The Silent Flu

It has been at least two days since anyone has announced on facebook that they are expecting a baby. This does not mean that there aren't any new buns currently toasting in ovens, but rather that there is a new wave of women suffering from The Silent Flu.

Have you ever had the flu? Yeah, it sucks. Sometimes it lasts for 3, 4, maybe even 5 excruciating days. Flu sufferers might crawl into their beds and feebly update their facebook status: "I'm so sick, I can barely tell you how miserable I am... but I will, and I will turn it into a long status encouraging friends to type weepy faces on my wall and send chicken soup." Aw, how nice for them to get such an outpouring of support! Sure they will have to stay home from work or school and watch Netflix nonstop for a few days, but they will suffer, and the world will feel so sorry for them.

But have you ever had The Silent Flu? It sucks MORE.  The Silent Flu is that horrible, nasty, no-good, 12 WEEK period of time where a woman who is expecting a baby basically has the flu, but here's the catch...can't tell anyone. Have you ever tried to hide the fact that you have the flu?? Let me just tell you a bit about how that works out...

#1. You don't get to call your boss and get out of work.  Oh sure, I think I got one day off work that I claimed was the flu, but you can't use the flu excuse every day for 12 weeks.  So rather than curl up in your bed for 5 days watching Netflix like regular flu sufferers, you must press on. You must face the daily grind. And since you are out in the world...

#2. You have to hide recent vomiting. I mean, can you imagine flu sufferers hiding the fact that nothing they ingest stays in their bodies? Oh no, they'll tell you about it.  Let me tell you, puke stinks. It's hard to hide.  A bit of fresh make-up can cover a little of the clammy "I-just-puked" face, but the breath is the biggest challenge. You have to attack it with both a thorough teeth-brushing as well as a hefty dose of Listerine. And yuck, the taste of all that minty-ness makes you feel really queasy...which brings us to our next point...

#3. You have to hide the fact that you are ABOUT to vomit. It's not easy walking around for 12 weeks with a disgusted look on your face.  For you, or the people that have to look at you.  I was pretty sure one Sunday, as I walked to the front of our church, that people could taste the cloud of ginger that surrounded me as I passed them by. And all that ginger still didn't quite dispel the feeling of nearly vomiting every time I stood up to sing a hymn.
     When going to friends' houses you have to carry hidden stashes of ginger in case something sets you off (it will). "Oh you just cleaned your house, and it smells so....fresh...." Quick, toss in a ginger candy. They offer you some refreshments. "Oh this is lovely, but you know, I actually prefer this little baggy of unsalted pretzel bits that I've been carrying in my purse for weeks."

#4. You have to hide your unearthly exhaustion.  Flu sufferers might get to cuddle up and sleep off their sicknesses for a few days with full sympathy, but Silent Flu sufferers would produce confused bystanders: "Sorry I can't go out to dinner with you at 6pm tomorrow, I'll be in bed..." So you have to go. You must go out and pretend you're not about to face-plant into your entree.  Your friend might say, "Wow, long day? Why don't you get a cup of coffee?" Just shut-up. Shut up about the coffee!

It is ridiculous to ask expecting women to hide these horrible symptoms.  And for what? In case they might sadly lose their baby? Wouldn't it make sense for people to know in case they do, and really need support from family and friends? Why must they suffer silently?

The flu season is upon us. Perhaps you will come down with the dreaded flu plague this year. Will you hide your misery?

Friday Night

I'm a young mother of two, and never have I felt more like a teenage boy in all my life.

In highschool, dances were what teenage girls lived for.  We claimed we had the worse deal, waiting and waiting for some boy to pick us out of the flock and ask us to the dance. The wait was excruciating and humiliating.  The boys claimed they had it worse.  The girls scoffed and thoroughly doubted anyone could be as miserable as we were.  Now, I'm not so sure.  You see, I think I might just know how those poor boys felt. No, I'm not asking teenage girls to dances, but I am asking them...to babysit.

This past year we moved from a town where I had my kids' grandparents just down the street.  All I had to do was mention the possibility of wanting to go out and I had a confirmed and willing babysitter in minutes.  Now, I've got to play the field.  I, like those poor, miserable teenage boys, have to choose one from the flock.

