Post-bath naked tummy time is a tradition in the Cook household. The boys seemed to like it, though I guess it’s tough to tell with babies. Regardless, those buns! I could just as easily call it “bun time!”
Charles, 2009:
Jamie, 2011:
Freddie, 2014:
Freddie sometimes gets upset in the car. I totally understand. I sometimes get upset in the car, especially when the only snacks available are squeezy pouches of applesauce (I would start bringing my own snacks, but keeping a cooler full of sliced salami, brie, and grapes is maybe a little more than I can handle right now).
Most of the time, when Freddie starts to fuss, his brothers spontaneously start to sing to him, either that Muppets song or this song, which they made up themselves (the entirely of the lyrics is “like a baby”):
I’m not sure if Freddie truly appreciates it or is just always stunned into silence, but it works. His brothers are able to calm him down, every time.
I, of course, nearly implode from the sheer cuteness every time they start singing.
Being a mother can fill you with rage.
But why? I’m so cute!
There’s the frustrated end-of-my-rope kind that usually comes at bedtime, when Tony is away for the evening (this happens at least once a week), or early in the morning, when Tony is also away (this happens every day). The circumstances are the same: time is running short and neither Charles nor Jamie is paying any attention to my directives.
My voice starts to increase in pitch and volume and the threats become more dire.
“Jamie! Charles! I have told you THREE TIMES to get your pajamas on! Now you’ve BOTH lost a bedtime story! GET MOVING!”
“It’s time for school, GET YOUR SHOES ON! Put your jacket on, it’s raining. No, you may not wear your rollerskates to school! I said GET. YOUR. SHOES. ON. Fine, we’re leaving without you.” (Cue crying.)
That’s all pretty normal, and generally not worthy of any outbursts on my part. The rage comes when one of them, usually Jamie, deliberately sabotages any forward momentum we’ve established. After asking that a wooden puzzle be picked up last night, Charles and Jamie dutifully worked on it together, only for Jamie to turn it over and start throwing pieces down the stairs.
I’ll admit it: I had one of those horrible moments that made my children scared of me. I threw the pieces back up the stairs with extreme force, screaming at the top of my lungs, “I TOLD YOU TO PUT IT AWAY AND GET YOUR PAJAMAS ON!!!”
Time to chill out, mom.
But Jamie and Charles didn’t cry this time. I think they are coming to see that when I’m at my wits’ end, I scream in anger and frustration. Instead, Jamie apologized and began to pick up the pieces. I asked him for a hug and I apologized for yelling. Since Tony wasn’t home, Jamie snuggled up to me in bed after Freddie went down (I’m never alone, never).
The other kind of rage hits me in the middle of the night, after I have changed, fed, and burped Freddie and he decides that 4:45 am is a fantastic time to be wide awake. Then, I would swear that you can almost see the death-ray of resentment coming from my eyes, boring through the wall and into the back of my peacefully-sleeping husband’s head that I want to smash into a million pieces like a rotten watermelon simply for having the gall to sleep through my overtired anguish.
Frankenstein’s MosterBaby doesn’t need sleep!
I have solved the problem, though. Before 4 am, it’s my show. I let the dog out, I change, feed, burp, and rock the baby back to sleep, and I pull covers over children who have kicked them off during the night and are subsequently shivering in the corner. But Tony takes the mornings.
Found my thumb.
And if that means catching more of Freddie’s ill-advised, hour-long anti-naps, well. At least I’m not spitting mad about it. Besides, Tony says he’s a morning person, while I make no such claim, and he usually has the coffee ready when I finally drag my ass out of bed.
One of these two is very sick. Can you guess who?
The worst part, by far, about being sick for three weeks is that I have missed out on three weeks of being able to smell the (what I can only assume to be) rapidly disappearing new baby fragrance. Freddie is my last baby, and up until I got sick, I would take every chance to deeply inhale his scent, reveling in the good feelings that come from holding a sweet-smelling, milky-breath baby in my arms.
Baby who probably smells awesome and my useless aquiline nose
On Tuesday, I was officially diagnosed with bronchitis and a sinus infection. My doctor said that 90% of these maladies are viral in nature, so while he prescribed an antibiotic, he asked me not to fill the prescription until Saturday if I still didn’t feel well.
These two acrobats are not conducive to sleep, but they LOVE my bed.
I still don’t feel well. Like, really a lot.
Work baby loves work
I power through the days living on ibuprofen, hot tea, and soup. I hack and cough so hard that I nearly vomit. I have gone through two boxes of tissues in my car alone, and I don’t spend much time in my car. My nostrils are chapped and bleeding. My teeth hurt. My ears are plugged (what did you say?).
