The Perfect Family

I’m going to let you in on a little secret that I have discovered.  Its pretty deep and philosophical so you better lean in real close.  Put your hard hats on because I’m about to blow your mind!  Life, especially life with kids is not perfect.  If you’re aiming for perfection then go out and buy yourself a frame because that’s about as close as your perfect family is going to get.    

I know!  You are shocked!  The world is finally making sense to you and now you are living on this new level of spiritual enlightenment.  Well, get out of Nirvana and come on back to earth because there are dishes that need to be washed down here.

Okay, maybe this wasn’t exactly a revelation to you.  In fact, this might have been a lesson you learned a long time ago.  Right around the time you realize that your night in shining armor was just a man and your forever after is just a mortgage payment.  Everyone is in a resounding agreement.  Life is not perfect!  

That is… until you decide to do something different.

If you step out of your comfort zone and start doing things differently, then every body changes their tune.  “What?  Why would you do that?  Your life is so perfect right now!  Why would you change jobs?  Why would you move?  Why would you go back to school?  Why would you adopt a baby?”

Oh yeah.  You step out of the normal and your biggest advisory is telling you how awesome your life is right now.

We are an adoptive family.  

AKA: “One of These Things is Not Like the Other”

When my husband and I decided that we were going to grow our family through adoption we were faced with a lot of … delicate questions.  These questions usually grew out of the protective nature and concern of most of our dearest friends.  Questions like “Why do you wanna do that?”  “Can’t you have your own kids?”  “Don’t you think two is enough?” “What happens if you get a psychopath?”

These “well meaning” questions would devolve into horror stories that usually started with “One time my sister's-girlfriend's-husband's-nephew's-twice-removed-daughter adopted once…” and always ended with “… and then they killed them in their sleep!”

The overwhelming theme of every concern was: “Why would you do that?  Your life is so perfect!  Don’t mess that up!”

Really?  Was it really perfect?

When my biological son was born, he cried.  He cried for nine months… Straight.  He cried so much that by the time he was six months old, I didn’t even like him!  

When my biological daughter turned 3, she went from being a beautiful, wonderful baby angel to becoming a possessed spawn of satan over night.  I didn’t even like her! 

I didn’t like them.  But I loved them more then life itself and to me, that made them perfect.

When we finally brought our youngest daughter home at 13 months old she couldn’t sit on her own, she couldn’t crawl, she couldn’t talk.  She had been fed so rarely that she would choke on the food we gave her for fear that it would be her last.  She was so overwhelmed with her asthma she would wheeze while sitting sedately.  She was afraid of noise, she wouldn’t sleep and she when she cried she would vomit because the mucous would submerge her lungs, choking her.

I remember being unable to leave her for a minute for fear that she would fall over and hurt herself.  I remember cleaning throw up off the floor while she was vomiting all over me.  I remember waking every three hours in order to administer her nebulizer treatment that allowed her a few hours reprieve from gasping for breath.

One night, I can remember waking up to one crying child which quickly turned into three children crying.  I remember rolling off my bed onto the floor, curling into the fetal position and just sobbing.  Needless to say, it was not idyllic.  It was a nightmare.  

But, would I have changed it?

Damn straight I would have!  I would have brought home a totally normal functioning child that only smiled when frustrated and pooped rainbows and unicorn stickers. 

But that’s not life.  that’s not reality, and if you want the best parts of what life has to offer you then you have to be willing to muddle through the worst.

My youngest daughter is perfect.  She is just as perfect as my other children.  Sometimes I don’t like her, But I love her more then life itself.  That’s what makes a family perfect.  Knowing all the imperfections, muddling through the grim and tears and frustrations and knowing that at the end of the day.  This is your family.  These people will love you no matter what.

One of the happiest days of my life, right up there with the birth of my biological children, was the day that we had to strap three carseats all in a row into the back of our mini van.  It was the most awe inspiring and terrifying day of my life.

All those fears came back.  We were saying goodbye to our "perfect life" in search for the unknown, the "What if's" that life has to offer us.

What if its terrible?  What if I can't handle it?  What if this is the biggest mistake we can make?

...

But what if this is the day you look back and think, this is the day my family became perfect.

Antenella

Another Mommy Fail

I could't figure it out.  My kids were driving me nuts!  I mean, more so then usual.  I started wondering if maybe it wasn't them at all.  Maybe it was me?  Was I getting enough sleep?  No, but that's not abnormal.  Was I not eating enough.  lol, me?  Miss a meal?  No, that's not it.  Am I PMS? Damn it!  No!  (PS: No one can ask this of you except yourself with out that person getting vulgar word vomit all over them.)

So what the heck?!

