Either way, it's still work. And Day 9.

At small group yesterday, some of the girls were talking about the struggles of being a working mother. Now, I quit my job almost two years ago to stay home with the kids, so I've definitely had to think much less about the never ending strife of a working mom. However, the four plus years of being a working, commuting mom definitely took its toll on me. So when Macalla asked how the working mom does it, I answered with the only thing that made sense to me:

"You do neither job particularly well"

I remember struggling to focus at work, zoning out during meetings, passing up opportunities of promotions and more challenging work. I'd rush through the day in order to catch the first train that left the city. Once at home, I'd obsess about cleaning up the trail left by the kids, husband and mother-in-law. I would attempt to spend quality time with the children, while also craving solace and peace in my room, away from the bustle and mayhem of my chatty  MIL. At work, I felt unmotivated and sluggigh. At home, I felt leeched and worn. At neither place was I at my best. At neither job did I excel. At neither job did I even really try. I had just barely the energy to be good enough. Good enough was not really acceptable at my job and my children definitely deserved more from their mother than just mediocre, just good enough.

So when I got pregnant with Wesley, I decided that I just couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't make myself wake up daily at 4:15, to begrudgingly ride the train to Seattle. To sit in an office instead of playing outside with my kids. To have my elderly MIL care for three children. I couldn't go through life half assed anymore. I wanted to be able to be a good mother to my children, a better wife to my husband.

To clarify, I never felt like bad mother because I worked. I worked out of necessity and even at times I felt a sense of pride in my job. I didn't necessarily choose to work but I know many women who do. I hold no judgement for mothers who work  and who have successful, lucrative careers and are the main breadwinners of their family. In fact, I am in awe of women who are able to reach that level of career success with happy, healthy families, and yes, I do in fact know many women who have been able to balance their lives in this way.

But for me, I craved the time at home with my children. I went back to work when Evelyn was 12 weeks old. Oliver was 11 weeks old when my maternity leave ended. I didn't want to have to leave another tiny baby at home while I went off to a job I didn't really even particularly love. I wanted to be the one to wake up and make breakfast for my kids, to drive them to preschool and to put them down for naps. When I was working, I felt like I had no control over what my  kids did during the day. No matter how much I nagged my MIL or husband, they just couldn't do things the way I preferred. I just wanted to be home with them full time.  So in April 2008, I quit my job and became a Stay at Home Mom.

And so here I am.

The life of a SAHM in itself has been a challenge and let no woman tell you that it is easy to stay home all day long with your beautiful, demanding children. That being said, the role of a SAHM is none the easier just because I'm not leaving the house everyday to work. I just get to work in sweats. The pay kind of sucks though.  But I get paid in memories right? Wah Wah. Ha. But I'll save the woes of the SAHM for another post.


***

Day 9: I'm getting into the groove with Level 2. The hardest obstacle for me is trying to get Oliver out of my way as I attempt some pushups. He was kind enough to support me during the workout and tried some of the moves himself. Very cute.

Next is Level 3. I'm scurred...

BTW, I just made some brownie spoon pudding and ate about 1/4 of it. OH YEAH.

One of the seven dwarves.

I am grumpy.

Very, very grumpy.

Sometimes I wish I could be one of those people who are positive all the time.

Oh wait....

No I don't. That actually sounds pretty annoying.

I just wish, right now, that I wasn't so grumpy. Especially to my kids. They're just kids, they don't know that screaming and playing around is annoying to me. I guess it really shouldn't be annoying but you know what? It is.

I  was very angry at the kids tonight for not cleaning up their rooms. I was angry because Steven someone clogged the toilet and didn't bother to unclog it before he left the house. I was angry because we only have two plungers in this house and three bathrooms. I'll let you guess which bathroom doesn't have a plunger.  I was angry because John bought a different brand of soy milk and Wesley cried and cried because he didn't like the taste.

Stupid things to get angry about. Except the toilet part. Who wouldn't get angry! Toilets are gross. Add cloggage and it's even more gross. Nothing makes me more angry than cleaning toilets.

