AnnMarie Gardens

Our favorite neighbors joined us on a trip to AnnMarie Gardens, which is almost to Solomon's Island.  We had a blast of a day watching the kids run around and enjoy fairy land.  Brandi captured some cute picture of the kids and shared them on her blog:

Maxson Family Blog

Short un-witty post because Ashton is playing with the mouse.  Any typos are his fault.

oh yeah, and the earthquake and hurricane hit our house.  To embarrassed to take pictures.  Thank you James for not complaining. 

Done?

I hate myself for posting this, especially since Jimmy and I had a grocery store trip from hell this morning.  Kids can make you feel insane for ever breaking your high school abstinence pledge. But for some reason after this hellacious, relationship testing trip to Giant, I felt this unbelievable desire to have another child.

Why, you might ask.  I have no bloody clue.  It's just that after those moments of stress, anger, frustration, and embarrassment all rolled in to one, I often laugh at the roller coaster, relishing in my ability to control myself and not kill anyone.  That's strange.  I must be certifiably insane.

I'm having an internal debate as to whether or not our family is complete.  I look at the four of us in pictures and for some reason feel like one more little face would make it perfect.

I'm not afraid of the work.  Two is hard enough, three can't be that bad.  I'm not afraid of being poor.  We're already broke.  I'm not afraid of the kids' reaction to another sibling.  They're too young to have much say.

BUT, do I long for another child for selfish reasons?  Is it just so I can eat all I want?  (those were the days...)  Why do I want another little me running around?  With the overcrowding of our planet on my brain, shouldn't we just replace ourselves and not add to the flood of people?  Ugh.

Children are just so hilarious. And beautiful.  And innocent.  And challenging. And totally rewarding.

Jimmy said we'd revisit this conversation at the first of the year.  Maybe I'll figure out what's right for us by that point.

When do you know you're done?  I thought I knew and now I'm just confused...

Wiffleball: Coors Light style

The happy couple.  Keshia exercised her flirting skills.  Maybe next weekend will  result in a replay? 

Goose and Suzann before the festivities.

MomMom and Tyler at the oh-so-cool backyard tiki bar.

Kids love, love the trampoline.  Even Reagan jumps like a pro.  Here she's taking a breather.

There's my rottweiler burning some calories.  Where, oh where, did my energy go?  He makes me pooped just watching him.

Not my proudest moment (or finest picture).  Yes, James-the-jerko Cathcart, you struck me out.

Kevin played like super star, but couldn't prevent our team from a ridiculously large deficit.

Close up!  I know Suzann is going to kill me for this one.

Our favorite Uncle, Bruce.  Wise and great with kids.   Just needs to lay off the work to babysit.  

Keshia and Irene. 

Um, Jen has enjoyed a few too many brews.  Yes, children, she payed for it.  Not recommended.  

Tracy mid conversation.

Little red riding hoodie enjoys a cocktail with whip cream vodka.  

Biker babe!

Attack of the Cirque Du Soleil Monster!

Tell me about it

Saw this article and it got me thinking...
TELL ME ABOUT IT ®
Wednesday, May 23, 2007


Carolyn:
Best friend has child. Her: exhausted, busy, no time for self, no time for me, etc. Me (no kids): Wow. Sorry. What'd you do today? Her: Park, play group . . .


Okay. I've done Internet searches, I've talked to parents. I don't get it. What do stay-at-home moms do all day? Please no lists of library, grocery store, dry cleaners . . . I do all those things, too, and I don't do them EVERY DAY. I guess what I'm asking is: What is a typical day and why don't moms have time for a call or e-mail? I work and am away from home nine hours a day (plus a few late work events) and I manage to get it all done. I'm feeling like the kid is an excuse to relax and enjoy -- not a bad thing at all -- but if so, why won't my friend tell me the truth? Is this a peeing contest ("My life is so much harder than yours")? What's the deal? I've got friends with and without kids and all us child-free folks get the same story and have the same questions.
Tacoma, Wash.


Relax and enjoy. You're funny.

Or you're lying about having friends with kids.

Or you're taking them at their word that they actually have kids, because you haven't personally been in the same room with them.

Internet searches?

I keep wavering between giving you a straight answer and giving my forehead some keyboard. To claim you want to understand, while in the same breath implying that the only logical conclusions are that your mom-friends are either lying or competing with you, is disingenuous indeed.

