the birthologist

How to Identify a Resolutionist.

I LOATHE the gym in January. Really, I try to avoid it until mid-March, but sometimes, I need to workout and just cannot do it at home or outside. But the trauma of visiting the gym during the first few weeks of the year almost cancels out the high of a good workout. The misery begins the moment you arrive on the gym's property! Finding parking is nearly impossible; you have to be patient enough to drive around for 10 min, wait for someone to exit the gym right as you pass the door, then slowly and stalkerishly follow them to their car, wait for them to buckle their kids in, put their cell phone headset on, get out their post-workout energy bar, and reverse out of their blessed spot. 

The worst, though, even lousier that the parking fiasco, waits for you when you finally get inside. It is all the new people crowding your gym, your safe place, the place you can always count on to help raise your endorphins so you feel great. I call these interlopers Resolutionists. How can you tell a Resolutionist from a gym regular (besides the fact that you do not recognize them)? Here is my handy guide to help you determine who to glare at while spending a large percentage of your alloted 90-minute workout waiting in line for a treadmill. 

[I refer to the Resolutionists in the feminine because in my experience, most of them are women, and choosing a gender makes the writing process simpler. I do, of course, recognize that the following traits apply to both men and women.]

1. When on the treadmill/elliptical, the Resolutionist takes breaks from her ultra-low-intensity workout at least every five minutes to complete such critical tasks as adjusting her shirt to make sure it covers her midriff adequately, take a sip from her water bottle, change play-lists on her iPod, or take inexplicable, just-less-than-two-minute walks to other areas of the gym with her machine on pause. 

2. Resolutionists often appear at the gym in pairs, and when using two adjacent machines, will talk to each other at a volume that makes it impossible NOT to hear about how proud they are for cutting back to only two glasses of wine per day, how their mother-in-law "totally does not understand" them or that their kids are already tired of their Christmas presents. You may blow-out your eardrums trying NOT to listen to their semi-mobile social hour, but you will not succeed.

3. The most exasperating characteristic of a Resolutionist is on display in the stretching area of the gym. She will place her mat just close enough to the next person to not allow for anyone to squeeze between, but far enough away to take up the maximum amount of room possible. The Resolutionist will spend most of the time just lying down on the mat, possibly talking on her cell phone. If it is the Resolutionist pair, as described above, well, you might as well find something else to do (or just stretch at home), because it will be a while before these completely sweat-free babblers get up.  

4. If your gym has a track, don't bother to attempt to run on it until the Resolutionists have stopped coming. They walk in the lane they are supposed to run in, and let their kids play tag in the lane they are supposed to be walking in. The track is basically turned into an indoor playground.

5. When attempting to use the weight machines, Resolutionists tend to stand around the machine, apparently waiting for it to speak to them, or give them usage directions. They will sit on it, try to use it a couple of times, shake out their shoulders as though they actually just strained their muscles, and walk away.

There you have it, my fool-proof guide to recognizing the fitness dabbler, the casual constituent, the annual, month-long participant. Sometime in the next few weeks, the excuses will win and their visits to the gym will dwindle until the only time we see them is on Saturday mornings for their kids' indoor soccer games. The Resolutionist duos will move their bi-weekly social hours to the coffee shop or their living room, where they belong. We gym regulars will have our parking spots, our treadmills, our weights machines, and our stretching space back.

I recognize that not all newbies are Resolutionists. A few of them will beat the odds, actually stick with their resolutions, and become permanent fixtures at the gym. They will learn proper gym etiquette, use their free personal training meeting to learn how to use the machines, and continue to workout on a regular basis for an extended period. They will earn the right NOT to be called a Resolutionist. [I also know that not every newcomer to the gym is a newcomer to exercise, and some have just changed gyms, or joined  to add variety to their already rich exercise regime.]

Ice, dirt and dog poop.

Apparently I am not fully recovered from the cabin fever I was inflicted with after six days stuck at home with three kids and a giant dog, because I made the totally awesome decision to go for a run outside this morning. The 8+ inches of snow we got has substantially melted, and it was beautiful and cold and sunny outside, so it seemed like a good idea to my impaired brain.

