Happy Mother's Day

I was recently asked to address a group of women at their monthly meeting. Apparently I'd made some sort of positive impression on the coordinator. I can't imagine why, as I am still running around like a chicken with its head cut off after my three boys, ages 9, 6, and 4.

Two other ladies spoke before me. One was a practicing psychologist and another an ethsitician. When the mistress of ceremonies introduced them, she included their impressive qualifications, which included advanced degrees and their own business. Since I was a last minute addition (the original speaker wasn't able to make it) she hadn't had time to find out anything impressive about me. When she introduced me, "and our last speaker is Kirsten Kennedy...a ..." she hastily mentioned my past accomplishments, which I must admit, sounded impressive. The last one was finished over 10 years ago, and I've sacrificed myself on the altar of motherhood ever since then.

When I was preparing my speech the night before, I was filled with panic. What on earth could I say to a group of women of differing ages, education, and income that would be entertaining, inoffensive, and interesting? I was staring at the blank screen on my computer when the answer came in the form of my 4 year old son covered in sand, coming into the house to request my assistance with the finer points of castle construction.

Of course. Kids. Most of us had them. And those who didn't had probably seen some at some point or another. They definitely had heard them. My speech went like this:

Hi. I'm so glad to see so many of you were able to make it this morning. I was asked to address you and offer some practical advice of some sort. About what, I'm still not sure. I'm sorry I was running late today, but our boys had karate and gymnastics, and our dryer isn't working, so I had some trouble finding clean clothes this morning. I have three boys. The first two are separated by three years, and the middle and youngest are 21 months apart. Let me make it easy for those of you without any functioning brain cells after your sleepless night: at one point in my life I had a five year old, a two year old,
and a newborn.

We were living in a two bedroom house without a dishwasher. Less said on the size of my house, the better. Sort of like the size of my hips. When my youngest was 4 months old, at some point in the midst of the chaos which now passed for my day, I realized that something was wrong with me. I was fat, exhausted, and overwhelmed. In step with my generation, I ran out and got a book to help me with my problem. That didn't work, so I joined a mom's group. That only made it worse. I'd never seen so many thin, pretty, put together women with perfectly behaved children in my life. I quickly decided I needed to find out what they had, and get it, quick.

I got a "to do" list longer than my nursing tops. Depending on the source, the advice I received only made me more tired. I needed to work out every day. I needed to keep the house nice and the children clean. I needed to cook nutritious meals. I needed to get together with some other moms. I needed to develop a hobby. I needed to put on makeup every day. I needed to dress nicely. I needed to go out on dates with my husband. I needed to discipline myself to do a Bible study every day. The books and women all promised me, do this one thing (whatever their particular "thing" was), and you will feel better.

I have only one thing to say. Baloney. What I needed was a full body post partum epidural. When was I supposed to put on makeup, when there were some days I didn't even make it into the shower? Work out? I got a workout every day pushing the double stoller up a 60 degree hill. Keep the house nice, puhleese. By the time I got the dishes done from breakfast it was time to make lunch. Fold the laundry - why? Do you have any idea how much a new baby spits up?

What I needed as angel. And that's what I got. She knew, you see, what I was going through. Without my even asking, she flew across the country to my rescue. For one glorious week, I slept, took a shower unaccompanied, went for walks with my baby, and ate nutritious meals. Mama cooked, cleaned, did the laundry, and somehow kept the boys entertained during it all. She even stayed up all night once so that I could get a full night's sleep.

I closed off my speech with an exhortation to the assembled women to ask for help if they needed it. Even if they were a graduate of West Point and had an MBA in Finance. I was beseiged with women sharing their stories with me after the luncheon.

Happy Mother's Day, Mama. I love you.

Notes for a New Mother

It's actually happening. You're having a baby. You're eating right, sleeping right, exercising right, and are reading all the stuff you're supposed to. The secret is out, and admit it: you're wearing maternity clothes so that no one can possibly imagine that you're just eating a wee bit too much at mealtimes.

Now comes a wonderful time in a pregnant woman's life that the books all refer to as "nesting". Personally, I think it's just the time when it actually hits you that you're going to have to make a space to put this little person who's due to arrive. Not only a space, but provide food, clothing, shelter, and entertainment.

