It’s Time To Leave the House

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I have worn the same pair of joggers for the past 13 months, roughly 5 days out of the week. I figure the other 2 days of the week have averaged “jammies” with a loose pant thrown into the mix very once in a while. I have enjoyed the loose pant year quite a bit! The down side to this has been not really noticing the Covid pounds slowly jumping into the joggers with me. I have mostly only myself to blame, but there have been actual bumps in the road that have put a hitch in my giddy up. I hit a sidewalk crack while running in October, and (after checking to see if anyone saw) realized I cut my hand open and tore a calf muscle. 6 weeks later, the day after I got out of the calf boot, I tore my shoulder labrum in an excited effort to lift weights again. I am out of the shoulder sling and in a fashion pickle now that it is time to leave the house and meet the world again.

With everything that has happened in the world over the last year, this is a no big deal. I realize this, but it is exciting to have the opportunity to open my closet door again. It is not exciting, however, for everything to be really tight. I refuse to buy bigger sizes and want to look well put together, but how? I have grown quite fond of the feel of stretchy pants and a tight jean waist seems unreasonable. I am choosing to skip the 2021 trends and stick with streamlined classics. My leaving-the-house wardrobe consists of a fitted denim jacket, trench coat, dark jeans with a lot of stretch, stretchy pants in a dressier silhouette, easy dresses and shoes with a pop. I top it off with liquid confidence in the form of a perfume that makes me feel a little saucy.

Denim jacket: I can wear a denim jacket year around with Southern California weather. This is a category where you can spend a little more money because they never go out of style. I think of them as an instant upgrade, and have for the last dozen or so years. Jackets are always a wonderful investment piece. I know that the trend is oversized, but that just doesn’t appeal to me for the purpose of looking pulled together. Go fitted and a little cropped if you’re petite. It makes them easier to wear over a dress.

Madewell Denim jacket in pinter wash, $118

http://www.madewell.com

Trench coat: This name makes me laugh. What the name conjures in my imagination is probably what yours does too, but the style is so good. Again, an oversized one is very on trend right now, but a classic fit trench coat will slim your figure to your advantage. I go back and forth on belted vs. unbelted, but that’s up to you. I love London Fog. It has just the right weight for California weather. A classic style will last you forever. Get a basic, then add fun prints or bold colors. I may or may not be a coat collector….

London Fog, double breasted trench

London Fog in watermelon, $94.50 at Macy’s. Many colors are offered, but this is by far my fav.

Jeans with stretch: Go for a slight boot cut paired under the trench to maximize the silhouette. Boot cut or straight is a more flattering silhouette than a skinny jean if you’re trying to fudge weight loss. Go with whatever makes you feel best, but here are a few options if you want inspiration. Side note, you know the thing you swore you’d never do, but then embrace? For me, that is NYDJ. I always thought they were matronly, but the high, super stretchy fabric really does look good in their black jean. ALWAYS be picky about the wash. Obvious whiskering is icky, dirty washes are worse. Good American is a brand that has great stretch. If you just can’t embrace stretchy jeans, here is where you can go oversized. The higher the rise, the better. Featured below, AG Alexxis, NYDJ Marilyn and Good American.

Stretchy pants: My favorite, absolute favorite place for stretchy, polished pants is Athleta. The cosmic crop or pant (which is way cuter than the picture on their site) is on clearance. They are so easily dressed up or down and I wear navy in winter with a sable, suede tall boot. The Brooklyn pant comes in a few different styles and is a pant I wear over and over throughout the week. All In Motion from Target offers fantastic Athleta knock offs.

All In Motion from http://www.target.com. It’s a dupe of an Athleta pant for 1/3 of the cost.

Easy dresses: I have found that Amazon has fantastic options if you’re brave enough to try without trying on first. I follow the reviews religiously and sort them based on height and weight. I like a looser dress and add my denim jacket over to give it a more defined shape.

http://www.amazon.com, Sherosa Womens Summer Long Sleeve Tunic Dress Ruffle V Neck Swing Shift Dresses
http://www.amazon.com, MIHOLL Women’s Casual Summer Ruffle Babydoll Loose Mini Dress

Shoes with a pop: I am a total sucker for shoes. They can make a boring outfit fun. These clogs from Charlotte Stone have made me want to leave the house for any reason I can conjure, just so I can wear them. If you sign up for their emails, you receive an offer for $40 off. They are surprisingly comfortable and run just a tad big….maybe to make up for a lack of half sizes.