What I did not factor for was that the extreme melt that took place over the last two-to-three days left little rivers running down all the streets and sidewalks, and cold this morning turned all of those rivers into ice. The snow-plow-created mounds on the sides of the road were crumbly and dirty and covered in a layer of ice, forming a new substance that I am going to call "snice"-- part snow, part ice. The piece de resistance were piles of dog poop that occupied inappropriate places on the sidewalk, the street, and basically anywhere I might want to put my foot down (anyone with dogs knows that when snow is on the ground, the poor creatures don't know where the right place to poop is, so they just go anywhere they want, and some owners consider the snow to be a "get out of dog-poop-pick-up free" pass).

Having not considered any of the possible drawbacks, and being blinded by the blissful sunshine and long-awaited solitude, off I went, out onto the frosty, icy, snicey streets. Although I started to slip almost immediately, I was already drunk on sunshine, and was therefore easily able to convince myself that "it will get better." After walking the first slick half-mile uphill, I found some clear sidewalk, and was able to run for a bit. My route choice was based solely on road conditions, but even so, I was really only able to run for about a mile before I had no choice but to walk again. 

When I say walk, I mean "Carefully weave around the sidewalks, grass and gutters to avoid spots of ice, snice, or dog poop." In other words, I traveled at about the pace of an osteoporosis-stricken, walker-dependent senior citizen. For the first time, well... ever, gravel was my friend, because gravel= traction.

Did I mention that I run "barefoot," in those crazy looking five-fingered running shoes that have only a thin rubber sole to protect my feet from being impaled by sharp objects? They are really great running shoes, and I will defend their peculiar looks and the running style they require to the DEATH, but when it comes to the conditions I was traversing this morning, I honestly think I might have been better off sitting down and sliding home on my butt.

About 20 minutes in, it hit me that I probably should have chosen alternate methods for both exercising and enjoying the sunshine. My "run" turned into "get home as fast as possible without making a fool of myself."

The highlight of my adventure, the part I must record on the eternal internet so I can never, ever forget about it, was when, after multiple slips and slides, I finally fell on the snow. I suppose it was inevitable. I did not fall on my backwards, which, I suppose, is good news for my rear-end, but very bad news for anyone driving behind me, because when I fell, I bent over forwards and landed on my hands. The view of anyone behind me was my spandex-clad bottom in the air. This all went down on a very busy arterial street, and although I was averting my eyes as much as possible for fear that someone might recognize me, I could see in my peripheral vision that all nearby drivers were looking at me. And I am pretty sure they were laughing and pointing, too. 

By the time I walked up my driveway, I was not even sweaty anymore. I had gone a whopping 2.25 miles in 36 minutes, according to my GPS, which I suppose, is better than nothing. Normally, after a crappy run, I am in a bad mood pretty much until my next run, but this morning was an exception. All that blessed sunshine gave me my much needed Vitamin D fix, and trying not to break any bones/humiliate myself (more than once) was apparently enough of an adrenaline rush to raise my endorphins and improve my mood. 

Proof once again that in Seattle, sunshine during any month besides August always has a catch. 

That's right, I breastfed for THAT long. And yes, we can afford "real food."

I calculated recently that I breastfed for a total of 7.5 years. Did I just blow your mind? I was the one doing it, and I nearly spit out my Skinnygirl Margarita when I figured that out. When I stopped nursing Isadora last November, Bryce and I had been together for just 16 years, and married for 11. That means I was breastfeeding one of our children for over half of our marriage (68%, to be precise). When I told Bryce, he said, "I guess I am really good at sharing." 

Some of you have furrowed your brow by now and thought,"Wait, she only has three kids. How did she breastfeed for 7.5 years?" Here is the detailed breakdown: I weaned Sydney when she was 15 months old (against both of our wills, because I wanted to get pregnant again. It was a traumatizing experience for our whole family). Ivy weaned on her own three months before she turned 3 (the same month she potty-trained), and I just weaned Isadora at 3.5. Don't think about it too much, or you might feel uncomfortable next time we see each other in person.