In response to a query about whether or not she really needed all the stuff displayed at the baby store, I recently gave out the following gems of maternal experience to an expectant mother:

#1: What somebody else found to be indispensable may not be to you or your baby.

#2: A baby bathtub may not be entirely necessary (but then a very clean kitchen sink will be!)

#3: You will probably get a lot of baby blankets and cute outfits as presents. I don't know why, but when a woman who is done having children goes into the baby section of the store, all thoughts of sensible fly out of her mind and she gets the most adorable damn outfit she can find (usually also the one which is the most impractical to dress the kid in.)

#4: Grandmas are famous for blankets. I don't know why, they just are. You'll need a lot of them because the kid will spit up and pee and poop on everything at least once, if not all at the same time.

#5: Wait to get the gym, bouncer thingy, and/or swing until you're tired of holding your adorable precious baby. This may take years.

#6: Wipe warmer dries out wipes. Unless you want to stumble around at 3 o'clock in the morning looking for some with cleaning solution on them as the kid wails and flails questionable excretions all over, I suggest skipping the wipe warmer.

#7: Have one pack of size 1 diapers in the house ready for baby. Otherwise, buy as you go. Unless you want stacks of diapers that don't fit the kid stacked in your place masquerading as truly avante guard art.

#8: Shoes: personally, I bought a lot of clothes with feet in them. My children were forever losing their socks, so this was the only way I could still find them. (The socks that is, not the baby.)

#9: Despite all your best intentions to breast feed your baby, there will be a time when your boobs are really sore, she's fed, and the kid won't stop yelling. Since this will in all probability occur at 4 a.m., I suggest having a pacifier on hand. Get one of the rubber ones, not the clear silicone kind. It says "NUK" on it. Don't let anyone fool you - the kid won't get confused between you and the nuk.

#10 Bag to hold all the stuff when you do, indeed, actually leave the house. Diaper bags come in all shapes, colors, and sizes these days. Do not get the flowery or cutesy kind. This gives husband all the excuse he will ever need to not have to carry the diaper bag. Unless you want to be consistently relegated to toting the suitcase that now is part of the requirements for leaving the house, get a diaper bag with a rugged pattern to camouflage the changing pad and butt cream therein.

#11: What the hell else is your husband there for, if not to be dispatched to buy anything the baby (or you) needs RIGHT NOW? (Be careful with this one, as overuse past the first 30 days of the kid's life may cause him to suspect a lack of planning on your part.

You're going to have a baby

for Nikki

The queasy tummy, desire to eat really strange foods, tiredness, hot flashes, and love affair with the bathroom wasn't enough to clue me in. No, we women nowadays, in true instant gratification fashion, aren't even content to wait until a certain biological function doesn't occur on time. We want to know, and we want to know now. For all 3 of my pregnancies, I ran out to the nearest drugstore, peed on a stick, and knew for sure .... I was having a baby!

The really super part is keeping it secret. When I discovered I was pregnant, I'd be walking down the street, and suddenly have the desire to grin at complete strangers with that, "I know something you don't know" smile I developed in 3rd grade. But the really fun part is keeping it secret from your husband. The elaborate, often amusing plans of telling him have taken on the complexity of an operations order for a D Day assault.

Of course, he does eventually notice that --it eating grin on your face, which has a tendency to clue him in. If you can keep that under control, (and if he's really busy and distracted with say, work, moving, or something else that just might take up his concentration) you're home free. The sky's the limit.

With our first baby, my husband was actually attending a training course for about three weeks following my discovery. This gave me entirely too much time to plan how to spring the announcement. Worse, was, I was living with my parents at the time, so concealing the quesy tummy, etc. demanded a great deal of my attention and creativity. Thank goodness my living quarters were in the basement.

When we were finally reunited, he was up to his eyeballs in details and things he needed to to before he could start his new job, move, and all the delightful accompanying details that go with it. I kept hinting we needed to talk, and eventually we went for a walk, at which time I mentioned there were some details we needed to iron out before he departed for Korea. Money, living arrangements, names.... Priceless.

Now, with our second baby, it was even better. Again, we were getting ready to move, starting a new job, and he had a huge race he was getting ready for (see my earlier posting, the Runner's Wife). I sprung the news on him when we were out to dinner, casually mentioning that Matthew would make a good big brother. Our fellow diners were highly amused.

