Changing Times?

I can remember, quite vividly, the day we got an Internet connection at our house.  We set up our Prodigy accounts, my father doing the work and me assisting.  Fascinated, even then, with the idea of connections with people around the world via the Internet, I specifically remember the guidelines he and my mother set down.  I should never give out my real name, never give my address or other personal information, and certainly never agree to meet in real life anyone that I met on the Internet. Though it was full of information, the message was clear–the Internet could be a scary place.

Today, I think about my Facebook and Twitter accounts.  I contemplate my blog and my Ravelry groups.  I ponder the online parenting forums I’ve frequented.  I think about the writing I’ve done for Associated Content and other online venues.  I think about the women I’ve met through the Internet, social networking, and through email/forums/blogs–some in person, some only online.

From a simple Prodigy account, where even the email address was a combination of letters and numbers so you weren’t identifiable, I’ve gone to having a presence on the Internet.  Much of that presence is associated with my real name.

It’s amazing how the times have changed, isn’t it?  And it’s gotten me wondering about what they’ll be like when the girls grow up.

Because, though I’ve gone against my parents early Internet rules and met people, offered my name, and shared the personal details, I’ve always retained that underlying concern–the Internet is scary.  So if I meet someone for the first time, I meet in a public place.  I leave details of where I’m going and who I’m supposed to be meeting.  I leave my login access behind, so if something happens, my husband has details.

I worry that the girls won’t feel that way and won’t take the precautions I do, because more and more, the Internet isn’t seen as that scary place.  It’s seen as fun.  It’s social.  It’s networking.

My husband and I will try to instill a bit of that fear of the Internet into the girls, the way my parents did in me.  Maybe it’s overprotective…but maybe it will keep them just a little bit safer.  I care about that more than anything else.

Thankful

I’m sure I’m one of many blog posts today that will start this way, and probably not even the only one you’ll read.  But actually, this post has little to do with Thanksgiving, and more to do with life.

I was in bed with the girls the other night, with both of them cuddled up right next to me.  Of course, it made it rather hard for me, at 34 weeks pregnant, to get a good night’s sleep, so I was “blessed” with lots of time to think.  Like most people, I suspect that I do my best thinking in the middle of the night.

Mostly, my thoughts centered on the girls, and the impending arrival of baby Jessica.  Some days I feel like 34 weeks has dragged on indefinitely, and others I cannot believe how quickly they’ve flown, especially when I realize that my once babies are now 5 and 3.  How did that time pass so quickly?  Will it go faster, even, the third time?  I wonder…

I remember when the girls were little.  Some of Marcus’ and my favorite memories were the early days, when we’d be up later into the evening with them, before routines arrived.  We’d be watching tv, and Sam or Erica would be curled up (because they were always curled up) and resting on our chests, or sitting on the couch next to us.  We couldn’t resist staring, touching, holding, and picking up, even if it meant waking up the baby (which is pretty hard to do with a newborn).  With Samantha, we imagined it was the novelty, and that it would wear off.  We’d surely be different with Erica.  But we weren’t.  Those early times were the same.  Hectic during the day, of course, but calm in the evenings…our evenings.

There was something about those early days and nights–where you could survive on little sleep, where you seemed powered by some sort of adrenaline machine, and where nothing seemed more precious than that little baby.

I suppose most of that never goes away.  I’m thankful for that.  For the girls.  For the baby on the way.  For my family and friends. For all of it.

My Ballerina

Seriously…could she BE any cuter?

Put a Cork In It!

Tee-hee…I couldn’t resist a little pun. It doesn’t really go with this post (because I opted not to blog about the woman whose face I wanted to smack tonight when she belittled my “job” as a stay at home mom and my “hobby” as a “writer”…pardon the excess quotation marks!). But this post is all about Cork, the place!

We spent the weekend with Mom in Cork, Ireland, and had an absolutely incredible time. For the most part, the weather cooperated, and I cannot believe what a great job the kids did! We tried hard to pay attention to their cues and their needs, and instead of running around like chickens with our heads cut off, we set realistic goals for what we could accomplish in a given day.

It was incredible. Except for the last day when the girls were starting to wear down, and the flights home (Why did we try to do a connection? Haven’t we learned?), they were really good. In fact, someone even commented to us at a restaurant that the girls were so well behaved.

They really are growing up…sigh!

I haven’t taken the time to upload the pictures yet. We did a driving tour of Cork City, spent a day in Cobh, walked around Youghal, and visited Blarney Castle and kissed the Blarney Stone. Hopefully, I’ll have some photos for you to look at later this week.

