Too. Much. Noise.

Ever feel like you're on sensory overload? It happens to me all the time now as a mom. I think exhaustion has something to do with it, but it's like every kid toy that we have makes noise and has blinking lights. Sometimes all you have to do is walk by a toy and it will light up and start singing. And both my kids make noise and (although they don't have blinking lights) they sure seem to operate on one of two volume levels - loud or louder.

Right now, Sabrina is playing with a toy that spells words and Nathan is playing with a toy that signs the alphabet song. He is also throwing the magnets that fit into Sabrina's toy, making what is surely a satisfactory (to him, anyway) noise every time they hit the floor. Okay, okay, the toys are both educational and I'm all for educational toys, plus Nathan is doing his best to sign the alphabet song, a truly endearing thing since he's only 15 months old and can only warble along incoherently.

But I've been up since 4:45am, which is when Nathan woke up to feed and then never went back to sleep. He will surely take a nap soon because he's tired. I, however, will get no such luck since Sabrina's up and there is much to do around the house. And this all just feels like too much. Too much noise. Too much stimulus. Too much of everything.

So I could use some peace and quiet. But instead, I will get the alphabet song running through my brain like a persistent virus for the next several hours.

Why can't they put some, say, David Gray or Sarah Maclaughan songs in kid toys? Surely the kids wouldn't notice the difference and it might actually contribute to parental sanity. Just a thought. (But save me, god save me, from the muzak crap that seems to be so popular with some parents. Why take a beautiful symphony and turn it all tinny and strange sounding for kids? Just play the actual freaking symphony! It might actually be educational AND inspriational for the kids. How is that bad? I'm just saying.)

And all through the house...

Do you hear that? Do you? It's the sound of quiet. Sssssh. Listen! That, my friends, THAT is a sweet sound. Okay, maybe not as sweet as the sound of my darling daughter saying something funny or my son's precious first words, but still very, very sweet.

Yes, it's true. The kids are in bed and they are asleep. They may even stay that way. Sabrina generally sleeps all the way through these days, unless she happens to need to go potty or can't find her water bottle. And well, Nathan doesn't. Nope, he does not. He's still happily on the "Hey, let's eat every 3 hours" plan.

But me, I'm not so happy about that plan any more. He's almost 15 months. I have always said I'd feed him at night until it was a problem for me. Well, up until now, it hasn't really been a problem. He didn't like to eat solid food and I thought he needed the calories. So I was willing to get up with him at night and feed the little guy. But now he's 15 months and he's eating more solid food. And I'm tired. I've been tired for the past 15 months. It's time for a change.

(OH, I so get what I deserve - Nathan just woke up crying! I went to check on him, and he's back asleep, but god, that's funny. I should learn to keep my mouth shut!!)

Anyway, I'm going to start night weaning him. It's time. I need to sleep. Stay tuned.

Heave ho!

So the stomach flu is slowly working its way through this family. First, John had it. Then Sabrina got it, but she had it in this really weird form - last Sunday, she threw up twice and I got all geared up to deal with the stomach flu for the next 24 hours, but nope, that was it, she was fine. Then two nights later, I went in to check on her before I went to bed myself and found that she had thrown up on her pillow and was asleep in the middle of it. I went and got John and then we went in to get her cleaned up, and when we asked her about it, she said she was just sleeping. No recollection about throwing up, no comment about going right back to sleep in the middle of all that nastiness.

She's been fine ever since. Such a strange kid.

But now Nathan has it, and he's taking a much more traditional approach to it. Friday night, around 3:00 am, I heard him on the baby monitor, making noise. So I went in and fed him as usual (I know he's 14 months now and yes, I know he shouldn't be needing to eat at night. I swear I'll go into this another time), and then I went back to bed. But I could still hear him in there, awake. And when he started to fuss, I just thought "Forget it, I'm not staying up with him while he's having a party in his crib." So I went and got him and brought him into bed with me.

He started to fall asleep and then bam! he just started vomiting like crazy. I jumped up, woke up John, and we went through the motions of cleaning everything up. The next morning, he threw up again, and that's how the day went - he'd cry and cry and then doze a little bit and then throw up again. Rinse. Repeat.

He's better now. But you know what this means, don't you? John has had it. Sabrina has had it. Now Nathan has had it. The only person who hasn't had it? Yup, you guessed it. Me.

Oh, joy. I just can't wait....

