Just Breathe Mom

Late last week I decided to take my sons swimming at my sister’s house. But before we could leave, my boys wanted to swing for a few minutes on our backyard swing set. Since they are getting older and bolder, they wanted me to push them a little higher than usual. Against my better judgment, I did. While my 6-year-old was at the highest point in the air during his swing, the rope attaching the swing to the swing set gave way and my son fell flat on his back.

I quickly scooped him up and took him inside to assess the damage. Thankfully, he seemed more shocked than physically hurt. He had a little red mark on his lower back and a couple of broken fingernails. (Which just proves that I don’t trim them often enough.) Anyway, I fretted over him for a few minutes, kissed his boo boos, and then moved on with the day.

But my clever son, clearly enjoying all of the attention and fuss I was making over him, wanted his falling out of the swing accident to be the theme of the day. He was going to let anyone and everyone know about it. And he was going to milk it for everything it was worth.

First, he needed a cookie because he fell out of the swing and hurt himself “so so so very very very badly.” His words, not mine. Cookies have magic healing powers when you’ve taken a tumble apparently. But apparently they aren’t the only thing. Toys seem to help too, according to my 6-year-old. I nixed the new toy idea quickly. There would be little boys falling out of our swing set daily if a new toy was the end result. So I said yes to the cookie and no to the toy.

Meanwhile, when we pulled into my sister’s driveway, my son reminded me to tell my sister and her family about his very scary incident. But I didn’t have to - he wasted no time the minute we walked into her front door. My little sympathy seeker sure knew how to work a room, let me tell ya. And he received all of the ooohs and ahhhs and worried expressions he was looking for. After his few minutes of uninterrupted attention, he was ready to move on for awhile. That is until his daddy got home and the whole process started over. I can’t say I really blame him for his attention seeking behavior because there will come a day when mom is the only one who will still notice his boo boos.

Love takes shape in many forms: in the form of words, gifts, looks, and actions. I personally prefer the form of action. Even though it is not my husband’s preferred method, sometimes he gets it right. I’ll explain, in a short-long kind of way…

Everyone has one or two things that just freak them out. I mean really freak them out. Ok, maybe not everyone, but I’m guessing I’m not the only neurotic person out there. My two things may seem like nothing to someone else, but to me they can put me in a state of crazy. I’m talking about mice and bugs.

Most of my friends already know about my dislike for bugs and my abnormal fear of mice, but probably not to the extent that my husband does. Every winter he dutifully evicts the latest unwanted rodents from the garage. Because he knows that if I see one of them, he might come home and find me in a catatonic state brought on by fear. Seriously. No, really, I’m serious and not even trying to be funny. (Well, maybe a little funny.) I am embarrassed to say that I’m a prime candidate for the Maury Povich show. (To clarify, not the “Who’s Your Baby’s Daddy” show, but the “I’m Terrified of…” show.)

My other nemesis, bugs, doesn’t put fear in my veins, but gross me out. Especially when the little buggers invade my home. In particular, I can’t stand the creepy cockroach looking Earwig. It probably stems from when I lived in Texas and went through cockroach hell. It’s not very common to have them in Midwest suburbia, so I wasn’t prepared for the constant battle I faced in the south. It took years after moving back to the Midwest to dissipate the anxiety I felt every time I opened up a box of cereal or turned on the light.

Anyway, enough about my neurosis and on to the love part of this blog. Since it’s been monsoon season in the Midwest, the bugs have come out in full force. Apparently, there’s not enough room for them outside, so they’ve decided to start setting up shop in my house. My husband is on it. Without me even asking or threatening to move, he called Bob the bug guy. Bob graciously rid our house of bugs and saved our marriage two years ago for a small fee. I would pay almost any fee to be bug free.

For me, my husband calling the bug guy without me asking = love. Validate my fears and rid my life of things that freak me out and I’m in it for the long haul. And that’s what I call love.

I come from a back-rub loving family. When I was young I remember my mom constantly hounding me or one of my four other siblings to rub her back. Sometimes we’d happily oblige. Other times we’d pretend we didn’t hear her and hope she’d move on to someone else. And even other times, we’d work out a back-rub exchange with her.