But wait!! Why would you feel uncomfortable just because I breastfed my children for what our country considers to be an "extended" period? And why would I worry that you would feel uncomfortable? At first I did not want to admit that I had these concerns, and once I accepted them, I was perplexed by them for months. I wanted to write this essay right after Isadora weaned, but I felt... strange about it. Do I really want the whole world to know that I am one of "those" moms? 

When I was pregnant for the first time, I thought I would breastfeed Sydney for six months, tops. When I had Ivy, I knew I would let her initiate weaning, but assumed that would happen LONG before she turned two. I assumed Isadora would initiate weaning like Ivy did, between two and three. Just like every other aspect of parenting, my expectations were totally OFF! And I had many strange preconceived notions of women who breastfed toddlers and preschoolers-- that they were hippies, super cheap, crazy religious, and just plain weird. I was a big, fat, ignorant JUDGER. My nine-plus years of parenting, and seven years of teaching, have softened me considerably, and I find myself accepting of pretty much any lifestyle that makes a family functional and happy. My years of judging and stereotyping are over. But when I unexpectedly found myself in a "category" of parents that I once found bizarre, I worried a lot that I would be judged.

I learned to nurse discreetly- but not secretly- when Sydney was only a few months old. Not to toot my own horn, but I am a PRO at public nursing (obviously, I have a few years of practice). Nonetheless, I stopped nursing Isadora in public right around 18 months-- when she started looking and acting more like a toddler than a baby. I stopped nursing her in front on anyone but my own kids and husband shortly after she turned two. I had mixed feelings about this-- I was not ashamed of what I was doing; I knew it was a healthy and universal experience, and in the best interest of myself/my baby/my family, but I realized that I just did not want to publicize my choice. Breastfeeding a toddler is neither fashionable nor understood, and I did not want to have to defend myself against uneducated, haughty people who disagreed with my choice, and somehow felt that it personally affected them.

Ivy is my only child who weaned herself. She just stopped asking, and it was wonderful and organic and satisfying and peaceful. I was really hoping Isadora would do the same thing, but she was what our pediatrician calls an "avid nurser." I call her a boobaholic. Even after weaning, she still puts her hand down my shirt for comfort. I can't really blame her, it is warm and soft down there. Our breastfeeding relationship was full of emotional ups and downs, as she wanted to do it ALL THE TIME, and I DIDN"T. Bryce and I made the decision to wean her when I decided I was ready to be totally done, and could not tolerate the idea of continuing indefinitely. That aspect of our relationship needed to change.

Weaning Isadora was not easy, but it was not horrible, either. She continued to ask for "momo" (her code-word for nursing) for at least a month after we were done, but since she was so old, she could be reasoned and negotiated with, so it was relatively painless. Considering how attached she was, I think the whole process went pretty smoothly. I am content with the course we took with all three girls, but until now, I felt strangely awkward discussing it with anyone but my closest friends, and other women I know who have made similar choices. 

I don't want to feel awkward. If breastfeeding is ever going to become accepted for babies of all ages, "regular" folks like me need to talk about it. We need to NOT be afraid to share our experience. I am most comfortable writing about it here, and being more open about it with other friends, in context. Extreme enthusiasm about the cause seems unsuitable, because I think it will scare people away. So here I am. Sharing with you that I am not a vegan (but I do use vegan butter), nor do I make my own clothes (because I am The Anti-Crafter), live on a farm or in Africa, buy only organic cotton, drive a hybrid car (although I would like one), let my children call me by my first name, or any of the other stereotypes associated with "crunchy granola" parents. But I believe that long-term breastfeeding is a healthy, appropriate option that I am no longer afraid to share that we chose.

If it makes people squeamish, oh well. Raw oysters make me squeamish, but if you really love them, go ahead and eat up. 

 

What my social media detox taught me.