With our third baby, I didn't have the energy or time to figure out anything elaborate. I found out by peeing on a stick, with my two boys (ages 1 and 4 and the time) pounding on the bathroom door, demanding to know what on earth Mommy was doing in there. My poor husband was completely surprised, as this baby wasn't entirely planned for (hey, we're type A+, what can I say). I couldn't have supressed that --it eating grin on my face even if I'd had the energy. To this day, when I have that grin plastered on my face, Josh starts feeling nervous.

But telling the husband pales in comparison to the really BIG QUESTION: "who do we tell next?" My parents? Yours? Both at the same time? I've known couples who've lain awake nights, trying to figure out which set of parents deserve to get the news first. And when you're preggers, you need all the sleep you can get. (You sure won't get any AFTER the baby comes.) And after you've tackled that monumental problem, what about siblings? aunts & uncles? cousins? grandparents? It's a nightmare for every prospective parent. And the all important, but potentially hazardous, "who do we invite into the delivery room with us?" (personally I say piss everybody off and just have your husband)

But what I loved the most is the barrage of advice that comes after the congratulations. What to eat, what not to drink, or smoke, how to sleep, what maternity clothes to buy, put your feet up, get enough exercise, stay happy.....And your mother suddenly becomes the most brilliant, saintly person in the world. Who else can advise you on absolutely everything, yet still assure you that this is your baby?

And the questions from absolute strangers once you start to "show". Personal information you would never dream of sharing with another living soul becomes conversational fodder at the check out line. When are you due? Do you know what you're having? (duh - a baby) How much weight did you gain? (none of your bleeping business) Are you going to get an epidural? (do I look like a masochist?) Are you going to breast or bottle feed? Cloth or disposable? And, my all time personal favorite, "How are you feeling?"

However, you're pregnant. I'm sorry, I know I'm going to get all sorts of hate mail for his one, but I personally never went with the "we're" pregnant. Baloney. I'm the one who's throwing up. I'm the one who's going to get swollen ankles, leg cramps, food cravings, a sore back, and stretch marks. We are having a baby, but I'm was the one who was pregnant. All he has to do is fetch whatever food you happen to want at a moment's notice, massage your back, rub your feet, put up with the mood swings, and at frequent and regular intervals, assure you how beautiful you are. Who gets the easy part, huh?

And the kid's not even here yet. Heck, the peanut's just a blip on the ultrasound at this point.

I've decided I'm going to say just two things to my brother and sister-in-law:

1) you're going to be great parents

2) do not, under any circumstances whatsoever, travel with a brand new baby on a plane for Christmas to your parents' house.

The Mommy Olympics

After years of viewing the Olympic games, I've decided there needs to be an event that middle aged women dominate. I'm contacting the Olympic Committee with a few thoughts on suggested competitive events.

The Bathtub Brawl

Timed baths for at least two children in a standard sized tub at the same time. No whirlpool or spa baths are permitted. Soap must be used for its intended purpose. Hair washing is optional, but is looked favorably upon by the judges. Points taken off for each quart of water on the floor outside of the tub. Extra points awarded for each additional child and number of toys that actually stay in the bathtub during the course of the bath.

The Get Ready Rodeo

A timed event including breakfast, teeth brushing, face washing, dressing self and children, and putting on shoes. No velcro fasteners, shoelaces only. Cold cereal can be considered breakfast. Extra points awarded for the backpack scramble and lunchbox locator. Hair brushing had to be removed as an area of judgement, as boys had an unfair advantage. At least two children for this event, one of which has to be a) in diapers, or b) in the middle of potty training.

The Grocery Gallup

For experienced mommies only. The mommy must pick up groceries for a family of five or more that will last at least one week. Extra points awarded for fresh fruits and vegetables, none for frozen pizza. Four food groups must be represented. Failure to stay within budget limitations is grounds for immediate disqualification. Contestants must be accompanied by at least one child under the age of four. Napping children do not count. One family member must be a) in diapers, or b) potty training.

Contestants will be judged on maintaining calm in the face of at least one, possibly more, whining/crying children between the ages of birth and 4 years. Expect at the very least one fellow store customer to make obnoxious remark. Extra points awarded for snappy, but not snippy, comeback. Points will be deducted for any time over 1 hour spent in the grocery store.