Well I’m here to tell you the apple did not fall far from the tree with me. I have a severe back-rub addiction, and I blame only my mother for it. Here I am in my mid-thirties doing exactly as my mother did, begging my children for back-rubs. I’m a little embarrassed to say that I don’t stop the begging at my children. I’ll stop in front of just about anyone and wiggle my shoulders in hopes that they’ll start massaging my shoulders and back. Okay, so I don’t ask strangers, but siblings, coworkers and acquaintances are not off the hook.

Sometimes my children do oblige and give me a back-rub. Other times they completely ignore me. If I’m being honest though, their back-rubbing skills leave much to be desired. They have about a 30 second to 1 minute attention span on the back-rubbing. I know, I know, they are only 3 and 6. I can’t really blame them if they’d rather play with action figures than rub my back. So sometimes I have to get clever. I’ll lie down on my stomach and put a couple of matchbox cars next to me, and invite them to race their cars on my back. Voila! Instant back massage. Those little wheels can hit just the right spots at times. The matchbox races usually give me about 5 minutes of back activity. And I’ll happily take it!

Other times I’ll just lie down on my stomach and see what happens. I’ve learned in my 6 years as a parent that you WILL get climbed on, walked on and jumped on if you are on your stomach. Considering the lengths I’ll go to get a little pressure applied to my back, that’s not a bad thing.

Having a baby girl is dangerous, especially after having two boys. There is an obscene amount of gorgeous clothing, shoes, and accessories geared towards little girls and their susceptible mothers. Anyone with boys is aware of the unfair balance of cuteness that exists in local baby departments. To put it simply, the amount of pink heavily outweighs the amount of blue. This is something that I complained about for years. That is until I was finally welcomed into the wonderful world of dresses and matching panties. Now all I can say is, Oh Baby Girl… mommy’s in trouble.

A few weeks ago, I attended a baby expo in my city. How much boy stuff do you think I encountered? Not a lot. No worries, my boys are happy with the latest superhero shirt. It’s now about me and the little one dressed in flowers. I’ve never been one for pink (too much makes me a little nauseous), but I do love girlie things. And I did find a couple of adorable items made by fellow moms that I wanted to share with you.

The first item I want to share with you is the Bella Hat from Simply Sweet. The hats come in an assortment of colors, many of which you can choose the type of flower that is attached. Lilah is wearing the mint green version. Although, it is still a little big on her, because my kids are born with freakishly small heads. More pictures of hat wearing babies can be seen on the website. They are sized to fit infants 0-12 months, but the designer told me her daughter wore hers as a toddler. Also, make sure that you check out Simply Sweet’s tutus. They are the best I’ve seen so far on the web.

The other two items that I love came from Still Spaces Baby Boutique. This shop sells a variety of unique items for baby, but my favorite is the reversible cotton/chenille bib and burp cloth. Every baby needs at least one fancy set for special occasions. Actually, they are so durable you can buy more than one and use it for everyday use. Also, notice the close-up picture of the cool stitching on the burp cloth

Well, those are just some of the unique items that I’ve come across and use for baby girl. If you’re looking for baby gifts, I’ve listed other ideas and products that I like on JustBreatheMom.com/shopbaby.

Everything. I believe the name that you give your child means everything. And whether you consciously realize it or not, the name you give them is almost always the name they were supposed to have. Haven’t you ever noticed how most kids look like the name they were given? It doesn’t matter if you like the name or not. Nicholas looks like a Nicholas, and Olivia looks like an Olivia, and Ralph looks like a Ralph (well, maybe not Ralph)…

When I was pregnant with each of our kids, my husband referred to me as a “name bully”. Towards the end of my pregnancies, I knew what their names were supposed to be. I can’t explain how I knew, I just knew. Some would say that was insightful (me) and others would say that was stubborn (my husband), but in the end there is no denying that each of my children look like the name they were given. We did end up giving them the names I chose, even though my husband fought a good fight all the way to the operating room. I think seeing me cut open helped him throw in the towel.

I will say that I am a firm believer that the mother should make the final call on the name, for many reasons: mothers carry the baby for 10 months, go through the birth process (pleasant or not), have to recover, and are then the primary caregivers (at least in the beginning). Okay, maybe that makes me a slightly stubborn name bully, but my husband wanted to name my boys “Lou” and my girl “LuLu”. Seriously. No really, seriously. No offense to all the Lou’s and LuLu’s out there in the world, but those weren’t supposed to be the names of my kids. At least give me a name that I can work with. All right, whom am I kidding? I’m a complete name bully and I own up to it. It doesn’t make it right, but I will own up to it.

