An Unexpected Trip...and a Win!

Schedules, routines, household organization, rules; all are put in place by parents to streamline as much of the day as possible, to make it as predictable as possible.  Well, we got a dose of the unexpected last night, this time courtesy of our cat.  Kitty River Badger appeared to be having some trouble urinating.  With apologies for being too graphic, she was "trying" all over the house, and not being too successful (thank goodness).  She appeared to be in discomfort, and some web searching convinced me to get her to the vet as soon as possible in the morning.

So, precisely at 9AM, as the office opened, I put a call through, and they told me to come right over.  Now, back in the day, this would be as simple as putting the cat in the carrier and heading out.  With three Little Badgers in tow, I had to throw together our usual "travel" routine and "doctor" routine in one fell swoop.  Quickly.  I packed one bag with books, toys, crayons, coloring books, crackers, a bottle of milk, juice boxes, and a "squishie" for Baby Badger ("squishies" are those organic pureed food packets that look so attractive at Target).  I packed a second bag with diapers, wipes, spare underwear for Little Brother Badger, and a change of clothes for Baby (because, the one time I don't pack it...).  Now for the travel routine.  All kids were dressed and fed, with teeth and hair brushed.  I put on their jackets and shoes and lined them up to go outside, bags and purse in hand.  My thought was to buckle them in, then go back for the cat.  They cooperated, the cat cooperated (mostly), and all five of us were in the van.  Expedition begins!

S**t.  The van is nearly out of gas.  Luckily, there is a gas station on the way.  I pour a few gallons into the tank, and pop back in to do an inventory.  I have three kids (only one of whom is complaining about being hungry already), two bags (stuffed to the brim), and one cat in a carrier (who is letting me know that she does not like the car one bit).  Looks good to me!  Onward.

Our caravan arrives at the vet's office and we wait to check in.  There are already a few other animals there waiting, and the Little Badgers keep up a steady commentary about how little, or big, or cute, or ugly they are.  I smile and nod hopefully at the other people.  We are checked in quickly, but then asked to wait for a room.  Already the insatiable Badger appetite is rearing its head.  Big Brother Badger wants a cracker.  Little Brother Badger wants a cookie.  Baby wants her bottle.  Poor Kitty is now scrunched all the way into the corner of her carrier.  I sympathize with her.

I'm not sure how long it takes to make it into an exam room, but it seems like a while.  Even with Baby fastened into her stroller, the constant talking, bribing, threatening, cajoling, and chasing keeps me constantly occupied.  I don't even have a chance to check my phone.  Then, we're called in, and the waiting begins again.  At least this time we're in a small room.  With the Little Badgers relatively contained, I can relax a bit and pull out snacks and some toys.  An assistant comes in and starts the exam, and the Boy Badgers are especially interested in what's happening to their Kitty.  But, then, it takes the vet an especially long time to show up, and I dole out another round of snacks.  After the vet comes in and we discuss, Kitty is brought to another room for blood work.  After she returns, I'm told we should wait again for the results, and then it hits me.  I've run out of snacks.

Again, the passage of time is blurred, from my perspective.  Coloring books are brought out and thrown to the floor.  Stickers cover the cat carrier.  The Boy Badgers wrangle pieces of gum.  I'm asked many questions about the life cycle of the flea.  A toy monitor lizard fights a sea scorpion.  I take the kids to the potty.

After the vet comes back in, we hear the diagnosis: urinary tract infection.  Easily treatable, just a single injection of antibiotics.  Done and done.  We are given some recommendations for Kitty's care at home, and head out of the exam room.  I realize that I have no idea what time it is.  As we shuffle out to the van (me pushing Baby in the stroller, holding the cat carrier and a bag of special cat food, plus the Boy Badgers), I feel more drained than anything else.  I spent the previous night very worried about Kitty.  She is almost fourteen, and I couldn't shake that terrible feeling that this could be something so serious that a discussion of euthanasia might have to be had in front of the Little Badgers.  Big Brother Badger cries at those ASPCA commercials, "why are they in cages, Mommy?"  I was gutted by having to put my first cat down years before.  Even the thought, especially in full color in front of my kids, made me inwardly tremble.

But, the prognosis was good.  Kitty would be fine.  I buckle the kids in and slide into the driver's seat.  As I start up the car, I look at the time and am astonished.  We spent three hours at the vet's office, all told.  As I looked in the rear view mirror, I realized that I never would have expected the kids to be that well-behaved for so long.  I could see that they were tired, too.  They had done their best.  I couldn't write it off as being due to our iron-clad routine.  We had run out of snacks half-way through; the toys and books were mostly ignored.  We had kinda improvised, and it had somehow worked.  We had a job to do this morning, something I would have thought was impossible, and we saw it through, together.

