommate's birthday. It was my first time meeting new people in a 'professional' (read: non play group) setting. Of course everybody exchanged the usual niceties: "What's your name?" "Where ya from?"...those were easy enough. And then the never before, but now kind of dreaded "What do you do?" Gulp. This group of 30-somethings was filled with high achievers. Consultants. Educators. Executives. Engineers. Computer Geeks. And one lowly SAHM. It was, for sure, a conversation ender. I wanted to scream "...but I used to be an attorney" on more than one occasion. I wanted to stamp "...but I'm still cool to talk to" on my forehead. I wanted...to crawl into a little hole.

The second ding, and my inspiration to come back to my blog, was a little newspaper article I was interviewed for. The article mentioned how I left my law firm to stay at home with my son (among other things, which are neither here nor there). On the newspaper's website, strangers made all sorts of comments--that I know I shouldn't get fired up about--but I'm not just a SAHM, I'm a Mama Bear now, too. What really burns me is that people assume that I am in my situation because I could not hack it as an attorney--or because I took the easy way out of the workforce. How denigrating.

And, I'm not even sure why. I am so in love with my job, that I sometimes find myself tearing up when I think about how lucky I am. I was there when my son took his first steps. I was there to snuggle him when he got his first black eye, followed by bruised forehead, fat lip, and scraped nose (nobody said learning to walk is easy). I am proud of the person he is becoming, and heck, I may even take a bit of the credit for it. But, it does sting a little bit when I know that I haven't changed, but others' perception of me has.

In line for a taco at my former college roomie's blowout Bday party, I struck up a conversation with the party-goer behind me. We followed the proper introduction etiquette, but I got to go first. And when I got to the "What do you do?" part...she gulped, shifted her weight back and forth...and then squeaked out, "I'm an artist." I got so excited...tons of questions filled my head (what kind of art? do you have a studio? what inspires you...etc etc etc) and then she continued "...it's kind of embarrassing."

WHAT? Embarrassing? You create beauty in the world around you. You make people smile or laugh or cry through your work. You found something you love and you had the guts to turn it into your career.

Touche.

On a serious note.

2009-07-07T18:03:00.000-07:00

Every now and then a horrible story makes the prime time news. A child is killed, or luckily escapes, after years of physical abuse. Each and every time one of these stories hits the airways, the newscaster questions how the abuse went unnoticed for so long.

I don't believe it goes unnoticed. I believe the general public is too scared to speak up. Too scared of what? I don't know. But our experiences this past weekend have convinced me.

The Tatiman has great big blue eyes, and acts like the Mayor of Munchkin land when we are in public. He thinks his stroller is the lead car in a parade, and he waves and pipes up "Hello" to every.single.person we pass. Needless to say, he garners a lot of attention from baby loving folks.

We celebrated July 4th visiting friends in California. The Tatiman and I flew cross country earlier in the week, and DH followed us out before the weekend. Tatiman made friends in every single line we waited in, exchanged flirts with people in every single elevator. And had no less than 50 people in his airplane fan club. Mayor Tatiman had a blast leading the cross country party.

The Tatiman also learned to walk in California. His first trick was falling, face first, into a glass coffee table at our beach condo. Within moments one of his big blue eyes was swollen and surrounded by bruising. Nothing like celebrating his first Independence Day with a shiner. So much for those adorable pictures in his patriotic outfit.

Thankfully, the Tatiman did not seem to experience much pain. After about 30 seconds of crying the episode was over, as far as he was concerned. We were surrounded by friends, and didn't really notice anything 'off' until we began our trip back East.

Nobody waved at the Tatiman. Nobody commented on his big blue eyes. Nobody asked me how old he was. Nobody laughed when he pointed at the lights on the plane and yelled "Light on!" in his silly little voice.

EVERYBODY stared. Everybody gave DH and I the once over...and then went back to what they were doing, glaring up at us ever so often.

In an entire 8 hour day of travel, exactly three people commented on the Tatiman at all. One, a father of 2 boys, struck up a conversation in the airport by saying "Hey Boxer" to the Tatiman. That gentleman shared a story of his oldest son's first black eye, and when I told him that he was the only person to comment, his response was "Yeah...but you know everybody is looking." A lady getting on the plane after us asked if he was in a bar fight, and then continued on to her seat. And one other woman commented, after sitting in front of us the entire flight, that he was a well behaved baby (true)--no mention of the eye.

Once we got home I asked DH if he noticed that nobody interacted with the Tatiman the whole day, and almost nobody commented. We had come into contact with over 200 people, easily--and a measly three showed enough interest in a clearly injured child to speak up. We both agreed that this is how abuse goes "unnoticed." It is noticed, but nobody does anything about it.

