My Son, the Collector

I read an article recently about collecting. Immediately I thought of my oldest. He is a collector extraordinaire. Anything shiny, ugly, valuable, or the least bit interesting goes into one of his collections. I first noticed his collecting habit when he was four and sleeping on the top bunk (chastise me later, I KNOW the warnings say he was supposed to be six!) and I was changing his sheets. Stuffed between his mattress and the side board of the bunk was a veritable conglomeration of items representing my son: pine cones, dried flowers, Happy Meal toys, broken crayons, a plastic fork, and a Starburst candy wrapper. "What is this stuff?" I asked him.

"That's my collection, Mommy."

"Hmmmm...some of this looks like trash." (Great parenting moment - trashing, literally, what your son thinks is sacred and valuable. Start the therapy fund.)

"No, Mommy, please don't throw it away! I took a long time collecting those things!"

"Okay, let's think about this. Plastic fork?"

"That's from our picnic on the deck. Remember, Daddy came home from work to have lunch with us on the first day of school?"

"Broken crayons?"

"I took those from preschool, they were going to throw them away. Mrs. S. said I could have them."

"Pine cones?"

"From our hike at Quarry Hill."

"Okay, at least give me the Starburst wrapper. That is trash."

"Nooooo Mommy," he wailed, "that's the first wrapper I ever read!"

Sigh, battle lost. Collection returned to the side of the bunk bed.

Currently under his bed he has four shoe boxes. One is his treasure collection. It holds pretend coins, a pirate map, real coins, sparkly jewels, mardi gras beads (don't ask), and anything shiny he can lay his hands on. One box is cards, notes and valentines from me, his friends, and his teachers. And two boxes are filled with random items of varying significance. Rubber bracelets? Check. Yugioh cars? Check. Broken erasers? Check. Nest? Check. I could go on and on. This doesn't even take into account the four peanut butter jars, one tub, squinkie collection or the silly bands collection he has in his closet. The peanut butter jars are his nature collections sorted by type: leaves, rocks, shells, and for lack of a better term - other. The tub contains notepads, sticky notes, and small notebooks that he can't resist buying because of the art and writing possibilities they represent.

We address these boxes (and jars and tub) about once every two months. During that two months (my mother probably wishes it were more often), other items find their way to the top of his dresser, his closet, the end of his bed, and his back pack. Also, via his pockets, we have a interesting mix of items next to the washing machine that he has found at school or on the playground.

I remember watching a show called "Clean Sweep." I have no idea if it's still even on television, but the premise went something like this: the featured owner's house is out of control so the clean sweep team comes in and does just a couple of rooms. They take everything out of those rooms and have just an hour or two, with the owner's input, to sort the items into 1. Keep 2. Sell and 3. Donate (maybe it was even throw, I can't remember).

Well, G and I do the same thing. We take out the collection boxes and gather the items that have accumulated around his room in the preceding two months. We decide - do we keep this, throw it or sell it? If we keep it, it has to fit in one of the existing collection boxes. If the collection boxes are full, some items have to be taken out to throw or sell. If we throw it, it simply goes in a plastic bag to be tossed. G also has a thing for recycling, so many things also go in a "to be recycled" pile.

Then comes the sell bag. Since I live in the country, and I'm kind of beyond the stage of having a garage sale, I use the term "sell" loosely. It applies to me buying his items from him. Did I mention that he likes money? He's a saver (go figure) and money has turned into a good motivator for controlling his collections. However, his idea and mine are quite different about what things are worth. A Happy Meal toy? He wants $3, I will give him $.25. We negotiate back and forth until we reach a fair price. He will also pick things to give to our little friend Evan or things to donate to Goodwill.

At the conclusion of the "Clean up the Collections" project, we both feel so much better!

I think there are two reasons he puts up with going through his collections with me. First, he loves the one on one time with me. Second, he loves the money. Me? I love the end result - a clean room.

I've gotten better about his collections. We've learned from each other. I am coming to terms with his habits, but I never want to see him on the show "Hoarders" so I will still try to help him control his desire to collect. As time has gone on, I've come to understand a little more of his need to hold onto things. Because for him, each thing holds meaning, a memory, a moment in time. And, who can blame him for that?

