DotMoms

One day's worth of questions

By Jennifer

"Mommy," they ask...

"Does smoke turn into air?"

"But WHERE in your ear is the smallest bone in your body?"

"How do boats float?"

"Why is 'does' pronounced 'duz' and 'goes' pronounced 'goze'?"

"Why is the 'k' silent in 'know'?"

"Why can't I marry Daddy?"

and finally:

"How come the numbers never end?"

Jennifer is a thirtysomething mother of four little girls, Mary (6), Kate (4), and twins Elizabeth and Frances. She lives with her husband and daughters in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

Six is the new 10

By Jennifer

My little babies are growing up and it's happening at the speed of light. How did that teensy baby that only yesterday was nursing and sleeping on my chest until I was soaked with sweat suddenly become this sassy little girl? Not only has she become a sassy little makeup-lovin' teenager-wannabe, she's got a crush on a boy! My baby!

She's six, mind you. Not 12, or even 10 -- she's SIX. I'm pretty sure, and my husband will laugh that I'm actually putting this in writing, but I'm fairly certain I didn't have a crush on a boy until I was at least nine years old. Eight at the earliest.

He jokes that six is the new 10 because I'm constantly trying to think back to when it all started for me and I keep coming up with 9 or 10. I guess in my mind I'm trying to make sure she's not some boy crazy nut, that she's normal. Although I'm not sure I'm a good guage for normal behavior, but it's really all I've got. 

I know that she has a crush on this boy not because she told me, but because last year she and her friend were joking about who liked him more. When Mary realized I was listening, she turned red and insisted that she didn't like any boys. She denied it! She KNEW to deny it, which scares me even more than the denial. I still can't figure out what she thinks is wrong with it other than just being embarassed in general. I remember being super-embarassed about the crush I had on that boy when I was 9 or 10. My best friend, who loved him too, and I would stalk him and peek in his desk when he was at recess. We could have worked for the CIA we were so sneaky.

I figured the crush had died down since I hadn't heard a word about the boy in months, but the other day I was cleaning out her booksack and found a note she'd written that said "I love (boy's name)." When she saw me open it she grabbed it and ran off to hide it.

I guess it starts slowly like this -- the secrets, the not trusting your parents, not wanting to tell us everything that happens in your life. It makes me sad. I'd always imagined I'd have this very open, verbal relationship with my daughters. I'd be that mom that they trusted and felt comfortable telling their problems to. I keep telling her that she can tell me if she likes a boy, that it's OK. But she just won't. 

I think I will have two kids that are secretive and embarassed, and two that tell me more -- maybe more than I want to know. I'm really not sure which is better. 

What none of them realize yet is how annoyingly persistent their mom is.

How do you keep your older kids talking to you once they start getting secretive?

Jennifer is a thirtysomething mother of four little girls, Mary (6), Kate (4), and twins Elizabeth and Frances. She lives with her husband and daughters in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

The resiliency of children

By Jennifer

Since Hurricane Katrina left New Orleans uninhabitable, we've enjoyed getting to know some of our new permanent and temporary neighbors. Every empty house is now filled and there are lots of new kids on our Baton Rouge block. I knew there were some kids living three doors down, but I hadn't seen them out yet. One Saturday afternoon as I was cleaning the kitchen and the kids were out playing, my 5-year-old Kate appeared in the kitchen with a tall blonde-haired girl and introduced her as "Annabelle, our new neighbor -- she's playing with us." She and Kate were wearing the same shirt and due to this fact they became what I call "insta-friends." 

They were BEST FRIENDS from that day on. For two weeks they waited for each other to get home from school and played on their bikes and in the playhouse. It was friendly bliss and I'd never seen Kate happier. As the "middle child," wedged between our bossy (in a good way!) 6-year-old and very, ahem, energetic 2-year-old twins, she tended to get overlooked. Mary has a best friend in the little girl across the street, and Kate is friends with her too, but she's Mary's age and was her friend "first." Kate was always the tag-along.

The sad thing is that Kate is a great friend. She's sweet and fun and silly and loyal, not to mention imaginative. She has a sparkle in her eye that her teacher was so struck by, she noted it on her progress report. It truly touched me like crazy that Kate had this new friend. A new older friend who made her feel cool. SHE had big plans with Annabelle every day and didn't care what Mary and Emily across the street were doing. They had "things to do."