1. I really DO have self-restraint!
2. I have a profound need to feel connected. When I feel disconnected, I cannot relax.
3. In theory, Google+ is a better idea.                                                                                                 a. The changes facebook made are good.    
4. There were only a few people I really missed "seeing" while on my vacation. 
5. I missed seeing the pictures everyone posts way more than I had expected. 
6. My children rely on my online presence to keep themselves connected.
7. Once a person uses facebook for communicating, stopping is impossible. I had to check my facebook messages several times over the month (but I did not check a single status update EVER!).
8. Unless it is being used for promotional purposes, twitter is useless.
9. I did not really start to miss facebook until I had been away for about three weeks. I will remind myself of this if I ever start feeling like I "need" to check it 27 times per day.
10. I don't need to be friends (in real life or online) with everyone I have ever met.
11. The people who really needed to found a way of contacting me during my break. I was only gone for a month, so I imagine that if I left forever, a couple of other people might call me eventually....
12. I have very complicated feelings about my own motherhood, parenthood and stay-at-home-motherhood specifically with or without reading other people's (artificial or sincere) status updates. The feelings of inadequacy, dissatisfaction, guilt and general confusion are still there.
13. The feelings competition, however, are gone. My detox did fix that. I guess if I do not know what 306 people are doing, I cannot compete with them in my head.
14. When I left, I had 305 friends and now I have 306. How did that happen?
15. I did NOT MISS the political or religion-based statements from facebook ONE TEENY TINY LITTLE BIT. If I never learn about how ANY of my facebook friends feel about "The Issues," it would be TOO SOON.

Conclusion:  I learned a lot about myself and how I can use social media so it does not consume me the way it used to. Social media is useful and fun, but addicting. Overconsumption is not healthy, and I am glad I took a break. I will probably do it again.

My social media weight-loss plan.

I am going on a diet. No, not that kind of diet. A social media diet. Imagine I am starting Phase 1 of the South Beach Diet, and Facebook is carbs. I was originally thinking of it as a social media "strike," but that sounds too negative. I hold nothing against Facebook and it's peers (Twitter and Google+); in fact, I LOVE reconnecting with old friends and being able to keep in touch with everyone so easily. The problem is that I am pretty sure I am addicted to it, the same way I am addicted to baked goods. I just cannot get enough. If a loaf of freshly baked bread, or a batch of scones or oatmeal cookies were sitting on my kitchen counter all day, every day, I would weigh 300 pounds. Facebook is like a fresh loaf of pumpkin bread to me. If I am going to consume it responsibly, I need to keep my distance for a while to lose my incessant cravings.

The other reason I am cutting back is that I feel the constant access to other people's activities is affecting my mood. Big time. Somehow, "keeping in touch" with my 305 friends turned into "competing with" them. More specifically, I find myself jealous and resentful of those who tend to portray their lives as wonderful, fulfilling and perfect ALL. THE. TIME. You all know those people, right? And the rational part of me knows that their lives are NOT actually perfect, but I cannot help but feel like they must be doing something better than I am to have something sunny and warm to say every day. The irrational, neurotic side of me says "why can't you be more like them?". I feel inadequate and unsatisfied because of stupid STATUS UPDATES, and that is SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO not right! It is not that I want these people to be unhappy, it is simply that I apparently cannot tolerate disingenuine people-- not even if everything I know about their daily life can be summed up in a few sentances. Same goes for the chronically negative, but there are less of those out there, so I just hide them.

The truth of the matter is that even mundane, every day posts have started getting to me. It is almost like I am living vicarioualy through other people's status updates. I cannot wait to see what the people out there with new babies have to say, because I miss having a new baby (but no, I do not ACTUALLY want another one); I crave the posts from the single professionals so I can daydream about having a "real" job where I get to wear nice clothes and travel "for business" and have "drinks with my coworkers" and people respect me and all that crap. All day long, I am comparing my life to everything I see on Facebook (not just the really good or the really bad, but EVERYTHING). In other words, I am messed up.

I need a break. Starting immediately after I post this link tonight, I will not check Facebook, Twitter or Google+ on my laptop, phone, iPad or anyone else's device for the next month. AHHH!!! Of course, I want to stay in contact with my peeps, so I will still be checking email, texting, accepting any Facebook messages (I do have it set up so it automatically emails any messages to me), and my blog will upload automatically to facebook, as it normally does. But do not expect me to know who is pregnant, had a baby, got engaged, got separated, got a new job, or ate a really yummy dinner last night, because status updates are persona non grata in my house! 