On Becoming a Grown Up

When I turned 18, I thought, "Yes! I am finally a grown up!" I went to college, got a job, went to graduate school, got married and then I started to wonder.

"When will I feel like a grown up?"

I was doing all the things grown ups do...like paying a mortgage, paying various other bills, joining my church, heading up committees at work, coaching a variety of sports teams and finally, having children of my own.

There, that should make me feel like a grown up, right?

It's not like I am a childish person. I'm not. I'm not even silly. I don't run around and jump around. I don't even like to play games with my kids.

I'm really bad at pretend, especially with action figures and Barbies.(Hi, I'm Ken/Superman/Barbie/Green Lantern. Who are you? Are you a good guy or a bad guy? What are you doing? Okay, well, I'm going to go take a nap.) See? I told you I'm bad.

I get bored easily. I don't watch a lot of tv. I'm not particularly crafty or have any hobbies. I am, in fact, pretty boring.

Even when my kids were small and I was parenting 24/7, I still didn't feel like a grown up.

I am just starting to feel more like a grown up now. The transformation is not yet complete, but I think I may have figured out some of the contributing factors.

1. I went back to work.
There is something about putting on professional clothes and teaching history that makes me feel more grown up. Especially since the history I am teaching has to do with Minnesota and the era in which I grew up. See, my childhood life is history!


2. I am now older or the same age as most of my students' parents.
When I first started teaching, I was the new teacher in the school, one of the youngest ones. I didn't have children, so how could I be an authority on your child when I didn't know what it was like to have little ones of my own? Plus, for some of the parents I worked with, they were not much younger than my own parents. A few had children my age.


3. I went through the house buying process a second time.
The first time we bought our house, we really had no idea what we were doing. We survived it, built equity, and then moved on to bigger and better. The second time we bought a house, we knew more - about the process, about our own financial state, about each other. Plus, much to the chagrin of our realtor, HGTV's House Hunters and Property Virgins helped.


4. I have school agers of my own.
This might be the biggest determining factor in feeling like a grown up. I provide birthday treats. Do homework. I get to read chapter books to my boys, good chapter books like Harry Potter. I go to parent/teacher conferences as the parent.

Next year my daughter will be in school. Then, perhaps my transformation to adult will be complete. I mean, I am 40 after all. When my parents turned 40, they were OLD! Am I a grown up? Perhaps, but definitely not OLD!

Sick of Sick

I'd like to preface this post by stating that generally, the family is pretty healthy. We've had our ups and downs, but nothing terminal or really terrible. So, I know there are worse things out there. I know I should be grateful, and I am, and I try to be grateful for my times of trial. I just don't always succeed.

That being said, I am sick of sick in our household. I have to admit that I've developed somewhat of an obsessive side about illness. If you've read any of my earlier posts, you will know that it really began when I was pregnant with Ben and Gabe had an 8 week bout of rotovirus. Ugh. Most of the time when I was a Stay at home mom, I managed it pretty well. After all, if someone got sick, the worst that would happen is we didn't go to the library, or a playdate, or MOMS group at church.

Since I returned to work, it has become ever so much more complicated. It's a dance of negotiation...

Can you stay home today/tomorrow?

No, can you?

Not really, but I suppose I can run in and put in sub plans tonight.

Yeah, I stayed home last time.

But, I'll have to miss a staff meeting, and I'm supposed to be prepping my students for the chapter 6 test that I wanted to get in before the end of second quarter, and it's Wednesday so I have mileage club, and we have AIMSWEB testing this week that I have to administer.

Yeah, I stayed home last time.

Oh, okay, guess I'll find a a sub. Mary, are you available? No? Kay are you available? No? Donna? Jan? Bette? Kelli? Down to my last resort...we all know who that is, the sub who comes in, has no control, doesn't get anything done and it takes a solid week to get pubescent 12 year olds back on track.