But how to choose? I can't ask someone I know someone else is already asking. That would go against The Code. I couldn't be friends with them anymore if I asked her before *they* got the chance.  But who else is there?  So many girls have already been asked!  I shouldn't have waited so long! Maybe I just won't go.  Next time I'm going to ask, like, 2 months ahead.

Ok, I'll try her.  No, that's stupid.  She's not going to want to babysit *my* kids.  She'd probably rather sit for someone else.  But my kids are awesome!  Any girl would be thrilled to babysit them.  I'll do it. I'll ask her.

My sweaty palms grasp the phone.  I start dialing. No wait, what was her number again?  I check a few more times. Ok got it. It's ringing!  Oh no, what if my phone drops the call? Stupid cell phone, I should just get a landline.  It's still ringing. I got this. Stay calm, stay cool.  What do I say? "Hello?" Oh shoot, it's one of her parents. Act like an adult. "Um...is insert teenage girl's name there?" Stupid, you forgot to say 'hello'!  "Hello? This is teenage girl." Act natural! "Hey...um, just wondering if you might be free Friday night..." "Sorry..."

No!!! She's already taken! Forget it. I'm not going out.  I don't want to go through the rejection again. No way.

But all my friends are going...I don't want to be the lame one at home on a Friday night.  I guess I'll call someone else.  *Repeat Above Conversation* What?? *She's* already taken too??! This can't be happening! Maybe no one actually asked them yet, they just didn't want to babysit *my* kids. Forget it. It's only a decade until they can babysit themselves.  I can wait that long to leave my house.

No, no. This is insane.  Maybe I'll ask this girl. I've never thought of her babysitting my kids before, but it might work out. *Repeat Above Conversation* "Wait, what?! You're FREE?! Wow, um, ok, great! Pick you up at 7?"

Hang up phone. Wow! What a relief! Would it be too forward to make her cookies and tea when she comes over? Yeah. That's too much.  Maybe I'll teach my kids to sing a song in her honor. No, no, don't want to scare her away. I've got a babysitter!!

Next day, talking with friends:
Friend #1: "Hey, are you going to the thing Friday night?"
Me: "Oh, me? Yeah...I've got teenage girl babysitting. No big deal."
Friend #1: "You got *her*? She's awesome! Like, seriously, the best."
Friend #2: "Aw...man...I still haven't asked anyone yet..."
Friend #1 and I share a knowing look.

Girls, the boys have it worse.  Oh, and is anyone free Friday? There's this thing I was wanting to go to...

Lamby and the Heretical Book Collection

Children have always had a special toy or scrap of what used to resemble a blanket that they hold dearest above all other worldly possessions (and usually siblings too).  My children are no exception. I allow them to have one special item that they do not have to share with any other kids. I'm sure if you're a parent you've done a similar thing. What I did not anticipate was that a beloved stuffed animal would challenge my parenting style and lessons taught to my children.

My oldest daughter has had this stuffed lamb since she was born. Cute right? But like a teenage friend that you don't want your own teenager to hang out with anymore, lest they set a bad example for your child, I'm beginning to think I need to call up Lamby's parents and have a chat.

Lamby when she was still an innocent stuffed animal.

Lamby and Child #1 have been inseparable since birth, but I think it might be time for a break.  You see recently I've been hearing about a lot of books that Lamby has been reading to my daughter.  It seems like whenever my daughter and I are having a discussion about something, Lamby has a book on the subject. Here's one that happened today:

Child: "Mommy, do bugs and insects go to heaven?"
Me: "That's a good question. I know more about what happens to people." (Yeah, I'm dodging that bullet for now...)
Child: "Well, Lamby has a book about whether or not bugs and insects go to heaven and she read it to me and it says that bugs and insects do go to heaven."

Great, now if I call Lamby out on her heretical book about bugs and the afterlife, I'm the bad guy.  And this isn't the only book Lamby has.  The lamb has a freaking "Beauty and the Beast" library on everything that a preschooler wants to discuss. And let me tell you, 98% of the time, Lamby's books disagree with Mommy's ideas. I remember a specific time that Lamby had a book on "Where Gasoline for Cars Comes From at the Gas Station" and it was NOT in a tank under the ground. But Lamby's book collection trumps Mother's Explanation. Every. Time. Stupid lamb even made me wikipedia a few things to make sure I wasn't crazy. And now I know I'm crazy for doubting myself based on the imaginary book collection of a stuffed animal.

