Complaints

I don't even really want to put this out into the universe. Complaining does absolutely nothing to help any situation. Sure, it might make me feel better in the moment to get it off my mind. Venting to someone willing to listen usually immediately cures most things I ever feel the need to complain about. But, in general, re-hashing a situation that infuriated me does not typically resolve much. It doesn't go back in time and undo the moment. It doesn't exact any form of revenge on the person who put me in a foul mood. Yet, I complain. Some times more than others. And not nearly as much as my past self did. I think I have realized, as I've gotten older, that it isn't really worth my time. But, there are just some things that will always drive me crazy, make me want to scream, and make me, well... complain.

Here are a few:

1). Unpleasant public service employees. It absolutely never fails. If I have to go to the post office or, Lord help me, the DMV I know I will be dealing with, potentially, the crabbiest person alive. Maybe it is because they are stuck waiting on people who see their place of employment only as an inconvenient stop on a long list of errands. Maybe it's because their job location is typically run-down, under-staffed, and kept too warm in the summer/cold in the winter. Whatever their problem is, I am always hard pressed to find a friendly, helpful employee at the DMV or post office. I love being told to move to the side if my USPS form isn't 100% filled out when I reach the counter. "But, I only have one more box to complete..." Nope, step aside. Ok, thanks a lot. I am sure my two children will willingly stand still while I wait for you to finish helping the elderly lady who has nine parcels to ship. And it is just awesome when I am told that the five forms of identification I brought with me to the DMV are not enough. And that I must go back home and return, once again, with two children in tow. Upon my return, I am helped by a different employee who reassures me that what I originally had with me was, in fact, all I needed. I just cannot handle it sometimes. Those places are the pits.

2). People who take the last double cart when they only have one child. Believe it or not, this has happened to me on more than one occasion. I get it, your kid wants to sit in the higher raised, forward-facing, harness seats on the Target double cart. My kids do too. I can't go to any store without hearing a barrage of requests for the biggest cart they have. But, here's the catch... I need that cart! I have two kids with me. That's double the amount of kids than the lady has who just plopped her overly primped princess in the last double cart in the store. We walked in at the same time. She sees me barely making it through the door with two kids in my arms. I know she hears my toddler hollering for that cart, everyone in a ten mile radius can hear him. I even loudly comment that, "Yes, we will definitely try to get the double cart because we cannot fit in a regular one." But, yeah, you go ahead, lady. I'll just stick my baby in the front of this regular cart and my toddler in the basket and only buy what groceries I can fit under the cart and in my hands. Seriously?! I've covered Kendan in groceries, while he whined through the whole store because he couldn't move, and then went home with crushed bread after he kneeled into it, all because someone with only one child felt they needed the double cart. More than once! And, believe me, if someone with three kids came in at the same time as me I would forfeit the larger cart to them because they would need it more than I do. It's an unwritten rule of courtesy, people.

Sometimes we're not even happy in the double cart. You should see the scowl in the small cart!

3). A woman by herself using the large handicapped stall in the restroom. Those big handicapped stalls are amazing. Well, "mom stalls," really, because I've never actually seen a handicapped person coming out of one. They are large enough to fit a stroller comfortably, and have the diaper station so I can change my baby while my toddler goes potty. It's perfect! Except for when it's occupied. If it is being used by another mother who did not want to cram into the single stall with her rambunctious child, then great. By all means, use it. I don't have to wait until the occupant leaves to know that it is another mother with her hands full. I can tell by her incessant, "No!," and "Don't touch that!" My problem is when the person who felt the need to use the handicapped stall is one woman (teenager, middle-aged, elderly... they're all culprits), by herself. I have a choice when I know that stall is occupied. If my baby doesn't need a diaper change then I can attempt to squeeze us all into the smaller bathroom. Stroller blocking the hallway of doors, bag falling forward and hitting me in the face when I pick up my toddler to put him on the toilet. No where for him to go (but infinite things for him to touch!) if I have to sit down to go myself. Who am I kidding? I can't shut the door to use the restroom because my infant is outside the stall in the stroller! So, if my potty-trained little one can hold it for a bit, or if I do need to change a horrendous diaper, then we wait. And we wait. And my kids become impatient. So do I. What is she doing in there? Her makeup?! I try to reason with myself. Maybe all the other stalls were occupied when she got in here and she had to take the handicapped stall. But, there are three other stalls and I haven't seen any other traffic through the restroom on our way in or in the last few minutes we've been standing here. I even think that maybe this will be the first time I've ever seen an actual handicapped person leave this stall! Obviously, that'd be understandable. My kids snap me out of my thoughts. I tell Kendan, loudly because I'm annoyed now, "I know you have to go potty but we have to wait for the big stall so we can all fit and so I can change brother." This better be a handicapped person... as my baby flails almost out of my arms and my toddler begins to dance around holding himself. The toilet flushes, FINALLY! Out walks a very capable woman by herself. No crutches. No wheelchair. No kids. Something about that scenario makes my blood boil! Maybe because I encounter it almost every time we go out. I hope I wasn't that person before I had children. Something tells me I was and now karma is punishing the shit out of me.