Rational, I know.

While it is obvious that I need some sort of break, please don't tell me I need a break. Because you know what, it's probably not going to happen. Maybe it's because I don't try hard enough to make time for a break. But we all need breaks. It's just that sometimes we don't get exactly what we need when we need it.

So what's a girl to do, right?

Nothing. Except maybe write about it and feel a little better having gotten it off my mind. And then go crawl into bed with my heating pad and watch hours of frightening yet addicting episodes of Criminal Minds.

I'm not looking for a solution, an answer, a magic wave of the wand to make things better.

I'm just grumpy.

That's all.

Sweats are the new black

Speaking of doing nothing else.....

So yeah, the chasm between blog posts are becoming much wider as time flies by. It's already Thanksgiving and almost time for Christmas madness. How in the world did we get here?!

Anyways, things at Bang household have been pretty standard - lots of poop wiping, general childrearing and house cleaning going on around here.

It's now been about a year and a half since I quit my job to stay home with the kids and in that time frame, I've noticed myself evolving. I've never been the most ambitious person in the world but I've always been generally uniform in my daily tasks. Brisk. Efficient. Before I had kids, I used to shower and dress in normal clothes regardless of my plans for the day. Even if I had planned to stay home and clean the garage, I'd shower, straighten my hair and put on a little makeup. I always felt that being physically put together made me feel more awake, more energetic. Like a human being.

However.

I realize how that the longer you stay home, the more parental responsibilities you hold, the less sleep you attain, things change. And change they have.

A few observations:

1. Daily showers are now rare optional.

2. Long hair is required for ease of ponytails and haphazard buns. *See #1

3. Kids in pjs all day? What's the problem?

4. Me in pj's all day? What's the problem?

5. I have three pairs of sweats on rotation every week. Two of them have bleach stains and rips at the bottom hem.

6. I can officially cross my name off the list for "Hottest Mom in Bonney Lake. *See #5

7. I lie - actually my name wasn't even on the ballot.

As I type this, I'm sitting here in last night's pj's with my unwashed hair in a greasy ponytail. I can feel the beginnings of a volcano zit start to form on my upper lip and I just bit part of my ragged nail off my rough, dry man hands.

I'm still waiting for my casting call, Tyra Banks. ANTM, baby!


***

Btw, my ps camera broke so pictures will be sparse until I can replace it. Boo.

My first

I remember like it was yesterday. Awake at 1:30 in the morning, drawing a bath and wondering what the hell I was doing. Calling the nurse and asking how to tell if they were real or false. Watching the dogs tilt heir heads in curiosity as I bobbed up and down in a tub full of warm water. The nurse said if it was false, they'd go away once I got in the tub.

They became worse..

Then I remember poking him awake, whispering that I thought it was maybe "time to go. NOW". I remember him bolting out of bed, jumping in the shower trying to desperately shock his body awake, even though at this point it was now closer to 2 am. He threw on a hat, grabbed my hospital bag and we jumped in the car. I grabbed at the door handle, writhing in pain for the longest 20 minute car ride of my life. At this point they were coming every 1 to 3 minutes.

The next thing I remember is being wheeled into a room, baring my ass so I could get into the gown and snuggling into the bed with the pillow I had brought from home. Every few minutes I felt a searing pain shoot across my stomach, followed by a brief moment of relief. But that moment was always over just a little too soon, and then I had to brace myself for yet another jolt of pain. Hot, searing pain.

Then the nurse came in, asked if I'd like an epidural and I said "Yes. Hell, yes". When the anethesiologist came in, I rolled on my side like an obedient dog waiting for some bacon strips and waited for the extremely long needle to do its magic. 30 minutes later I felt all the pain subside, as well as any other feeling in my body from the waist down. I can't recall ever being so happy as I felt the pain lift away from my body. It was at that moment I decided that I'd have a t-shirt made, maybe even coffee cups, that said "I love the epidural. I love it so much I would marry it". It was that good. Drugs are good! And then, time seemed to suspend in air, like fruit in a jello cup. It was now 6 in the morning and I felt I deserved a nap. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was having him tuck me in and then pass out himself in the chair next to me, exhausted from me gripping his hand like a wad of putty.