When the month is over-- mark your calendars for September 24-- I will see if I can slowly ease my way back into social media, and I will keep anyone who cares posted (get it? "posted?" ha!) on my progress from social media addict to responsible consumer. 

My head is buzzing....

"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Wake up now! Get out of bed NOW! I need you! Don't go potty first, I need you NOW! I'm Bored! What are we doing today? What are we having for breakfast today? What are we having for lunch today? What are we having for dinner tonight? Can we have dessert? What are we doing tomorrow? What are we doing this weekend? Can I have a play date? What are we doing next Christmas? Can I PLEASE have a play date? I have no one to play with! Will you please make my sisters leave me alone? Can you read to me? Can you play with me? Can you teach me French? Can you play a game with me? Can you take us to the park? Can you take us to Wild Waves? Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! I'm hungry! I need to eat right now! But I don't like that. Or that. Or that. Or that. Or that. Or that. Or that. Or that. Or that. Or that. Or that. Or that. Or that. Or that. Or that. Or thar. Or that. Or that. Or that. Or that. Or that. Or that. Why don't you buy any food I like? I only want a bag of pretzels on the couch. Why do I have to sit at the table? I said I DON"T want them in a bag! I want them in a bowl! I want pretzels, too! Me too! I don't want pretzels anymore. Why do we have to go grocery store AGAIN? It is SO boring! I WILL. NOT. GO. Can you puh-LEASE get off the potty now? Stop taking that STUPID shower! I think the dog has to go potty! The dog chewed my toy! I don't feel like playing with the dog. I'm bored. I'm bored. I'm bored. I'm bored. Can I watch TV? Can I play a video game? Can I play on your phone? But I don't like to read! I hate reading! I hate coloring! I hate ALL 124 arts & crafts projects I have in my room! I hate you! You're stupid! Why are you so mean to me? You don't love me! I don't like the way you talk to me! Why don't you listen to me? Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Can I puh-LEASE watch a really scary movie that you have said no to over and over again? Can my sisters and I do gymnastics on the couch? Can we draw on the wall? Can we torture the dog by chasing him with the blowdryer? But it is funny! Can we walk down the street by ourselves? Can we bake a cake by ourselves? But you SAID you wanted us to play together!?! Can you help us bake a cake? I don't care that we already baked cookies this morning! Or that it is 90 degrees outside and we don't have air conditioning! You are not the boss! I can do what I want! I don't want to put my laundry away! Where is my favorite shirt? My favorite shorts? My favorite underwear? Can you buy me a new toy? Some more new clothes? A pool? A trampoline? My own cell phone? Some candy? Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! All of my friends have a pool! It's not fair! It's not fair! It's not fair! HER play date last week was 10 minutes longer than MINE! It's not fair! It's not fair! I need another play date! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! What are we doing the day after tomorrow? What are we doing the day after THAT? I don't FEEL like going outside! Outside is not fun! Why are you always doing the dishes? And doing laundry? Play with me, and ONLY me! I don't want my sisters to play! I want alone time right now! Ten minutes is NOT long enough! Why do you always have to help her go potty? I am not tired! I don't want to brush my teeth! I don't want to brush my hair! I don't HAVE to go potty! I am NOT tired! Don't sing to me yet! Will you lie down with me? Will you sleep with me? Can I sleep in your bed? I am thirsty. I am hungry. I need to go potty now. I need a good thought before I go to bed. Can I read a book in bed? I don't want that book. Or that one. Or that one. Or that one. Or that one. Or that one. Or that one. Or that one. Or that one. Or that one. Or that one. Or that one. Or that one. Why don't we have any good books? Will you buy me more books? Can we go to the library? Tomorrow? The next day? The day after that? What are we doing tomorrow morning? Tomorrow afternoon? Tomorrow night? Can I have one more hug? I love you, Mommy. I love you, Mommy. I love you, Mommy.

My Top Four Books for 3-8-year-old Girls.