Hubby is very, very good about staying home. But, we do still feel great responsibility to our students. We feel like we are gone all the time, and I'm sure the parents of my students don't entirely appreciate that either. But, when you have sick kids, what else can you do? They're not at the age yet where they can stay home alone, and who really wants that anyway when they are sick? I still want my mom, wouldn't my eight year old want me?

So, it becomes very stressful when someone is sick. Not only because of the dance about who is going to stay home and manage the sick cherub, but also because of the GERMS!

Note from above, remember that I said "obsessive" not "compulsive." I am not a classic germ-a-phobe. I don't run around with my hand sanitizer everywhere, but I have been known to decline an invitation if someone has been sick in the last 4 days. I do go around with my clorox wipes and clean every knob, handle, and floor space that I can when someone is sick. I do loads and loads of laundry. I don't share food or drink, or take bites of anyone else's food or drink. I run my dishwasher A LOT. I spray lysol like room freshener. You get the picture.

But the worst part is, I can't stop THINKING about sickness and WONDERING how long it will be before everyone else gets it! I see germs as super sonic live beings that could hop from a light switch to my coffee cup handle into my mouth. I know that they can't, but it doesn't stop me from the constant worry. Also, keep in mind that I work in a cesspool of germs...an elementary school. So does my husband. And my boys spend all day in that same cesspool. My daughter, well, she's in preschool (cesspool) and daycare (not so much a cesspool, probably cleaner than my own house!). So you see, it's not like my worries are unfounded. Just totally inescapable.

My husband THINKS I am a bit crazy. I KNOW I am a bit crazy, and I tell him all the time....I'm working on it.

So, this brings me back to sick of sick. It started on Halloween, a Monday, Ben threw up. Thankfully, we had grandparents here to help on that day so we could still go to work. Poor little guy couldn't go trick or treating. Friday, Lyndee threw up. Saturday, she was diagnosed with strep. Monday, Gabe stayed home. No strep. All week, the kids didn't feel well. The next Monday, both boys were diagnosed with strep. The following Wednesday, Lyndee had an ear infection. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday after Thanksgiving Gabe had three days of fever. Saturday, Sunday, Monday Lyndee had three days of fever.

I removed myself from facebook mostly because I cannot stand how often people post about their kids or themselves throwing up. I do the whole Kevin Bacon Six Degrees of Separation thing. Only, it's six degrees of sick. I know you live in Nairobi, but we were with someone that was with you? Did we have a playdate with your cousin's best friend's girlfriend so we could have been exposed? How long has it been since we've seen you? If we plan on seeing you anytime soon, I will cancel our date with some lame excuse just because my psyche cannot take the thought of illness.

Back to the sick of sick timeline. Lyndee was not herself all through Christmas break. January came, we started to think, maybe we are done with all of this, maybe we can start fresh. January 12th, Lyndee threw up at preschool, January 13th negative strep. Monday, the 16th, Ben threw up, and up, and up. I went to school, felt sick, came home and now am trying to manage my stress associated with all of this.

It is still the 16th. It is also Lyndee's 5th birthday, some fun birthday, huh? Now begins the extrapolation, how long will we be sick? Will Gabe and Matt get sick? Am I really sick or is the stress making me sick? Your guess is as good as mine. (Side note, after picking Lyndee up at daycare, Gabe did get sick...in the truck...the new truck).

I am trying. I ask myself, what's the worst that will happen. Gabe will get sick. What else? Lyndee will get sick again. What else? Matt and I will both be sick and won't teach all week? Then what? We will get better. Then what? My students will survive. Then what? Life will go on. I know I vowed...in sickness and in health...and I will always, always take care of the kids. It pains me greatly when Mommy can't make it all better. I would take the illness for them a thousand times over if it meant that they wouldn't be sick. But, just so you know....it wears on me.

I know there's a vaccine for rotovirus. Is there a vaccine for the common stomach flu? If there is, bring it on, I would max my credit cards to pay for it. My psyche (and my husband) would thank me for it.

Moving Day

This isn't how I imagined it would be.

The scenario I had in mind went something like this: I sit amidst packed and perfectly labeled boxes on furniture waiting to be loaded onto the moving truck. I am laughing with my girl friends, drinking wine and toasting the wonderful memories we've made in this home.

