two phone calls

I had a conversation with my Mother-In-Law and my father the same afternoon. My Mother-In-Law and I were talking about Motherhood. She was telling me what a great Mother I was. How patient, how loving. How proud of me she was. I took the compliments, but had to counter with. "...but I wish I could do better." She didn't know what I could possibly do better. "I could keep a cleaner house," I told her. Everything I pick up from the floor is replaced with two more things dropped by the kids. Toys, clothes, food everywhere. How do Barbie's clothes end up in the toilet? It is crazy the amount of mess two children under the age of three can create. She told me not too worry. "The cleaning can wait, your children cannot. They are only this tiny for so long. Enjoy them" I knew she was right and it made me feel really good about staying home with them everyday. I am lucky to be there to hear their first words, see them take their first steps, sing their first song. Mom's kind words were nice to hear, but I still felt a bit like I was undeserving of such high praise.

Then my Father called. We started talking about a family friend who was pregnant with her second baby. "It looks like she is doing what you did. Her kids will also be two years apart," he said. Then he asked me if I was planning on having any more. "I think we are going to stop at two," I answered. Without skipping a beat he said, "Yay!" with unabashed glee. "Yay?" I asked. "That is a strange reaction, Dad" He paused. "Ahh... I mean three would be so hard on you. You are already having such a hard time." Hard time? Well, yes, sometimes it is hard. Yes, I have been tired for three years. Yes, I have given up the spontaneity that a childless existence provides. But I have gained so much more than I have given up. How could he not see that. He is a parent, afterall. And I think I am doing a pretty damn good job at this motherhood thing.

While talking to my Mother-In-Law I had doubted my ability. While talking to my Father I felt absolutely certain that Motherhood was my calling. Why not have three kids? Or four for that matter. My husband and I turn out some pretty good looking kids. Well, because that would be four educations to pay for, several more years of sleepless nights, and having to go through pregnancy again... and again. So, Mom is right. I am a good Mother. And, as much as it hurt to hear, my Father is right. Two children is perfect,... for me.

fever

He has had a fever for two days. It goes up and down from 101 to 102.5. I am using an ear thermometer, which my friend Gavi just informed me reads one degree higher than it is. That is some comfort. He is ten months old now and hasn't been sick yet. I have never seen him in pain. Cranky, yes, but in writhing pain, no. Not until now. His four top front teeth are coming in. I can now see the little holes in his gums that the jagged edges of the front teeth have created. He moans, throws himself in my lap and struggles to find a comfortable position. Apparently, there isn't one. This morning he crawled into my lap and fell asleep against my chest, exhausted. He is asleep in his crib now, and has been for an hour and a half.

I don't remember my daughter going through this, but my husband tells me she did. I guess I have blocked it from my memory, like the pain of childbirth. I feel helpless and just have to trust that he will be his joyful self soon. I invite any mothers to leave me some advice on this. I am off to stare at him and wish the pain away.

i wanna be more like her

After watching the news every night since hurricane Katrina hit and feeling helpless, we finally went through our closets and packed up several boxes of stuff to donate. We took it to a woman's house who has a Mommy group that decided to send an email around to other moms encouraging them to send children's clothes to the smallest victims of this tragedy. It is rough watching the suffering of these people, but as a mother, it is more than I can take when I see a naked, dehydrated baby who won't wake up in his mother's arms. I went through my kids clothes and toy boxes and even found two boxes of maternity clothes up on a shelf to donate. This was hard for me because I am a pack rat. Having grown up with very litte I tend to hang onto the silliest stuff. Clothes that are outdated, stained, don't fit... because I might need them as a costume in a show that has yet to be written or my kids might want to play dress up in them. But if there is one thing that would force me to come to terms with years of hording, this is it.

Lastly, I opened my daughter's toy chest. It is filled with stuffed animals that she has never named, cuddled, or even acknowledged. Fearing that she might share my fear of letting go of material objects, I tried to bag these up in secret. As I was putting the plushy pink puppy into the bag my daughter came in and asked what I was doing.

"Well," I paused. Do I tell her the truth? And how much truth can an almost 3 year old handle? "I am going to give some of your toys to boys and girls who don't have any toys."

"They don't have any toys?" she asked with genuine concern.

"No, sweetie, they don't. And they don't have any clothes either, so I am going to give them some of your old clothes."

"Some of my clothes?" She looked at me with her eyebrows down. I couldn't tell if she was disaproving, or confused.

"You see... ahh" here we go, "there was a big storm, and lots of boys and girls lost there homes. The storm blew them away and that's why they need clothes and toys. Do you want to give them some of yours?"

She nodded yes, and I put the puppy in the bag. She then did something that brought real tears to my eyes. She walked over to her bed, picked up her beloved piglet she has had since birth and handed it to me.

"The boys and girls can have Piglet. They're gonna love it!"

"That is so sweet of you to want to give that to the boys and girls." I said, choking back the tears.

"And I want to build a new house for them, too, Mommy. They don't have a house and they need me to build them one."

"That's right, honey. They do need a new house."

I finished packing up the bag with toys I thought she wouldn't miss and she didn't flinch. Maybe she does get it. It's simple, they need something, we have it to give.

After she went to bed, I finished off my closet and tried to be more like her. I gave things I never thought I would part with and I didn't look back. As for Piglet, he is back on her bed tonight with his pals from the Hundred Acre Wood, watching her dream.

naptime

When the afternoon shadows fall my kids start to run out of gas. About 2pm they get clumsy, cranky and unwilling to nap on their own accord. I have found a sure fire way to get them the sleep they need in the middle of the day. I strap them in their car seats, put on NPR at a low volume and drive to Forest Lawn Memorial Park. It is the perfect place to go because the speed limit is 20 miles an hour, with few stops, and there are gorgeous green lawns dotted with large lush trees. My kids are lulled instantly as we enter the huge iron gates. I watch the shadows from the leafed branches roll across their faces through my rear view mirror as they gaze out the tinted van windows. My daughter stops singing, my son coos softly to himself. I drive slowly through the small neighborhoods of the park, each with it's own name printed discreetly on the curb. Names like, Whispering Pines, Vale of Memory and Slumberland. After they have been asleep for at least ten minutes, I look for a shady spot and pull the car over. I leave the engine on so that the temperature doesn't rise inside and I put my seat back. Then I get out my book. That's right, I AM READING A BOOK! David Sedaris "Dress Them in corduroy and Denim." I read until one of them starts stirring, usually my son, and then I slowly make my way towards the exit and go home.

Yesterday, I even crawled into the empty back row of the van and fell asleep myself. I locked the doors, but wasn't really worried about someone approaching the car at a cemetery. I slept for about a half an hour and woke up feeling great. Naps for me have been very hard to come by since my son was born.

Today I parked on the left side of the road and looked straight down from my driver's seat to see a grave marker right below me. Louisa Pasquailia 1893 to 1954. I just stared at it. Usually I look slightly above ground and don't think about the thousands of bodies underneath the beautifully manicured lawns. But today, with all the news of death and suffering being discussed on NPR in the Gulf Coast, I had to face it. Maybe it's my love of the HBO show Six Feet Under that has kept me from being creeped out in this place. As I see it, it's just a great place to take a nap.