I would have preferred 200 people asking me how he got his black eye, to 197 glaring at us and turning a blind eye. I have faith in humanity because of those three. Three people trusted their gut enough to strike up a conversation with us. I'm sure they were trying to feel us out a bit, see how we reacted to comments about our little bruiser. I hope that if they felt anything was off, they would have reported us. We need more of those people. We need people who are looking out for the littlest folks, who can't look out for themselves.

Please, please, please...if you see something that seems out of the ordinary...don't hesitate to speak up. You could get a funny story about a newly crowned toddler...or you could save a life.

Dear Swimsuit Manufacturers.

2009-06-18T17:34:00.000-07:00

Dear Sirs, (And I'm positive you are men, because women wouldn't choose to put other women through swimsuit hell),

Please take note:

1. If a woman has to buy a size 14 suit, chances are she is not happy about it in the first place. Chances are that she also has some back fat, thigh fat, and boob fat...in addition to the expected belly fat. Suits that have a back cut so low it shows her butt crack are NOT flattering. Neither are suits with leg-holes that go up higher than her (admittedly sagging) belly button. Your so-called-design decisions do not make the shopping experience any more pleasurable for her.

2. Just because a woman is not a size 2 (or 4 or 6 or even 8) does not mean she has size DD boobs. Dream on.

3. "Cover Up Skirts" that barely extend past her crotch are neither a "cover up" nor flattering. They call attention to the widest part of her thighs, and that will make her angry.

4. Now pay close attention, because this applies to women of all sizes: Polka dots are cute, but they should NEVER, EVER, be centered over a nipple area.

Thank you.

Random Musings...

2009-06-18T17:32:00.000-07:00

I've been a little slow to post lately, mostly because a lot of the things I think about have very little to do with being a mom. Shocking, I know.

I debated starting another blog to cover my random musings, but decided instead to broaden the horizons of this one.

SO...without further ado, please enjoy the contents of my brain.

Finding ME Time.

2009-06-15T04:32:00.000-07:00

I didn’t appreciate all the ‘free’ time I had in the days that I worked outside the home, until I no longer had that time. I used to use my commute to make mental lists, relax after a stressful day, and catch up on phone calls. Now, I spend my travel time singing silly songs, or playing the Tatiman’s ‘call & response’ game. (Him: Da. Me: DaDy. Him: DaDo. Me: MOM. Him: Dada…giggle giggle giggle). I used to be able to run out in between client meetings to drop off dry cleaning, or pickup a few groceries. Now, anywhere I go, the Tatiman (and his diaper bag, sippy cup, puff bowl and assorted toys) goes too.

Don’t get me wrong, I am in love with my current job. I get to wake up to the Tatiman’s babbling, cook and feed him nutritious foods, play games, take hikes, and spend time with other mommy friends. I really have zero complaints. But I have started to feel like I just need a minute to think, without babbling in the background. Or five minutes to make a list of things I want to accomplish, before it is the end of the day and I’m too exhausted to think. Or, most importantly, time to workout (and shower afterwards!) to start getting rid of those pounds I gained eating lunch out every day!!

I discussed my need with DH, and we came up with 2 options: (1) Taking the Tatiman back to daycare (or hiring a sitter) a few days a week, and (2) Getting up at the crack of dawn to get some time to myself.

We’ve settled on a hybrid approach. I hate the idea of sending the Tatiman to daycare. I think it is ridiculous for him to spend a day with somebody else when my job is to take care of him. On the other hand, one of his little buddies goes to the person who cared for the Tati while I was working—so the two of them can have a great time toddling together. The Tatiman is going to go have a “mommy free play day” (as I like to think of it) about once a week. The other days, I’m going to get up at 5:30. I got up that early all through law school to get in my workout and have some quiet time before my high stress days, and I actually think I function better when I get up and get going.

Hmmmm…so now I’ve done everything I planned to accomplish this morning, including writing this post. And, the Tatiman is still sleeping…I’m not sure what to do with myself! Any ideas?

STAY-cation = Total Relaxation

2009-05-25T17:21:00.000-07:00

Now that your burgers are done grilling, and your pool towels are going through their first of many washer-dryer cycles of the season--I'd like to share our first experience with the increasingly popular "Staycation".

For those of you not in-the-know, a staycation is a vacation where you don't go anywhere--that is, you stay right at home, but act like you are somewhere luxurious. At first glance, it doesn't sound too exciting, right? Au contraire, mon fraire. A staycation is a wonderful excuse to play tourist in your own town, visit all those places that you drive by on a daily basis, discover new places to explore, and eat out as often as you like--all while saving a few bucks, a lot of stress, travel time, and contributing to your local economy. Fabulous--ya see!!