Charlotte Stone, Marlo clog, www.charlottestone.com

Liquid confidence: Perfume makes you feel better. It can’t take away the weight gain, but it can let you embrace those womanly curves. My grandmother had a silver tray covered with beautiful perfume bottles. I always looked forward to visiting her and sitting at her vanity and smelling them one by one. Scent is instant glamour to me. I have found 2 that I love over the last year. My husband says one of them smells like church. I say that makes me holy….

Le Labo, AnOther 13. I really like the size options to manage price points. If floral is more your style, Le Labo Fleur d’Oranger 27 is stunning.

If you are still homebound or without many options for sniffing, www.luckyscent.com is a site where you can get lost in fragrance heaven. You are able to purchase samples to try before committing to a full bottle.

I had fun while gaining weight over the last year. I don’t regret eating cookie dough and watching Harry Potter with my little boys. I don’t regret running, even with a fall. Being outside was an indulgence. I don’t regret drinking wine and laughing way too late at night with my husband. This last year emphasized the need to cherish the little moments. Now, it’s time to shed the fear, hopefully the pounds and embrace leaving the house to resume life in a world that is still a little bit different.

Marry a Rich Man

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Growing up, I once heard, “It’s just as easy to marry a rich man as it is a poor man.”

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Before I truly begin, let me clarify before they pass out….MY PARENTS NEVER SAID THIS. It was uncomfortable to hear. It felt like I heard a secret that I did not want to know. That phrase was a big burden to put on a little girl. 

I took the advice to heart, however, and married a very rich man. I married a man who’s riches are so overflowing that there are not enough hours in the day for him to count his blessings. I married a man who is so rich that he cannot sleep at night because his riches consume his thoughts. I married a man who is so rich that his head reaches the clouds when he walks (or drives his car) and he cannot see past them. Are you understanding me yet? I married a man who had a dream and pursued it with a passion and is now watching that dream and hard work come to fruition. 

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My husband, Patrick Szurpicki, loves designing homes and buildings. He also loves understanding how to construct them. As a child, he and his 2 best friends may or may not have stolen lumber from their elementary school to build a treehouse for the littlest brother in the group. They may or may not have spent an entire day hauling that lumber to a house where Patrick dreamed up an amazing treehouse. IF they did this childish theft, they definitely were told to return the lumber and take ownership of the theft. My point here is that the passion started young! He has brought much excitement and life to our 1300 square foot home over the last 10 years we have lived in it. Any idea we imagine, he finds a way to make happen. His gift transforms lives by making houses into homes. Home is where you retreat for peace and laughter. I cannot think of a better gift than what he has been able to give to both his family and his clients. He has spent the last 20 years honing his craft and has decided to take a leap of well planned faith to officially name his business and work for himself. 

Best friends since grade school and now a client.
Designed by Studio Build CA

Because of his dream and passion for life, my children will grow up learning how to pursue what you love and how to have a strong work ethic; how to do things the right way because their father models that for them. I may have been uncomfortable hearing such an outlandish phrase as a child, but I heard what was being said, and followed it my own way. It is easy to marry a rich man. 

Studio Build CA is officially open for business. I would ask for your support if you are on Instagram by following it @studiobuildca. 

“Studio Build CA is where your vision becomes reality. Studio Build CA owner, Patrick Szurpicki, has over 20 years of experience in residential home design. He knows the client relationship is as important as the final project. Studio Build CA works with some of the most innovative contractors and engineers who are motivated by concierge style home remodeling. Feel confident choosing a team that knows how to get your project built with beauty and efficiency.”

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From Mummy Tummy to My Tummy

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I have never been thin. I am compact, sometimes very fit and sometimes Rubenesque if I have been on a particularly gluttonous path. My favorite feature has always been my stomach. In my prime, I could roll a quarter down it. I think years of singing kept it in  shape. In shameful honesty, it has been a point of vanity throughout my life. When we first saw a fertility specialist, she told me I was “way too skinny” to have a baby. I knew she meant my stomach. It was one of the greatest days ever, minus the fertility issue. After having my first tiny one, I bounced back very quickly. I assumed the second one would be the same. How wrong I was.

Tiny 2, or the lion cub, was a painful pregnancy. He was totally worth it. Look at this beauty!