In other words, "The Top Four Books I Can Read and Hold the Attention of all Three of my Daughters Without Anyone Being Scared or Confused, or Calling It (or me) Stupid."  

Most of these books are also appropriate for boys, but I cannot personally attest to it, just as I cannot attest to what it is like to be able to stay at the table while my spouse takes a child to the restroom at a restaurant. I have three girls, so my perspective is somewhat limited.

Yes, this was originally a "Top 5" list, but it is SO hard to find books that appeal to my "Harry Potter"-obsessed 8-year-old, my comic book and video game loving 6-year-old, AND my silly yet super-girly 3-year-old!! If I was going to honestly share what I think are the ultimate best, I could only come up with four books. There are, of course, others that I could add that are still pretty good, and our favorite chapter books for the older girls, but I wanted to focus on the real stand-outs that work for everyone. 

 

1. "The Paper Bag Princess" by Robert Munch (illustrated by Michael Martchenko). This clever, funny story has the best ending EVER. It is just what is needed in a house with any young girls who are exposed in any way to the fairy-tale obsessed media. I cannot say enough good things about this book. If I had to choose just one all-time favorite picture book, this would be it. Ironically, one of my least favorite books is also by Munch and Martchenko ("Love You Forever"). Go figure.

2. "Chrysanthemum" by Kevin Henkes. Henkes is an all-around great kids author, and a couple of his other books-- "Julius, Baby of the World" and "Sheila Rae, the Brave"-- would certainly be on my Top 10 list. "Chrysanthemum" stands out amongst Henkes works because its message (differences make each person special, and you should be proud of who you are) is important to me.

3. "Skippyjon Jones" by Judy Schachner. This is the name of the original book, but she has written several follow-ups, all of which have the whole family cracking up. Especially when Mommy tries to do a Spanish accent. 

4. "Ruby the Copycat" by Peggy Rathman. We all know kids who are a little too eager to fit in, and forget that being themselves can be even more fun than imitating someone they admire. Peggy Rathman poetically illustrates both sides of this sticky situation, and makes it easy for young kids to sympathize with both the copier and the copied. This one is a particular favorite of Ivy, who, as a middle child, spends lots of time fighting the copycat game, from one side or the other! 

 

Can you recommend any books that all your kids like (and will sit still for)? Those of you with both daughters and sons-- how do you do it? Do you have to read with them seperately all the time? We all want to know!!

I know one day soon Sydney will outgrow all of these wonderful books, but soon after that, Isadora will grow into the beloved chapter books and early readers that Sydney read and Ivy is still reading, and it will be time for a new list of our family's favorite books.

 

Why Don't You Just Sit Down, Ruth?

THIS is why I don't "just sit down." 

A. If I don't ____________, it will not get done. Fill in the blank with any of the following phrases. 

1. Do the dishes
2. Make breakfast/ snack #1/ lunch/ snack #2/ snack #3/ dinner/ snack #4
3. Do the laundry
4. Play with the 8- 6- 3-year-old
5. Teach the 8- 6- 3- year old to do 1, 2, or 3 on her own
6. Prepare the house for guests
7. Find the lost toy
8. Buy the gift
9. Plan the outing
10. FInd a babysitter

...etc....

B.  Doing chores that bring me quick, measurable, visual results help me feel a sense of CONTROL. My life is ruled by three kids and a dog who each have her/his own view of how their life should work. And they don't seem to agree on much. And they have really loud, emotional responses when things don't go their way. And apparently, I am the one responsible for it all. But the bed. Oh, my sweet, sweet, love. Not only does my bed bring me peace and rest and blessed "adult time," it also submits to me every request. I want it messy? It will be messy. I want it made with hospital corners? Great! I want to make it with the covers neatly folded halfway down? No problem. Each morning, after I make my beloved bed, I stare at it for a few moments, and relish the CONTROL I have over how it looks. And it stays that way. ALL. DAY. Until the kids decide to pretend it is a skating rink....

Would I rather be sitting down? HELL YES. Would I be able to "relax and enjoy myself" knowing how much crap needs to be done? Nope. 

 

The hardest thing.