So, expect Cork to come to you in the next few days. And to the woman who doesn’t get what a stay at home mom and writer does all day long…stick a Cork in it!

The Journey

Well, as I mentioned yesterday, we are here in America safe and sound and relatively unscathed by the transatlantic travels.  

Of course, there’s always the build up to the big trip, which this time, was riddled with holiday gatherings on Tuesday.  The girls had their toddler group Christmas party first thing Tuesday morning, including a stop in to see Santa, some face painting, and some playtime.

Erica, having her face painted

Sam and Kicka in the ball pit

Then we headed to Moms and Tots Mass, where Father Apollo treated for pizza after mass, and the kids all made gingerbread houses.

Getting the Gingerbread Houses "Just Right"

They were exhausted by the time our travels arrived the next morning, and, in rare form, Marcus managed to read and watch three movies in flight, and I managed to knit, read, and watch some Sex in the City.  Woo-hoo.

I finished a pair of socks for a friend, too, which is always exciting.

Pom Pom Peds in Lorna's Laces Solid

So, now the travels continue as we head down to North Carolina until Tuesday.  It should be a relaxing few days, thank goodness!  After all, we need it!

A Family of Five

Disclaimer:  No, I’m not pregnant.  Just wanted to put that out there, in case that’s what you were thinking.

Of all the experiences that we’ve had as a family since moving abroad in 2006, one of the greatest and most life-changing has been to realize that we are a family of five, a family in Christ.

When Marcus and I met, I liked that he was Catholic too, though neither of us was practicing.  We went to church on holidays, for baptisms and weddings, and on the occasional Saturday or Sunday when we were up, moving, and so inclined.  But we weren’t religious or spiritual.

That changed slightly when we had our children, because I knew that I wanted them to grow up in the church.  But we still went to church sporadically, and didn’t include Christ in our day to day life.

When we went to Marriage Encounter, Marcus and I both took reassurance in the idea that our marriage had three people in it–me, him, and God.  But when the weekend memories faded, so did that idea from our lives.

Moving abroad has breathed new life into our ideas about spirituality, religion, our faith, and our personal and familial relationships with the Lord.  Originally belonging to a large Catholic church in Harrogate, we may never have been active or had this experience.  But on the recommendation of our friends, we decided to attend the parish on base.

It was not an easy transition for me from a large parish, where I was a face in the crowd, to a small, faith-driven community where people knew and interacted with one another.  In fact, I felt uncomfortable with this time of church at first, and our attendance was sporadic.

In addition, my children were not well-behaved at mass.  I felt like all eyes were on us, and was embarrassed that they had misbehaved in front of God, as well as people we would see on a regular basis and who did, in fact, know us.

Over the past year, however, everything has changed.  I wish I could pinpoint who, what, or when, but the fact is, it was a combination of everything.

We started attending a Moms and Tots Mass weekly on Tuesday mornings, connecting me through Christ with other women and children that I have come to love and cherish, and who have impacted me and my relationship with my girls.

Marcus became the parish council’s treasurer, allowing him to become involved in the church and it’s decision making.

I started doing the Children’s Liturgy, sharing the word of the Lord with children and drawing on my background as a teacher.  This opportunity has also allowed me a deeper understanding of God’s word.

Add to all of this the fact that, as many of you predicted, the girls are learning about church, God, and our faith.  As a result, they are behaving in church, asking questions, and praying.

We are growing as a family through Christ, thanks to our parish community and our experiences living abroad.

We are, without a doubt, a family of five thanks to the Lord.

I am truly blessed.

Mothers and Daughters

A dear friend recently blogged about Mothers and Daughters.  I was quick to respond, commenting that though my relationship with my own mother is excellent, I spend most of my days now worrying about my relationship with my daughters.

I wonder if they’ll remember the days I was depressed and couldn’t get out of bed, or the days I took them to McDonald’s as a special treat and we ran around the playground.  Will they remember the mistakes that I made as a mother, or that I tried so hard to be the mother I wanted for them?

My girls are my life.  But I’m quick to accept that there are days where I want nothing more than to be selfish.  For someone to help me with them.  For them to just play quietly and let me knit one more round.

Add in, of course, the struggles that I’ve had as a mother.  Should I discipline more, or less?  Should I spank or not?  Will one more lollipop really hurt them?  I don’t want them talking back…but how do I handle it?  Should we let them sleep in our bed?

Parenting is no easy task, that’s for sure.

Mostly, I hope that the girls know how much I loved them. That even with all of my shortcomings, they’ll remember that.