A new size, a new perspective?

I went shopping for a new bra today.  Now, to put this trip in context, you must know that the last time I shopped for a bra was before I got pregnant for the first time.  That would put it at....about six years.  Six years!  For six years, I have worn a succession of nursing bras, sports bras, and three brightly colored Victoria's Secret underwire bras.  These VS bras were, back in the day, very sexy.  One, in particular, was kind of an orangey-red and made me feel thin, as it only fit at least 6 months post-partum.  All three of these are size 34B (this is important info for later).

But, the years of wear and washing take their toll, and the bras were getting dull and very loose.  After a couple weeks of the subtle insanity of having the straps slowly...slip...down...my...shoulders time after time, I decided that I would have to bite the bullet and update my collection.

This, for me, is torture.  Between the appearance of side-boob and that terrible lemon-yellow lighting, the bra section can be ego-destroying.  But, push had come to shove, and into the bra section I went.  I was faced with rows of bras, all in variety of colors.  Push-ups, lift-ups, invisible-under-shirts, super-push-ups, the possibilities seemed endless.  I picked a couple in my size (34B, right?) and walked halfway across the store to the fitting room, where the lady handed me a card and waved me disinterestedly into a room.

I took off my coat, and my fleece, and my shirt, and old orangey-red.  I bravely put on the first bra....and couldn't even snap it together.  I thought that maybe it was just the particular brand that ran small, until I tried on the next, and the next, and felt like I was delving into the petite section.  I was confused.  I knew my size.  Anything larger was part of my plastic surgery fantasy.  36C please, doctor, I don't want to go too big.  Maybe those years of pregnancy, childbirth, breast-feeding, and child-rearing had actually done something to my breasts!  I looked in the mirror, really looked, and what I saw was not what I expected.  It's funny how much of what you see in the mirror every day is what you expect versus what's really there.

So, I headed back out to the racks.  Something had changed.  Up to this point, everything physical that had resulted from carrying my children had seemed to be ephemeral, or at least acceptable.  I lost most of the baby weight.  I loved the stretch marks.  My breasts were different.  The change that I had seen, and was now experiencing hard evidence of, was different.

I picked out a new size, a size that in a former life would have been something awesome and attractive. 36C.  I didn't believe it, but the squished feeling from earlier convinced me to try something radical.  I headed back into the fitting room.  The lady there looked even more unimpressed than before.  The new bras fit.  I was the size I had always longed for, but how I had gotten here felt a little hollow, a little unimpressive.  It wasn't so much rising to the occasion as falling into it.

I left the store lost in thought.  I had two new bras, in my new size.  What should have been a feeling of success over my shopping trip had given way to a new feeling of insecurity.  Was I really so different?  What else about me has changed that I don't really notice every day in the mirror?  Until now, childbirth had been a completely empowering experience, and now I felt like I was caught in the wake.  Do the breasts make a woman?  Then, I thought, my new bras help me to stand up straight and tall.  The straps do not slip.  If this is my new shape, I will wear it proudly.  Three kids.  Boo-yah.

I'm on board!

Well, the new year is upon us, and many changes have happened in the River Badger household that make the turn of the calendar noteworthy already.  I'd like to think that there are a few more changes coming.  Like me losing that extra 20 pounds that have been hanging around for a while.  This is not ground-breaking, I have to admit; lots of people are starting fresh when it comes to fitness this time of year.  But here's the thing.  I'm a little reluctant when it comes to something lots of other people are doing.  I've never shopped on Black Friday.  I've never taken a cruise.  I've never been to Disney World.  One could see me as being weird and missing out on a bunch of fun stuff, but there it is.

So when it came time for New Year's Resolutions to be presented, and I took a hard look at the extra junk clustered around my mid-section, I realized that I was going to have to jump on board at the same time as everyone else.  I was going to be "losing weight for New Year's".  Ugh.  The thought of going to the gym for the first time on January 2nd filled me with dread.  The lady at the desk will smirk at me.  She will assume I will go for three weeks and then quit, only to show up again next year.  And the worst thing is, she is probably right; the odds are not in my favor.  A feature on the news that said only a small percentage of resolutions last even until March.  And sticking to a diet?  For me it's not so much a fear of failure, but it's more like an expectation.  What's the saying?  Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result... .