The Pick up Pentathalon

Contestants must be prepared to deal with car not starting at any stage in this event. Automatic disqualification for any children late to any appointment or forgotten at activity. Bonus points awarded for nursing mothers. This event is currently based on a typical weekday. Weekends are under consideration for the Winter games. No carpools allowed. Pregnant contestants are given a 30 minute head start and two nausea breaks.

First, the competing mommy must drop off at least one child at school, grade Kindergarten or above. It is raining and child must be kissed goodbye and wished a good day.
The mommy must then proceed to drop off another child at a daycare type setting or preschool. Child cannot be dropped off at the door of the facility. The mommy and child must park and walk to the assigned classroom. A third child must be held on hip during this event. For those who do not have a third child, a 25 pound egg will be assigned for your use. Any cracks in the egg will be grounds for immediate disqualification.

Once that child is safely ensconced in preschool, mommy must pick up dry cleaning, prescription at a stand alone drugstore, and purchase birthday present for upcoming birthday party.
At this point, the contestant may choose to pause to catch their breath, nurse a baby, or for a trip to Starbucks or the local liquor store for fortification. Then she must return to school to drop off lunch box that oldest child forgot.

The mommy must then pick up the child at preschool, again parking and taking baby on hip. (Those assigned eggs will face an inspection station) . Points are deducted for your kid being the last one waiting to be picked up. The mommy must admire artwork and insert child into raincoat before leaving the facility. Dashes to the car without wearing a raincoat are not allowed.
The mommy must then drop off the car for an oil change, but is permitted to take children into cramped, dirty waiting area. By the time the oil change is completed, it is time to pick up oldest child from school. Expect delays due to rain.

This event ends once child is picked up from school and is seated with seatbelt fastened. The mommy is awarded points at each station for poise, remembering dry cleaning stub, checking with the pharmacist for medicine dosage, choosing present that birthday child does not already have, and being early for pickup at school.

In the event of a tie, an additional activity will be inserted into the afternoon. This may be, but is not limited to, a) sporting event or, b) a birthday party, or c) scouting event, or d) church activity.



The Clean the House category and Completing the Laundry could not be included as competitive events. Everyone knows that's impossible.

Where did my memory go?

Why is it that I can't remember to file the taxes, yet I can remember 46 different Thomas the Tank Engine character names?

There's a whole new world just waiting to be discovered once you have children. It's a world you never even imagined was out there. From my own childhood, I have fond memories of Sesame Street. I am reading my children the same silly story about the monster at the end of the book starring Grover. But my kids not only have Sesame Street to discourse on, but also Teletubbies, Blue's Clues, and Thomas the Tank Engine.

The Teletubbies are fairly easy. There are only four of them, with whimsical names like Tinky Winky, Dipsy, La-La, and my personal favorite, Po. Blue's Clue's is pretty easy, with only two principle characters, Steve and the blue dog, coincidentally named Blue. But Thomas the Tank Engine really stretched the old brain cells, let me tell you.

There's the cheeky blue engine, named Thomas who gets into all kinds of scrapes with his friends Percy (green) and James (red). But it's insidiously tricky after that. Because then tender engines like Edward (blue), Henry (green), and Gordon (blue) enter in to really confuse you. The little numbers painted on the side are some help, but once you've got them down other buses, cars, and locomotives are continuously introduced so as to make your life hell going past the toy aisle in Target and Walmart.

But, I've done it. I've even sat with my children and watched the movies, read them the books, and colored in the Thomas the Tank Engine coloring books. I've made curtains, purchased a Thomas alarm clock, and put sheets on the little devils beds with Thomas and Friends scattered about them. T-shirts and socks, as well as underwear adorned with trains are scattered about the house. There are even Thomas the Tank Engine bathtowels, shower curtains, soapdishes and toothbrushes available for "your little Thomas fans" as the catalogs that have insidiously crept into our house proclaim. I couldn't have avoided knowing their names if I tried.

In an effort to diversify our son's interests, we would make subtle hints about Batman and Spiderman. To no avail. "Thomas is my favorite!" was his inevitable reply. He recently suggested we paint his bedroom "Thomas blue" during one trip to Home Depot. If I have to listen to Alec Baldwin narrate another DVD about the Adventures of Thomas I might have to enter an institution for the maternally insane.

Then, one day after kindergarten our son came home and told me, "Mommy, Thomas (his make believe friend) has Hot Wheels cars that run on a track".