When I say they were driving me nuts, it's an understatement.  I literally lost my mind on my son in the car on Monday because he had been screaming for over 20 minutes.  It wasn't even the screaming that bothered me, it was the fact that he was screaming because he wanted to go to the park and when I told him that's where we were going he started blubbering about some other park that doesn't exist anywhere else but in his mind.

I am a great failure as a mom.

I'm sorry.  I can't make mind parks possible.

Not to mention that they wake up screaming at each other and fighting over everything from toys to TV shows.

Remember when we were kids and your show came on?  If you weren't home to see it or the president was on, that was it!  You missed it!  There was no DVR or Netflix or even something as ancient as recording a show on a tape.  And what did you do?  You sucked it up till next week and prayed that you'd be able to piece together what you missed from the next show.  (But it was probably something like Duck-Tales so it's a pretty good chance you were safe.)

We didn't have TV shows on literal demand!
"Mommy!!!  I want to watch my show!!!"

And yet we are fighting about this.  Why?  We are fighting about who's looking at who and who's touching who and I wanna play with that toy,  NOW!  Even though it's been 3 weeks since I even notice that toy but now that my sister has it, it is the most important thing in my life!!  I CAN'T BREATH WITHOUT IT!!!

And then it dawned on me.  Like the whispers of baby angles slowly and quietly putting two and two together in my mind.  Causing an epiphany that should have been anything but.

First, I got a quick memory of one of my awesome girlfriends saying that she completely cut out sugar out of her sons diet and now he's almost like a normal human being.  'Impossible'  I mutter.

Second, I thought of how my kids get after they had Valentines day candy, pictured completely with empty wrappers strewn all over my living room rug.  'Maybe not...'

And third, as if a lightning bolt jolted me awake.  All the pieces came together as I was handing out Quaker chocolate dipped chewy granola bars to my kids for breakfast.

but really?  What was I thinking?

It was like it was happening in slow motion.  The kids happy faces reaching up with outstretched hands as I unwrapped a chocolate covered, and I quote from the box, "breakfast" bar.  Tearing the paper from the sugar inducing coma that my children will then awake from 3 minutes later as nothing more then the werewolves they are barely containing that they are.

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

I snatch the "wholesome" breakfast from within their reach and switch to eggs.

With a few quick whines and a bit of complaining they managed to ingest their eggs with little more then a hum.  And lo' and behold my children are back.  Who knew that a seemingly innocent amount of chocolate could destroy all that my kids are?  Moral of the story:  Don't give chocolate to your kids for breakfast.

Don't get me wrong, they are still driving me insane but it is the type of insane I am used to.

Antenella

Remember the Time...TMI

Remember the time you told your preschool teacher too much information about my sexual life?

Oh, yes...  Kids say the darnedest things but before you call DCF, let me explain.

A few weeks ago I am picking up my son from his preschool and his teacher asks to talk to me after the other kids are picked up.

Uh Oh.  Fortunately, his teacher is kinda awesome so I figured it couldn't be too bad.  At least there would be a minimal amount of judgment.  That, I could handle.

Actually conversation:

Teacher:  So... I have to ask.
Me: Uh oh.
Teacher:  Your son stated a particularly strange sentiment this morning over lunch and at first I thought, I couldn't possibly have heard him correctly but when he said it again I wasn't sure what to make of it.
Me: Oh God.
Teacher:  He told me that... you... didn't like Penis?
Me:  (sigh)

why...?

I'm not sure what would be worse.  That he's telling people I don't like penis or if he was, in fact,  telling people I did like penis.

Let me clarify a few things.  First.  We don't have any cutesy names for our private parts.  We call them what they are.  Penis, Vagina, Breasts and Bum.  Sure it makes for awkward conversation as a toddler but it will be a whole lot less confusing when they get into their preteen.  Oh, and... all my kids already know where babies come from... and it's not the stork or the baby fairy or the department store.  (Although, we could have a case for that in the example of my youngest)

Go ahead and judge all you want but that's how we get down up in here.

With that being said, let's back up a few days from this hilarious yet humiliating conversation with my sons preschool teacher to three days prior.

All my kids are sitting around the kitchen table enjoying a healthy snake of apples and cheese, mostly because that was all that was left in my fridge.  Everyone's munching as I enjoy a moment of quiet.  Then, quite suddenly, my sons voice rings strong and true.

Boy:  Mommy?  Do you like Penis?
Me: Uhh... What?
Boy: (exasperated sigh) Do.  You.  Like.  Penis?
Me: (looking around as if someone is going to jump out and squeal about some hidden camera) Um... I don't understand the question.  Are you asking me if I like Penis?
Boy:  Yes.
Me:  Why are you asking me if I like Penis?

And in true Peter Pan fashion of putting his fists on his hips and thrusts his chest out proudly he says:

Boy:  Well, I do!  I think mine is great!

That's about right.

Oooooh.

Me:  Yes son!  It is a very strong penis something to be proud of but lets not talk about this at school, okay?