We happen to live in a resort town, although we often scoff at the idea. It is a sleepy little rural town about 3 miles from an island that is mostly famous for its Tiki Bar. The upside is that we are less than 90 minutes from: Baltimore, MD; Annapolis,MD; Washington,DC; and Alexandria, VA. Oh, and the other upside is that if we walk outside our door we are in the woods within walking distance of a lake, the Patuxent River, and the Chesapeake Bay. We can hike, kayak, sail...you name it.

Thanks to DH only working a 4 day week, we got to start our staycation on Friday. We originally planned to head to the National Zoo, but because the weather was sooo gorgeous, we decided the zoo might be too crowded. Since we can go to the zoo whenever we want, we decided to pass--and instead headed up to Annapolis for a little shopping. We headed out during nap time so the Tatiman could sleep in the car. It was a lovely and relaxing day, and we got to take advantage of Memorial Day sales. On our way home we debated where to go for dinner, and settled on a place we have often heard of, but never actually been to. Dinner at the Rod & Reel was actually very tasty, and the price was right. There was a live band playing, so after dinner we ventured outside to dance on the sand. There is nothing sweeter than watching the sky light up in pinks and purples over the Chesapeake Bay, while dancing with your husband and your baby.

Day two, my parents came for a visit. We piled into our car and headed a little bit south to take in Air Expo 09. I had never seen the Blue Angels do their thing, and we thought it was such a great opportunity to be able to do so, so close to home. We hit a traffic snaffu on the way into the airshow, but once we were parked, we got to spend a beautiful day looking at all kinds of airplanes and helicopters, honoring our military veterans, eating fair food (any day with a funnel cake is a great day in my book!), and yes--seeing the Blue Angels up close and personal. It was a ton of fun--and did I mention, entrance to the airshow was FREE. Following the show, we headed onto the island for a yummy fresh-caught seafood dinner. And, we got to take in another beautiful sunset--this one over the Patuxent River.

Day three, DH, the Tatiman, and I needed some exercise! We decided to stay close to home and go for a hike. We went to Calvert Cliffs, popped the Tatiman into the backpack, and hiked the beautiful hike out to the Bay. On our way we saw the landscape change from true woodlands, to wetlands, to marsh, to sand--to beautiful beachfront! We played in the freeezing water, saw a huge black snake, and Tatiman filled every single one of his orifices with sand. After our hike back home we decided we were craving Chinese food, so we went to one of our favorite places and enjoyed.

That brings us to today--we were a little tired after all of our adventures, and decided to play it low key. We hung around the house until after lunch, and then decided to head back to the island for a leisurely stroll. Again, it was great being outside, and nice seeing all of the beautiful waterfront homes' gardens in full bloom. For dinner, we headed to a pizza place that we know and love. And then we came home, snuggled with the Tatiman, and put him to bed.

We spent all day, every day, as a family. We spent less than 5 hours, total, traveling (it would have been less than 3 hours except for the unexpected Air Expo traffic!). We got to sleep in the comfort of our own home every night. We didn't have to pack (and unpack) a suitcase. We spent very little money--just for meals. We didn't have to do any dishes.

I feel more rested today than I have in as long as I can remember, and DH agrees. And, we have a weekend full of wonderful memories.

Staycations are here to stay!

Advice for New Moms...NOT as seen on Today

2009-05-21T06:49:00.000-07:00

I admit, the Today Show is my primary news source these days. A few weeks ago, they had a segment featuring two of the show's producers (Mary Ann Zoellner and Alicia Ybarbo) that have written a book about parenting.

Good idea, I thought. I'll add that book to my list of books to review, I thought.

Then, my May issue of Cookie Magazine included an interview with the book's authors. The last question of the interview goes like this:

Cookie Mag: Any essential new-mom advice you turned up that might never occur to most women?

MAZ: Get pajamas you can answer the door in

AY: Yes, ditch the old baggy sweats and get some nice, stretchy, comfy yoga pants--anything with Lycra. A simple cotton frock is great, too.

MAZ: You'll get your picture taken a lot in those first weeks. You'll feel much better about it if you look good.

REALLY??? I mean, REALLY??!?! Is that the "essential" advice they have to give new moms? These are successful, educated, professional women...and that is what they view as most important in those precious few weeks. Sad. Really. I feel bad for them.

So, here is *my* advice for new moms. Things I wish somebody had told me as I embarked on this journey.