Taking my sinus problems to the park
But life goes on, and I can’t take a break. I would love nothing more than to spend an entire day in bed, but I barely take care of my family and work obligations as it is – a day off would put me so far behind. Not to mention the power-nursing baby who is constantly at my side.
My illness hasn’t slowed any of us down.
Instead, we have been to the beach to visit family and friends and we continue to play and exercise and read and live our lives. We have big weekend plans to pick out our pumpkins. The boys are probably so used to mom being sick by now that they don’t even notice.
And, obviously, they’re not starved for attention.
As I was walking my kids to school this morning, a beautiful, young woman waiting at the crosswalk in her car rolled down her window and shouted (nicely) at me.
“I see you walking your herd everyday and I just want to tell you that you are such an inspiration to me!” she said.
“Thank you!” I said.
“Seriously, I just had my first baby and you give me hope that I might be able to do things like that in the future!”
“Thanks! It’s not easy, but it’s doable!” I said, and then waved and pushed on my way.
Everyday, I walk Charles to school, a half-mile there, a half-mile back, repeat in the afternoon when school is over. I take Jamie in the stroller, Freddie in the frontpack, and Buster on a leash. Charles rides his bike or his scooter, and Jamie sometimes rides his scooter about halfway to school. It’s controlled chaos, made more stressful by the fact that every. damn. day. I see someone run a red light at the major intersection we cross not a block from our house.
Tangent alert: WHY DO PEOPLE RUN RED LIGHTS? Obviously, their time is SO much more important than anyone else’s time or safety. A few weeks ago, a bicyclist was hit at the same intersection we cross four times daily. I’m just waiting for another, bigger accident; these selfish assholes see the light turn yellow from three hundred feet away from the intersection, they gun their engines and then speed through the intersection at 40 miles an hour. Just STOP IT, already. Don’t run red lights. You’re putting everyone in danger, especially the small person riding a bike whom you can’t see because he’s small and moving quickly. Sheesh.
It was so wonderful to hear such a nice compliment from a perfect stranger. I know I don’t have it all together, but hell, I look like I do. The secret is to do the things that are difficult until they either become less difficult or you are numb to their difficulty.
The walks in the morning and the afternoon have helped with my peace of mind immensely. It’s a nice, clean break from the mom I am right before we leave the house, shouting “C’mon, c’mon, let’s go, we’re LATE!” All of the sudden, there we are, in the fresh air, hoofing it up and over the hills to school, Charles calling out the numbers on the busses, Jamie pointing out the garbage trucks that pass, Freddie falling asleep on my chest. The extra time to walk to and from school twice each day means I spend less time at the office, but it’s worth the extra sense of urgency when I work because I get to that fresh air, that exercise, and that time with my boys.
Snug in the Ergo, fast asleep. The cover is a Peekaru (everyone asks).
Sometimes I get overwhelmed when I think about making that mile-long walk, twice a day, everyday, for the next ten years. But, like most things, it helps to take it one day at a time. And I enjoy that walk each day. May I always see it as a joy and never a burden.
Thirteen years ago, I got extremely lucky. As I was packing to spend a semester abroad in France, the study-abroad program was assigning host families and I had the great fortune to be placed with the Cauet Family. They’ve become a second family to me, and we’ve all criss-crossed the ocean a few times to see each other over the intervening years (the ten months I spent teaching English in France were at a lycee nearly next-door to their home… though I lived at the lycee, their house was still my home).
I had a thing for posing with statues in college. Also, I still have that jacket.
As a student, the Cauets were not only welcoming, but genuinely open and willing to share their lives – such was not the case for other students. Within two weeks of my arrival, I attended an all-day (literally: from 10 am to 4 am) wedding of a family friend. I barely spoke French, was still a bit caught up with the jet-lag, and the whole of French society wanted my opinion or to apologize for the recent 9/11 attacks. Overwhelmed much? A friend of my host parent’s daughter began, in October, to take me out dancing every Friday and Saturday night. She’d arrive at the house, have a drink with the family, and we’d drive to a club on the far side of the river and dance all night (literally: we’d leave around 4 am). She didn’t speak much English and she crazily put up with my stumbling French for two solid months of dancing at the clubs. I went on family outings, vacations, trips, and to more weekend soccer games than I can count. I became, truly, a part of the Cauet family.
May 2004, after teaching for ten months, when my family came to visit
With Solene, in 2003 (we went to France for her wedding in 2012)
I’m certain that my experience is not the same as most others’. In fact, I would venture to guess that the Cauets had many other students who didn’t insinuate themselves or allow themselves to be insinuated into the family in the manner I did. I was lucky. I was blessed. I learned French. I gained a family.