I woke up around 8. The nurse informed me that I was ready to go. Hmm, I could have probably refuted her statement but I figured it was probably safer to listen to the medical professional than my tired, irrational bloated mess of a body. The next hour flew by. I remember pushing, resting, pushing, resting. I also remember thinking that the time would have been more enjoyable if the tv had been turned on to the food network. But anyways, after some more pushing, she was here. Finally here. They placed her tiny, bloody body on my chest and I remember thinking "

"Whose baby is this? She's black!"

and also,

"Yay, I'm not pregnant anymore! I can eat sushi!"

Heh. What can I say, I am random.

But upon closer look, I realized "Oh. She's dark because she looks like John. She looks like her daddy."

I watched as they weighed her on the scale, wiped her eyes with ointment and wrapped her up like a delicious, tiny little asian burrito.  The nurse handed her to John, who wiped his eyes and stared at her in amazement. Then he placed her in my arms and all I could do was laugh. She was so dark, so hairy and so tiny. She was the baby I'd incubated for 9 months. The baby who left me a present of angry stretch marks and bad skin. And yet, all I could do was stare at this beautiful thing.

Evelyn Hae-bin Bang, we'd decided her name would be.

And now, five years later, here we are.
She is the best daughter in the entire world.

Blah. Just.... blah.

Wow.

I guess I've been neglecting this blog for a while now. I don't know, these days I don't really have much to write about. Normally my mind would be teeming with excellent blog material. I mean, I am a stay at home mom to three kids under the age of 5 and one would think the day would be filled with random happenings and such.

But yeah, I've got nothing going on here.

Well, okay. That's not necessarily true. Now that Evelyn has started school, I have become a part time limo driver. Except it's not a limo, it's an dirty old pathfinder and I don't even have one of those nifty caps.

Which reminds me, I rear ended a car on the way to drop off Evelyn. We were fine, I was fine, the other car was fine. My car was the only one with a tiny bit of minor damage. But somehow, Evelyn manages to bring up the event as often as she can remember.

"Mommy, you should slow down. remember when you hit the red car on the way to school? Daddy, you should slow down because Mommy hit the car on the way to school. You should just down. You don't want to run into another car on the way to school, okay?"

Even Oliver chimes in with "Swow down! You going too fassst!"

Seriously, who knew small children could backseat drive?

Also, when Evelyn's at school, the house is eerily silent. and I LIKE IT. Of course, I miss her terribly during the day when she's at school and I sit by the clock wringing my hands until it's time to leave and pick her up. But I am very much enjoying the peacefulness of having just the boys at home. Believe or not, Oliver turns into an angel when Evelyn's gone. He rarely has a complaint and even enjoys sharing his toys with Wesley. I think Evelyn's presence tends to turn up the noise and the activity up a million few notches.

Other than that, I find myself not really motivated to do much else besides the usual household and motherly duties. I have a pile of books on my nightstand, waiting to be cracked open. I now have time to maybe search online for part time work at home job opportunities. Even start seriously looking into pre-reqs for the Highline nursing program. I have all this extra time when Wesley sleeping that I could devote to learning a new hobby - sewing, perhaps? I even have a sewing machine tucked away somewhere in the closet. But these days, nothing seems to really grab my attention. I'm just feeling kind of.... blah.

Blah, blah, blah.

Sometimes, I don't even know what I'm doing anymore.

To be cont.....

Two more days

Two more days.

Two more days until my first born goes to school for the first time ever.

I am dreading the thought of being away from Evelyn for six hours, 3 days/week. I can't promise you I won't cry. I'll probably weep a little. Like a dude whose team has lost the superbowl.