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I now realize it was so unbearably painful to be pregnant with him because I had diastasis recti and my stomach muscles were not holding him in place. He would just bear down onto my pelvis. I would float in my bathtub at the end of the day and notice how my stomach came to a point, instead of a nice round sphere like it had been the first time around. It was a curiosity but I didn’t think much about it. After my lion cub was born, my stomach seemed unusually large for a much longer time. My elderly neighbor asked me when the baby was going to be coming, while I was pushing him in a stroller. (Cue hormonal tears) SOMETHING WAS WRONG AND IT WAS THE ONLY GOOD PART OF MY BODY!! Everyone tells you it takes a while for your body to bounce back, but this felt different.

I googled ferociously and found out about diastasis recti. It was me to a T. Roughly, diastasis recti is when your stomach muscles separate and your innards push forward with nothing to keep them in place. It’s “mummy tummy.” When I did a stomach crunch, I could put 4 fingers in between the muscles of my stomach. This was humbling and awful. I started physical therapy, avoided traditional abdominal exercises and started a serious weight lifting program to help it. (ok I also gained 10 pounds and nothing fit.) It all helped a little bit, except for the horrible binder I had to wear. That was discarded after a very terrifying ride home after wearing it to eat sushi. #neveragainshallwebind  I digress however. Nothing fixed it and I had lower back pain and a protruding stomach with a major outie belly button. Try googling belly button covers….

I looked into everything. There is a lot out there about exercises you can do, but not a lot of personal stories. The exercises did not work for me and I had a lot of back pain. I decided to explore the surgical route. When I first dug for information I learned that insurance covered general surgery where a vertical incision is made and the muscles are stitched back together. This leaves a wicked scar, and my vanity proved to be an obstacle for this route. I consulted a plastic surgeon, but he (and others) did the surgery in conjunction with a tummy tuck. I did not need the tucking and insurance would not cover this. Hmmm. I needed time to think.

God works in mysterious ways and solved my entire problem by allowing my kindergartener son to bring home the most vicious stomach virus I have ever encountered. The virus lurked in hidden corners and became the real life boogie man. I cleaned in a mask and gloves and washed linens, pillows, towels, robes, etc with the vigilance of a woman possessed.

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I still got it. Oh I got it. I got it so violently that I popped a hernia because my ab muscles couldn’t hold my dear insides where they needed to be. I thought it was my last straw. I cried. I had had it. I was beside myself with that hernia. Here is what a hernia with diastasis recti looks like.

I saw a surgeon, Dr. Wes Powell in Pasadena, CA. Dr. Powell had trained a new technique where he could make a small incision and fix both my hernia and my diastasis recti with the help of a robot. My mind was blown. No hip to hip scar and a tummy tuck, just a laparoscopic robotic surgery, outpatient. I signed up as quickly as I could. It might as well have been a 5 star vacation I was signing up for. I could not WAIT for surgery to happen.

I bounced into the hospital the morning of surgery on May 2, chipper as one could be. Dr. Powell marked my belly to follow the diastasis path and I was ready to go. I chatted gleefully while wheeling back to the surgical site. The anesthesiologist was very kind and gave me a little something to relax and I remember nothing else. I awoke, recovered and learned how to use a surgical drain. I was fairly grossed out, but a woman on a mission and this was one step closer. I got home and snuck a peek at my belly. Hmmm, not exactly what I had envisioned; perhaps a little bit of panic snuck in but the pain pills knocked me out and I moved on with trust.

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The recovery was a full 2 weeks in bed. The first week was painful. The second week was somewhat painful and really exhausting. I did make it to part of the Eric Church concert, with my surgical drain pinned into my dress. Once the surgical drain made its exit, I began slowly exercising. I could already feel the difference. My stomach was tight. I couldn’t stretch very far and coughing or laughing was excruciating, but I could feel progress. The anniversary of my 39th birthday came on May 22 and I knew I was going to be happy with the next year and my new fixed stomach.

Today is 9 weeks from surgery and I am thrilled. I have most of my range of motion back and I can laugh until I cry with my family and it doesn’t hurt, much. I am lifting weights and jogging slowly. In 3 weeks I can start to work my stomach muscles and build back up to heavier weights. Dr. Powell did it. He fixed my stomach. My belly button looks relatively normal and my days of googling belly button covers are gone. I feel strong with the surgery. I feel like me. I always appreciated my stomach, but I never fully appreciated my strong body, until I didn’t have it. I share this story because I promised myself if I ever fixed my diastasis recti I would help the next mummy with a tummy who is searching for a happy ending.