4). People parking too closely to my mom car. Let me remove any mystery shrouding the purpose of my vehicle. It has a family sticker in the rear, two car seats in the back, slightly tinted sun protectors on the back windows, and (if you look close enough) I am sure you could see graham crackers on every seat and crushed into the carpet. It is parked in a grocery store parking lot as close to a cart return as it can be. Its sole purpose is to tote children and groceries around. It is a mom car. What does this mean to you? Don't park your F100,000 tank truck next to me so close that I cannot even open the doors! I have to fit human beings, sometimes even a carrier, in those side doors that you have now rendered useless. I do not have the skills to balance a door open before the designated spot at which it stands open on its own, while using both hands to buckle my kid in. The only thing I can do is gently open my door and rest it against your car. It's that or it swings on its own and leaves a ding. And the only reason I am going that far is to prevent damage to my car. Your vehicle deserves the ding. But, thank you, for pulling your side view mirrors in. Phew! What a big help. Um, no. All that does is tell me that you knew your dumb ass truck was parked too close to my vehicle and you left it that way. Ugh. Just.... .... ugh.

These are just a few things that bother me regularly. The top four situations that will definitely get me complaining. Yes, there are days where none of those scenarios occur and I'm left with a handful of random, small things to complain about or, *gasp*, nothing to complain about. And, believe me, I am aware of the insignificance of the above list. If I could attach hashtags to this post it would probably read #SAHMproblems #getoverit #ineedalife. I realize that if this is the majority of my complaints in life then I have it pretty good. But, I just needed to get it all off my chest. I feel better already!

Three

For several weeks before Kendan's third birthday I found myself in a panic. I was having trouble singling out distinct memories from when he was a baby. A small, new baby. My thoughts would immediately go to moments we had captured with pictures. Was I actually remembering that moment or did I use the picture of that moment to fill in what I thought I remembered? Even just typing that out I feel the labored breathing of panic coming back. The stress of not being sure if I actually remember my baby. The guilt that nearly kills me when admitting that. I close my eyes and picture myself rocking Kendan as an infant, look down at his face, and see.... Damien? Oh no! Are my more recent experiences with a newer newborn replacing my memories of Kendan? Again, intense panic ensues. Most things from about 20 months on are still relatively fresh for me. But, only a short three years following his birth, my very first months with the one person who completely changed my life are beginning to become cloudy. I am, thankfully, filling up on new memories everyday. New stories of the amazing things he says and does, the games he plays, the clothes he chooses to wear... But, then I begin to worry that these memories will soon fade as well. One day, God willing, he will be 8, 15, .... an adult. All of the changes and the new person he will become will fill my heart. Where does that leave today's memories?

I couldn't shake the feeling. The feeling like I did something wrong. That maybe I wasn't properly present in the moment. That this is my fault for forgetting. And that, one day, I'd forget Damien too. Again, as I type this, I am uncomfortable. It's a genuine fear. Something I have discussed with many people, has kept me up at night, and something I even dedicated many yoga classes to letting go of. I've come to the conclusion that it's going to be ok. My children fill my heart up so much that I honestly do not think I could hold one more memory, feeling, day, laugh, cuddle, tear.... or I would burst. I will take these new experiences with complete gratitude because I have the opportunity to even make them.