She had her kindergarten open house last Thursday. We had been anticipating the open house for weeks, hoping to get more acquainted with the school and the teacher. I was also hoping I'd be able to get some of my more pressing questions answered.


Will she be ok on the bus? How do you handle lunchtime? How many times a month will she have PE?


I was really counting on going to the open house to have any doubts quelled and to make myself feel better about the decision to have her start this early. We stayed at the school for over an hour and met Evelyn's teacher, explored the classroom and took a short bus ride. When it was finally time to leave, Evelyn was in a fair mood. She seemed a bit nervous about her classroom but was very excited about the bus ride.



And I?



Did not feel better about anything.



At all.



I left the school feeling more apprehensive than I had been leading up to that night. I think visiting her classroom and meeting her teacher were concrete indications that my baby is indeed growing up quickly. Too quickly. Her teacher seemed nice enough, if a little indifferent towards Evelyn but I'm sure it was the atmosphere of having many overbearing parents and hyper children running rampant around her legs while trying to discuss school logistics. Or maybe she was just indifferent. Who knows. I guess we will see as the school year progresses.

Evelyn seems ready to be in a classroom setting. To be learning new things and making new friends. She seems so ready to grow up and discover an entirely new world.

But I'm not ready. Not ready at all.

But I only have two more days to prepare myself.


Two more days...

Six days past due

Wesley,

You're ONE!

How ever did that happen? It seems like just yesterday I was holding your tiny, hairy little body in my arms as Evelyn and Oliver surrounded me with curious stares and heavy breaths. You were born with a head of hair that rivaled that of Uncle Jesse from Full House and still to this day elicits stares of envy from Elliott more follically challenged counterparts. I am still a little upset that your father gave you a haircut when you were 7 months old. A haircut that had not passed my seal of approval, I might add. And then there was that incident when I tried to trim, just trim! your bangs. And then when Jen's mom tried to fix them and you kept moving and we had to give up and then we came home and you looked like a tiny black pumpkin....

But anyways.

You're one. I can stop counting your age in months. I can start giving you regular soy milk. I can soon turn your carseat facing forward. You will soon start walking. You will soon start talking. You will soon start feeding yourself. You will soon start running around with your sister and brother. You will soon need me a little less.

You soon won't be a baby anymore. and I will miss that.

But you'll always be my baby, my last baby.

I admit, I will be sad to let go of this part of your life but I know I have so much more to look forward to.

I hope I've done well as your mom in your first precious year of life. You didn't get quite the attention your sister, the firstborn, got when she was your age but I find myself being able to just enjoy all of you more now that I'm a seasoned mom of three.

By the way, I hope you are not mad that I let you bonk your face more than once on the hardwood floor. I just couldn't get to you fast enough because I was chasing your pant-less brother around the house trying to get him to put his Thomas underwear back on.

I love being a mom to all three of you - Evelyn, Oliver and you, little Wesley. Sometimes when I'm feeling down and life seems to be full of nothing but obstacles and darkness, I thank God that He has blessed me with all of you. Even though staying home can reduce me to tears some days, other days are filled with gut busting laughter. Sometimes the days are filled with both! But I'm thankful for all of it.

I know I owe you a better post than this but lately I've been preoccupied with so many things. Soon your sister will start school and it'll just be me and you boys at home. I'm simultaneously looking forward to and dreading it all. I can't believe your sister won't be home with us all day but at the same time it'll give me a chance to spend more quality time with both you and Oliver.

I will tell you something, this parenting gig is tough. No one ever told me just how difficult it all would be. But at the same time, I never realized just how wonderful it was going to be. How enriched my life would feel. How... content I would become.

Because of all of you.

My goal in your life as well as your siblings lives is to make sure you grow up to be faithful and happy and healthy and to know you are all so loved. If that is all I can do for all of you, then it will have been enough.

Little Wesley, you're now 12 months one year and 6 days.
Happy birthday, kid.
I love you.