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The Best Pant/Leggings to Look Like Sandy “at the end”

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I have mentioned this before, but I saw Grease for the first time with my best and first friend, Kristen, when we were little. Before she started the movie she had raved about SO much that I had become desperate to see it, she qualified it with, “but I get to be Sandy at the end.” I would have agreed to sell my organs in order to see the movie at that point. Afterwards, I realized I had been swindled because Sandy at the end was SO MUCH COOLER. Thanks, best friend, for offering to share….

I am somewhat of an adult now. I raise children. I am pretty lazy with my appearance most days and leggings are a staple because they are both comfortable and remind me of my fitness goals. Win! I have felt confident in this choice (because I mostly don’t have important places to be and just don’t care) until I read an article by “whowhatwear.com” titled “French Girls Laugh Every Time Americans Wear These 3 Things”. Leggings were on there. Apparently we should just wear pants or jeans. I felt completely indignant! Who were these French girls stating that they would just never wear leggings around town? What made them qualified to shoot down my pant of choice with a Parisian sniff?    (The real question is why would I care?) Since it keeps doing a lap in my brain, I decided to prove them wrong. I would find the perfect pant/legging.

I did it. I found the perfect pant/legging. It’s the Stellar tight from Athleta. It feels like a legging (and it is) but it looks a bit like a Moto pant. The fabric is thick (and Italian, so doesn’t that make it more le chic?) and the zip pockets make it look cool and tough, like an up and coming neighborhood.

 

I have been trying on black pants for a while now and this is exactly what I wanted. In theory, I could exercise in it, but why? It’s so fabulous I just want to save it for when I need to look pulled together without doing my hair. The slit ankle adds to the illusion of a trouser and I adore the high waist. It is easily a professional pant with a jacket or a date night pant with a slinky blouse. I had my husband photograph it right away with my crazy hair and a band-aid on my shoulder from my doctor’s visit. I needed to share it with you that much!

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While I photographed it simply to just show the pant, you have to admit, there is an element of Sandy “at the end” of Grease, isn’t there? Maybe that’s why I had to have the pant. I have been waiting for my turn for 30 years.

P.S. There isn’t anything more American than “Grease” the movie, and I am all for it!

shoes by Marc Fisher, Yente Chelsea boot

black tank by Karen Kane

Photography by my greatest love, “You’re the one that I want. Hoo hoo hoo.”

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

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Merry Christmas!

I’m sitting at my dining table surrounded by glitter, cut out Christmas trees and dough ornaments and I am so happy to see the Christmas crazy all around me. It occurred to me that my years left of little kid holiday crafting are fewer than I would prefer, so I am trying to soak in every moment. My tiny people bring more joy than my heart can hold, it feels. While there are certainly hard moments, time has shown me I forget about those and remember the good. 

Teddy Dennis is a basketball fanatic. He has worn the tread off of 2 basketballs in 6 months. He discovered Kansas basketball during March madness and a new world opened up to him.

He soaks up basketball facts like the little sponge he is. We were just home in Omaha for Thanksgiving and he and my dad went to a Nebraska basketball game, a Westside High School game and watched hours of it on tv together. He also attended his first Lakers game with Pat. The big change this year was kindergarten (which about killed me; I just teared up writing the words) and he has embraced it in his usual happy and determined manner. He loves school. He loves his new friends. He does NOT like nap time. 

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He spends his free time drawing, writing endless lists of things that are of current interest and shooting millions of baskets. He is beloved to us. 

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Summer 2018 basketball thoughts

Leo Lion makes me laugh endlessly. He is a tiny, blonde ball of frenetic energy. He talked late, but has been making up for lost time. He is very dramatic with his vocabulary and I delight in it.

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His preferred method of movement is jumping. He jumps everywhere and off everything. We tried a tumbling class this fall thinking it would be a perfect fit, but it was a fail. He ended up sitting next to the teacher most of the time so she could keep her eyes on him. His best friend in the entire world is Ellie, his elephant. Ellie goes everywhere with him and he bathes Ellie by himself, wraps Ellie up in a towel and cuddles him while he dries.

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He is home with me and I adore having him all to myself. I think my most peaceful moments are quiet mornings reading to him while he drinks his repulsive honey milk and I my coffee. I cannot imagine life without him.

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Patrick is the same; overworked and filled with ideas. My mother has said she has never met anyone who is as fulfilled in their work as he, and this is the positive. The negative is that we don’t see him as much as anyone would like. He commits to family dinners and this makes me swoon. He plays wild games of tackle football with Teddy, running through the house, and it’s music to my ears.