So, for myself, I have spent a lot of time remembering. I want to feel what it felt like to hold Kendan when he was only hours old. I want to go back. A few days before his birthday, Kendan woke up from nap a little cranky. I scooted him over in his toddler-sized bed so that I could cuddle him for a little while (as I often do), giving him the chance to fully wake up. I stared at his hair, his eyelashes, his hands. I watched as he sucked his thumb intermittently between falling in and out of sleep. Trying to memorize him at three years old. And when he was ready to get out of bed I held him and began to list memories, specific ones, I had of him as a baby. It started to pour out. I began describing things with details I thought I had forgotten. More and more excited as I realized there was still plenty that I remembered. I tried not to cry, or scare my sweet baby boy, as it all came flooding back to me and I became more and more enthusiastic! And then I just stopped. I felt satisfied that I had, in fact, not completely replaced his newborn memories. Gave him a hug and told him, "Mommy loves you so much". I have let it go. If I spend too much time worrying about what I missed, I am going to miss a whole lot more going forward. I am blessed with the memories I have. I will always rely on pictures to remind me, whether the memory is genuine or suggested, I don't care. I love to hear other people's stories about my children, let them help me remember. And, occasionally, I am sure an old memory will reappear.

Dear Kendan,

You have only been in my life for three years; but, I cannot imagine any kind of life without you in it. You have completely made mine worth living. It's amazing to think that I had 26 years before you were born but that the last three years have more of what I'll remember than any year before them. There are too many memories of you to ever list in their entirety. But, here are a few I cherish.

I remember waking up in the hospital in the middle of the night. You were bundled up and on your side, facing me, eyes wide open. Like you were staring at me, waiting for me to wake up. Just you and me. I knew then that my life was never going to be the same and that this tiny human being would be with me forever.

I remember how badly I wanted to hold you when you were under the lights for your jaundice. How I would pretend to be nursing you long after you were finished so I could hold you longer, even though the nurses told me to put you back down. You felt so warm even though you were only in a diaper.

I remember the first time your father and I attempted to let you "cry it out". I think you screamed for five minutes in the bassinet on your dad's side of the bed, and I cried right along with you. I was in complete agony! I wanted to pick you up and hold you so desperately.

I remember raising you up to see out of the large bay window in our house in Indiana. I would point and say, "sky, tree, green grass." Your gaze was so wide as you took everything in. I will never know what, if anything, was going on in your newborn mind but it made me feel so good to be in those moments with you.

I remember singing to you, one song in particular. A song I had heard many times before, but that didn't have the impact it did until after you were born. Any time you would get upset I would circle the house, holding you, bouncing you, and sing. That song will always mean the world to me, because of you.

I remember not wanting to put you down the night before I went back to work. I remember what I was wearing even. Standing in the living room, near tears at the thought of not spending a whole day with you. The heaviness on my heart in that moment can never be forgotten.

I remember one time when you were sick, a little older, and I was going through a mental checklist of all the things I could possibly do for you. Having completed them all, we were reduced to just rocking. You were sitting facing forward on my lap. I swayed back and forth and held a cool rag on your head. Your eyelashes would rise and fall with the rhythm of the chair. Your hair was long with curls on the end. I was worried about your not feeling well but completely calm at the same time, holding my baby.

Thank you for being in my life. And for turning three so that I may have the chance to go back and remember so much of what made the last few years so special. We all love you very much!

Happy Birthday!