Love,
Mommy

Protecting my cubs

This is where I feel it is needed to defend my crazy little son. I'm sure if you were to go back and read my older posts about Oliver, you'd think he was some out of control brat. And while he sometimes may be a little out of control, he is most certainly not a brat and he is not a horrible kid. He's a little crazy, a little unpredictable but incredibly sweet and funny. He loves to giggle and learn new things everyday. He's also not even 3 yet.

So when I hear people who don't really even know him. or um, me for that matter, say things like

"That Oliver. Man.........He's something else" *Shakes head in disbelief and disgust*

The mama bear in me wants to growl back, "That Oliver WHAT?!?!?" and then claw their eyes out. Uh, kidding, kidding.

Kind of.

Ok, not really.

No kid is perfect. Not yours and not mine and not that other kid at the table next to you. Oliver is definitely more sensitive to things than his big sister. If he misses a nap he's extremely grumpy. His appetite knows no bounds and he has a hard time computing the word "no more"into his demanding little brain and stomach. He has an infectious laugh and the cutest squinty eyes when he's happy. He loves to be free (like a dog off a leash, I like to say) and run around outside with his sister and friends. He likes when I sing him a song and hold him tight before bedtime. He drags his trusty green blanket all over the house, taking the time to stop and take a deep whiff of the fabric before continuing on his way.

Is he a little harder to reason with? Sure. But remember, he's not even 3 yet. Does he drive me crazy when he wanders off while we're at the store? Of course. Does he have some aggression issues against little Andrew and Chloe that he may need to work out? Um, YES. Do I have moments at home when I wish I could lock him in the closet? Yes No Maybe. Does he need a haircut? Depends you who ask.

For all of his crazy antics when we're out and about, no one who doesn't know us should really be judging us by what they see. Being a parent is a tough job but I think being a mother is even more difficult. People are so quick to judge the mom for anything the child may or may not be doing correctly but if the father does something, anything at ALL then it is somehow praise worthy. It is almost as if the baggage of judging and being judged comes with being a mom.

It's like the minute you push the baby out of your body, the world says "Congratulations! Let the judging begin!" Instead of lifting each other up, we've resorted to tearing apart the parenting choices of others. When Oliver's having a day when he's particularly out of sorts, I feel this silent judgement being cast upon me. People wondering why I can't control my son, why my son isn't as behaved as the other kids, etc...I feel this especially from people who don't have kids. People who don't yet know.

I admit it, when I was childless I often used the phrase

"When I have a kid, he/she isn't going to (Insert offense*)".

*cry on the plane
*freak out at a restaurant
*flail on the ground in protest
*sleep in my bed
*fall asleep in my arms
*Seriously, this list could go on...

And then I actually had a kid(s) and God was like "HA HA HA, remember when you said this?" and then SHAZZAM! Lightning struck or whatever and the said offense actually happened. to ME.

I think people spend way too much time tearing each other down when we should be giving more of an effort to build one another up. As fellow Christians, parents, friends, we owe it to each other to lend a hand of support, a word of comfort or just a nod of understanding. Now is that too much to ask?

So before you all go judging me or my kids or the person next to you who is not wearing shoes in a public restroom, take a step back and maybe give them a chance. and an old pair of flip flops?

Self absorbed at the core

Sometimes I wonder who exactly reads this blog. When I was using Wordpress, I could easily track the number of people who visited the site. I know there is a way to track it on Blogger but I'm finding I kind of don't care anymore.

Wait!
Let me rephrase.

I do care. I care about the people who do read this blog. When someone at church comes up to me and tells me she enjoyed my story about Oliver's tantrumfest, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It also makes me realize people do read between the lines and know that, while I might feel like my brain is going to explode into tiny, tiny pieces on a daily basis, they know I love my kids and have a sense of humor to deal with whatever comes my way. So yes, I do appreciate the people that take the time to read this, as mundane as I may seem at times. I mean, how much can one person write about poop, vomit and crying you wonder? Well, let me just tell you, A LOT. I can write about it A LOT.