1. If you plan to breastfeed, find a lactation consultant before you deliver your baby, and have her on speed dial. I struggled with nursing soooo much in those early weeks. Partly because we had some major issues, but also because I felt like it was supposed to be "natural" and "beautiful" and "easy"--and it was none of those things for us. None.of.them. Having a lc on hand from day 1 could have saved alot of heartache, and a lot of tissues.

2. Find a support group. It can be a group of friends that are already moms, some family members, neighbors, or complete strangers--but you will need people to reassure you that your child is normal, that you will survive, and that you are a wonderful mommy (even when you have to put your crying baby down so you can pee). Again, if you can line these people up before your water breaks, they will be there in those early days when you really, really need them. If not--make your first weekly outing to some place where you are likely to meet people that will become your support group.

3. Have a food plan. Two things are true of those early weeks. (1) You need to eat, and (2) You will forget to eat. Make sure your freezer and fridge are stocked with easy to prepare food. You will feel better if you have some nutritious food in you. You will not have time or energy to make a 3 course meal. It is amazing what a handful of almonds and a string cheese can do for your outlook on life. Eat something (and drink water) every time the baby eats. Make this a priority.

4. Have a shower plan. You will be stinky. Most women sweat profusely in those early weeks. You will also have at least one, if not all, of the following on you: Pee, poop, vomit, breastmilk, tears, dribbled formula, other bodily fluids. It happens to the cleanest of us. Just like food can change your outlook on life--a shower will change your outlook on the day. It will give you 10 minutes to think (or sob) to yourself. It will relax all of your muscles. And, you will come out feeling like a human being. Trust me. Shower--it does a body good.

5. Don't give a (*^% about your appearance. I mean, if you are a person who cannot feel good about themselves without ironed jeans and freshened makeup--you can do that, I guess. But seriously, your newborn is only going to be a newborn for a few very, very short weeks. Forget about how you look, and focus on what is really important--getting to know this new person. If you want some beautiful family photos--pick a day, take a shower, blow dry your hair, put on makeup, and have a photographer come take pictures. We did this, and I cherish those pics. But seriously, on a daily basis--make sure you and your baby are comfortable, happy, healthy, well fed, rested, and bonding...and then pat yourself on the backand feel great about yourself for getting that much together.

Signs, signs, everywhere signs.

2009-05-18T18:11:00.000-07:00

The Tatiman knows sign language. I do not.

He is picking it up somewhere. Where, I don't know, because last I checked he spends every waking hour with me. I did attempt to teach him a few signs when he was around 6 months old, but I gave up after a few days when he wasn't signing and I kept forgetting to show him the signs. Then, about three weeks ago, out of nowhere he started doing those few signs I 'taught' him...and adding his own. It cracks me and DH up because the Tati is clearly trying to tell us something, the same thing, over and over again. Maybe, one day, we will figure it out.

This afternoon I was changing the Tati's post-nap diaper, and he gave me the sign for "more." "More" is usually reserved for mealtimes, when I cannot shovel the food into the Tatiman's face as fast as his highness would desire. We do not keep snacks on the changing table, and Tati knows this. So, I asked Tati "More what?" and he signed "more" again. I said "More kisses?" and gave him a smackeroo on the cheek. He smiled, and signed "more" again. I kissed him again. He giggled...and signed "more" again. Kiss. "More" Kiss *shriek of laughter* "More" Kiss....this went on for a good five minutes. And then, I got the "all done" sign...and with that the Tatiman was off to pull every book he owns off the shelf.

Could I be any luckier? My job is the best in the world. Now, off to study a baby signs book....

Book Review: Millionaire Women Next Door

2009-05-15T18:21:00.001-07:00

Millionaire Women Next Door, The Many Journeys of Successful American Businesswomen, by Thomas J. Stanley (author of NY Times Best-Seller The Millionaire Next Door).

To be fair, I did not want to read this book. I wanted to read The Millionaire Next Door. I went to Borders to buy it, and then I decided that my first step toward becoming a millionaire was not to waste my money on a book I could get from the library. When I went to the library, they didn't have The Millionaire Next Door, but they did have this book. Last I checked, I'm a woman, so I thought this book would be relevant enough.

To be fair again, I did not read the entire book. Here is why: On page 6, there is a section entitled "Be Wary". Mr. Stanley writes, "Before you sign that 'unwritten contract of a lifetime' to be a housewife, read Chapter 10 'The High Price of Being Controlled'" RUH ROH. Before my blood hit the boiling point, I took a deep breath and fast forwarded (or, in 'reading terms' flipped pages) to Chapter 10.