Even luckier for me, Maman and Papa Cauet were recently in the States for a wedding and decided to hop an extra plane and spend some time on the West Coast. Having a family so far away is a bit like having a piece of your heart on the other side of the world. I miss them dearly, but I’m so, so glad for the small bits of time we get to spend together every few years.
I guess it’s our turn next time. Honey, when shall we plan our next trip to France?
This song from The Muppets (the one a few years ago that rebooted the franchise) started popping up on our “kids’ songs” Pandora station recently (I can’t seem to embed the video, sorry), and now, whenever it comes on, we sing it at the top of our lungs. We sing it when it doesn’t come on the radio, too, like when we’re in the car, brushing our teeth, or walking home from school.
I sing it softly to the boys when I tuck them into bed.
Everything is great
Everything is grand
I’ve got the whole, wide world in the palm of my hand
Everything is perfect
It’s falling into place
I can’t seem to wipe this smile off my face
Life’s a happy song, when there’s someone by your side to sing along.
Sometimes all it takes is a silly song from a silly movie to remind you what’s important in life.
I’ve got everything that I need
Right in front of me
Nothing’s stopping me
Nothing that I can’t be when you’re right here next to me
Life’s a happy song, when there’s someone by my side to sing along.
I’ve been learning life lessons from the Muppets for years. It’s hard not to feel like everything is great when you wake up singing “I’ve got everything that I neeeee-eeed! right in front of me!”
I think it’s fair and good to take inspiration, motivation, and life lessons wherever we find them. We’re a storytelling tribe, and the Muppets speak to me and many, many others. They tell stories I love and identify with. Charles, too. Even Tony is singing the song.
So much in pop culture is simply terrible – soulless, violent, angry, and mind-numbing – but when you find something that gives you hope, that helps you see things in a more positive light, well, sing it out. Dance it out. Run it naked in the backyard and twirl it above your head. Put on your mom’s shoes and RACE it out, only to fall, giggling, to the floor in happiness.
I often feel like I don’t have enough. I don’t do enough, I AM NOT enough. But I am wrong. I am lying to myself. I am deceiving myself into thinking that there is something more or better than this, right here, right now.
Everything is already perfect. I have everything that I need, right in front of me.
It has been so long (nearly six years!) since Charles began daycare that I had totally forgotten what an onslaught of new germs can do to a family (oh, right, add this to the “poor Charles” list: a cold or infection nearly every day until he was 18 months old). It began over a week ago with a froggy throat and hoarse voice which quickly turned to a sore throat. Other than that symptom, I felt fine.
Tony, of course, took two days off from work. Let’s all collectively sigh about how men are weenies and also about how when they take time off, they actually get to take time off. You know how I take time off? I put off doing the dishes and laundry until tomorrow. I still have to DO them, I just “rest” now (still taking care of the baby and the kids and the dog and the essential tasks of running a household) and do them later. And there is no time off from work. I’m the only one who can do my job, so I go in and I do it. Sometimes, I go in after the kids are in bed and I do it some more. When Tony takes time off, he sleeps.
Jealous? Yes. Yes, I am.
This mom job never stops, even when your kindergartner brings home a bug that gets everyone stuffed up and coughing within a week. The kicker? I can’t take anything for it because no decongestants are on the “approved for breastfeeding” list.
I’m still sick, but I’m powering through. The boys recently inherited a large stash of LEGOs amassed by Tony in his youth, so they have been well-occupied for the past week. Turns out, my fall-back positions on dinner (meatballs, grilled cheese, butter rice, and other easy-to-prepare comfort foods) are universally appreciated and a nice deviation (from the kids’ perspective) from the normal, healthy fare I usually provide.
If we can just keep injuries to a minimum, I think we’ll all survive. Easier said than done, of course – Jamie sustained a giant bruise to his back when he knocked himself into the toy box and Freddie was conked on the head by Charles, and Charles, well, Charles falls off of his scooter and scrapes his knees and elbows every other day. At least he now knows where the nurse’s office at school is. My guess is that he’ll be there often over the next six years.
Doesn’t this just scare you shitless?
The best part about the past week-and-a-half is that I have been so occupied, I’ve forgotten to be anxious. When you can only spare enough energy to focus on treading water, it’s pretty easy to keep thoughts of drowning at bay.
Although, if I never see another steaming cup of tea again, it’ll be too soon. I’d vastly prefer to drown my troubles with wine at this point.