Let it snow

So I'm being a bad mom today. Well, that's relative, I suppose. It's snowing outside, and has been since at least 2:30am, which is when I first got up to feed Nathan. (Yup, he's almost 13 months old and yup, he still gets up to feed in the middle of the night. That's probably the topic of an entry all on its own.) Anyway, it's really pretty out there, but I have a theory about driving in snow - don't do it if you don't have to. Although I did grow up in Colorado, I lived in California for 10 years, and my snow driving skills are a bit rusty. Plus, anytime I feel driving might be risky and I have the kids with me, well, that gives me pause.

So Sabrina isn't going to preschool this morning. And I feel almost gleeful in my decision. Not that I want her to miss school, per se, but I don't really mind that she's missing THIS school. In the 2 months that she's been there, I've had a few issues with the staff there. I'm not happy with the administrative staff, and I also don't like the assistant teacher in her classroom. She's clearly insecure in her authority over the kids, and the kids obviously can feel that, because anytime she's alone with them, it's total pandemonium.

If I'm dropping Sabrina off and it's just this assistant teacher there (we'll call her Miss M) and the lead teacher (we'll call her Miss T) isn't there yet, I won't leave Sabrina there until Miss T arrives. Miss M usually has to go get another teacher to help her restore order in the classroom, and she overcompensates by nearly yelling at the kids and getting right in their faces. If I didn't think highly of Miss T, which I do, I'd have yanked Sabrina out of there awhile ago.

As for the administration, I've gone to them a couple of times with questions or concerns and felt that I was basically dismissed without much consideration. And that makes me mad. I'm paying plenty of money for my daughter to go there - you may very well be the director of the place or what have you, but that doesn't make any decision you make automatically correct or sound.

Needless to say, I've found a new school for Sabrina to attend this summer and next fall, but they don't have any current openings. And I really do like Miss T, the lead teacher in her classroom. And I don't want to change Sabrina's world again until I really have to, because this move to Colorado was big enough to last us all awhile. So she'll stay put until we can move her over to the new school this summer, unless something happens that I just can't stand any longer.

So no school today for us. We'll just play here at home, do some laundry, and then go play in the snow. Sounds a lot better than school to me!

Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?

So Sabrina is now 3. And I'd really like to know where my daughter is and who on earth has possessed her body in the meantime. This girl is CRAZY. One minute, she'll be totally fine and sweet and telling us all about her imaginary friends and the next minute, she's screaming bloody murder about nothing that I can immediately discern. And she'll totally be losing her mind. It's impressive, really.

She'll also refuse to agree with you on anything, no matter what it is. We were driving in the car the other day and she was angrily refuting everything either John or I had to say. Finally, out of desperation and frustration, John said "Sabrina, the sky is blue." "NOOOOOOOO," came the scream from the backseat, "It's GREEN. It's GREEN! IT'S GREEEEEEEEEEN!"

Well, at least you can laugh at a moment like that. If you don't laugh, you'll just start losing your ever-loving-mind, and my mind is on a pretty thin string as it is these days.

I guess there's grace in knowing that this isn't really my daughter, not really. I mean, this is not her true personality. If so, I'd commit both of us to a professional's care right now. It's just that she's three and trying really, really hard to figure out how to be independent. Which, when you're still this little, is a very tall order in such a big world.

I just think that I may need to keep an exorcist on speed-dial for awhile. Or at least a mental care professional....for me, not for her.

Got milk?

So Nathan continues to despise solid food. We vainly put him in his highchair every day and bring out baby food of various kinds and flavors, put on his bib, and then manage to get maybe one teaspoon in his little mouth. Then he closes up like a vault and nothing else is getting in there, man. And he's wise to us now. We can smile and laugh and play silly games with him all we want, and he may smile back if we're really hilarious, but he ain't opening that mouth. No way, jose. It isn't gonna happen.

Yesterday I was holding him and eating crackers and he was watching me eat very intently. And he was opening and closing his mouth and making little smacking sounds. So I whisked him over to the kitchen, got out a cheerio, bit it in half and put the other half in his (amazingly) open mouth. To my absolute delight, not only did he eat it, he seemed to enjoy it. He ate a few more before starting to turn them away. No big deal, I thought, and hurrah, he's eating!

So when John came home, I couldn't wait to show him our new trick. I got out a Cheerio, bit it in half, and held it out, beaming, to Nathan. Who proceeded to jam his mouth closed and cry.