Chapter 10. Precious Chapter 10. In a nutshell, Chapter 10 discusses why it is a huge mistake to marry a man that you expect to (a) work in his family's business and/or (b) inherit a large sum of money--and all the lies he will tell you in order to make you hopelessly dependent on him, and all the reasons why that is a bad idea. If you need the advice that Chapter 10 gives you, you need a whole lot more advice. Maybe you should read the rest of this book.

I, for one, was done. I have a 9 month old toddler to worry about, and I don't have time to read this drivel. I did not marry a man who I expect to takeover his non-existent family business, nor am I expecting a windfall inheritance (although a lottery win wouldn't hurt). I skimmed through the book a little bit more to see if I could find some value (and, considering I don't even have to pay late fines...a little value should go a long way).

I did find one paragraph worthy of reading. In Chapter 4 "Opting for Self Employment", Mr. Stanley describes the traits that successful, self-employed, women have in common. "They are self determined. They make their own job opportunities. They write their own job descriptions. They do their own job evaluations. Their efforts are justly rewarded by the objective realities of the market and its consumers, their clients and customers"

That sounds like me. I am self-determined. I am determined to give my son the best I have to offer. I created this opportunity. I picked a husband who I knew would support me in two very separate journeys--one to reach self fulfillment through an education and career, and the other to be a stay at home mom to our children. I wrote this job description. I decided I wanted to teach the Tatiman to love the outdoors by spending time there each day, to cook him organic home made food, to sing him to sleep three times a day. I do my own evaluations. I review each day before I go to bed at night. I think about how I can be a better mom the next day, a better wife, and better to myself. And, I give myself a pat on the back when I deserve it--I may even toot my own horn to DH when he gets home. Most of all, I am rewarded daily. I am rewarded when a stranger approaches me at a restaurant (in front of my own parents, no less) to tell me how impressed they are with my son's behavior. I am rewarded when I find the secret tickle spot and hear belly shaking laughter. I'm rewarded when my husband thanks me for giving our son all I have to give every day.

Mr. Stanley neglected to mention something that successful women do, which I think could actually be of value. They make their own financial decisions. I set my own salary. I think every woman who stays at home with their children should do the same.You can't become a millionaire without money, duh. Kisses and hugs are great for the soul, but they don't buy mama prime shares. Have I mentioned that I specialized in Divorce Law? I never expect to need my own services, but I'm also not naive. I (and every other woman who does not have her own 'income') needs to have her own money, her own budget, her own savings, and her own investments. And, along with her husband, they can work as a team to devise the best strategy for meeting their financial (and other) goals. Would it have been that difficult for Mr. Stanley to include this advice in blasted Chapter 10?

So, Mr. Stanley. I think you missed the mark with this book. You ignored an entire class of business women in this country--those who run a real family business--by staying at home, managing their household, preparing the next generation of achievers. We are out here, and we are fully in control.

Book Reviews...coming soon to a blog near you!

2009-05-15T17:45:00.000-07:00

Those who know me would use many words to describe me. "Reader" is not one of them. I certainly can read, and there was a time in my life that I was a voracious reader...but that was before college and law school. Being forced to read upwards of 200 pages of technical material each night ruined me. I've never had the desire to join a book club. I've never asked a friend if I could borrow the current-book-that-turns-people-into-lemmings. I've never even gone to see the movies based on popular books just so I could participate in part of the book-lovers discussions.

So why, you may be asking, am I doing book reviews? Well, suddenly, I am finding that there are books I want to read. And when I read, I think. And when I think, I want to discuss. And when I want to discuss...my DH doesn't always want to listen (ha!). So...I decided to review what I read here. Please feel free to jump in with comments and suggestions.

Happy Mother's Day!!

2009-05-10T17:22:00.000-07:00

Today, I celebrated my first official Mother's Day. Last year at this time I was seven months pregnant, and had just stopped vomiting. My DH gave me a card last year, that brought me to tears, because it talked about all of the adventures we had ahead of us.

This year, I am living that adventure.

My Mother's Day started out like any other day. DH brought the Tatiman into bed for his morning nursing, and I snuggled in tight to catch a few more ZZZs. As I was drifting off to sleep, I started thinking about how lucky I am, to have this little person who came into my life and gave me the greatest gift--motherhood. I have been a whole lot of things in my life without the Tati-- a wife, a lawyer, a marathon runner, a world traveler--but he is the ONLY person who could make me a mom. Just as I was feeling so warm with that thought WHAM...pain like I had never felt. Yes, the Tatiman chose that tender and endearing moment to do the one thing I had been dreading since the appearance of two bottom teeth last week--he used those razor sharp new teeth to bite down, eliciting a pain like none before.