So, what is in a name?

• Meaning
• Purpose
• History and
• Sometimes a little of just because you like it

For instance, my daughter has my grandmother’s first name as her middle name and my second son’s middle name helps keep our Polish heritage alive. I came up with my oldest son’s name by watching ER. I loved how a certain character evolved on the show and I imagined that my son would also grow to be a compassionate man. Yes, I realize that it is only show, but I also just liked the name.

My point is… name your kids what you want to name them. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of the name, whether it be friends, family, or your stepdaughter’s impolite mother. (Oops, did I just write that?) On the other end, if you don’t like someone’s name choice, sometimes it’s just better to keep it to yourself. What is in a name is between the child and the people who named him or her.

Check out this comprehensive list of baby names, rankings, and meanings on JustBreatheMom.com.

Exercising with a 3-year-old is like running through quicksand…you get nowhere real fast! Here’s the story.

I started doing Pilates a couple of weeks ago. I now know that I should have taken a proper class. But instead, I pulled out the Winsor Pilates DVDs my husband purchased from a TV ad over a year ago. Since me and the DVDs were both doing nothing but collecting dust, I thought I should put them to good use. Anything to make bathing suit season more bearable.

The first couple of times I did it, everything went very well. I had really been enjoying the Winsor Pilates workout. But lately my bored toddler has been looking to get in on the action. Fun for him, extra weight and hard work for me. Apparently seeing me on the floor brings out the little monkey in my guy. There is not a part of me that he can’t find a way to climb on or twist or choke or pull. I think I’m getting more of a workout through him than I am the DVDs. But the toddler workout comes with a price. Lots of bruising, scratching and shortness of breath. I can’t think of a more vulnerable position than to be lying flat on your back with arms stretched out while in the general vicinity of a toddler. Chances are that little person is going to make one giant leap for your belly. And if your reflexes aren’t quick enough, you are sure to get the wind knocked out of you. Ugghhh.

The other day he snuck up behind me, jumped on my back and had me in a chokehold. All while I was trying to squeeze my Pilates sculpting circle. I didn’t see anything about that in the literature that came with the DVD! I’m sure I’m going to have to rethink this. I’ll either have to take a real class, make some kind of bribe to get him to leave me alone, or incorporate his jungle antics into my routine. My vote will most likely go to the bribe. After all, that is the path of least resistance…at least in the short term. And all I’m looking for is 25 minutes.

Check out my favorite Winsor Pilates DVD’s below.

One of the things that I am seeking this year in my life is… Peace. I’m not talking about peace on earth, peace to my fellow man, or peace – love – & – happiness. Although, those are certainly worthwhile things to strive for, I’m specifically talking about a little bit of peace in my own life. The kind of peace where I can think, breathe, and relax in complete silence.

So, how does a mother of a preschooler, toddler, and newborn accomplish this? Good question. I’ve been trying to figure that out myself as my two boys have been auditioning for the TV show “Super Nanny” over the last two weeks. (No doubt, a delayed reaction brought on by the birth of their 6-week-old baby sister.) However, last Friday I did stumble upon my moment of peace.

Miraculously, all three of my kids were asleep at the same time. And it wasn’t during the middle of the night. At precisely 3:23 pm, I found a little bit of peace. I sat there smiling and wondering what I should do with my newfound silence. After about a minute, I decided that I would wash the dishes, relax with my muffin, and listen to Oprah & Friends on XM Radio. Unfortunately, baby girl had other plans and woke up 15 minutes later. Therefore, I didn’t get to finish the dishes, eat my muffin, and only heard bits and pieces of the words of wisdom on the radio I desperately needed.

In retrospect, I should have left the dishes and been present in my moment of silence. Lesson learned. I guess that’s all part of evolving as a mother. Utilize a quiet moment in time for yourself when it comes your way.

I can’t believe it. I have an iPod. Me, with an iPod. I may be late to the party, but I am sure happy to have been invited. Ever since I got a pair of parachute pants in junior high on the tail end of them going out of style, I’ve been late with the trends. This one has been well worth the wait. You see my ultra-generous brother gave me one as a gift for my birthday. Whenever he would come to visit, I would disappear with his and listen to some of the old music we grew up listening to. So he bought it, loaded it up with the same music that is on his, threw in a couple of iPod extras and brought me into the 21^st century. It did not take me long to fall in love with this little gadget.