In reality, I am sitting on my doorstep alone. I am watching my husband load a few things onto our friend's truck and I am quietly crying. I am crying because number one, this isn't how I imagined it. And number two, I have A LOT of work to do and it's already 10:30 pm on the night before our move.

What was I thinking?! Was I thinking the house would pack itself while I was at work?! Did I think the children would help?! Did I think my husband would know how to pack?! Most of all...did I realize I would be so UNWILLING to let people I love help me?!

Numerous friends called and offered to help me pack. Repeatedly I told them that I had it under control. That this was just something I needed to "muddle through." When I had it under control and could direct them, I would call. Needless to say, I didn't call. So when Matt came home at midnight 11:00 pm from the first load and wanted to know why I was so stressed....it wasn't pretty. I unloaded on him about how stressed I was and why I was so stressed and no, he couldn't do anything to help me!!! I imagine I must have looked like Medusa.

Here ensued meltdown number one. He said, "Honey, really...it will be fine! The guys aren't coming until 8:30. We'll be moving the big stuff, the kids will be watching tv, you can pack around us. And, if THIS is what you're going to be like..."

What I'm going to be like? Really?! It's my first year back to work from a three year leave. I'm teaching a grade level I've never taught before. We just got back from Disney World with three kids, two cousins, your brother and your sister in law (which was amazing but won't be repeated for a few years until the kids, namely Ben, are older). We bought a house, sold a house and now we're moving and you wonder why I am a crazy woman?!

I explained that he had to let me do this. That he had to let me stress out on him a little because if I stressed out to my friends, I wouldn't have any left and if I stressed out to my sisters it would be proof that I shouldn't be doing this in the first place, and if I stressed out to my mom then she would worry about me. He had to let me do this....or else.

I cried a little. He hugged me a lot. And we continued to pack the kitchen - together.

I guess I imagined that I would be able to pack little by little each night after the kids went to bed. What I didn't imagine was that Gabe would be having such a struggle with moving. I should have known since I think he is so much like me that a change like this would be as hard on him as it was on me. We don't like change, even happy change, he and I. We could have lived contentedly on Zumbro Drive until we were both old and gray. But, far be it from me to hold back my oldest offspring. He was up until after 10 every night because he couldn't sleep....repercussions from the stress of moving upheaval I am sure. So, by the time he got to bed, it was time for me to go to bed. Needless to say, I didn't get much packing done the week before we moved.

Which brings us back to Friday night. Matt helped me pack a little, then I shooed him off to bed and I tried to pack a little more before sleep beckoned me, too.

I got up at 7:00 with everyone else and had the kids fed and mostly dressed by the time our friends came to help us move. Before I go any further, a shout of gratitude goes out to Wint, Evy, Dave, and John. We couldn't have done it without you! Dave rented the truck for us and he and all the others, including Matt did all the grunt work. It wasn't looking too positive when Wint tore part of his car off turning around in John's driveway, and the moving truck ran out of gas in our driveway. But, at least all of that bought me some packing time.

I was doing pretty well when I needed to bring the kids to Sarah's house (Thank God for good friends to watch the kids!). By then though, the guys had started to stand around because they were waiting for more boxes. Here ensued meltdown number 2. I don't know what Matt's friends thought while they watched me in the driveway with Matt from our picture window, gesturing wildly, crying and storming off in the van. What Matt said was, "It's no big deal. The guys can pack up some stuff while you take the kids to Sarah's house."

What I said was, "Are you kidding?! I told you this was going to happen. I told you the guys would be standing around waiting for something to do and then would just start throwing junk (other word really) in boxes! I TOLD YOU THIS WAS WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN!" I irrationally stormed off and brought the kids to Sarah's house. I cried on her shoulder and headed back to the moving battlefield.

And what did I find? Junk (other word) in boxes. Randomly thrown in, not labeled, not gone through. "See?" I said in my mind. "This is how boys pack. And it is NOT acceptable." It was evident that Matt must have told them to stop, because none of it was done and the guys were sitting outside "taking a break" when I got home. I took a deep breath and started unpacking, repacking and delegating.