But, you know, I do need to get in shape.  I really do.  My excuse over the past few years has been that I'm either pregnant or breast-feeding, but now I'm not doing either of those things.  I want to be attractive to my husband, and to fit into all my clothes, even the ones in the back of the closet.  I want to set a good example for my children.

So, I will be venturing to the gym.  I will join the folks looking for a new start.  I will brave the eye-rolling from the people who are bad-ass enough to have been going for years, as well as the smirks from the smarty-pants who thought that starting on Dec. 28th makes them regulars already.  I think I'm going to follow a very simple diet I just made up.  It's called, "It's the junk, stupid!"  I will not eat crap (Snap, McDonald's!), I will limit my portions, and I will not hit the chocolate after 7PM.  I will keep a food diary.  I'm no nutritionist, but I have to start somewhere.  I have the willpower somewhere inside me.  I'll let you know how it goes.

Fish food for thought

For a family of River Badgers, fish usually means food.  But, perhaps unfortunately, our clan is less vicious than most, and we recently added two goldfish as pets.  Their original names were "Alex" and "Alex", but then one became "Cow".  I think this is because of its colorful, calico scales.  These fish represent the Boy Badgers' first experience with being responsible for a pet.  We have a cat, but she's mostly mine, as I've had her for over thirteen years.  With these new pets, the Boy Badgers would have to take the lead with regard to feedings and tank cleanings, and being watchful for signs of trouble.  Or, at least that's what we told them.  So far, as we pretty much expected, it's I and Daddy River Badger who remind the boys about feeding the fish, and I'm almost certain we will eventually have to point out that the tank needs cleaning.

Besides the lack of enthusiasm for the more tedious aspects of pet ownership, the boys have been very excited about the fish actually being there, in the tank, on their dresser, in their room.  The fish are watched all through the day, with boys running up and down the hall to tell me that "Cow is being lazy!" and "Alex ate poop!"  The tank light is left on at night as the boys fall asleep, and our usual Boy Badger bedtime story has been temporarily replaced by a fish-related question and answer session.

The fish are inspiring to the Little Badgers.  The other day, I found Big Brother Badger flipping through an encyclopedia of fish.  I've heard Little Brother Badger pulling the step-stool through the house early in the morning to be the first one to peer into the tank.  Even Baby Badger has gotten into the fun, trying to say "fish", and pointing when they swim by.  So, I have to admit that, even if I'm the one who's going to be cleaning the tank, getting a couple fish seems to be going over pretty well.

But here's where my glowing, selfless, mother-of-the-year expression wears off.  Here are two more scaly responsibilities.  I don't take this lightly, you see.  I've already had nightmares about the poor fish struggling to breathe in a filthy tank that I have forgotten to clean!  Yes, my dreams do tend to be slight exaggerations.  Ahem.

I know families that have kids and pets and houses and manage to survive.  My own Mom took in animal after animal while I was growing up.  We had dogs and cats, horses and birds.  Mom cared for rescued blue jays, braved traffic for turtles crossing the road (even snapping turtles!), and saved hopeless case after hopeless case.  My Dad laughs about this (now), with a sing-song, "Where can a turtle/dog/cat/miniature horse/emu find a home?  Under a rock? Under a stone?  Why, at our house, of course!"  I think the only animals not welcome at my parents' house were ticks.

But, when DRB and I had kids, and then bought a house, I started to face the situation for myself.  Cat hair and cat boxes on top of kid messes and normal wear-and-tear on the house started to drive me a bit nuts.  I appreciate the love and companionship that pets can bring to the house, and the wonderful influence they can have on children, but after three kids in almost that many years, I worried that anything extra will disturb the fragile equilibrium we have tentatively established.

And that is the crux of it, I think.  With children, the unknown, the what if, is always somewhat scary.  I find comfort in creating and sticking to a schedule, to minimize the number of unknowns.  I want to manage risks as well as I can, and even though I know that crises are inevitable, I want to keep my equation with a manageable set of variables.  I don't want to feel out of control each night before I go to bed.  I don't want to feel out of control.

So, here we are, with two fish.  They are, at present, very obliging pets.  They eat, they swim, and they seem to get along.  The tank will need to be cleaned, but I have enough of a heads-up to work it into the schedule.  I've figured out that the fish are not the problem.  I think I need to re-evaluate my expectations for "control" over the house.  One of the things that I loved about growing up in my parents' house was the fun and spontaneity brought by having an assortment of creatures roaming the halls and romping in the yard.  I know it's not realistic for our family now to do that, but perhaps I can work on my own spontaneous nature.  Relinquishing control is a different thing than losing it, and may, in the end, be the responsible parenting thing to do.