Let's be honest - Blogs are pretty self serving vessels. I mean, I do think many positive things come from blogging. I read one blog regularly who has found a group of faithful (literally and metaphorically) followers who pray for her ailing son. I've read some very insightful stories on parenting, marriage, kids.

But like I said, blogs are at their core, self serving. Honestly, I am a fairly shy person (no... really...) but oddly enough I feel comfortable sharing some of my life with you right out here in the open. I often write about my parenting mishaps. Oh I'm sure some people judge me. Hey, I judge me too! But really, I am not afraid of people judging me. If I were, then I'd probably wouldn't blog. Or uh, open my mouth. I've learned long ago to stop caring how people perceive me. Only those that truly know me understand what I'm like. But I find something comforting in writing out my thoughts in a journal. This journal just happens to be public. I mean, it's not one of those "Dear Diary" kinds of journals. Let's face it, I'm not 16 and in dire need of braces, a pushup bra and a boyfriend.

Well ok, at least I don't need a boyfriend.

But I do find myself bonding with those in similar situations as mine. It's tough being a stay at home mom on one income with little outside help. It's also tough having three kids under the age of 4 in the dead of the hottest summer we've ever had in Seattle. Seriously, the weather was ridiculous. But anyways, it is nice to find common ground and community with other parents who understand.

Anyways, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I am thankful I have people who care about me enough to listen to what I have to say.

Whoever you all are.

Reality

This sweet guy needs prayers so very badly.
http://www.mycharmingkids.net/

Sometimes we need a good dose of reality to set us back in place. I often need reminders that life is precious and sometimes a missed nap (or two. or three. or... whatever) is not the end of the world.

Ohhhh it may feel like it at the moment - trust me - but in the bigger picture it's just a tiny speck in the parenting journey. God has called me to lead a much more powerful and impactful life than the one I have been living. I don't want to waste this opportunity fretting over the things that don't matter in the end.

So yeah, I needed this. More than you know.

I'm tired. The end.

Ah, here's to another chapter written in the Oliver Saga.
Today was a doozy, people.

DOOZY

I'll keep it short by just saying that we had to leave a birthday party at Point Defiance Zoo before it even began. Yes, it was that fantastic. Imagine lots of tears, whining, flailing and hissing.

Oh and Oliver was pretty worked up too. Heh.

He hasn't napped in, Oh I don't know, what feels like about one million years, so the 2:00pm start for the party already had me quaking in my flip flops. Prime meltdown time! I was hoping (in vain, might I add) that he would somehow cooperate and be calm and cool.

HA HA HA HA HA! I'm so funny! Phew!
*Wipes tears from eyes*

Anyways, he was just basically uncontrollable today. Let's face it, the odds were not in my favor. I was grossly outnumbered 3 to 1 since John had to work today. You'd think I'd be used to the gross outnumbering right? Imagine me chasing Oliver while wearing the baby in a sling and waiting for Evelyn to catch up since she was running after me like I was going to abandon her.

Please. Abandon the good one?

Usually when he acts up I just try and deal with it the best I can, but today I decided I needed to be much more militant in my discipline. If he couldn't control himself, I'd follow through with my previously empty threats to "calm down or we're going home." I needed him to understand that his behavior was simply unacceptable. And let's face it, ANNOYING.

So anyways, I (literally) tossed him in the stroller and wheeled us the hell out of that place. I was able to contain my anger until we got to the car and then did what any self respecting parent would do.

I rolled up the window and yelled at him like a crazy woman.

He was crying so much he gagged and vomited all over himself. At this point I was so irritated I decided to just keep driving and let him soak in his vomit until we got home.

I know!

Mom of the Year 2009!

He eventually fell asleep from the sheer exhaustion of being evil. When I pulled into the driveway, he woke up with a look on his face that was like,

"Wuh? What happened? Why am I covered in vomit and where is my piece of birthday cake, lady?"

He acted like nothing had ever happened.

NOTHING.

*Sighs*

Sometimes I wish I drank.