Unfortunately Annabelle's family had to go back. We thought they would be here through Christmas, but they've decided to go home and try to get back to normal, and who could blame them? They loved our street and how many kids there were, hated to leave, but they have lives they have to get back to. I know it was a hard decision.  When I found out, I was so sad for her that my heart literally hurt. I thought that Kate would mope around and be teary for a while. I figured we'd have to have more school friends over and keep her busy. Take her to the mall maybe.

But nope. She's over it. Not fazed at all. I'm truly amazed and humbled or brought back to the reality that is the mind of a 5-year-old. What they will and won't be sad about seems to me to be ruled by how tired they are and how much food they've eaten. I sense that she just doesn't understand that she may not ever see Annabelle again; she doesn't have the life experience yet to know that this wonderful bond she has is now broken. She can't absorb something so big, and for that I'm immensely thankful. Kids are immune to so much of what weighs on us on a daily basis as adults that it's mind boggling. It's easy to forget that they don't work the way we do. They get their feelings hurt and move on. It's over and they forget.

Isn't it wonderful though and wouldn't it be nice to go back, just for a little while...?

Jennifer is a thirtysomething mother of four little girls, Mary (6), Kate (4), and twins Elizabeth and Frances. She lives with her husband and daughters in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

Baby fever

By Jennifer

My ovaries have begun dancing to the beat of baby fever again. Despite the never-ending stress and chaos that is my life with four children, including 2-year-old twins, I somehow am wanting more. I want a baby and I want one now. 

I'm not naive or just plain dumb enough to think that another baby would be a good idea, and I certainly have enough self-control to not GET pregnant, but gosh I want to be. 

The funny thing is that I'm a terrible pregnant person who throws up for months and is grumpy and generally not a "trooper." I complain -- a lot -- mostly because it's uncomfortable and being nauseated and vomiting for five months is beyond torturous.   

I think it's God's secret (or not-so-secret) little plan to make us ache for babies our entire lives. I know some women who have no interest in children or having babies, but the vast majority of my friends have struggled with wanting a child at some point. One of my closest friends is 30 and practically wearing onesies she wants a baby so much. This urge is completely biological and yet often impractical in this day and age. Babies are cheap, but kids are expensive and the logistics of having more than about four or five children gets really tricky. Forget eating out, much less trips to Disney world. 

I met a beautiful fun woman in her early thirties recently who is pregnant with her seventh child. She had her younger two girls with her and her older four (two girls and two boys) were at school. She'd stopped by a showing of art I was having and leisurely shopped and chatted while her 3- and 4-year-olds toddled behind. I asked if she was thinking of more kids and she said she didn't know. Sort of shrugged her shoulders. 

I have to admit that I'm a little jealous. She has easy pregnancies, and I think if I did, I would have one more. I'm envious that she's so laid back about it all and is just doing what she feels like doing. There is a definite stereotype in our society about people who have more than about four children (we get LOTS of comments with four). People want to know what is different about you that you can handle or even want that many. 

This woman just weathered the questions we were peppering her with and seemed amused by just about everything. SEVEN children. 

I think I can't do it, though. I know myself and my limits and I think I'm there. I do admire those of you out there who take that step and have as many kids as your heart desires. You're braver than most of us. While I'd love another trip to the hospital to welcome another little precious baby into the world, I don't think I can handle another 2-year-old (as cute as they are!) who likes to squeeze entire tubes of toothpaste onto my bed. I reserve the right to change my mind, but with my constant reminders of the destruction, it probably won't happen!

How many kids do you have and how many do you secretly want?

Jennifer is a thirtysomething mother of four little girls, Mary (6), Kate (4), and twins Elizabeth and Frances. She lives with her husband and daughters in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

A Baton Rouge DotMom reflects on New Orleans, the wake of Katrina and the future

By Jennifer

I live in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, about 70 miles of New Orleans. I love New Orleans like no other city, possibly because, next to Baton Rouge where I grew up, it's the city I've spent the most amount of time in. It's the city we go to for birthdays and to get away.  It's where we celebrate anniversaries and it's where we go for girls' nights. In high school, we went without our parents' permission and reveled in the free flowing liquor and never ending party. In college, we rented hotel rooms for Mardi Gras and spent four days drunk and stumbling around. The crowd would grow so large you'd be picked up and carried by the people standing around you.

Now that we're older and can't drink an entired bottle of bourbon without ending up in the ICU, we go to New Orleans to relax. We avoid Mardi Gras unless it's spent uptown on St. Charles street where the locals go and it's more family friendly. We stay in nice hotels and eat at fancy restaurants. We all feel so lucky to have such a huge cultural center so close to home and have never underestimated or forgotten the significance of such a wonderful city. It's a place that Lousianians are extremely proud of and treasure greatly.   