"Him"

Kendan talks. A lot. Not any more, or better, than the rest of the kids his age, but all of his talking leaves me in awe daily. "When did he learn that?!" "Did he just say, ________?" It's helpful. He can tell me, in no uncertain terms, that he does not want to leave the park to go home for nap, and not just by throwing a tantrum. His talking is also helpful when I ask him what his little brother is up to from the other room or send him to ask his dad a question from upstairs. But, it can also be annoying. I remember when I longed for someone to talk to when Kendan was an infant. Now, I find myself wishing he'd be quiet for just two minutes so I can enjoy silence! He narrates his every move, he makes sound effects for his every move, and he tattles on Brother's every move. But, I do mostly love it. I'm so glad he can communicate effectively. I see Damien struggling with something and wish he could just verbalize the issue; I sometimes even expect answers to the questions I ask him. With increased vocalization comes a lot of repeating. We learned a while ago certain words that need to be prohibited from Kendan's ear shot. And, now it is whole phrases he regurgitates several hours, or days, after he has heard them. There are improper tenses, mispronunciations, and some flat-out made up words. Here are a few things Kendan has had us laughing, and cringing, at lately.

Everyone is a "him." Women, men, children, animals. And "him" seems to be the only tense of the word he acknowledges; there is no "he" or "his." So, a typical sentence I might hear from Kendan (and have heard from him) goes like this, "Mama, him put hims dress on! Him look so pretty!"

When Kendan goes to the bathroom he has to "tuck 'it' down" to ensure that the whole bathroom doesn't get sprayed. Recently, Mamaw Patti was in town and told Kendan she had to go potty. "Not forget to tuck it down," he happily reminded her.

Damien cries a good amount, considering he is a baby and all. Kendan has been known to tell him to "stop crying" and call him a "drama queen." But, lately, he has been standing up for his defenseless younger sibling. When we get frustrated and exclaim, "Damien, please!" Kendan is quick to say, "him just want a cracker!"

In teaching Kendan sounds over the last couple years I would say, "do you hear that sound? A (fire truck)." Kendan began inquiring about every sound he would hear with, "a noise?" and a puzzled look. The end of the word "noise" always in a higher, inquisitive pitch. As he got older it became, "heard dat noise?" And, now, he will ask me, "Mama, heard dat noise? It's a (fire truck)!" Answering his own question immediately, every time. My favorite part of this phrase is that it's always "noise." Not a sound. It's as if he's a crotchety old man and everything he hears is just "noise."

Spider-Man is "Pider-Man." It makes it extra adorable when he is very deep into character but is still pronouncing it incorrectly.

If Kendan needs to blow his nose he gasps and yells, "I have a booger!"

Everything is about control for Kendan right now. So, when I see him dancing around because he is about to pee his pants he will insist he does not have to go when I suggest that he should. He always tells me, "no 'doh' potty. I just rockin' and rollin'."

Kendan tells me each morning every item he needs at the breakfast table. My favorite is his dinosaur shaped vitamins that he calls, "rawr vemens."

When in the throws of the stomach flu recently, Kendan saw my Diet Coke sitting on the ottoman tray. He said, "I just have a 'little bit-it' of your pop. Ok, Mama?" It is so sweet when he says "little bit-it" for "little bit" that I almost caved and gave him some! Had I not feared catching the virus myself I would have.

Anything Kendan suspects he will not like at the dinner table is avoided as he says, "I no like dat. It make me cough."

In the last couple weeks Kendan has really gotten into Star Wars. But, he refers to Darth Vader as "Star Wars." When Vader comes on screen Kendan gasps and says, "Here come Star Wars! Oh my gosh!"

If Kendan has not done something I asked him to do his favorite response to my asking if it's done is, "not 'et'." I cannot get mad at him for having not yet completed something when he says that!

My tampons have always been a favorite toy for Kendan. He always knew they were called "tampons" too. Then he had to know why I had them. I told him they were for when Mommy goes potty. A couple days later, while straining to push out a poop, he looks at me and whispers, "I need a 'two-m-pon'."

I use the maps app on my phone often and Kendan likes to repeat the verbal directions it gives. Once, it was telling me to make a U-turn. From the backseat, Kendan repeats, "Mama, U-turn!" I said, "a U-turn?" He frustratingly yells, "no, you turn! I no have a steering wheel."

I taught Kendan his birthday, the street he lives on, the state he lives in, and his full name one day. But, the full name part confused him. "Kendan Guy Kaplowitz," he repeated. And then he said, "I not Guy Kaplowitz! Dat Grandpa!"