John - take down the quilt rack and the valances. Evy - take apart and pack the xbox. Wint - call your wife and quit talking about impending rain. Dave - get this dresser and these boxes out. Matt - clean out the attic. Little by little it got done and miraculously, we were mostly out of the house by 12:30.

I finished up a few things after the guys left, got some pizzas, unloaded my emotional baggage on my mom and drove to the new house. We ate lunch and got the truck unpacked and everything in the house by 4:00. Now, as I sit in this house mostly free of boxes (but still way too much STUFF), I am amazed at how smoothly, despite my two meltdowns, the move went.

Thanks to John setting up our beds, we were all able to sleep in the new house that night and have 3 of the 5 of us in church the next day. In the morning Gabe said to me, "Mommy, you know what I love best about the new house? Having my own room and hearing the cardinals in the morning." It was worth it, late nights, melt downs and all. It was not how I thought it would be, but how it was meant to be. And for that, I am grateful!

The Unexpected Move

Ever since we bought our home on Zumbro Drive, my hunting husband has been looking for land in the country. It would drive me crazy when the Homes insert would come in the newspaper and he would pore over it, show me ridiculous properties, and yearn for land. He would call the numbers listed on the for sale signs he saw on his drives in the country and every once in awhile he would drag me to look at a home. I remember one conversation we had after Gabe was born where I tearfully said, "I just can't take the home dissatisfaction any longer and can we just be happy with what we have??" He said that we could but could he at least have a deadline for when we might start looking again? So, we set the deadline of three years. Three years turned into seven years and two more children, which brings us to January of this year, 2011.

Let it be noted that I have always been perfectly happy in our 2200 square foot (including the garage) home with our large, to die for, backyard. After years of bucking Matt's "white walls only" trend, I finally got it painted completely how I wanted it. I was ready to start in on redecorating the basement when we got a link on our email from a realtor Matt had talked to years ago. Usually when we would get these, I would look at it, and quietly delete it. The house was either too old or too expensive and the land was either pasture or farm land, not the hunter's paradise for which Matt longed.

This time, what I saw gave me pause. It was a large house on over 17 acres of woods, right smack between Pine Island and Matt's school on the NW side of Rochester. And, it was a foreclosure. Still way out of our price range, but I called Matt to the basement to look at it anyway. It didn't take long until he was on the phone with our realtor friend (not the same one who had sent us the link) and we were on our way to take a look at it.

I was prepared to hate it. In the picture, the house looked gray and I will NOT live in a gray house! We pulled up the steep, long driveway and I knew we were in trouble. It was not gray, it was a dark putty color and it was beautiful. The land was covered with 2 feet of snow, but we trudged around anyway while the kids went in the house and picked out their bedrooms.

As a foreclosure, we knew that there was a lot to be done, but we could definitely see the possibilities. It was still too expensive. And, I'm the type of person who doesn't decide I like a sweater until I look at the price. If it's too expensive, I won't even let myself consider it,let alone like it!

But really, the house appeared to be made for us. There were two boy bedrooms and a girl bedroom, enclosed lockers in the mudroom (five for the five of us, although Matt tried to convince me that it meant that we could have 2 more children), a huge master bedroom, open kitchen, big deck, I could go on and on.

We decided to put in a low bid (which I originally thought was our top bid). So we did. We bid roughly $50,000 below asking price, which was already about $75,000 below the starting sale price. We settled in to wait for a response from the bank. I mean, we've watched enough HGTV to know that these things can take time. Less than 24 hours later, the bank countered back.

I won't bore you with all the details, but over the next two weeks we countered back and forth with the bank, argued with each other, prayed, crunched the numbers of our budget again and again, talked to our parents and siblings, cried a little, and yes, before we even had a final agreement, we started packing.

And boy did we pack. We knew that if we had to put our house on the market, it had to be on the market yesterday. We cleared major clutter out of the house (22 boxes of toys and clothes out of the boys' room alone)and cleaned and repaired and worked ourselves silly getting the house ready for the sale.