So, since it's validation you seem to want, the real answer is what you get. In list form. When you have young kids, your typical day is: constant attention, from getting them out of bed, fed, clean, dressed; to keeping them out of harm's way; to answering their coos, cries, questions; to having two arms and carrying one kid, one set of car keys, and supplies for even the quickest trips, including the latest-to-be-declared-essential piece of molded plastic gear; to keeping them from unshelving books at the library; to enforcing rest times; to staying one step ahead of them lest they get too hungry, tired or bored, any one of which produces the kind of checkout-line screaming that gets the checkout line shaking its head.

It's needing 45 minutes to do what takes others 15.

It's constant vigilance, constant touch, constant use of your voice, constant relegation of your needs to the second tier.

It's constant scrutiny and second-guessing from family and friends, well-meaning and otherwise.

It's resisting constant temptation to seek short-term relief at everyone's long-term expense.

It's doing all this while concurrently teaching virtually everything -- language, manners, safety, resourcefulness, discipline, curiosity, creativity. Empathy. Everything.

It's also a choice, yes. And a joy. But if you spent all day, every day, with this brand of joy, and then, when you got your first 10 minutes to yourself, wanted to be alone with your thoughts instead of calling a good friend, a good friend wouldn't judge you, complain about you to mutual friends, or marvel how much more productively she uses her time. Either make a sincere effort to understand or keep your snit to yourself.
By Carolyn Hax



Well said Carolyn, but I remember being Tacoma 3 years ago.  Working 100 hours a week.  Connecting with friends at the instant I thought of them.  Shopping for pleasure.  Watching TV programs when they aired.  All while thinking I would be the mom that would continue these pleasures, because I was cool and moms that can't hang are inefficient.

If you were to check my cellphone to see recent calls, it would be abundantly clear that I am no longer the woman of the past.  I don't work, thus I must have time, right?  You would think.  In fact, if I was back in the corporate world, filling out my time sheet, and coding my hours worked by different projects, I would be screwed.  I have no clue what 'project' I spend 90% of time doing.  I feel like I'm here, there, and everywhere all the time.

That doesn't make me inefficient.

Not disorganized.

Not lazy.

Not confused.

Just busy.

A very strange busy.  


Who cares.  I know the work I do each day is much more important and fulfilling than conference calls, business attired events, board meetings, writing letters and time sheets.  If a friend doesn't cut me some slack, as I do when they're on deadline or out of town on business, then they're not much of a friend any way.  

Besides, ten to one odds says that they'll be a parent soon enough and  will learn the error of their judgments, just as I did. 

  

It's a girl thang!

Our wonderful friend, Keshia, experiences the Cathcart circus.

I was (luckily) raised by two parents that repeatedly told me that I can do anything I put my mind to.  As I've mentioned before, my mom was a trailblazer in her day, supported entirely by my dad, so I saw that women are capable and talented.  However, my parents also said that when we were growing up, there was societal pressure to raise kids entirely the same.  The feminist movement insisted that children choose careers that historically have been gender specific (ie: nurses for a woman and a banker for a man) because their parents taught them to prefer certain things from infancy.  My parents swore that they raised us the same: gender neutral toys, colors not specific to a gender, etc. But, they said no matter what they did, I would nurture a teddy bear and trevor would grab a car and ram it into the wall.

Boy is that the truth.  It is so weird to see Reagan take the exact same toy of Ashton's, and use it for an entirely different purpose.  Ashton is all boy and Reagan is all girl.

Ashton threw himself down the stairs to learn how to go down them properly.  Reagan taught herself how to go down stairs in a calculated and very gentle way (but learned quicker than her brother), and has never fallen down them.

Reagan loves dress up and will put on anything, constantly bringing me random articles of clothing all day long for  this game.  Ashton hates getting dressed and always makes us engage in a wrestling match to get his "privates covered," much less get him entirely dressed.

Ashton will jump off of a four foot wall.  Reagan has little interest, except to watch.

Reagan loves to dance.  Ashton begins dancing for 3 seconds then breaks into a sprint around the house.

Ashton fell off our bed about a thousand times trying to learn how to get off it without assistance.  Reagan has mastered her descent and has yet to fall, because she thinks before she acts.

Reagan will grab any shoe and put it on.  Ashton chucks shoes across the room at 100 miles per hour.  For the record, I absolutely hate this trick of Reagan's. (I can't find like 4 complete pairs of shoes and am down to my last weather appropriate pair.  And every morning I search for the lone rangers, hoping I'll find them. Cute, but totally annoying!)

I guess the point of this post is to remind us to relish in our differences, because both female and male character traits make our world go round.  And there's nothing wrong with that.

Monkey see; monkey do.