He has even begun to make up people and languages. He made up a super hero named "Tag-a-wa" who "has a weird tooth." When he wears his blankie on his head I know he is "Tag-a-wa." And I know to just reply with "oh really?" when he begins speaking in jibberish during lunch because it is a made up language. Every night I sing him two songs before bed. Long gone are the days of singing "Twinkle Twinkle" and "Hush Little Baby." He has had me making up impromptu songs about whatever random object he chooses from his line of sight for a while now. But, I knew I was in for an entirely different stage with my child when he had me make up a song about a made up word! I couldn't tell you what the word was, or the random lyrics to my song, to save my life.

I swear he became an overnight teenager with as much as he says. Thankfully, his blankies are still "ah-ah's" and Damien is still "Brudder." But, other than that I never know what we will get from his mouth. It may make me crack up, it may make me shudder in embarrassment. But, usually, it makes me completely melt. I couldn't have envisioned that even the sassiest thing coming out of my toddler's mouth could be one of the best things I have ever heard. It has brought my attention to what I am saying in front of him, to just how much he is learning every day, and it has been an insight to how is amazing little mind works. He can express concern, interest, worry, emotions, and every feeling with almost complete clarity. It has made us closer. We communicate. And when I look at him and tell him, "I love you so much" and he replies, "I love you too" it is the most amazing thing I have ever heard him say.

One

Leading up to Damien's birthday ("YBD" for "Your Big Day," as it's referred to in the Kaplowitz family) I began to feel really guilty for having not planned a party. You only turn one once. I could have ordered a sheet cake decorated in a previously chosen theme that was also reflected in the invitations and the party favors, down to the napkins. But, I didn't and, I felt bad. There isn't really a good reason for why I didn't plan a party. I knew the family members who were able to make the trip wouldn't be available to come at the same time. Damien doesn't really have "friends" I could invite seeing as how he had only attended one playgroup of his own in his life to date. And I didn't see the need to invite the few friends we do have in the Dallas area to come celebrate a one year old's birthday. I knew a day with the family and some cake would be the extent of the festivities. Which, is great! But, I still felt bad.

I started counting down to his birthday when I realized that the two containers of formula I purchased two and a half weeks earlier were going to be his last. "No more bottles in a couple weeks...." I said several times, letting it trail off just like that, putting it out into the universe to see how it felt. Saddened at the thought of no longer getting that one-on-one feeding time before nap and bed (but, happy at the thought of no longer washing bottles!). I thought about his upcoming birthday when making his one year doctor appointment. And felt it sink in when commenting to those who asked how old he was that he would be one in 12, 8, 5, 2 days. The first birthday was fast approaching.

Time doesn't stand still in anticipation for a child's birthday, despite any amount of pleading from a desperate mother. And, just like that, it was here. I got my happy one-year old from his crib that morning. Whispered, "Happy Birthday" to him as we stood and he played with the blinds at the window, like always. I just stared at him. He looked the same, no different. But, he was different. It felt different to me. A lump crept to my throat, the same one I had on Kendan's first birthday. The familiar pressure on my chest and racing heart as I smile through tears in my eyes. But, I didn't cry. It's hard to when your baby is jumping up and down in your arms while "vrooming" at the car passing in the street below. I got him dressed and we descended to the kitchen for breakfast, just like always, nothing changed.

I picked up a smash cake that day and baked a bigger cake for the people who didn't want to eat the one Damien was going to dig his fingers into. We went to the park with Mamaw and Grandpa Guy who flew in for the occasion. It was clear outside, the sun was shining. Warm enough in February so that we wouldn't need coats. The birthday boy squealed on the swings and slide, oblivious to what made that day so special. Oblivious every day as to what makes him so special. An under-whelming first cake experience and a couple presents later, he had been one for a full day. I said goodnight to him that evening, he was worn out from YBD. I gave him his blankie and he burrowed his head into it on my shoulder. I just held him, thankful that he doesn't lift his head right away. He's happy to be held close at bed time, just like every night, nothing changed. And, even though invitations weren't sent out, streamers were not hung, and the house wasn't full of party-goers, Damien's first birthday was special. It was sweet, low-key, and full of happiness. I cannot think of a more perfect day for a baby who embodies all of those qualities.