We stored probably about 150 boxes over at my mom's house while our house was on the market. We put our house on the market on a Wednesday, had a below zero unproductive first weekend open house, posted our house on facebook, had a second open house and 12 days later...it was sold.

I still can't really believe how everything truly came together and seemed meant to be in order for the purchase of the new house to happen. Two weekends ago, we moved out of Zumbro Drive and into the new home on 105th Street NW, our own rural paradise. I'll tell you about moving another day. Last weekend we cleaned the old house till it shined. Now, three months after we first looked at this new house, we will say good bye to the old house, turn in our keys, and wish the new owners as much love and happiness as we found living on Zumbro Drive.

The Elderberry Adventure

Truly I have loved the weather of this summer. I know many of my friends complained and wondered when the real summer weather would begin. I, for one, did NOT miss the muggy and oppressive days of summers past. I loved the cooler mornings, the warm afternoons and cool again nights. All of this good feeling about the weather finally led me to the farmer's market in August.

Now, I am not your regular eat from the earth, organic only kind of eater. I love McDonald's, Diet Coke, peanut M and Ms, and many, many processed foods. However, I do like to take my kids to the market on Saturday mornings and introduce them to fruits and veggies that don't normally grace our dinner table. We see things like rutabegas (is that even how you spell it?) and radishes (gasp, I know soooo out there, haha), fresh basil, cilantro, etc. We also see those things which really are part of our existence like watermelon, apples, carrots, cantaloupe, kale (for that blasted iguana that lives on in our basement), and zucchini.

It was for zucchini that I came to the market on this particular Saturday. And I did end up finding some, but that's another adventure. Matt and I strolled around with the kids, coffee cups heavily laden with vanilla creamer in hand. (Because that's how we are LEARNING to become adults and drink coffee!) We went past one booth and saw some berries I had never seen before. We kept going and then I saw that they were only a dollar! I couldn't pass up that good of a deal. So, we backed up and I asked the older gentleman, "What are these?" He told me they were elderberries and that people usually made syrup or jam out of them. Hmmmmm....okay, I'll take them.

He asked me how much I wanted and I said, "Well, as much as a dollar would buy me." And he conferred with his wife and since it was the end of the market day, they gave me all that they had. I ended up with a huge Target bag full of berries that I had no idea how to use. The gentleman told me that in order to get the berries off the stem or vine, I would need to use a comb or a fork to remove them. Okay, I thought, I can try this.

So, I waited a couple of days, did a little research, bought some Sure Jell for jam and decided to try it out. I was doing back up day care for a friend on that Monday and it was a gorgeous day, so the kids played outside all morning. And while they played outside, I picked berries. I started with the fork like he had told me to, but along with the berries came all the stems! And when you make jam, you can't have stems! Imagine these berries.....they look like teeny tiny grapes bunched together on fragile stems. Yeah, it took me forever once I decided to pick them off one by one so I didn't have to pick out itty bitty stems later.

I recruited my six year old, my four year old, and their five year old friend to help me with the berries. Needless to say, I still ended up picking out itty bitty stems after all their "help." It was really, truly great though. And peaceful. I loved every minute of it as I listened to their banter of pretend play and then their conversations as they became expert berry pickers.

"Hey Grant, did you ever hear of elderberries before?"
"No, did you?"
"Yeah, on Saturday when my mom got them at the farmer's market."
"Did you taste one yet?"
"No way, did you?"
"No way, not a chance."
"Wow, we're really good at this aren't we Gabe?"
"Yep, did you ever think you'd be an expert elderberry picker Grant?"
"Nope, but I am and so are you, Gabe."

Really, it was priceless. And then my four year old would chime in, "Hey Mama, I'm the transformer Bumble Bee, and he's really good at picking elderberries, too."

"Yep, Bumble Bee, you sure are good at picking elderberries."

Finally, with my fingers stained purple, the deck with splotches of purple also, we decided we'd had enough and it was time for lunch. All in all, we'd picked about 8 cups of berries....teeny tiny berries.

