From Kathleen:

Do you ever get those looks from your girls that you are a total loser?  I’ve seen that look a few times this week. First on Wed it was crazy hat day…wear a crazy hat and you get to be out of uniform.  We arrive at school at 8am, see all of the kids lined up and here is Ella in uniform and no hat.  Ella says:  “Mom you forgot crazy hat day!! “ And then gives me the look.

Today, I remember to take her turkey that she decorated, as well as her lunch, homework, gloves, hat, coats for the homeless and her library books.  We get to the classroom (because we missed line-up since we were late) and Ella says to me “Mom, you forgot the $2 for the Literacy Day!”  Again…the look.  It took all of my power to not say “Yes, but let me f*cking tell you what I did remember …”

I thought brain loss only happened when you were pregnant…apparently my brain is still shrinking because I can’t keep it together.

Ten harrowing years, vats of government cheese, one college degree, several rungs of the IT career ladder and one husband later I got pregnant again with a beautiful daughter (also with that unfortunate Charlie Brown head, owie!).  My son was thrilled to finally be a big brother, and it was an added bonus to have a husband that was actually helpful. 

We left our Denver home to the land of opportunity (as well as large belt buckles, 72 oz steaks, and oil wells) when my newest and loudest child was just five weeks old.  There’s nothing that says ‘welcome to Texas’ like breast-feeding a squalling infant in a moving van while parked behind a Lubbock (doesn’t rhyme with buttock) Wal-Mart. Talk about culture shock.  We were overwhelmed by our new city’s heat, the humidity, Jurassic-styled insects and the copious amounts of gravy ladled over everything except maybe salad, unless requested.  A few years passed and we settled in.  We’d wrangled decent jobs, bought a home in the ‘burbs and I had my third child, another girl.  Another culture shock. I never knew having children less than a decade apart was so damned difficult.  Hell, I could talk with my son about politics and throw back a few beers when his sister came on the scene.  Whereas, that same sister turned into a raving, toy-breaking, floor-peeing, eardrum-piercing maniac the moment the youngest was born. 

I’d never been so excited for maternity leave to end.

Presently, my life as an eternal mom is a daily attempt to juggle a crazy, frantic household in addition to a crazy, frantic career.  I wouldn’t give my children away for anything (well…no one will take them), but sometimes I wish I could just worry about little things like acne, geography quizzes and outfits again. At least I think that’s what I fretted about, eons ago, when I wasn’t yet a mom.

To most, motherhood is a journey, one in which you start off on what you think is the ideal path. It takes twists and turns and lands you in a place you never thought you were heading. I’m not on a journey. I’ve drifted off course and am now lost in the woods. I’ve stumbled past the same tree over and over again. I’ve fallen, skinned my knees, bumped my head and cursed out loud, too many times to mention. But, at the end of the day, when its all said and done, I get up, dust myself off, and keep going.

Each day is nearly identical to the ones before it, yet, there is always a new story to tell, a boo boo to kiss, a milestone to celebrate. I started my journey as a mother aware that I had no idea what I was doing, but determined to try like Hell, and pray my kids didn’t end up in therapy! Here I am two and a half years and 3 kids later, and I still don’t have a clue! My house is a wreck, I’m late to work, the girls have on mismatched socks, and the baby’s pacifier has gone missing, again. Guess what…. I’m loving every minute of it!

My children deserve their own Reality Show. They are wild, crazy, sassy, smart, cute, and cuddly. Everything they do is over the top. They laugh loud, and cry even louder. They fight hard, but love harder still.

The girls are 2.5 going on 25, constantly saying or doing things that leaves my jaw on the floor. Don’t let the sweet faces fool you, my girls are forces of nature. Saniya (on the left) is a sassy little diva. If she feels a certain way, you know about it. She has NO problem expressing her joy, her anger, her sadness. She is very protective of her siblings and isn’t afraid to speak up for them. She sits on the arm of the couch, like a Queen on her throne, watching the world go round, and dictating what she thinks should happen next. Saniya is also a naughty little thing. She knows just the right buttons to push, and does so quite often.