Damien,

D. Brother. Muppet. You have given your family such joy in a very short year. We are blessed to have your smile and laughter every day, please do not let us forget it. You mimic every sound you hear. You eat more than all of us combined. You had four molars before your two front teeth came through. You give the sloppiest, open-mouthed kisses. You are silly. And content. And one. We love you.  Happy Birthday!

Motherhood

Every woman who is fortunate enough to have children will have a different experience with motherhood. Every child is different, every mom, every dad. I know this. But, out of all the parents and kids I have met, I have realized that we are much more similar than we think. Most first time moms go through high anxiety levels, and pass that anxiety onto their oldest. A lot of dads are the "fun" parent while mom is juggling discipline, preparedness, the schedule, and nurturing all at once. All kids possess tiny quirks that make them purely adorable and hilarious. I am so thankful that I can relate to other moms, even women I've just met, so closely. It makes me feel very connected in a role that can become very lonely day to day. I've commented many times to friends that I am not sure I could have survived being a stay-at-home mom in a world prior to technology in the palm of my hand. I can google any question I have, I can post pictures of my kids in an instant for distant relatives, and, most importantly, I can stay connected with friends who are, more than likely, having the exact kind of day I'm having. We're all in it together. Motherhood. Here's what it means to me:

Motherhood is having to go to the bathroom so badly but holding it because your toddler just exclaimed that he has to go potty.

Motherhood is cutting the tiniest fruits, even a blueberry, into halves or even quarters.

Motherhood is getting your child juice. And then a vitamin. And then his banana. And then some more cereal. And then some more milk. And then some more juice.... before you've ever even taken a bite of your breakfast, just to have him look at you and say, "Mama, you need to eat!"

Motherhood is going from a dead sleep to running upstairs as fast as you can when your child yells, "Potty!" in the middle of the night.

Motherhood is completely ignoring the signs stating the weight limit on jungle gyms to climb to the top and rescue your kid who is too afraid to come down the slide.

Motherhood is feeling guilty for having a messy house when you're playing and feeling guilty for neglecting your kids when you're cleaning.

Motherhood is holding your hands out for your baby to throw up into because there isn't a bucket handy.

Motherhood is not being able to relax at all until you know the kids are asleep at nap time.

Motherhood is never using the bathroom alone again.

Motherhood is translating every word, sound, grunt, sign, or bit of body language to people who don't spend all day with your kids. Sometimes even to their own father.

Motherhood is examining the contents of even the worst diapers to see if your child should stop eating a newly introduced food.

Motherhood is thinking that being out until 7pm is late.

Motherhood is finding sentimental value in every old shoe, scribbled on paper, favorite type of cookie, frequently read book, and most-watched shows that your children had, did, or had anything to do with.

Motherhood is proudly cheering them on at every milestone while sobbing on the inside because your baby is growing too fast.

Motherhood is praying your child starts feeling better but secretly loving that all they want is Mom when they're sick.

Motherhood is putting clean sheets on the beds in the morning just to have both kids wet them during nap that same day.

Motherhood is (sometimes) feeling unappreciated. But, also knowing that, to your kids, you're the prettiest, funniest, woman with the best singing voice and a kiss for every boo boo.

Motherhood is wearing yoga pants so often that when you actually shower, get dressed, and brush your hair (nothing special) your toddler exclaims, "Mommy, you look so pretty!"

Motherhood is counting down the minutes until bed time just to be reminded that the real peace comes when your infant falls asleep in your arms. If that moment never ended you'd be content.

Motherhood is the most important thing I will ever do with my life. It's frustrating, guilt-ridden, trying, tiring, hilarious, messy, loud, silly, never-ending. I am, in no way, the best mother. So far from perfect. But, I don't think I do (or have done) anything better than being a mom. I truly feel like I have found my purpose in life and cannot picture myself doing anything else with my time - at least for now.