Such is the (true) life of a mother. Nobody in this world can bring me more joy (with his smiles, his belly laugh, or his daily accomplishments) or more pain (see above...or see any time his little eyes well up with tears, or he is sick) than my son. And, I wouldn't have it any other way.

So..to my Tatiman...Thank You* for making this first "official"** Mother's Day such a wonderful day. I look forward to a lifetime of adventures with you.

*By "You" I also mean to thank DH, who gave me the three things I wanted most on this day. (1) Sleeping in (2) A walk without a stroller in tow and (3) a certificate for a day at the spa.

** I know I am truly a mother because I feel that guilt that only a mother has. The truth is, I have celebrated Mother's Day for the past 6 years. Each year, I received a card from my beloved golden retriever, Du. After writing this whole post, and thinking all day about how Tati made me a mom...I now feel guilty--I don't want Du to feel like he didn't make me a mom. So--to Du--thank you for priming me for motherhood of a 2 legged son. And thank you for sharing in my stroller-free walk today.

Something to Talk About

2009-04-27T06:43:00.000-07:00

One of my biggest concerns about becoming a SAHM was that I wouldn’t have anything to talk about anymore. I mean, *I* think my kid is cute, but even I don’t want to hear myself repeat the play-by-play of his life each day (“Well, he woke up at 6am…nursed…ate…played…napped…”and repeat). Plus, as an attorney (have I mentioned that Divorce was my primary practice area?), I saw countless marriages fall apart because the parties no longer had anything to talk about. I didn’t want to become boring to my husband, my friends, or myself.

Recently DH and I spent our first weekend away from the Tati-man. We cashed in a gift certificate and stayed in this swanky B&B near Gettysburg. I’ve heard of people that make it a “rule” not to speak about their children when they go out on dates. I, personally, find that ridiculous. On the three hour drive to Taneytown we talked about Tati, about how we both missed him, but were excited to have some time together without worrying about his schedule. We talked about how we would like to handle some issues we foresee in the near future (babyproofing, discipline)…and then we let our conversation naturally flow to other things. Yes, DH talked about his job. Yes, I talked about some of the things that have happened during playgroup. And then something magical happened. We decided to take a Segway tour of the Gettysburg battlefields.

We hadn’t been to Gettysburg since we were kids, and neither of us had ever been on a Segway. As we approached the place where we would pickup the tour, we were nervous and excited. We signed away our lives on their liability waiver, and then suited up with our helmets and headsets. Then, we cheered each other on as we learned to use the little zooming machines—the trick is to not think about balancing, which of course makes you think, exclusively, about balancing. Once skilled in maneuvering, we spent nearly 3 hours Segwaying around, learning all about the battles at Gettysburg—the politics, the soldiers, the surprise attacks—and then it was over. We hopped off our Segways, got our ‘street feet’ back, and continued on our merry way.

That night, at our fabulous 6 course dinner, we both wondered aloud “What do you think would have been different if ‘x’ happened” and “Can you imagine the sight of 23,000 soldiers coming over that hill”…not once did we mention Tati, or DH’s job for that matter, and not even once was there a lull in the conversation.

My point is…just because you cease to work outside you home does not mean you cease to have a life outside of your home. I did not marry DH (or make any of my friends) because we loved to talk about our careers. Just because I no longer have a “career” doesn’t mean that I no longer have things to talk about. Maybe I have to work a little bit harder to make sure I don’t get stuck in the rut of being a mom before I am a person. But so long as I remember that I am a person, with interests and hobbies and dreams…I will never run out of things to say.

Life is too unpredictable to live by a schedule...or is it?

2009-04-14T13:13:00.000-07:00

When I was an attorney (hee hee hee…I love that I can say that in the past tense), I lived by my Outlook task manager. EVERYTHING went into it. Breakfast meetings, client meetings, networking meetings, trial preparations, trials, mediations, vacations, doctors appointments, birthdays…you name it, it was on my calendar. And, since I was either glued to my computer or glued to my phone…I was never more than a click away from knowing exactly what I should be doing at any given second.

I’m no longer glued to my computer, and I can rarely find my cell phone in the bottom of the diaper bag, and here is the big AND…I didn’t even know WHAT I was supposed to be doing with my time. It was freeing and terrifying. And the only person I have to report to drools a lot, and falls asleep in the middle of conversations (hmmm, that doesn’t sound too different from my former boss—just kidding, I worked for an amazing team, and none of them drooled).