Which is what makes this all so hard to understand. New Orleans is not a wealthy city.  The people who were stranded at the Superdome are the ones who make up a large part of the population and are the ones who keep the fancy hotels and restaurants we all love so much running. They keep the city going, and yet they seem to have been let down. The area they lived in was the lowest lying area in a city, which, we all know now, is several feet below sea level surrounded by a large lake and a large river. It boggles the mind that the levees were never fortified to sustain anything larger than a category three hurricane, but they weren't. 

I have many friends who fled New Orleans and are now here in Baton Rouge trying to figure out what to do. Most of their homes are not flooded, but they still can't go back and won't be able to for a really long time. Some friends called their home in New Orleans to see if they could get their messages and someone answered the phone, "Johnson residence." The owners are not the Johnsons. Strangers have moved into their house.

We have had a major influx of people into our city and with that, new traffic problems, new fears about crime and the rumors that fuel them. What we also have, though, is new neighbors and friends at church. Our children will have more kids to play with and our charities and businesses more capable people to run them. Our real estate market is in high gear, with only a few hundred houses left in Baton Rouge alone and they are going fast. Despite what you may see on the news, Baton Rougeans are welcoming our neighbors from New Orleans with open arms and looking forward to some changes. (I heard yesterday that Galveston and Houston were the same size before Galveston was hit by a hurricane many, many years ago. Maybe Baton Rouge will share Houston's fate.)

The only thing I lost in this hurricane was electricity for five days. My two best friends lost their houses and most of the contents. Some people lost their families. As mothers, our biggest fear is of losing our children -- but you never think in this country, in the year 2005, there would be little children left on an interstate overpass in 100 degree heat, in a flooded city with no food and water for five days. I just never dreamed anything so awful could happen next door. Right next door. This is not Bahgdad, this is NEW ORLEANS.   

I feel like I have a whole new list of fears, and every time they subside a little, and life around here starts to feel normal, I see a fleet of helicopters overhead and remember. There is so much suffering going on so close to all of us that we feel as though we need to suffer a little to take away some of the pain for these people, but we all know we can't. All we can do is pray for them, and hope it never happens to us.

Jennifer is a thirtysomething mother of four little girls, Mary (6), Kate (4), and twins Elizabeth and Frances. She lives with her husband and daughters in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

EDITOR'S NOTE: How can DotMoms and our readers help families heal from this disaster? We are considering many options. Please post your suggestions.

The price of consistency

By Jennifer

We took the crew to the mall after church on Sunday to get some lunch, ride the carousel and go to the Disney store. All of that fun stuff us adults love to do. On the way there I was imagining how much fun the twins, who are almost two, were going to have on the carousel, and was mentally patting myself on the back for being such a cool parent and taking my kids to do fun things. 

Everything went well until we got to the Disney store. The twins had had enough, they were ready for a nap, and while they'd enjoyed the carousel with a mixture of sheer terror and giddiness, they were starting to get very cranky. That is the point when we always, no matter what we are doing, always wrap it up and go home.

Well, our oldest picked out her little toy and put it up on the counter. I told Kate, our 4-year-old, to hurry up and pick hers out, we needed to go. Chuck was already out in the mall with one twin, who was screaming, the other one was in the store with me, screaming. Kate browsed around some more. She picked up a stuffed animal, examined it, then put it back down. I told her I was going to count to five, which I did. No luck.  She was still meandering around leisurely looking at things, searching for the perfect toy. 

At that point both babies were really losing it and we were all getting stressed out -- all of us except Kate. She was not in the slightest hurry. Kate is hard-headed like her Mommy and tends to do things at her own pace. All things. Every day. It is a daily struggle to get her out the door; she stresses over the smallest decisions, which is fine when you're getting ready to go play outside, but when the other five family members are in the car ready to go and she's already had 30 minutes when she could have changed shoes, it gets frustrating. 

The check-out guy and I exchanged a glance and I told him, "This is going to be bad."  "Kate, I am PAYING now, if you want something you'd better put it up on the counter or you won't be able to get anything!" She walked off in the other direction. I couldn't believe she didn't come running over with a toy and sling it up there, but I realized at that moment that she wasn't taking me seriously. I suddenly felt like I had something to prove and swiped my debit card. I might as well have swiped my brain through the machine, because for the next four hours I would have it sucked out of my ears slowly while listening to the high-pitched screaming of an angry 4-year-old.