Fast forward to me standing face to face with my son's preschool teacher who is in fact awesome and is obviously not getting paid enough to have to field these kinds of circumstances.  All I can say with a straight face is:

Me: He told me he wasn't going to talk about that in class!

So then I had to retell the story I just shared with you and explain that he must have seen my unwillingness to share this kind of information with his class as a disproval of the male genitalia.  Now I'm thinking, that both my son and his preschool teacher are going to have a lot to tell there therapist when I am done screwing them up.

 Needless to say, she better get one hell of a parting gift at the end of the year.

Antenella

Crisis Mode

Remember a while back when I said that three kids wasn't that many kids?  I was talking about the way people stare at us whenever we walk through the sliding doors of any public arena.  We aren't a freak show, we're a family.  Three kids isn't that many kids...  Well, I take it back.  Three kids is a lot of kids.

I'm constantly in crisis mode!  Every little thing I do is hard.  I mean really hard.  Things that are supposed to be simple, things that are supposed to make things easier, normal things that normal families do become quests of epic proportions.

Going to the Park?  Some one will inevitable fall of the equipment.  Whether it be the slide a swing or the monkey bars some one will end up crying and bleeding by the time we leave.  If I'm lucky it's only one child.

Going to the store?  Set aside at least an hour of your time to a) rebuild displays b) look for a small child that has managed to hide in one of the many clothing racks c) wrestle any number of toys out of someones hands or d) all of the above

Taking the kids to a restaurant?  You will spend the entire meal in the bathroom stale with anyone of your small children.

Everything I do is hard!!!

Even that doesn't seem so bad when compared to the fated moments of complete calamity that you can neither expect or plan for.  At least when things are hard I can just drink more coffee or in most cases just do things half-asked.  But what do you do when you are constantly in crisis mode?

I should be skinnier...

Some things should just be simple.  For example, having the kids play in the playroom.  What could go wrong?  You would think that a whole room dedicated to being a kid friendly place of play and imagination would be a safe haven.

Well you would be WRONG!

It's a death trap... like everything else in my house, apparently.

So I'm in my room, folding three weeks worth of laundry (don't ask) and I hear an ear piercing scream.

Now normally, this wouldn't faze me since I spend a better part of my life listening to varying levels of screaming.  But this one was different.  This was a true and sincere scream of pain and anguish.  I almost missed it since I'm not used to hearing actual cries for help.

I rush into the next room with my eldest following in my trail.  My son (of course, it was my son)  is standing in the middle of the room screaming.  Again, this isn't so strange a scene except in this act there is a slight flow of blood pouring from his right ear.

Great.

Wordlessly, I rush him to my bathroom and sit him on the counter.  I run the hot water and try to wipe up as much of the blood as possible so I can see the damage and start to deduce what happened.  Meanwhile my eldest is in full blown panic.

"What happened?  Why is he bleeding?  Where is he bleeding from?  Are we going to have to go to the hospital?  I'm so nervous right now! Is he going to be okay?  What happened?  Stop crying!  I can't hear mommy!"

Wordlessly I assessed the damage.  And this my friends is how you know that three kids might be a lot of kids.

My thoughts exactly:

 'I don't think I have to go to the ER.  I mean, sure there's a lot of blood and his ear looks like it's pretty split open... but that will totally heal on its own right?  Maybe, if I can get the bleeding under control this won't be a problem.  Ew, what is that string of something escaping from the wound and it's kinda turning black... ugh, I'll compromise, I''ll call the doctor.'

"Looks like you might need stitches, buddy." By this point my son has stopped cry and is trying to see his own ear in the mirror.

From my eldest: "Stitches?! Oh no!  That's terrible!  It's going to hurt so bad!  Are they gonna put a needle in it?  What's stitches?"

I spend the next 10 minutes calling the doctor, wrestling three small children into the car while one of them bleeds all over himself and rushing my happy butt over to my pediatrician.

If you ever want your doctor to be quick on your check in at the office, I recommend bleeding all over the sign-in sheet.  From the moment we walked through the door to the doctor walking in was no more then 7 minutes.  I kid you not.

Anywho, the doctor comes in takes one look at it and tells me everything is fine.  He doesn't need stitches or even glue.  (Glue! Why didn't I think of that.  I could have saved a copay)  My oldest gives an audible sigh of relief and we just tack this story up to the growing number of stories where my son scared the crap out of me.

I'm sure you are wondering what actually happened.  Well, you know all the toys that your mom tells you to pick up because you are going to trip and fall and hurt yourself?  Yeah, we're not just blowing smoke up your ass.  He tripped over a pile of toys and landed ear first on to the edge of the train table and the pressure of the fall split his ear wide open.

But fortunately for everyone involved, t'was only a flesh wound.

ew

Antenella