The most difficult aspect of my life as a stay-at-home parent is finding a way to feel good about myself. I used to be confident; I knew I was awesome. Nowadays, I am constantly looking for validation that I am doing well in my life, some kind of affirmation that I am still just a little bit wonderful. Let's face it, kids are not the most consistent and effective providers of positive feedback. I am insecure about parts of my body and my character that I would never have wasted a second on before my kids were born. I knew I was imperfect, but I LIKED myself. The thing I liked most about myself? My confidence. The trait I find most repelling in another person? Insecurity. Ugh. The fact that I am even writing this down for other to read makes me want to vomit, because I HATE compliment-fishers, and that is NOT at ALL what I am doing here. I am working hard at NOT becoming the kind of person that annoys me so much, but I am finding it really difficult in my current line of work. I thought some of you might be able to empathize.

Why I Like Having Kids.

Recently, I have been thinking a lot about what my life would be like with no children. I like to believe that it is normal for parents to think about this every once in a while, but I have been pondering the fantasy a little more often than I am comfortable with.  I thought maybe writing a list of all the things I like about having kids would help remind me that my life is pretty incredible as it is, and help me stop thinking about what might have been. I know why I love my children each as individuals and why they are so special and important to me, but why do I like being a parent in general?  Do I like the lifestyle we chose? Or, do I just love my kids, and tolerate the lifestyle?  

Here it is-- my positivity-filled list of flowery love and kisses on a soft pillow of clouds, full of all the wonders and joys of parenthood. Try not to vomit until you finish the whole thing. 

1. My kids love me ALL THE TIME, even when they hate me. I know this may change when they are teenagers, but so far, so good.

2.  I am never ever ever ever ever ever bored. Ever. Ever.

3. Children make excellent excuses for taking vacations places like the Great Wolf Lodge and Disneyland.

4.  My children have taught me how to have wild, silly fun like I haven't had since I was a child myself. They force me to use my imagination, which I am pretty sure I forgot how to use when I was about thirteen. 

5. Having kids has forced me to remember things about my childhood that I would not otherwise think about, which in turn helps me to understand my parents (and myself) better.  

6.  I eat healthier because they are around. Sometimes this works in reverse, though (mainly because of the need for drive-thrus).

7.  Here's one that might be too much information, but I'll go for it anyway. Because having kids makes having sex much more complicated, my dear husband and I have to talk about our sex life a lot more often to make sure that "it" actually happens.  All this discussing and planning has actually improved our sex life significantly, in ways I will save for a different blog post (just kidding, dear). We have traded spontaneity for quality.  

8.   Teaching the kids to do things that we did when we were kids is REALLY fun. When they like what we show them, it is almost like I am discovering the book/game/movie, etc., all over again.

9.  When my kids are all asleep in their beds, in addition to the relief I feel that we all survived another day together, I feel a sense of satisfaction that is difficult to put into words.  The closest I can get to it is describing how I felt after I finished my "Info Hell" 100-page research paper for my Journalism major in college.  I spent three months researching, writing and editing that thing, and when I finally turned it in to my professor, I was so fricking proud of myself, I brought Bryce with me to take a picture of the hand-off.  I feel that same pride EVERY NIGHT when I think of how awesome my kids are.  Even after bad days (and we have plenty of those, hence the fantasizing about a childless life), I still see how cool those kids all are, and I know that I get a whole bunch of the credit for their awesomeness.  Each night, I feel that I have fulfilled a purpose of great importance that day, even if all I did was wipe noses, chauffeur kids, break-up fights and make unappreciated food. No other assignment, job, task, or "calling" can deliver that kind of consistent physical, emotional, and psychological satisfaction day after day.

Well, I feel much better now! I will probably never stop thinking about that proverbial green grass on the other side, but at least now I have this list I can look at to remind me that my side of the fence has its own benefits. I cannot say whether or not the lifestyle of "suburban parent of three" has lived up to my expectations, because I cannot remember what ANY of those expectations were.  They were probably all unrealistic and dreamy, anyway.  What I can say definitively is that, if given the chance, I would choose this life, this husband, and these kids, every time, with no hesitation.