We stood strong. She tried to blame me, she tried to get us to go back. She kicked doors and screamed like I've never heard her scream. It was a lovely afternoon.

Really, the hardest thing about doing that, and following through, was the fact that the other kids had to experience it all as well. Mary couldn't really enjoy her toy because Kate was screaming in the car and having a tantrum. The twins were freaked out.  Chuck and I were completely frazzled and looking to fight with each other. It was hard.

I think it worked, though. I'm thinking it will be embedded in her psyche enough to be used as a deterrent against her dillydallying again, or not listening. She now knows that I'm serious and she'd better do what I say.  When you have four kids, it's not in your best interest to say one thing and do another -- consistency is a necessity in the parenting skills guidebook. It's not always the easiest choice, but hopefully it will be the right one long term.

Jennifer is a thirtysomething mother of four little girls, Mary (6), Kate (4), and twins Elizabeth and Frances. She lives with her husband and daughters in Louisiana.

Phone time=Crazy time

By Jennifer

Talking on the phone has become stressful for me as a mother (I know, I know, big surprise). Occasionally I'll have that rare phone conversation that doesn't end with me yelling, "I gotta go! Frances poured fingernail polish on the sofa!" But usually it's a four-way conversation involving me, the person I'm attempting to converse with, and any two of my four small children.

Sometimes it's a five- or six-way call. Sometimes I don't even get to talk, I just yell at the kids and then hang up.

This time was no different. As my kid-free best friend blithely chatted about her Priceline.com hotel dilemma and her upcoming 11-day vacation, I was trying to dress the big girls for day camp while watching (there was nothing else I could do) Frances drag a piggy bank swiftly across the house trailing pennies and nickels with more efficiency than should be possible for a toddler. It's as though the phone lines being engaged in our home cause the universe to open up and dump heaps of crazy time in my lap.

I took the phone outside so I could hear Lisa talk to me about her trip. Elizabeth followed me and burst into sad, sad toddler tears. Tears that were obviously triggered by the opening of the phone lines and the universal sign babies get that says, "Now! Cry now! The food lady is holding the silver thing!"

On the other end of the phone line Lisa paused and said, "Jen, I know I say this to you all the time, but I really don't know how you do it." "I just DO it," I said. Because if I stop and think about how hard it is I might lose consciousness.

It really is hard to explain how, even though they are making you insane, that one sweet smile from a warm, fuzzy-haired baby or smelling their heads, makes you melt, and all of the stress disappears.

The crazy phone game seems like a small price to pay.

Jennifer is a thirtysomething mother of four little girls, Mary (6), Kate (4), and twins Elizabeth and Frances. She lives with her husband and daughters in Louisiana.

TGIS!

By Jennifer

Thank God it's summer! No, seriously. THANK GOD IT'S SUMMER.

I was dreading summer until about two weeks ago when I thought if I had to go through the "daily grind" one more time I might have to accidentally crash my suburban into a telephone pole so I wouldn't have to drive anywhere else for a few hours.

You know the daily grind I'm talking about. The "get up and drag your family out of their beds and force feed them while brushing matted hair and looking for shoes" grind. This is usually done alongside the "yell at your husband to help instead of disappearing into the bathroom for 30 minutes" grind. All of that -- coupled with the endless end-of-year activities/duties -- is really more than one can take.

There were end-of-the-year parties and birthday parties and graduations and cute things at school, which are all fine and good, until you've officially burned out on them and then they become nightmarish duties sent by the devil. I began unintentionally speeding everywhere I went out of sheer car hate. I was tired of being in my car with my poor neglected 1 and a half-year-old twins screeching from the backseat. I didn't blame them.

We somehow made it through and now are busy lolly gagging and generally being unproductive and lazy. Heaven. The kids play in the baby pool and look for bugs. In the afternoon we all listen to the locusts and eat Popsicles. We can all sleep as long as we want and we don't have to rush off to bed at 7 p.m. when everyone is still playing outside.

The girls set up a Kool-Aid stand for two days and made almost $30. Their sign read, "Kool-Aid 50c! Plees giv us money! We havint made inne money!"

I'm thinking we might have to put the babies out for added cuteness and see if we can maybe make enough to buy them that big Barbie Head they've been wanting. It's summer, what else do we have to do?

What are your family's summer plans?