SAHM...Go!

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a truck driver.  I acted out my dream job on my bicycle, riding up and down my parents' driveway, pretending that I was driving a fantastic silver big rig across the country.  As I got older, I wanted to be a concert harpist, and then, after taking a geology class in college, decided to study rocks for a living.  Geology took me through college and graduate school, and on into an academic job.  But, as before in my life, my ambitions changed as my experience expanded.  In this case, the particular catalyst was motherhood.  My head and my heart dictated this career change.

So, here I am, a new SAHM (stay-at-home-Mom).  I'm not completely green; I had the privilege of taking a few months off with the birth of each of the Little Badgers.  But this time, I do not have an "outside-the-home" job to go back to.  I've taken a leap of hope.

I hope that I'm making the right decision for my family.  I hope that I'll do a good job.  I hope that I'll be able to appreciate this experience for the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity it is.  Daddy River Badger is on board, but is, for the moment, staying close to the lifeboats.  It is hard to go from a two-income arrangement to being a sole breadwinner family.  There are changing responsibilities, and adjustments to be made in all aspects of life.

Before last week, DRB and I had very equivalent positions in the family.  We each had a job outside the home, we each took parenting very seriously, and we each contributed to the day-to-day: cleaning, cooking, budgeting, diapering, and putting gas in the car.  Instead of the more traditional spheres of tending the home or earning the money, we essentially did both, together.  Now, we have to navigate a new path.  Do we steer towards tradition, towards the security of knowing that each of us have our own domain?  This might be seen by some as being a step backwards for me, a defeat of sorts.  But, I see it having a very significant positive facet.  Part of the problem of being "equivalent" in every way is that each person is equally empowered to express criticism of the other.  No area is safe.  Cooking dinner, discussing a work project, picking out a snack for the kids; I felt equally able to inform DRB that he was screwing up, and vice versa.  Perhaps a step towards tradition will yield enough separation that we will each be considered an authority figure for the other, and the constant threat of spousal criticism and the frustrating search for approval will end.

And I am enough of a traditionalist to appreciate the warmth and lure of planning and cooking dinners for my family, of being a consistent presence in my children's day, of treating my husband like a conquering hero when he comes home at night, of the comfort of keeping an organized house, and the security of having firm control of my realm.  I hope that I've earned the street cred to be able to say that openly, and without fear of judgment.

So, I am going forward into this new phase of my life.  I will be a mother and wife, and a damn good one.  I will make this count.

Wish I May, Wish I Might...

Christmastime has always been, for me, a season of wishes.  Wishes to be made, wishes to be realized.  When I was a little child, still believing in Santa Claus, I would wish for presents and for snow.  As I got older, I wished for different things: health and happiness for my family, to be together with our relatives, to see my children smile as they open their presents.

Here are some wishes, large and small, from the past few days:

I wish for perspective.

We traveled a little early this year so that we could visit with my grandmother, who is in a nursing home, and is ailing.  She cannot really see or hear anymore, but I wanted my children to visit her, their great-grandmother.  When we walked in, Nana was lying in bed, awake, but non-responsive.  My mother talked quietly to her and stroked her hair.  The Little Badgers helped me open Nana's presents and we sang Christmas carols to her.  Little Brother Badger did not hesitate to give her a kiss, and Baby patted her hand.  As we drove home, Big Brother Badger asked his grandmother about Nana.  Why was she sick?  Why didn't she smile?  We tried to answer his questions honestly, and my Mom told stories about when her mother was young.  Time takes on a new meaning when four generations are in the same room.

I wish for tradition.

Traditions can be new, such as gathering the family to watch "A Christmas Story", or many years in the making, such as my sister and I putting the angel on the tree.  One tradition that we've followed since I was a child is pizza on Christmas Eve.  This year, a soft snow fell as the evening approached.  The Boy Badgers and their Daddy came in for dinner from playing in the snow, their eyes bright and their cheeks flushed.  We had music on the radio, a bottle of wine, and pizza and subs for dinner.  Bliss!

I wish for memories.

Three years ago on Christmas Day, my husband and I welcomed Little Brother Badger into our lives.  He is the gentle soul of our family, and we love him so, the best Christmas present we've ever gotten.  I took a moment to remember laboring with him, and when he appeared, happily observing, "You have beautiful brown eyes!"