How would you like your preschooler to have a library of anti-Mommy ideas like this?

I just don't know what to do. If I ban Lamby's book collection, no doubt more books would surface and be read in secret. I'm sure Lamby is just dying to read "Why You Don't Need to Brush Your Teeth Every Day" or "Your Parents Can't Really MAKE You Eat Your Vegetables" or even "You Can Go to Bed, But You Don't Have to Sleep: A Nighttime Activity Book". So I guess for now, I'll play nice with Lamby, and we can just agree to read different books.

Mommy Moo on Moving

Don't worry folks, this blog does still exist. Occasionally. I promise.  Let me tell you about why I haven't written in awhile. Last month we moved.  We moved from the "I can see in your bathroom window from my couch" suburbs to a "Hey I think I heard a car!--nope just an ATV..." rural community. In the coming weeks I vow to bring you lessons and advice from a "country" family's perspective, but for now let's just discuss how we got here.

Maybe you already know what it's like to move with children, if so, stop reading now, go get yourself a glass of wine and pat yourself on the back. Your medal is in the mail.  For those of you who haven't moved with children, buckle up and listen up.

1. Don't do it.
2. If not moving is not an option, you may now go get yourself a glass of wine. You will need it.
3. Put off contemplating how you are going to put all your worldly possessions into a few flimsy cardboard boxes for as long as possible.
4.  Now that it's a week before moving day, you may begin the frantic hunt for those darn boxes.
     a. If you have a favorite liquor store, this is the best place for finding boxes last minute. It's also a great time to replenish your wine supply that is nearly gone. Plus it makes a great impression on your future landlord when you show up with a U-haul full of liquor boxes. Trust me. Nothing says "I'm a responsible renter" like a couple dozen whiskey and vodka boxes.
     b. When you have successfully loaded up all your things that will fit into the liquor boxes and are now left with things like crock-pots and umbrellas, (Seriously, how do you pack a crock-pot??) a new wave of panic sets in, and the time has come for pestering your friends on facebook for "any leads on boxes". (Who knew you'd be ever be a nervous wreck in search of "leads" for cardboard?!) This is a low point, and you may want to pop a few corks from your new supply.
5.  Now that you have packed all your boxes, it's time to recollect all the items from around your house that you *thought* were in boxes but the kids have found and wandered off with. Here's where the fun of moving with kids begins.  See, most adults can count on something being left where they left it.  Once a box is packed, you can bet it will still be packed in the morning.  Movers with kids will frequently battle the overzealous toddler that feels the need to extract every item and present it to you as some sort of gift: "Here, Mommy! I'm helping!"
     a. While you re-pack all of your boxes, this is a prime time for your preschooler to come and ask, "Mommy, why are you packing that box?"  This is not the first time the topic and philosophy of "moving" has come up.  In fact, for the past 3 weeks it is quite likely that this same child has asked, "Are we moving TODAY?". And please be aware that if you answer again what "moving" is, that does not mean they won't feel the need to ask the same question for *every* box that you pack. Nope, not exaggerating.
          i.  In order to get some actual packing done, I recommend loading your children up with crayons and setting them loose on your supply of boxes.  There will be some casualties, but nothing a Magic Eraser can't fix.
6. Go to the store and buy more Magic Erasers. Lots.
7. Time to rent the moving truck.  If at all possible I recommend hiring a babysitter for this time because if you don't you will be chasing your children up and down the loading ramp instead of loading actual, y'know, boxes.
8.  The truck is loaded; it's time to set out.  If you are driving the car with the children to your new house, I'm sorry. We tried to plan our move at about bed time so the kids would pass out as soon as they were buckled, but um, it didn't quite go as planned. Instead the trip consisted of about 50 miles of "I can see the truck!"... "I can't see the truck!"..."Where's the truck?"..."Is that the truck?"...and I didn't realize this actually happened, "Are we there yet?"
9. Once you have had all your sanity can handle, I calculated that at 50 miles, it's time for some drastic measures: Jazz.  I'm pretty sure it's scientifically proven that human beings can not process the cacophony that is jazz and so the body rapidly shuts down into a deep hibernation.  This effect is exponential in young children.  Once your children have slipped into their comas, it's time to focus on *your* antidote to jazz, else you will never make it to your new house.  Just try singing along to the music. Your brain will get an adrenaline boost trying to predict exactly where that jazz music is going to go.
10. On the other end of the move, it's really quite simple.  Get your hands on a large appliance box, throw your kids in with some kibble, cut window if desired.

