Mommy always, always comes back.

Kids say the most wonderful things.  One time when leaving for a date-night, I told a distraught Ashton, "Mommy always, always comes back."  I didn't realize how much that meant to him and comforted him while I was gone until he started saying it himself.  He says it to us when we leave, actually telling us, "Mommy always, always, always comes back, right, Mommy?"  He gently grabs Reagan's checks as she whimpers and tells her, "It's ok, Reagan, Mommy and Daddy always, always come back."  

I'm so happy I went back to work.  My job is so vastly different from my former career, that I -- gasp -- look forward to going to work.  It has to be a combination of things; being ready for a change; challenging myself to be great at something new; and no longer being completely, totally, utterly burned out.  I didn't realize how much I hated my last job, and the person that it made me become, until I stayed home.  It's so different to work  for a company who supports their employees, provides incentives to succeed, and has opportunities for advancement.  I was brainwashed to think that my last job was so great, when in actuality it was torture.

I've been enlightened.  My negative experience at my former career was not just the culture of the organization, it was also me.  I allowed people to take advantage of my "disease to please."  I had no idea how to say "no, I don't have time to do that." And I never voiced how I really felt to my boss because I felt indebted to her and the organization.

I'm a new person this time around.  I'm confident and clear with what is important to me and I'm dedicated to working hard, but on my terms.  Ryan Homes makes it easy, though, because they're a huge company.

1. My hours are amazing: 10-6 three days per week and 11-6 two days per week.
2. I love the kids' "school."  When I was home, teaching the kids was laborious.  I tried, I really did, but I had to all but lasso Ashton to sit and listen (even for 1 minute) and Reagan does a fantastic job following his lead.
3. I'm enjoying learning new things at work and sharing my day with Jimmy each night.
4. The kids get more alone time with Jimmy.  Because our schedules crisscross, Jimmy has one day every week where he is alone with the kids all day, and I know the kids are loving being with him.
5. Money is sweet.  Even 10 cents helps, and Jimmy gets to sleep more now that I'm working.

Playing with the library boat.

Good help

You just can't find good help these days... or so I thought.

I'm not going to tell you her name.
I'm not going to tell you her number.
I'm not going to tell you her price.
Go find your own person.  She's mine. Alllllllllll mine.

Because I work weekends, finding child heaven for Ashton and Reagan wasn't enough.  We had to find someone who was great with kids, available, and reliable to be our extra set of hands for five full days and five pick up days a month.  Somehow, among all of the murderous weirdos, we found our Nanny McPhee.

She's a ball of energy, a smile from ear to ear, creative, attentive, and wonderful.  She's the kind of person who makes being a parent look like a breeze.  Someone who should have kids and lots of 'em.  She has two children, one who is almost 4 and one who is almost 1, so their ages work well with our two.  Nanny McPhee's husband is supportive and understanding, which is also rare, and is usually with her when she has all four kids. She treats our kids like her own, and since she has a natural gift for parenting, our kids are in love with her.  They do crafts, go to the park, go swimming, and much, much more. 

Again, you can't have her.

I'll slash your tires and leave flaming diapers on your doorstep, so just don't try, ok?

Anyway...

When I come home and the kids run to me screaming my name and wanting "up," I always feel like a million bucks.  But when McPhee's there, the kids have a little less pep in their step when I come to through the door. At first, working mother's guilt tightened my chest and turned my stomach into knots.

Do they have more fun with her?  Am I losing my touch?

No, of course not.  I know that my kids love me... and thanks to a little developmental milestone called infant-parent attachment, the kids will love me pretty much no matter what I do... But the more I've thought about it, the more I want the kids to love their part-time sitter.  If they love her, I know she is caring for them in a way that I would.  If they kicked her out the door upon my arrival, I'd worry about how she really treats the kids.

So yeah, she's so awesome that I am competing with her, and that's just fine with me.

Here for the Potty.

I will never forget potty training Ashton.  I was convinced that potty training was a full-contact sport.  I was constantly hearing "PEE-PEE" and would yank up my little man, sprinting to the bathroom, planning my hose-management as I ran.  There was always pee somewhere: the floor, the seat, the wall... you get the drift.  This time around couldn't be more different, just as you might predict.  Reagan decided one morning that she was going to use the potty and really without very much coaxing, she's been going consistently on it since.

Ashton was totally interested in potty training, something that Reagan lacks, as it seems like she's just doing it because that's what your supposed to do.  Booooorrring...  Where is the giggle of delight when a trickling noise fills the bathroom?  Where's the thrill of finding poop laying in Elmo's basin?  Totally gone.  She's so over it.  I keep making this huge deal about everything, while she looks at me with the enthusiastic smile of 16 year old who catches the eye of her mom chaperoning the homecoming dance.

Nevertheless, it is nice to have our kids potty train themselves.  I don't know what that means about the adults around here... Is it weird to still be jazzed at 28 and 31?  We must be having a little too much fun doing our business, but hey, life's short.  We're here for the potty.

Grateful for friends!