My boys love it too. Since my brother is a move soundtrack fan, he programmed quite a few on my iPod. Including the music to Spiderman, Superman and Batman. Well what more could two little boys want? There is plenty of Disney music on there as well. So every night at bedtime, I put the iPod in their room, and start with the Disney tunes. If they are still awake when the princesses are done singing, we graduate to the superhero tunes.They also enjoy the music to Jaws. Although they have never seen the movie, they know that that famous John Williams piece is all about a shark. And that’s good enough for them. My husband is enjoying his iPod moments as well. Since he is a huge James Bond fan, he can’t get enough of the James Bond movie themes that my brother programmed. We are also set whenever we need an eighties music fix. It’s not like I can hear The Safety Dance everyday. Oh wait, I actually can now! Ahhh…the beauty of an iPod. Now if I could just get some cable, I’d really feel like one of those Disney song titles, “Part of Your World!”

Because we have never taken a real family photo since the birth of our two children, my husband and I thought it would be fun to take a beach family photo while we were on vacation visiting my brother who lives on the East Coast. It was my husband and brother’s idea for all of us to wear matching white shirts and jeans for the photo. Thinking it might be a corny, gag inducing idea, I resisted. But I was overruled by the photographer (my brother) and my husband. I will say though that the more I thought about it, the more it appealed to me. I agreed that maybe white shirts with jeans would look pretty with an ocean backdrop.

Sadly, the weather forecast only gave us a one day possibility to achieve our goal. That day was Thursday. With 56 degrees, sunny skies and some wind as the prediction, we thought we were fairly safe. So we headed off to Newport Beach Rhode Island in search of a nice enough beach location. We found our location, and hopped out of the van to get into position.

Oh my goodness, it was freezing by the water! And the wind was absolutely insane! Our teeth were chattering we were so cold. With the wind howling like it was, my poor hair suffered tremendously. Not as much as my poor husband, who became the victim of my Medusa mane. Honestly, my hair was nothing short of ridiculous! Our boys were little troopers who managed to smile through their discomfort.

Although we survived the ordeal, our photos left much to be desired. Only one single photo of the GOBS that were snapped turned out halfway decent. And I mean it when I say only halfway. So here is a sampling. Go right ahead…laugh all you want! I sure did.

It seems like just yesterday I was pregnant with my third child, but it wasn’t yesterday. In fact, it has been a little over three weeks ago that I gave birth to Lilah Frances. My c-section recovery is going slower than I would like, but the boys, baby girl, and I are finally starting to find our groove. Giving thanks is long overdue. So, here it goes…

I was and still am lucky enough to have several friends and family members help me out during the last part of my pregnancy and after the birth. I carried Lilah very low and was physically unable to do much towards the end, including chase around my two-year-old. My mom was great about driving me around and helping me with the house and my mini zoo of four cats and three dogs. A fellow preschool mom has gone above and beyond in helping me by driving my older son to and from preschool for over a month now. Not to mention staying in my home with my two sons, so my husband could be in the hospital with me. Another friend stayed the second night in the hospital with me and helped me care for my daughter. She graciously catered to us, because I could barely get out of bed. My mother-in-law put herself in the line of fire between my two dueling boys the week after I got out of the hospital. I couldn’t have taken care of them without her. I also do not want to forget my great babysitter who was on call whenever I needed her.

I have the greatest OB who doesn’t miss a beat. She has seen me safely through three deliveries and I couldn’t have asked for a better doctor. I had a pretty good round of nurses this time at the hospital. There were two in particular who made things so much easier for me. The first nurse that I was lucky enough to have for two days was the nicest and most attentive nurse that I’ve ever had. She was the first nurse that I ever told how good they were. The end of my four-day stay gave me another personable nurse that was on top of her game.

I cannot forget my husband for giving me best gift of all, three beautiful children.

I know that all of these people would just say that they were doing their job or it was no big deal to help. However, I think it is a huge deal and I wish that I could find the right words to express my gratitude. Thank you doesn’t seem strong enough. Then again, maybe thank you are the two strongest words in our language. We just don’t say them enough.