Nuggets of truth

By Jennifer

Mother's Day has really gotten special since my older two are at the ages where they can communicate in ways other than grunts and blinks. They are both in school now and they can make cards and write me notes. They bring home some pretty neat stuff from school, but my favorite so far has to be the "our moms" book that they do in pre-kindergarten.

It's a book of drawings of each of the mommies by their child and then a paragraph of answers to questions such as "How old is your mommy?", "How much does she weigh?", "What would you find her doing around your house?", "What TV shows does your mommy watch?" and "Why do you love her and she you?".  Mary did the book last year and Chuck and I sat in bed giggling for an hour at all of the drawings and answers. Some mommies liked to watch soap operas, others drank wine and liked to lay in their beds.  One mommy yelled all the time. I was apparently busy cleaning a lot (anyone who knew me well got a good laugh out of that one) and we were all about 100 years old and weighed around 40 pounds. 

The drawings, which the teacher put all together on the last page in a collage, are really spectacular -- a mishmash of pig noses and long sleazy earrings. Some had mohawks, others fangs. One mom's face was just a jumble of squiggle lines. I've been looking forward to Kate bringing home her book this year.

Everyone gets a copy so we all get to be both embarrassed and entertained at the same time. This year I was pleased to see that Kate put that I only watched "Dragon Tales" and she thinks I love her because she has "shiny hair" and "pretty eyes." Two things I tell her on a regular basis and it makes my heart sing that she takes those compliments in. I was in the clear again this year! My sister-in-law, not quite as lucky. 

Kate and my nephew Hunter are in the same class, and he is what we like to call a "character." He's funny, and he and his brother like to torment their poor, innocent little mommy. While we all know that most of the information is not wholly true -- like the fact that some mommies just snuggle in their beds all day -- we do assume there is probably a little nugget of truth (she probably snuggles in her bed a lot on Sundays).

Well, Hunter decided to COMPLETELY make up about 80 percent of his answers. He got right that my sister-in-law likes to clean the kitchen and living room, but he then decided to inform the teacher that she liked to watch "scary shows where the skeletons come out of the walls and the good guys have fire." This one statement has been the source of endless laughing for not only me, but my entire family. It's so hilarious because Joey (my sister-in-law) is the biggest ninny there is and would never in a million years watch a scary movie, much less let her 5-year-old watch one. She is completely mortified that people are going to think she watches horror movies with her children every night. 

Hunter also told the teacher that he "doesn't know why my mommy loves me" and that he loves her "because she cooks food for me." This is funny because she avoids cooking like the plague. 

I reassured her that everyone would have to know he made the movie stuff up and I think she believed me. I believed me, until I got a phone call from another mommy in our class. We were laughing about the book when she asked "what is that movie that Joey watches where skeletons come out of the walls?!" 

Don't believe everything you read...

Daddy's girls

By Jennifer

Chuck has finally given in to the fact that he has daughters. He has daughters -- and how. He's had his nails painted and his scruffy boy hair tied up in pony tails. Two rooms in our house are pink and one is purple. There are no matchbox cars and no GI Joes, only Barbies and Groovy Girls to keep Kate's collection of stuffed poodles company. They do all enjoy getting muddy and dirty, which would be a plus, except he usually has to help clean them up.

This has all been cute and laughable and has brought on more than enough dumb comments from total strangers. He's aware that there will probably be (at least) four weddings to pay for in the future and four teenage girls in our house all at one time.  Yes, menstrual cycles will collide.

He's also aware that he'll have four loving daughters to care for him if I go first. He'll have four daughters to walk down the aisle, four daughters to cheer on through high school and college.

He is so good at being their Dad. He's patient and funny and he puts them to bed every night with a book. The twins say Da-Da way more than they say Ma-Ma, and they practically push me out of the way when he walks in the door at the end of the day.

He's building a playhouse for his little girls. As an architect it's something he's been talking about since Mary was born 6 years ago, and honestly I never really believed it would happen. He's built it completely by himself -- we're not sure how, but he has. It's  going to be the best playhouse ever. It's two stories with a loft and a front porch and a picket fence. I told him the other day that I wished I was a little girl again and he was my Dad. It's that good.

We were looking at a house down the street that was for sale, and as I told the older girls about it, Mary looked up startled and said, "But what about our playhouse!?" "Well," I said, "we'll be doing work on the new house and we'll just get them to build you guys a cool new playhouse at the same time!"

Mary replied with tears in her eyes, "But it won't be the same as the one that Daddy made using his own two hands."

Good point.