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He is a wonderful father and a partner who is always up for an adventure. I was thinking about this recently. My life always has an element of excitement to it because Patrick likes to do new things. He never says no. If we have a house idea, he is up for it. If we want to drive to the mountains for a few hours, he’s first to the car. He makes our regular life exciting. 

We had a fantastic family vacation in July with all of my family in Steamboat. I got to spend time with both of my brothers together!!

My parents come out and we visit them as much as possible. I miss them terribly but the converted garage has been wonderful to allow them to come and stay more. We saw the musical “Dear Evan Hansen” and it was incredible. It is one of the best scores I have heard in a long time. It made me think about myself and what I want; goals. I’m putting it on paper that I want to sing again. Even if it’s just practicing. My mom told me it makes her mad that I don’t and I haven’t been able to get that out of my mind. I’m mad too. It is time to do something about it. So, that’s my goal for 2019; open my mouth for good, not to insert my foot. And maybe write more. I have hope. I have hope because of the promise that Jesus gave to us. These little hopes delight me, but the big one fills me with joy knowing that we will live forever as a family. 

With joy and hope,

Patrick, Katie, Teddy, Leo and Ernie 

Merry Christmas–a bit late

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Merry Christmas!

I’ve been thinking about this letter and going back and forth. Do I write it? Do I skip it and just mail cards? Patrick commented that it didn’t feel like the Christmas season, and my inner grouch agreed. It didn’t. Why write a letter? We have been rushing, building, making big decisions for next year and general small children life living, and I thought it would be easier to skip it. The other day, I was driving with Leo and he demanded “Carol of the Bells.” He knows my favorite Christmas song and loves it too. Christmas is here for my little ones. They are excited. One of them is sneaking extra advent calendar chocolates (and is in for a big disappointment) and they have the Christmas spirit. I needed to find mine. Patrick may be too busy to find his for another week or so, but he will get there. So, I am writing the letter. It brings me joy every year. It is something I do at Christmas. The Christmas Cantata at Dundee Presbyterian church last week brought me to tears and solidified that the letter was going to happen. Life should never be too hectic to feel the excitement of the coming of Christ.

Why is Patrick missing the spirit? He has no time. He works all day and then is adding a bathroom and GIANT closet to our converted office/guest suite. He is working at least 18 hours a day between the 2 and I will be forever grateful for his determined soul because it will allow my beloved parents to come and go as they please. Also, we can have house guests now! He is a daily inspiration to our boys to find your passion and pursue it.

Teddy is 5 and filled with spirit and roughly 1,000,000 ideas. Today I found him holding construction paper over his humidifier and then blending markers over the damp paper in an attempt to make fabric. His mind never ever shuts down. Now that I have figured out how to get him to sleep at night, this is one of my favorite parts of him. He has created and built treasures this entire year. He lives outside like a feral animal. He received his own tool belt and REAL tools for his birthday and has put in probably 40 hours working with his dad on the new bathroom. He is in his last year of preschool and embracing it with vigor. I cannot believe how lucky I am that he is mine.

Leo Lion, aka Meatball or Lion Boy is embracing 2-years-old with every inch of his body. He is a blonde tornado of energy. He loves and plays hard. His brother is his best friend and he will do anything to make him laugh. The two of them play for hours and it, of course, makes me cry happy tears. I am expecting many broken bones from this one. He loves trying new bikes, scooters and throws everything he gets in his little hands. He is a dedicated thumb sucker and, most nights, informs me his thumb is “too spicy” and it needs to be rinsed before bed. He sings his bedtime songs loudly with me and I am madly in love with this little stinker.

My year revolved around my family. My world (and my entire family’s) was turned upside down when we learned on April 4 that my dad had throat cancer. My dad is my hero, my rock and my earliest moral compass. It took most of the year, but slow and steady won the race and he is cancer free. Life is not forever on earth, but I cannot bear to think about life without any member of my family and I am grateful that I get to spend 2.5 weeks with him (and my mama) in just a few days. My brothers and I were home for his 70th birthday and it was a weekend to remember. We laughed, ate, drank and made very merry. All felt good again.

We wish you a merry Christmas and jingles all the way!
Patrick, Katie, Teddy, Leo and Ernie
2017

Learning From a Big High School Fail

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I sang the National Anthem frequently around town while growing up. I sang a lot, and this was by far the most intimidating song in my repertoire. Everyone knows it. My vocal teachers would debate me on this next comment, but you can kind of fudge the lyrics if they are in, say, Latin or German, but you cannot fudge the lyrics to the National Anthem. They are magnificent. The end of the sung verse is my favorite; such power.