In the 10 weeks that I went back to work after having Tati, our house really took a beating. We did a lot of running around from here to there, and making piles of this and that to be dealt with at some other time. I knew, within about 10 minutes of waking up on my first day as a SAHM, that I could not do my job the way I wanted, in a house that was as unorganized, and quite frankly, messy from neglect, as ours.

Enter the Motivated Moms Chore Planning System http://www.motivatedmoms.com. I got tipped off to this glorified chore chart from my mommy board friends. For the paltry sum of $8.00, I have a checklist for becoming June Cleaver. Each night before bed, I look at what I have to accomplish the next day, and each morning I get up and plan my day around my tasks. I get the same mini rush when I check off “cleaned top shelf of fridge” as I used to get when I crossed out “return call to opposing counsel”—only I don’t have any heartburn for the hour before I clean the shelf. Best of all, I don’t feel overwhelmed about all I need to do to get my house into shape. I have a plan, and I can already see the progress.

My favorite chore is, of course “pampering myself”. Hey, if the chore chart says I have to, I have to!!

Simply the Best

2009-04-07T07:34:00.000-07:00

This morning, while I was feeding the Tati-man breakfast (plums and oatmeal, in case you were wondering), I heard the voices on the Today show (the TV was left on in another room) saying that the next segment would feature “Dr. Laura” and advice for transitioning from the workplace to being a SAHM. Dr. Laura (Schlessinger) was on the show this morning to tout her new book, “In Praise of Stay-at-Home-Moms” http://www.drlaura.com/main/

I perked up, ran into the room, and watched. Now that the Tati is quietly napping, I can put my thoughts on the segment together.

Dr. Laura started out by saying that being a SAHM is the, “…best gift a woman can give herself, her family, and society”. Ok, I’m with her there, kind of. I suppose now is a time to address the issue that keeps popping up—there is a ‘war’ between employed moms and SAHMS. I do not intend to debate that issue here, but my *personal* opinion is the following: 1. We are ALL working moms. 2. The “best” kind of mom is one that does what she needs to do to meet her own family’s needs. Period.

I feel like being able to stay at home is a wonderful gift. But the best gift a woman can give herself, her family, and society? Nope. There are women out there working every day to cure childhood cancer. That is an amazing gift. There are women teaching children to read—what an incredible lifelong gift. There are women who drive buses so other people can get places they need to go, who cook and serve food that fills tummies, who work in retail, who curate museums, who are astronauts—the list goes on and on. I cannot, for even one second, entertain the thought that the gifts these women are giving to themselves—in the form of self fulfillment, to her family—in the form of income (among other things), and society—in the form of making our world go round—is any less than the gift of being able to stay at home with my son.

Dr. Laura went on to use terms including “denigrated” “not supported” “made to feel stupid”…and that there “isn’t much in society that says what you are doing is wonderful”. Maybe I’ve just been really lucky—I haven’t run into any of this. In fact, my experience has been quite the opposite. On my last day of work, our firm’s lone female partner (who, herself, was a SAHM, and then worked part time until her kids were in school) made a point to tell me how excited she was for me, and how she knew I wouldn’t regret the decision. Another attorney that I frequently ran up against in the court room sent me a bouquet of flowers with a card saying “Enjoy your new career. You have the best job in the world”. In fact every single person that has made a comment on our decision has made a positive comment.

Maybe times are different from when Dr. Laura decided to become a SAHM. Maybe I’ve just been fortunate to surround myself with people who will support me through anything. One thing is for sure—there is no reason for me, or any SAHM to feel stupid, denigrated, or not supported. If you are feeling that way, come in, pull up a seat, grab yourself a glass of water (I’m trying to up my intake to 64oz a day), and let’s chat.

I get by with a little help from my (mommy board) friends.

2009-04-05T17:36:00.000-07:00

On the advice of friends, I joined a “mommy board”—an online message board where fellow moms can share tips, tricks, stories, and camaraderie. It is my replacement for the Bar Association. Within days my vocabulary changed from being a BIA (Best Interest Attorney) to SAHM (Stay at home mom). My DH (that’s “dear husband” on a good day, or “dick head” on a bad—FYI) just got used to decoding my attorney acronyms…now he has a whole new language to learn.

I was lucky to have an ‘in’ to an already established mommy board. One of my good friends from law school met these ladies nearly 10 years ago when they were planning their weddings on The Knot. They have supported each other, online, through weddings, divorces, births of children, deaths of children, breastfeeding, solids feeding, sleep issues, sicknesses…and everything in between. It was like walking into a big clique, but being welcomed with open arms. Where else can I run when its 2am, and I’m up because my kid has just pooped so hard it shot out of his diaper and into his hair? AND find somebody who has experienced the same thing? It has truly been a godsend. And, it has given me the courage to do something else—make mommy friends IRL (“In Real Life” for those not indoctrinated).