Obviously since I work now, I have less time to spend with my SAHM friends.  Luckily, I had a chance to see two of my favs on one of my days off.  I'm pretty sure I had more fun than the kids, and was almost talked out by the end of it!  This is yet another example of my job being part of an amazing plan.  I'll save the job update for another post, but wanted to share a few pictures from our visit.

The kids love these cars and even though Dana's tall, she managed to do a great job of being the official playdate taxi.  

 Noah's a chick magnet in this jeep and would not get out of that thing for 100 cookies.  Though I caught him with his hands on the steering wheel, he preferred riding hands free, as any gangsta would.

Andrea playing a game of hide-and-seek, which was adorable. Though the kids are really terrible at hiding, they didn't seem to notice. 

Testing my dedication.

Last night was like a scene from a movie; there was vomit everywhere.  Ashton threw up on a soundly sleeping Reagan.  Reagan threw up on a soundly sleeping Jimmy.  Jimmy threw up in every bathroom in the house.  And I was the vomit catching, hair washing, back rubbing slave through it all.  Thank the good Lord that I only felt sick and didn't ever get sick, because then we'd be out of hands to hold barf bowls for the kids.  I was damn close to putting both kids on the kitchen floor with two bowls and leaving them there to fend for themselves. I mean, after the first 10 times using the bowl, they knew the drill.  Besides, by that time, it was all dry-heaving, so the mess would likely be limited...

This morning, I called my mom to thank her for all the times she had a similar experience with me, because it takes love. Real love.  

Three's the new fifteen.

Spiderman.  Need I say more?
(THANK YOU GRAMMY AND  PAPA!)

My little boy turned three on the 13th.  I suppose this is where I say, "Where has time gone?"  Maybe it's just me, but my foot-loose and fancy free days feel like light years away.  These three years (well, almost four if you count pregnancy) have been a roller coaster ride of excitement, fear, success, failure, joy, and frustration. As I reflect, all I can think about is how exhausting it is to be a parent.  Sure, it's all worth it, and blah, blah, blah, but really, it would be much easier as a part-time job (actually many days I wish it were just volunteer work, so I could up and leave...).

We watch children morph before our eyes as they grow and think, "Wow, he's changed so much.  I swear he looks older than yesterday!"  I would argue that we develop just as rapidly and significantly as they do.  They change our perspective, intuition, actions, feelings and more.  For example, I worked in adoption and foster care, but until being a parent never fully understood why these parents fight so fiercely on behalf of their children.  Now, I think they're not fighting hard enough.  Jimmy admits being more critical and concerned when one of his "client's" unlawful behavior affects a child.  He's hugged and supported parents and children who needed him while on the job, when he would have otherwise been callous.   Parenting Ashton, followed by Reagan, has made us better people. We're more tolerant, giving, and patient.  We're happy and fulfilled.

Ashton taught us to live every day, reminding us to see the beauty and wonder in the world.  Nothing about these three years has been fast, thank God for that.

Off to daycare!

Pretentious B....

I never thought I was pretentious until I moved into this home.  When I scoff at the the things around me, Jimmy makes a point to highlight how stuck up I sound.  Give me a break, man!  I have zero familiarity with this stuff and I feel like I'm in a foreign country.

1. Septic system.  Two words I prayed I'd never have to deal with.  Something about a huge tank of... waste... makes me want to VOM.  I know nothing about septic tanks.  You have to have it pumped?! How is this any different from a portapotty? It can overflow and make my yard a sewage treatment plant? Freakin' lovely. 
2. Oil heat.  I'm about to go picket Capitol Hill.  To heat our modest abode is approximately $290/month, and that doesn't include electricity.  Can't they just hook up a gizmo to our electric cooling system to make it provide heat?  Beware:  I have our thermostat set at 63, so if you come over, it's BYOB... blanket, that is.
3.  Dump visits.  Apparently it is common for people to not have trash pick up.  Ok, I'm new to this, but    the thought of schlepping my trash to the dump makes me want to hurl. It's un-American, people!  Jimmy thinks it's all fine and dandy to put the trash bags in the bed of the truck.  OMG!  Call me hoity-toity, but  I can't bear the thought of trash juice soaking into the truck with the putrid fumes following us down the road. Am I the only one that finds this repulsive?   
4. Well water.  Since we live on a farm, I'm super excited about drinking the water underneath the fields of manure.  Also, I vaguely remember hearing that people that drink well water have brown teeth. I have no clue if that's true, but Deer Park it is, baby.
5. Pest plan.  We have crickets, spiders, lady bugs (protected by the EPA-- who knew?!), and likely mice and rats.  The morning we moved in, I purchased a pest control plan.  I may live in the country, but there ain't no way I'm living with roommates.  
6. Fireplaces:  Who knew that there was so much to learn about fireplaces.  Where to by the wood, how much to buy, how to stoke it, how to make it efficient for heating the home, fireplace inserts... the list goes on and google is probably annoyed with all of my searches.  To put it this way, I thought "seasoned wood" meant it was flavored.  "I'll take the apple spice, please!"