“And the rocket’s red glare, the bomb bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there,
O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?”

I was asked to sing it before a basketball game at my high school. It was thrilling and terribly nerve wracking. I started fine, but soon forgot the words. I pulled out my pitch pipe, reset my nerves and started again. I forgot the words in the SAME spot. I stood in the middle of the basketball court, frozen. I truly had no idea what to do. A kind human in the stands started singing and many people joined her. They bailed me out. It put me back on track and I finished it. I left the court as quickly as possible and sobbed downstairs for the first part of the game. I knew that the longer I hid, the worse it would be, so I put my game face on and went back to the game and cheered along with my friends. There were MANY jokes the following week, but that was to be expected. It was just part of life and I moved on easily.

I have been thinking so much about this great country lately. I love the pledge of allegiance. I cry almost every time the National Anthem is played at my beloved gymnastics meets. Participating in a USA chant for an Olympic trial was one of the most thrilling moments of my life. It hurts my soul to see how splintered our country is right now. The blatant racism, the lack of help in areas that need it after natural disasters, different groups separating in cries of injustice and how divided we all are over what is right and wrong. There is so much anger and hurt. I have been trying to sort out what I believe. I, too, have been angry. I have been angry that subsidies for some are so high, yet my family pays an enormous fee for ok health coverage. I have been angry that taxes are high and spent on programs I don’t agree with. I have been angry over this. I have been angry over that. Things have felt unfair toward ME and MY family when we have worked so hard to have a good life within our means. It has eaten at me. I value kindness toward others as the highest priority, yet deep down, I haven’t always felt kindness toward others. I have been too busy being angry and feeling self-righteous over how we take care of ourselves while others didn’t. I have been preaching one thing to my children, but feeling something else inside.

Then, while running, I started thinking about what needed to be done. I am not so presumptuous to believe I can fix things I know little of, but I wanted to think about what I believed. Forgiveness and letting go of what has been done in the past was the only thing I could come up with, but it has stuck with me and I have been thinking about it continuously. Apologize for the wrong, and give forgiveness and acceptance to others no matter where they are in their journey. It needs to start with the people who have the most, who have emotional bank accounts that are full. It needs to start with people who have what they need in life. It needs to start with me. I grew up surrounded by models of success, and more importantly, models of extreme work ethic. I grew up supported by 2 parents who loved and believed in me unconditionally. I grew up with hope for the future as part of my life. I believed I could do anything I wanted. I never had to worry about a basic need and I never once worried that my parents would be anything but my loving parents, together, for me. I received a parental bailout when I needed one and they threw me in the air to fly when they knew I was ready. Because of that, in my case, there was no way I was going to fail if I gave it my all. I fell many times, but my confidence from my upbringing pulled me back to my feet. Who would I be without it? What if I had grown up without seeing happiness and success in front of me? Who would I be if I never felt safe at home? What if my parents thought I wasn’t enough just in being me? What about those who were told over and over that life isn’t good or that there was no point in trying because you were going to fail? How can I expect them to give up their hurt before I give up my frustration? I need to be the one who extends the first hand. I need to say hello and ask how you are, first.

I can only imagine the nerves it took for that wonderful woman to start singing from the stands. I have sung in public forever, and that idea scares me. But she did it. In doing so, other people sang with her and lifted me up when I needed it. She didn’t know me, but she wanted to help me. It was the National Anthem. We all know it. She knew how to help and did it. I promise to return the favor. I am working on letting go of my anger over political fairness. I may agree or disagree, but I am not going to be angry anymore. I am going to be more interested in being a fellow human who says hello and focus on our shared humanity, flawed and beautiful.

When Swim Lessons and Botox Collide

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Most of the time Tiny 1 spends his time doing things like this:

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I passionately love this about him. I walk into his room after “quiet time” (otherwise known as my nap time but he thinks it’s when I solve world problems) and find him jabbering on about why he’s going to sell off this “naughty company”, making up songs, turning his room into cities with places like “cooky playground” or just painting himself.

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He entertains me immensely, especially after a nice session to myself of lunch, quick snooze and SVU reruns while folding the endless laundry.