This brings me to Saadia, her partner in crime. Saadia is very old. Talking to her is like talking to an adult, only toddler sized. She is very opinionated and not afraid to speak her mind. She too can be emotional, but errs on the side of indifference. Saadia is not the type of child to feed into the “goo-goo-gaa-gaa” brush off, that adults toss her way. She wants answers and she wants them now!

Silas, well, he is just fat and happy! He is 7 months old now, and very content. He watches everything with a look in his eyes that makes me wonder if he’s plotting to take over the world! Silas is at the point where he is much braver than he should be. He pulls up to stand, then lets go, just because. He crawls toward the edge of the bed with such confidence, that I almost think he has a plan for when he gets to the edge!

I’m Geri, a 27 year old Financial Aid Advisor with three kids under the age of three. I am stressed and strained, frazzled and frantic, but happy. Our lives are filled with so much chaos and noise that I’m sure the world wonders how we could possibly survive it all. I don’t have all of the answers–in fact I have very few. We’re just riding the wave, wondering where it’ll land us!

Every day with my crew is an adventure. Stay tuned…

You know how sometimes when you reach for a hanger, it gets stuck on all the other hangers next to it?  A choice looms on these occasions that can steer the course of your entire day.  Do you calmly reach up and coax the hanger loose?  Or do you do what I do- violently yank and twist until every single hanger in the mix comes crashing down in a scratchy pile right on top of your head.  

This sort of incident happens to me all the time, mostly leaving me reactive and resigned for the rest of the day.  I’ve heard there are people out there that simply pick a loose hanger from the end, but I don’t believe it.   

As my bio says, I am a stay-at-home mom to two pre-schoolers.  Anna is four and Silvia will be two in a few months.  My patient, enduring and occasionally annoyed (and annoying) husband is Kurt. Since Silvia was born, starting almost immediately after her birth and stretching into yesterday, We have all been riding the roller coaster of my postpartum depression- PPD if you want to be catchy, which I do. 

The fun part is that I am not always reactive and resigned.  Sometimes I am peppy and possibly even mildly annoying in my exuberance.  Those days, I can clean the house in 20 minutes flat, call all my friends and laugh it up, play my two girls into the ground and have dinner on the table at 6 P.M. on the dot.  This unpredictability makes me a highly sought after person to be around.  And to avoid.

Still, all hope is not lost.  A few moments ago I took the clean sheets upstairs and made up my bed as pretty as could be.  Then I looked down and saw the enormous and completely not hidden mattress pad that I’d somehow stepped over at least three times but failed to see or, you know, put on the mattress before I made the bed. 

Once again, the choice loomed, how to respond, how to set the day?  For this moment, I just laughed, folded the king size lump up as best I could and plopped it in the corner. Maybe tomorrow I’ll just rip the bed apart and remake it in tears, but I try not to think about that.  For today, I’ll just take things moment to moment.

One hanger at a time.

My oldest son, Gabriel, is 24.  Zachary is 21, Arthur is 19, Rebecca just turned 17 and Rachel is 14.  With each landmark stage of their development over the years I made an accomplishment of my own.  For instance when my first child was born I was the happiest I had ever been, until my second child was born and then the third.  When my first daughter was born I was ecstatic at first but raising a daughter was drastically different from raising sons and when my second daughter was born I was terrified by the prospect of having two little females in my house.

It was at that point that I decided we had been ‘blessed’ quite enough and I had my husband neutered.

With each first step taken, each new tooth, each first turd in the potty chair, I experienced a sense of pride and joy that I just knew could not be out done only to have the bar rise as the children matured.  Compliments at off key recitals gave way to tears of awe as years of practice began to pay off.  Construction paper kindergarten graduation diplomas fade next to gold embossed parchment that still echoes of Pomp and Circumstance. Even a GED is honored for refusal to accept failure.

 When my oldest son was just 4 years old I found him perched on the ledge of our 4th floor apartment, waving to the school children waiting for the bus below.  I thought at the time that I had experienced the worst fear a mother could endure.  I found out how wrong I was the day he deployed to Iraq.  In the months that followed I would experience even greater levels of fear.  He just recently returned safely from his second tour in the Gulf and I can finally sleep easier, but a new fear haunts me as my youngest son contemplates a similar military future.