You see, when I left my career, I also left a big piece of myself behind, and it was hard to get out into my new world when I wasn’t even sure what my new identity would be. Would I be a crunchy granola organic mom? A mom who reads ALL the books? A mom who thrives on chaos? My new mommy board friends helped me sort out a lot in those early days—mostly reassuring me that even though I didn’t spend 19 years and over a hundred thousand bucks getting a formal education for my new job, I was prepared to handle it. And, I don’t have to know what kind of mom I will be. Today, I was a “play with Little People on the floor and sing silly songs about stinky poops” kind of mom.

How I Got Here.

2009-04-02T06:57:00.000-07:00

I was born to do great things. From the moment I came out, with my rockstar black hair and my constant need for attention, I knew, I would make it big one day.

As a very little girl, I wanted to be a veterinarian—until I learned that some puppies die. That was the end of that. Next up: CEO of Nike. I didn’t even know what a CEO was, but I knew I wanted my decisions to make the nightly news. I wanted to be sporty and glamorous. And rich.

I went to college and majored in business at a top 20 undergrad business school. I started working—as a professional brainstormer (my business cards actually said “Innovator”) while in college, at an international company with over 42,000 employees. Two years after graduating from college I began applying, and was accepted to a number of top 20 law schools. My path to greatness was taking shape.

And then I met my husband. And got cancer. And life changed.

I finished up my 3 years at my top 20 law school. Following law school, I got married, took a job at the number one firm in my new hometown (granted, it was a small barely suburban town---not exactly the high profile NY, LA, or DC firm I had envisioned)—and went to work.

On December 1, 2007, I saw two pink lines on a home pregnancy test. And life changed.

Through most of my pregnancy I was too sick to really dive into work, but I still put on the ever-expanding maternity suits, and went to court. Even though I had to run out of the court room, on more than on occasion, to vomit—I got such a charge out of my job. Winning a case put me on a soaring high. Losing *gasp* brought out even more fire in me. I loved the challenge.

On August 7, 2008, after 44 hours of labor, my son, the Tati-man, was born. And life changed. In ways I NEVER dreamed.

I had fought to get 10 weeks of maternity leave. The most my firm had ever granted before was two. I got 10. I was THAT good at negotiating.

On October 14, 2008 I returned to work. I could not handle dropping my 10 week old son off at a veritable stranger’s house—so I had my husband do it. I did not cry once at work. I focused on my job, refusing to look at the clock, until I noticed everybody else had left the office. Then I went to pick up my son. He was asleep in the arms of someone else (ok, it was our daycare provider, whom we had carefully selected and fully trusted). I took him from our new daycare provider’s arms and the waterworks came. Sure, he was only 10 weeks old and I knew exactly how he had spent his day—mostly sleeping, with 3 bottles, and more sleeping. But in my heart, I felt like I had missed a lifetime.

Fast forward about 10 weeks. I’d gotten used to the routine—although I still didn’t do daycare drop-offs, thanks to my husband. But I did pick my little man up every afternoon—sans tears. It is the week before Christmas. My husband comes home from work one night—and out of nowhere says “I think we would all be happier if you stayed at home full time”

**insert sound of record scratching** WHHAAAAAAAAAAAAT!?!??!

Of course I had been thinking it. But saying it was another thing. You don’t get to be the CEO of Nike by staying at home. But…life changes.

So we set about figuring out if staying at home was a real possibility. We did have goals that we didn’t want to sacrifice. We did not live frugally by any stretch of the imagination—we enjoyed eating out and shopping and vacationing. We didn’t want to give it up. Could we really have our cake and eat it too?

Turns out, yes. We thought we could. With a few minor changes (first step—sell our extra car—a BMW—my husband might argue that wasn’t a ‘minor’ change, but in the scheme of things, it was) and a few major changes (notifying my managing partner, out of the blue, on a Tuesday, that I would be quitting)…my adventure as a Professional Stay At Home Mom began.

I have been joking with my Husband that he should throw me a retirement party. He has made two comments (in addition to rolling his eyes, ha!) 1. I’m not retiring; I’m on hiatus, and 2. Being a Stay at Home Mom is probably the most important job in the world.

Touché. And besides…a “Hiatus Party” doesn’t sound nearly as fun.

So with that…I am on my way to a new adventure. One I never imagined I would take, but could not be more excited. I’ve already gotten lots of advice from friends on how I should go about excelling at my new job…and I decided to document the successes and pitfalls here, for anybody who might be following in my shoes one day.