This little 4-year-old of mine is a delight and a joy, until he has to try something new that is not his idea. For example, swimming lessons. I signed him up because I love him dearly and he must know how to be safe in the water. He must. He took private lessons last summer and screamed the entire time. It was fine because no one had to share this experience with me and the teacher was also a mother. THIS year I thought I had invested enough in his initial water safety and signed up for a more reasonably priced group lesson at the YMCA. He didn’t want to go but we discussed it before hand and he knew what to expect. He threw somewhat of a fit the first day and then was fine. The disaster struck when he got a new teacher.

Back story; I’m not 30 anymore. I like to look, shall we say, fresh like I just stepped out of a pilates class with glowing skin on a Lifetime movie. I do not look my freshest these days as I have developed hormonal acne. Fun stuff, said no one EVER. When I discussed both the acne and weight gain this year with my OBGYN, he told me that if I planned on eating each day, I should also plan on exercising each day. I was hoping he would say there was an obvious hormonal imbalance and he had a magic solution that would not only fix my discussed problems but also increase my hair volume. Nope. The second doctor I saw was the dermatologist to fix the hormonal acne. While I was there, I saw he was running a Botox special. I decided to go for it in a quest for that fresh look. I looked like this 48 hours later.

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I share this because it all coincided with the change in swim coaches. The day of the switch of coaches, I worked out ahead of time using the free child care the Y offers because I had chosen to eat that day. I had already complained (because that’s what I do) about the lack of sufficient air circulation in the cardio room but they didn’t particularly care. So I not only had a giant black eye but I was a hot, sweaty mess from the humid, non circulating air post workout. I gathered Tiny 1 from the nursery and took him to the pool for lessons. He arrived, saw there was a new teacher and promptly began the biggest tantrum I have ever experienced with him. He was wearing a tiny European swim suit (the only adorable part of the story), and started running away from the pool while I yelled, “NO RUNNING NEAR THE POOL.” While I attempted to contain him mid run, he yelled he would only swim with his old coach, threw himself on the ground and screamed to the point where other parents were staring and surely wondering if there was something intrinsically wrong with us as Tiny was screaming and I had the giant black eye and looked like a sweaty maniac hissing at my son to “follow instructions” and “no Disneyland if you don’t get in the water.” In all fairness, I also would have been wondering this as a spectator. We exited the pool for a calm down period, for both of us, and he went back up afterwards and sat but did not participate. After the lesson, he spent the afternoon in his room. In theory this is punishment, but he learned he could turn his curtains into a hammock, fit completely behind his closet drawers and wrote a note of apology to his swim coach for his behavior, which we laminated with it being a swim class atmosphere.

He loves swimming again. We have discussed moving up levels means new teachers and perhaps we can meet them ahead of time.

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My black eye has healed and I wear a bit of lip gloss to work out so I can look somewhat pulled together should the need arise again. I can’t change his intensity but I can control mine. His intensity is one of my favorite parts about him and I will take that bad for all that good. I don’t really have a plan yet for the future, but I’m working on that. I know he will work on it with me. Chances are, I will receive a detailed map on the physical steps to take to make the problem disappear post quiet time. He’s just that kid.

 

Is It Crossing the Line?

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We have a tooth issue. I am aware that this will be an anthill and not a mountain in terms of parenting, but it is where we are, and I am enjoying this small, small moment. My T is 4 and 3/4. He had 8 teeth by 8 months. The average first tooth bursts through at 7 months. Our dentist said he has advanced tooth development; I pray this influences his brain but not puberty. Dear Lord, please not advanced puberty. I still have vivid images of the story of an advanced cousin in his daddy’s Cadillac at age 13….no, not advanced puberty in this house. Anyhow, his first tooth became loose at age 3.5. It was so unusual that he had his first x-rays at this early age and all those big ole adult teeth were right there, waiting patiently to rear their jagged heads.

Preschool was an adjustment for my little man. His teachers rarely got to see him in his full glory as he was busy watching and not talking. During snack time mid school year, his first tooth fell. When I picked him up, he saw me and burst into tears—inconsolable, preschool angst ridden tears. Selfishly, I panicked for a moment worried that his teachers would think I was abusing him, but I quickly realized this was not about me and was a parenting moment.

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He settled down at home and definitely wanted the tooth fairy to come, but he did NOT want the creepy tiny flying thing visiting his room while he slept. I get it. It makes sense. A tooth fairy???? Come on history.