I wish to let this all sink in.

After opening presents at my parents' house, we drove to Daddy River Badger's parents' house.  There, the Little Badgers got to see their other grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.  We got to open more presents, and to eat and eat and eat.  I remember standing in the driveway looking up at my in-laws' home thinking that I needed to pause, and appreciate this morning, as it will go so fast.  And it did.  Fast as a wink.

I wish for joy.

Daddy River Badger's brother gives the best kid gifts in the history of the world.  This year, he did not disappoint.  Big Brother Badger opened his present from Uncle and the expression on his face radiated pure joy!  What was it that could make a 4-year-old jump up and down, screaming with happiness?  A six-foot-long stuffed crocodile, of course!

I wish for family.

I feel so lucky that I got to have a real conversation with every member of my family, on both sides.  I got to laugh with my sisters, talk with Dad #1 and Dad #2, cry with DRB's Mom, and reminisce with my own.  I got to rain hugs and kisses on my nieces and nephew, and chat with my brothers-in-law.  Where else can one enjoy chocolate milk at breakfast, unlimited homemade cookies, and a hot turkey sandwich before bed?  Big Brother Badger proclaimed, "I am being spoiled, but it's okay!"

I wish for us.

We drove back today, the traffic difficult, and the weather nasty.  We arrived home, though, to a Christmas just our own, the River Badger family, all five of us.  We got to revel in our own company, our own stories, our own particular brand of humor and tradition.

I wished for a memorable, wonderful holiday, and was so lucky to enjoy it with the ones I love.  Happy holidays from the River Badgers!

I totally forgot to ___________ !

Back in the day, I prided myself on never needing to write stuff down.  Even in college, I could generally remember what my assignments were and when they were due.  Basically, this was my talent, as opposed to karaoke.  Well, something happened between then and now.  Now, I need to write everything down, and usually in at least two places.  Why two places, you ask?  Well, I'll forget where I wrote down the thing the first time.

This struck me the other night.  The whole River Badger family was downstairs playing and watching TV between baths and bedtime, and I was chatting to my Mom about something or other.  She mentioned coming down to visit on Friday just as Baby Badger suddenly fell off the sofa chasing her brothers.  I caught Baby, and literally, for about 5 seconds, could hear the brain gears chunking away before returning to my conversation.  I felt more than a little awkward; I should be able to multi-task, even mentally, as a Mommy.  You know, catch baby, access mental calendar, engage!

Then I realized what actually happened inside my head was more like, catch baby, when is Friday?, what else is going on Friday?, when is the washing machine repairman supposed to come again?, oh, crap, I forgot to get a present for my sister's fiancé, what day do the secret Santa gifts have to show up at school?, have to buy wrapping paper, oh, right, school play, what is traffic like that morning?, what time should I ask my Mom to leave her house to avoid traffic so I'm not pacing around worried that she's been in an accident because she might not have her phone...Whew!  If that's not mental multi-tasking, I don't know what is!

So, I think I may have identified the problem.  It's not just items on a calendar anymore.  For a parent, it's more like cloud computing.

We, as parents, wake up, and, not only have all of tasks of the day to contend with, we also have logistics, and preparation for the next day's events, and last-minute changes to the schedule.  We have to remember antibiotics, and to bring in diapers for daycare, and to make sure to give the Christmas tree water.  We need to remember e-mails, phone calls, stuff for church, work, school, and going to Grammy's house.  We have to remember to shower, get groceries, clean the cat box, and make sure the trash cans get put out on the right day.  And then there's the worry.  We worry about our mother's tone of voice during her last call, we worry about our kids being bullied (or worse), and that they will actually wear their hats today because it's cold.  We worry about the nail-looking thing that we just drove over because a flat tire will really f**k our day up.

And then, by the time the day is almost over, and the kids are in bed, and the TV is on, we have to remember to actually pay attention to our significant other.  Nothing says sexy time like a pile of laundry and two exhausted parents.

But, for me, perhaps my biggest problem is myself.  I don't cut myself a break because I see engaged parents all around me doing the exact same thing, maybe even more, and maybe even better.  If I feel tired and overwhelmed, and my mind skips a trick, I blame myself for not working hard enough to be more efficient and organized.  For parents, I think crazy becomes a new normal.

So, what's the answer?  Letting go?  Simplify, simplify?  Maybe it's as easy as acknowledging the day-to-day challenges as being significant, and difficult, and exhausting.  The challenges may be the new normal, but they are not the new easy.