I am starting to worry, and it's a good thing he has a doctor's appointment next week. I mean, I think he's doing fine on my milk, he seems to be growing, although not at the crazy pace he was for his first six months. I just don't know what else to do. If he doesn't want to eat the food, he doesn't want to eat the food. I wonder if there's something else going on. Does it hurt him? Did his time in the NICU after he was born, with tubes down his throat, make putting things in his mouth equal torture? I just don't know.

A crazy kind of love

I was once told that parenting is the hardest thing you'll ever do. The most rewarding, to be sure, but the hardest.

I don't think they were kidding. The sheer endurance that is required can pretty much pull you under, never mind the financial, physical, and emotional toll. And that's just if you're doing a pretty good job as a parent. Whoever sets the bar of being an excellent parent always seems to keep it rising, within sight but juuust out of reach. On a good day, that is. Pretty much out of the ballpark on a bad one.

The exhaustion, though, oh, the exhaustion is so hard. And there isn't ever enough of a break, not really. You can grab an hour or two off here and there, and there's that delicious hour or two at night when you can just sit and watch Grey's Anatomy. And if you're truly lucky, you won't be interrupted to find out why your two-year-old has woken up and is crying, or to nurse the baby. But for the most part, you never get enough rest. Enough time off to be really rested and really ready to re-engage? That is only a nice, far-off dream. No, you just have to keep pushing through, and you just have to deal with the fact that the needs of these children, the ever-present need, is constant.

Stay with me here, because I'm just getting started. Want to know what the hardest thing is? If you're a parent, especially a stay-at-home parent, you know that it's the relentlessness of it...for the love of god, sometimes it's almost funny how far you can be pushed, regardless of your own feelings or status or well-being. Your needs are so far down the page, sometimes they aren't even in view. And with more than one child, it only gets multiplied.

A friend came and stayed with me and the kids for a weekend awhile back when John was out of town. She's fabulous with kids and adores mine, so it was great to have her here because she really pitches in and helps, you know? She doesn't just sit on the couch watching as chaos rains down around her. Anyway, at one point she looked at me and asked incredulously, "Holy crap, it just never stops, does it?"

No, it doesn't. And it won't, not even tonight when things are momentarily calm and quiet. Nathan has yet to sleep through the night, Sabrina often wakes and needs to be tucked back in, and the cat seems to be very fond of throwing up in the middle of the night. Oh, and pooping on the bathroom floor. The exhaustion and the relentlessness of it? Very much a part of my life right now.

But here's the thing - here's the kicker - I'm crazy, crazy in love with these kids. Now before you start rolling your eyes, let me assure you that I know what you're thinking. Before I had children, when I heard someone say how lucky they were to be a parent, I would think to myself, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. Throw some sunshine somewhere else." I always thought it was the kid who was lucky to have a good parent, not the other way around. And I wasn't usually in the mood to listen to some schmaltzy parent waxing on about how privileged they were to have these kids.

Now I know better. (Prepare yourself.) I still get a little thrill in my heart at least once a day when Sabrina says "Mommy" and she means me. ME! This beautiful, smart, funny, fascinating child loves ME. When she's sick or tired or gets hurt, the only person in the world who can make it better, the ONLY person in the world she wants, is me. That blows me away. To be that lucky, that incredibly lucky to be the person whom she loves more than anything, well...words fail me.

And this baby of mine, this little boy, who is gorgeous and sweet and happy...I can't believe he's mine either. I actually gave birth to him! The way he lights up when he sees me - good god, it could stop my heart right in its tracks. How did this happen? Where did he come from? And is it really my good luck that he wants nothing more in this world than to be held and nursed and comforted and played with by me?

I didn't lose you there, did I? Somewhere in the deep, velvety world of adoration for my children? Well, maybe I did. Maybe you were all for this post when you thought it was all about bitching about how hard parenting is and then you walked away from the computer in disgust when you realized that this post is really about how worth it it all is.

Well, it's true. This parenting biz? God, it's hard. Harder than I could have ever imagined or predicted or expected. But it is also more mind-blowing and wonderful and soul-altering than I ever knew as well. So there you go. It is, in fact, the hardest thing you'll ever do. And also the most rewarding. They go hand-in-hand. Sometimes the exhaustion and relentlessness wins out. And sometimes, in the moments of pure grace, the beauty of a love like this wins. And that's when you know you would never change your life, not for anything.