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His second tooth is loose. His favorite 2 foods that give him complete, unadultered child joy are king crab legs and corn on the cob. His first loose tooth lost its last leg while eating the corn on the cob. Now, he will not eat it. In fact, he will not bite anything with his front teeth. He is terrified of the second tooth biting the dust. Watching him eat is not a treat. The length he will go to avoid anything touching the tooth is somewhat fascinating, but I do believe that proper table manners are important and he is appearing a savage with the tooth issue. I have explained both gently and with a slight amount of frustration that he will lose it. There is nothing he can do to stop the progression of teeth. Since he is so clearly my child, I understand all of these fears about growing and getting bigger/older, and I have not been able to help him calm his terror of losing teeth. The tooth is starting to turn a color that no one would put in a giant box of crayons and it sticks out at an angle that, were it a limb, would be cast in a pleasant neon shade. This tiny tooth needs to go.

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I am not allowed to touch it. This wonderfully tactile child who could be worn on my body like a silk scarf will not allow me to come near it. I have offered to PAY him to let me see how loose it is. He locks down iron jaws when I come near it. I recently had an idea that seems brilliant, yet perhaps crosses the line. For the past 2 nights, I have gone in when he is completely asleep and wiggled the little brown tooth to encourage its exit into a little box where I, as his mother, will keep it safe and cry over it when he hits his delayed puberty.

Is this wrong?

A Change of Attitude

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Summer break is here. The tiny one is out of school. We all (well not sweet Daddy) sleep in a little later and have our days completely free. We have zero plans in general, with a bit of swimming thrown in later on in the summer. It is both daunting and exhilarating. Tiny 1 is against plans. He inherited this from me. I shun planning in general. He shuns planning AND clothing. He likes to be free to work. He told me last week he had too much work to do to go to a party because his work would probably take him all day. Knowing him, I have not signed him up for any camps. I have gone back and forth on this decision, but he’s at his happiest working in his backyard.

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Knowing his tinier brother, I have ordered a gate for the yard. This adorable, little blonde meatball is a menace.
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Summer just started and I found myself yelling at everyone on Monday, rolling my eyes, threatening and basically being a rotten human, not just a rotten mother. They were naughty, but they are 4 and 21 months, not adults. I thought to myself that the summer was going to be awful and I should find something for them to do, for someone else to watch them sometimes. I went to bed that night and could not sleep. I felt so ashamed. I have 2 tiny, wonderful boys and their moods revolve around mine. If I am naughty, they will of COURSE be naughty. I spent a long time reflecting upon the challenge given to me this summer and the gift of these boys. My original plan was to savor their tiny selves and I was failing, audibly. I decided I needed to change my attitude, something I had been commanding my oldest child to do that day. I prayed that I could do it. I asked for help, and I thought of how much I loved open summer days when I was little.

Guess what? I’m on day 2 of pure bliss. There was a giant temper tantrum in Target yesterday where I ran into so many people I knew, including someone I have been trying to integrate into my friend circle. I was calm and kind. I kept focusing on my attitude change. I was punched in the eye by the tiny meatball and I was again calm and kind–and put him in bed. Attitude change is my motto on refrain.

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Today, we have been building with boxes in our courtyard. We woke up with a mission! We drove around looking for free boxes and then bought a few. Their little eyes sparkled with joy and their faces were colored orange with fake cheese from chips. They’ve eaten primarily junk food and we have been having a marvelous time. They each got to choose a paint roller at Home Depot. The meatball kept throwing both rollers out of the cart, severely upsetting his brother who chose his with such care and would never behave in such a manner, but I could see the humor in it and told him to just sit on them so the meatball could not get to them. I gave the little naughty blonde more Doritos to sidetrack him. He snuck 4 lollipops while I wasn’t watching. It’s summer. I’m cool with it with my new attitude.

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We got home and planned, arranged, rearranged, cut and taped the boxes. My tinies chose a tall wardrobe box to be a house with a tunnel connecting to an apartment. An empty plant container is a chimney. After nap, the painting began.

Daddy came home early and was somewhat caught off guard, but the excitement pulled him into the fun while I went for a quick workout. We couldn’t get Tiny 1 to come inside until his stomach forced him. He painted the outside of his work and then started the inside. Tomorrow he plans to draw and hang pictures for the inside. His pride is palpable. Tiny 2 ate a popsicle after painting for a while. It was a glorious day.

It is hard to be patient sometimes. It is REALLY hard to manage big feelings, but it is my job. I signed up for it. It was worth it today. I pray I remain the adult and keep up the attitude change. Summer is full of possibilities with an empty schedule. “It is well with my soul.”