Welcome to my life.  My every day is filled with toddler competition.  Sometimes it is hilarious and sometimes it is downright dangerous.  I vividly remember competing with my brother and sister, which turned me into the most competitive person I know.  Must have been middle child syndrome.  All I know is that these kids are going to give me a heart attack.

Ashton jumps off a four foot wall.  Reagan wants to try.  Ashton thinks he's king of the world because he's found something that Reagan wants to do, but can't.  He makes the jump 45 times in front of her just to rub it in.

Reagan starts dancing to a song.  Ashton starts dancing to catch up with her moves.  Full on dance competition ensues until the booty shaking turns into running and screaming around the house.

The list could go on forever.  My new favorite competitions are "cool trick" and "meany guy" assault.



COOL TRICK:
Nickelodeon's Yo Gabba Gabba taught Ashton a useless lesson:  you can do something strange and people will call it a cool trick.

Not much has changed since his first entree into the world of cool tricks. He has only managed to master one trick, which is spreading his legs as far as he can go.  Not that cool, but whatever.  On occasion he brings out this maneuver to one-up Reagan.  Ha, he's been beat at his own game, since not only can she do it, but I think she stretches further.  You go girl!

Meany Guy assault competition: 
Ashton has made up an imaginary enemy: the Meany Guy.  (insert horror movie scream here...)  You see, the Meany Guy is omnipresent, thus commits acts of meanness at any given time or place.  The Meany Guy's favorite move is to blind attack and knock Ashton down.   To recover from the attack, Ashton insists on being consoled for about 3 seconds, then stands up, and gets promptly knocked over by the ever-mischievous Meany Guy.  This happens for nearly 42 times in rapid succession, until the consoling stops due to my exhaustion and disinterest.  Now, Reagan's on to this trick and at the utterance of the words "Meany Guy," she throws herself on the floor, refusing to get up until consoled.
 

Watching the two of them crash to the floor is so gut-busting that it is medicinal and can cure any ailment, no matter its severity.  Well, except for mono that is, since I somehow contracted that...

And hey, let's end with a ridiculous picture!

Seriously, seriously?! New tricks aren't always a good thing...

Sweet Baby Rea has perfected a new trick that has us scrambling.  She can remove her diaper!  YAY!  Maybe it is potty training time, you say.  Maybe so, but I'm thinking it is more of a woohoo-look-at-me kinda thing. Reagan, we're all cheering for you.  Now go put on your diaper.

There have been accidents with this fun trick.

Like, when she pooped directly into Ashton's Croc. Ashton comes running up to me, "MOMMY!  Reagan pooped!  Reagan pooped in Ashton's shoe.  Reagan, no poop Ashton's shoe!"  At least it was easy clean up...

Then, there was the time when she decided to poop on our bedroom carpet.  Well, obviously it is no fun to clean up, but she took it a step further.  She went looking for me after pooping.  You guessed it; poop on every step as she dragged her little hiney down the stairs.

This is the very reason I don't have pets.  But ever since our 2009 midget invasion, it seems like we run a kennel out of our once pristine abode.  Without a bottle of Resolve and a sense of humor, we would be in the loony bin!

Parenthood... UGH!

What's your most hilarious poop moment?  

An exercise in new adjectives.

Would prefer he did this...

I ran into a friend while walking with the kids last week.  She has a four-year-old, who went to daycare with Ashton and Reagan. We were catching up and got to talking about our kids' recent defiance.  She mentioned that no matter how many time-outs she's does with her son, he keeps flipping her off when she corrects him!  Hilarious!

Well, not hilarious.  I'm sure it is mortifying in public not to mention offensive that her son is gesturing to her in that way.  She said, "Now I'm sure I'm the worst mother in the world!" Of course she's not, but kids are like sponges and unfortunately, I had to admit her issue isn't unique, as we're going through this Ashton.

I know (most) have encountered this, but I never knew it would happen so soon.  JIMMY CUT OUT THE PROFANITY!  That's what I get for marrying a Marine, whose mouth has been a longstanding character trait.  So, my sweet boy routinely says "SHIT!" to which I reply, "Ship?  Did you say ship?  Remember, a ship is a big boat, so use the word right."  Trying desperately not to laugh and simultaneously cry, or react in anyway to encourage the behavior.  To make matters worse, he has started saying, "F*%K!"  Ggggrreat.  I cannot believe it.  This brings me nearly to a kneeling position begging him to not say that word. I'm lost at a replacement word, other than truck, to which he replies, "No, F*%K! F*%K!"

I have judged and thought less of parents whose kids have used profanity in my presence.  But here I am, yet again, eating my criticizing, behind-their-back comments.

Parenthood, UGH...