I flash back to a fight I had with my mother once when I was in high school.  Driving home after school still mad at her, and finding a note that she, my quiet and reserved mother, had placed on the seat next to me.  Reading it and hearing her say that she knew that she wasn’t perfect but that she tried her best.  And when I sit her trying to remember the bad, I can’t.  All I remember is this.

I pray that when my girls sit down to remember me one day, they’ll have the same realization.  That I wasn’t perfect, but that I tried my best.

My Girls

My Mother, My Girls, and Me

Children of the Pumpkin Patch

I’ve never actually seen Children of the Corn, but I think it’s a scary movie.  So, put that out of your head, realize that I was aiming for a cute segue,  and think about how cute my children were at the Pumpkin Day that our organic vegbox company (River Swale) hosted on Sunday.

There was apple bobbing,

Samantha bobs for apples

face painting,

Erica getting her face painted

Grr...I'm a tiger!

pumpkin carving,

The girls and our happy/scary pumpkin

Sam and the best pumpkin ever

and the resulting tubby time.

Who wants to knit when there is cuteness like this already in the world?

Tomorrow is another day…

It is.  The girls woke up this morning their bright, smiley, cuddly selves.  We snuggled on the couch while we watched a movie, and now they are sitting together on the oversized chair in the living room, coloring in the Ratatouille coloring book.  They are taking turns and sharing, something we work on every day.  And they are getting it.  Because Marcus and I are teaching them.  Because I am a good mom.  I know I am.

Thank you to everyone who commented or emailed me yesterday (especially Hannah, whose email had me in tears).  I’m feeling much brighter today…in fact, I feel a bit invincible.  The girls spend the day at nursery today, and I’m determined to catch up on my writing and the house a bit.  So that when they get home I can play with them, without feeling those things looming over me.

I suppose every mother has days and moments like this.  The funny thing is, though, that I think many women keep them to themselves.  It’s the same with many of the struggles I’ve found in parenting.  When I voice them, women around me say, “Oh my gosh, I feel the exact same way.”  But they aren’t found in books or magazines, and most of us don’t talk about them.

I wonder if we’d all feel like better mothers if we did.

Tell Me…I’ll Do It.

I am writing this blog to the sound of my two screaming daughters.  Marcus went out for dinner with friends.  It’s totally fine–I could really care less.  But I think everything just came to a head tonight.

I am just feeling incredibly over parenting right now.  I know that’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s true, at least in the minutes that I type this.  It will, of course, fade away later tonight, once the girls are asleep.  But in this moment…I can’t stand parenting.

I have tried to be patient with the girls and sleep, but it’s just gotten worse in the past year.  It happened slowly, starting with Erica learning to crawl out of her crib and having to move to a toddler bed.  She learned to climb over the gate, too, so there has been no physical roadblock to keep her in her room at night.

I’m not opposed to people who lie down with their children every night to get them to go to sleep.  In fact, there have been times that I’ve resorted to it for my own sanity.  But I don’t want that for me or for my family every night.  I don’t want to co-sleep.  I don’t want a family bed.  I want my girls to go to bed with a kiss on the cheek and a cuddle.  They used to do it.  I don’t know why they won’t any more.

I started sitting by there door and knitting or reading.  Of course, there were nights that I hated doing it and wanted and needed to be doing other things.  But for the majority of nights, I didn’t mind that 30 minutes.  It was quiet time…down time.  I accomplished things.  I loved seeing the girls as they fell asleep.

But for whatever reason…I think I’m just over it.  It’s probably a variety of things.  The stress of buying the house.  Concerns about the next year and what the move home will entail.  Starting to get ready for the holidays.  Sam being sick and Erica teething.  The web writing that is piling up on the computer because I’m behind.  The fact that I’ve had to cut back on my knitting to accommodate the tendonitis.  The fact that I’m not taking my medicine every day.

I know the medicine is part of it.  I am a better mom, wife, mother, Kelly when I take my medicine every day.  But I manage to reach 8 PM too many nights and realize I’ve forgotten, and then just don’t do it.  I know I need it.  But I still struggle to be a grown up and take it every day.

Erica has crawled up in my lap now as I type this.  Samantha waddled her way back into her bed and appears to have dozed off.  And now I feel my eyes welling up with tears as I realize what I’ve just written and what a bad mom it makes me today.

But I know that tomorrow is another day, and they’ll never remember me raising my voice tonight.

But if someone can help me with the sleep situation, I’d appreciate it.

And an extra prayer for me tonight wouldn’t hurt, either…