My baby is now 14 and yet I still find myself dealing with new situations on a daily basis.  I frequently call my parents and beg them to reassure me that I was never ‘that bad’.  Most times they just laugh at me.  In moments of honest reflection I must admit that despite all of my past criticisms of their methods, I have resorted to many of my parents ways, and it is quite obvious that my children have in fact become who and what I was as a child.

 I grew up in Hawaii, barefoot and suntanned, but my heart was always up in the clouds over some distant mountain, so it came as no surprise that I should end up in the foothills of the Colorado Rockies when my husband retired from the military.  I was finally able to concentrate on my own hobbies and career.  I am now a part time photographer and a full time retail security associate.  During the day I take pictures of wildlife and weddings, and I tackle shoplifters by night. 

 My fondest past time though is still spending time with my kids, and more recently my grand babies.   Although they are older now, my  sons and daughters still indulge me with impulsive hugs and silly text messages.  I find goofy doodles slid under my bedroom door proclaiming me as their best friend.  I love that they feel they can share their dreams and fears with me. 

And when they get impatient with me and my ways, I love to point out that they will all look like their dad and me in about 20 years or so.  Yep, I get some major parental satisfaction in the looks on their faces when I share that little bit of genetic trivia!

 Long ago in this adventure, I learned that there aren’t many awards handed out for the gig of motherhood. If there were, however, most likely I’d manage to take myself out of the running for them within an hour or two of waking up in the morning…

One banner that seems to frequently elude me is that dang Mother of the Year Award. It’s not like I don’t have good intentions.  It’s just that I seem to forget about them around the time I begin the task of getting my children out the door in the mornings. The goals are to get my Type A 8 year old second grade son to realize that it’s going to be ok even though we forgot to study his spelling words last night,  while at the same time getting my Type Z 6 year old first grade son to realize that I meant it for the last time already when I said go get your freaking clothes on.  All this and more  without disturbing my three year old autistic son who is just trying to line up his Higglytown Hero figurines in peace. Trust me, that last one is the most important of all because we certainly don’t need to add a Spectrum Meltdown to the chaos of a school morning.  So while I do many times wake up with the intention of parenting my children with love and logic, most of the time, I end up screaming with it instead.

My name is Hillary, I’m 36, and I’m a stay at home mother of three boys ages 8 and under. Also,  one weekend a month, I take off my Regular Wife hat and put on my Army Wife hat.  I’m hoping that as you get to know me and my family, you will agree with me that sometimes, most of the time, it’s just easier not to take oneself so seriously.  As moms, as parents, as adults we have our good days, our really good days and our days that we’d just love to shove the whole mess under the rug.

I’m very excited to be a part of the MA!Blogger group and I hope that you’ll find my life as amusing as I (usually) do.

And my sister-in-law said to me, “I miss those days.  I miss the days when my entire agenda for the day was to throw the kids in a stroller and go to the park.”

I remember just staring at her vacantly. “You miss THIS?” I thought?

Fast-forward five years and the girls are in school, they have friends over, they have homework, they have ballet and soccer and gymnastics and… I can’t get a decent meal on the table, never complete a task, and have to REMIND myself to sit down on the floor with them, a position I thought I’d never get to abandon just five years ago…

And I miss my stroller. I miss walking to the park without feeling like the clock is ticking on some other priority. I miss the time with my mom-girlfriends who were in the same “neverending days” phase that I was in. We never see each other any more!

I still believe that early mommyhood is back-breaking, shocking, isolating work… but I miss my stroller sometimes.

……..

• (Fiddling with radio)
• Dave: I like track 1. It rocks!
• Janalee: Yeah, it’s good but track 4 is my favorite. (pushing buttons to #4)
• Dave: Come on! Track 1! (pushing buttons)
• Janalee: Track 4!
• Dave: (waving hand before console like Vanna) Driver’s cockpit. Hands off.
• Janalee: Can we compromise with Track 14?
• Dave: FINE!

….

And now, I reveal the CD we were listening to… HANNAH MONTANA’S BEST OF BOTH WORLDS!  That is the most recent CD we own by nearly a DECADE!  What has happened to us…?