Then came the jam experiment. These berries are similar to blackberries. A little seedy and with skin that stays on. I tried to use my trusty Pampered Chef food chopper like I used with strawberries and that fateful zucchini. But it just wouldn't work with the skin's texture. So, I turned to the blender. It worked great! It was truly the ticket to getting the berries the right consistency. My little helper of the day, two and half year old friend Gracie, and I boiled the Sure Jell, sugar and water and then added the berries. When finished the jars of jam looked great! Since then, I have tasted the jam and I wish I could say that it's the best jam I've ever tasted. But......sigh.....it's not. Not that it's bad, it's just not that good. Next time I make it, I'll add some strawberries or raspberries to give it a sweeter flavor. And there will definitely be a next time.

Later that afternoon, Gabe, Grant and Ben were playing Transformers in our backyard. Which, I happen to think, is the greatest backyard in Rochester and rivals the back yard of my upbringing. Nevertheless, behind the shed I hear a screech. "Mama! Mama! I've made a discovery! You have GOT to see this!"

I come running, well, quickly walking to see what is going on. "Look Mama! We have our very own elderberry tree!" And so we did. After living in my house for 11 years, it takes my six year old to discover an elderberry tree in our back yard. Not only was our adventure with elderberries magical, it had come full circle with this find. No more will I have to pay a whole dollar for my adventure, I'll have one for free next summer. Right in my very own back yard!

Still Evolving

Awhile back, I wrote about the evolution of a mother. Most of the time when I'm thinking about things to write, I have to let them live in my brain for weeks while I organize my thoughts enough to put my fingers to the keyboard. Lately, I've been thinking about some of the differences between moms and dads.

There are the obvious differences between moms and dads like gender, but it's the not so obvious differences that I've been ruminating about. In one of my last posts, I wrote about how having children changes you. I mean, REALLY changes who you are, what you do, what you think about, how you react to things and many times how you see the world around you. I think I understand now how my mom worried (and still does) so much about my safety and well being. And how I spent a lot of each of my pregnancies worried about the future and the baby. Like getting up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, worrying while baby is in utero is training for future worrying. Only when baby is in utero, you can control where they go, what they do, who they interact with, fat chance of that once adolescence hits.

Mostly what I've been thinking about is how when men become dads, it's like they have an add on to their lives. An added dimension of personality and experiences. A bonus to their lives that wasn't there before. While becoming a dad sometimes means changing diapers during football games, or fishing with your kids instead of alone, dad's lives don't change a whole lot in the first years of their child's life. Maybe that's because for the most part, moms are responsible for the very survival of their children from the time they are simply multiplying cells inside of us.

On the other hand, when women become moms, we are irrevocably changed. Our children are not add ons to our lives or bonuses, they often take over parts of us and our lives. In the beginning, they take over our sleep, our eating, our breasts (for some), and definitely our minds. Children literally take over our lives. We move other, now less important things out, to make room for the new most important thing called a child.

Like scrapbooking, do I do that anymore? or shopping for fun at target? or going out to dinner? Things had to leave my life to make room. Don't get me wrong, I am not moaning and complaining about this, just thoughtfully observing what has transpired in my life in the last 6 years. I have changed since I had children. I think differently, I speak more carefully, I watch different tv, I have some different friends, I sleep differently, I have different hobbies, I am different.

I occasionally think about the woman I was before kids. And surprisingly, I don't really miss her. Of course I miss going out to dinner or bumming around target. I have to admit, I don't really miss scrapbooking. I miss her uncluttered mind and her simple to do list that didn't include raising responsible, caring humans. I miss her mostly clean and quiet house. I miss her disposable income and petty cash. I miss these things, but I wonder what she did with all her time.

This is just one of the fundamental differences between moms and dads. It's not to say that dads aren't changed by parenthood. Of course they are. I'm just saying that my husband is still himself, only better, as a dad. And I think my SELF is much different than I was before I had kids.

There are other differences between moms and dads that I won't get in to here. And, I love my husband. He's one of the most phenomenal dads I know and love. I love him even more since he became the dad of our kids. Being a dad is one of his many natural talents. Still, he is the same as always. If there were a label on me, I would hope that it would still say, "Amy" but add the tag line "New and Improved."