~Mommy Moo

The Subtle Distinctions of Parenting

(What it looks like when I write a blog)

Today I'd like to explain some subtle distinctions that arise in parenting.  Newbie parents or non-parents might wonder at why such distinctions must be made.  One may wonder why some of these items would ever be compared at all. Perhaps one might see no relation, or no difference.  I'm going to tell you that these distinctions, for the public good, must be disclosed.

1.  Sleeping on a couch vs. Sleeping in a bed
Perhaps if you've never been a parent, you may have never even slept on a couch at all excluding the occasional nap on a lazy Sunday.  You may wonder what would possess anyone to sleep on a couch when a luxurious king-size bed with down comforter and forty pillows await you every night.  Well when you have a finicky baby who shares your room, and who wakes up at the slightest creak of the floor, you too may find yourself choosing your IKEA couch instead of your comfy bed.  In addition, sometimes (all the time for me) when you are a parent of young children, these things cannot be helped. I fall asleep whenever I happen to stop moving, which usually happens in the neighborhood of the couch.  So now you know parents sometimes choose a couch over a bed, but now you may wonder at the distinction between the two. When you sleep in a bed, life makes sense.  If you wake up during the night, you will feel your covers and your squishy pillow and know that all is well, and back to sleep you go.  Such is not the case when sleeping on a couch.  Most likely you'll find yourself waking up from a sleep you had no consent in starting.  You are paralyzed. You feel like a floating head. Where are you? Who are you? Are you dead? No, can't be. Your empty icecream bowl is still within sight.  Surely the afterlife would not have last night's dirty dishes. Now what? Is it even possible to move? And how did that episode of Scrubs end? Guess you'll never know.  Now if you're brave you can crawl into your bedroom and lie awake for awhile sorting out the confusion, or you can just ride out the night on the couch.

2. Running errands vs. Going on a date
"What??!! How do these two things even relate at all?"~You. 
Oh... you must not be a parent yet.  Ok, I'll let you down gently.  Your idea of a date may consist of a lovely quiet candlelit dinner, or a movie, or an energetic evening at your local swing dance joint.  Now don't get me wrong, these kinds of dates do still exist in parent land, but usually not unless it's a big anniversary year. If you don't happen to have a child under 1 1/2.  So you might have to be a bit creative, or seize whatever opportunities arise.  In general the rule is, if there are no kids present, it's a date.  Trips to Target to get diapers while kids are at Grandma's? Yep, date.  Babysitter takes the kids for a walk while you sort through your ballooning storage closet? Oh yes, that's a great date.  There's nothing more relaxing and romantic than sorting through old highschool books and tiny baby paraphernalia while wearing flannel pajama pants and t-shirts on a Saturday morning.

3. Child hitting you vs. Child patting you
Let me tell you, they feel the same, so you can't distinguish between them based on that. And don't go by the child's facial expression either because they often delight in giving you a good wallop. The distinction lies in the location of the blow.  In general, when patting someone, you don't usually give them a forceful "pat" in the neighborhood of the nose, or eyes.  You can be pretty sure that any forceful touch of the face or jugular is a hit.  Pats tend to appear on the back or shoulder, or the occasional thigh. (Especially if the hand is food-covered and your jeans are freshly laundered.)

4.  Going Potty
This is a term for the potty training toddler.  Perhaps no distinction looks necessary.  But I'll just warn you: "Going Potty" does not necessarily include either of those words.  Your toddler may go to the potty and sit there for hours without going at all.  In addition said child may go potty in the bathroom without actually landing it in the potty.  Just be prepared.

5. Bathtub farts vs. Bathtub poops
One is hilarious. One is not.

Ok friends, thanks for reading and studying up on these handy distinctions.  I hope my lessons have educated the young parents or non-parents, and that all veteran parents can share a tearful, pained chuckle.

~MommyMoo

Here's the Baby Lady...

It probably won't surprise you to learn that once you have more than one child, things are little bit more difficult.  Everything takes just a little bit longer to do and you look a little bit more ridiculous doing them.  The number of times I have slowly walked down our steep driveway with a baby in a carseat over one arm while carrying a loaded bag of library books, my purse, a diaper bag, a cup of coffee, and a toddler hand in my other hand--well it's happened just a few too many times.  Or walking up our road with the baby on my back in a backpack and a toddler on my hip...I know I look ridiculous, and I've come to accept that.  But has society?

What I was not prepared for once I had two children was how society's view of me would change.  When you run to the grocery store or post office with a darling baby with you, people will stop you and ooh and ahh.  They will coo at your baby and say some trivial thing to you like "Aren't you lucky--they grow up so fast don't they? How precious..."  And you can leave the conversation with your parent ego ballooning.  But after you have another...the conversation changes.  They still come up to you, oh yes, they do.  But instead of cooing at your children, they direct their comments of worry to you: "Oh my, you have your hands full!"  "I bet they keep you busy, huh!" "Oh sisters! They'll be friends after all those years of fighting!"  Thanks folks.

Last week I was doing my normal jaunt to the grocery store.  With the baby bouncing in a backpack on my back and the toddler holding pints of blueberries in the seat of the cart, I approached the checkout line.  As I was unloading my cart (which mind you, is no easy task) I heard the employee that bags the groceries say to the cashier: "Here's the baby lady!"  I was shocked. Baby lady?  Does having two children really constitute being a "baby lady"?  I think to myself, "Surely not!" I wonder, if someone has two cats, do I consider them a "cat lady"?  Surely an even dozen would more accurately earn the title of "Baby Lady".  I instantly feel as if now I'm some crazy cat/baby lady that carries my meowing children around with me everywhere I go.  People dart across the street to get away from "The Baby Lady".  I'm left with the feeling that society sees one baby as cute and darling, but two is just obscene or crazy.

For some reason having children or being pregnant proclaims to the world that they can walk up to you and say remarkably personal things.  It's frustrating.  And parents and soon-to-be parents, if we listen to all their comments, the human race might cease to exist.  Unfortunately, I don't think this behavior will stop, so I'll just say to you all: Please don't listen to them.  Having more than one child is incredible, fun, difficult and chaotic--and society should be grateful that we're willing to take on such a task!

Parenting Two: Photographers Beware

Hello everyone! First I want to say thanks to everyone for an outstanding response to my last post! Thanks for all your shares and comments on facebook, comments on the post, and finding me in person to say how much you enjoyed it! Now because of that, I have been hiding, afraid to write another post that would surely fall short.  Such a professional response.  And while we are discussing professionalism verses amateurism, let's discuss something about blogs: have you noticed blogging has become a forum for people to share their expertise in photography?  I've been blown away by how many professional quality photographers are out there adding superb photographs to their blogs.  Well, sorry, but you're not going to find that here.  I'm an amateur. And not in the good sense.

To be fair, I think I was a better photographer when I only had one child.

Hey not bad right?  But I hate to tell you parents/photographers, once you have two kids, your photography will take a turn for the worse...

Ah yes.  The girls at Christmas.

You see the trouble is, when you have one, you might snag a time when the child is calm and still, but with two....Well, let me tell you another photographic tale.

The other day my husband and I discovered that the girls have two matching shirts that just happened to be the right sizes for them now.  So yesterday we dressed them alike.  (I know, we became *those* people.)  And of course it was just SO cute I wanted to get a picture of them together.  Ha.  Here's how it went.

Elder daughter: having fun, eyes closed. Younger daughter: on the brink of tears.

The toddler-nearly-strangling-baby shot.  If you have two or more kids, you have many of these shots.

They agree silently to disband.

New location.  Toddler wants to come see the picture on the camera. Baby has employed "fists of rage".

They move fast. Toddler gives up and finds Mommy's keys to play with. Baby begins to scale the photographer.

They think they're so cute.

Now they both climb Mt. Mommy.

"How's your career as a photographer coming along, Mother?"

I can't even stealthily take a quick snap while they're playing.

Toddler amused.  Baby not so.

Hey! They're sort of both smiling!

Good enough for facebook.

~Mommymoo