Happy New Year!

You know you're old when your kids outlast you on New Year's Eve (and your oldest is 5 years old)!!!
Many blessings to you in 2012!



The Day After Christmas

It’s the day after Christmas and 93.9 the “Holiday” Lite is now just Lite FM and I’m kinda sad about it.

It’s the day after Christmas and my house is a wreck.  We were gone from 11 AM until 9 PM on Christmas day and the living room floor is barely visible beneath the half-opened toys, and remnants of wrapping paper, and empty cardboard boxes. 

It’s the day after Christmas and I would LOVE to pay someone, anyone, to spend the day at my house putting together all the Christmas toys.  Nowadays you need an engineering degree from Stanford just to disassemble toys from their packages.  First you need some garden shears or meat cleavers to cut through the plastic, then there’s those metal twist-ties or the plastic turny things to free the toy.  Half the toys require assembly or batteries or another step before they’re even ready to be played with and by then the toddler has already lost interest and is shoving another toy in your face to put together.  We already visited the local ACE Hardware for a toy that was mysteriously missing all 17 screws.  Have you ever been to the screw aisle?  There are a million choices.  Flat head or round head, Phillips or straight, wood screws or metal screws, ¼ inch or 5 and 3/8 inch.  I was hoping to find a screw that was labeled Missing Screw for the Rapunzel Magical Talking Vanity but no luck.

It’s the day after Christmas but it’s also the day before my oldest son turns 5 years old.  After work I raced off to Party City for a bouquet of Scooby Doo balloons and then directly to Toys R Us before they closed to exchange one of the birthday presents I bought him that he received as a gift from someone else at yesterday’s Christmas party.  I always get sentimental around the kid’s birthdays.  I imagine what I was doing at this exact moment 5 years ago.  I was watching a movie with my husband as I timed my contractions that were exactly 7 minutes apart.  The house was quiet.  There was no mess from Christmas packages torn open in excitement (after all it was just my husband and I).  There were no toys to put together or directions and manuals to read.  There were no trips to the store for screws or batteries.  There were no squeals of delight when you switched the toy to “on” and the Magical Talking Vanity lit up and started talking to you.  There were no looks of amazement as a child learned that the garbage truck he had been playing with all morning actually had a lever that lifted a motorized arm to dump the wadded up toilet paper he had been using for trash right into the back of the truck!!!

It’s the day after Christmas and I’m counting my blessings.

P.S. Congratulations Amy R on winning the 6 week Pilates class (rest assured she received her gift certificate last week)!  New Prenatal and Postnatal classes are starting January 7^th.  Visit www.pilatesbycarrie.com for more information.

The Elf on the Shelf

I have trouble sleeping which is odd considering I spend a large portion of my day trying to stay awake despite my exhaustion.  When my head hits the pillow at night it’s like a signal for my brain to start spitting out all the “To Dos” that have built up throughout the day and thus begins my bedtime “dance.”

            Brain:  “Don’t forget you used the last of the Desitin and Gabe’s diaper rash is

            looking pretty angry.”

               

Me:  Covers off, bolt upright, click goes the bedside lamp being turned on, scribble

scribble goes my pen over a post-it note, click goes the lamp off, lay down, covers

back up.

Brain:  “Remember to schedule the kids’ doctor check-ups.”

Me:  “Put a cork in it, Brain.”

Brain:  “The last time you waited until the last second, you got stuck with the

appointment slot right before lunch when the doctor was way behind schedule

and the kids were STARVING………

Me:  Sigh. Covers off, click, scribble scribble, click, covers on.

Brain:  “And you’re all out of birth control pills…………..”

Me:  “Hey, I am TRYING to sleep here!”

Brain:  I just wanted to remind you about that article you read stating the cost of

raising a child from birth to 18 is $250,000.  Now multiply that by the 3 kids you already have and that’s $750,000.  NOW add in a surprise baby and that would bring the total to ONE MILLIION DOLLARS!”

Me:  “I’m up, I’m UP!!!!”  Covers off, click, scribble scribble, click, covers on.

My husband (exact quote):  “Will you turn your brain off!  I’m trying to sleep over here.”

And with  Christmas fast approaching coupled with my oldest son’s 5^th birthday two days later, my brain is working in overdrive with last minute gift ideas, and birthday prep, and Santa visits, and extra baking for parties, etc, etc, etc.  But to be honest, bolting upright in bed to satisfy my brain’s requests 200 times a night is worth it to see how excited the kids are this time of year.  There is something so magical about their belief in Santa Claus that recharges me each morning, allowing me to make it to the end of each day with left over energy for my “click, scribble scribble, click” dance. 

This year I’ve added a whole new reason to bolt out of bed at 2 AM…..The Elf on the Shelf.  Could it be that some of you have not heard of The Elf on the Shelf?  Well pull up an ice block and lend an ear (now if THAT sounds familiar it’s because it’s a direct quote from the Snowman narrator of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer which, along with Home Alone and Jim Carey’s The Grinch That Stole Christmas, are being played continuously by the kids these days).  The Elf on the Shelf is a popular new tradition that involves a little elf doll being sent by Santa himself to your house to watch over the behavior of the children in your house (genius!).  The Elf then flies back to the North Pole once the kids have fallen asleep to report to Santa what he observed that day before flying back to your house and re-locating to a new spot for the kids to find when they wake up.  Adorable.  The first thing my kids do when their eyeballs pop open is to go traipsing around the house searching for Ernest, as we have fondly named him.  Problem:  The exhausted, scatter-brained parents have to remember to hide the Elf each night from Thanksgiving to Christmas (31 nights and 31 new and exciting hiding spots!) hence the 2 AM panic.

                        Brain:  "I know you just got to sleep and all, but did you remember to hide the Elf?"

Me:  Bolt upright, click, scribble……………

Brain:  “I hate to interrupt but what if the kids wake up before you do and go looking for Ernest the Elf only to find him in the same spot as yesterday.”

Me:  “Then I will tell them there was a storm or construction on the way to the North Pole or………………………………..You’re right, you’re right, we should hide him now.” 

“Babe, wake up!”

My husband:  “Huh, what, what is it?”

Me:  “We forgot to hide Ernest.”

My husband:  “Who the hell is Ernest?!”

Me:  “Ernest the Elf!”

My husband:  He knows it’s a losing battle so he stumbles off downstairs to hide

the elf.

And when the kids wake up they squeal with delight to see Ernest hanging upside down in the shower (this one really freaked my husband out too), or acting as our tree topper or laying in the candy bowl with empty wrappers and chocolate on his face (my favorite!)

And it makes our late night charades all worth it!  Unfortunately our creative juices are starting to run dry.  Here’s how you can help.  Post a comment to this blog with your idea of where we can hide Ernest the Elf or what we can stage him doing and you will be entered in a drawing for a chance to win a 6 week Prenatal or Postnatal Pilates session in Naperville (a $130 value).  These make great last minute Christmas gifts or stocking stuffers.  New classes start the first week of January so visit www.pilatesbycarrie.com for more information.  I will email the winner this weekend and mail it out ASAP so you will have it in time for Christmas!

BTW, the winner of last week’s drawing for the Nose Frida (I have used mine all week and it is pretty amazing!) is……………..Amy C!  Amy I will send you an email in case there's more than one Amy C and Merry early Christmas to you!  It will be mailed off to you tomorrow!

Coupon Crazy!

I am a sucker for a good deal.  Combine that with my LOVE for early Christmas shopping and you have the recipe for disaster.  I get the “bug” in mid-October (probably because the stores start slowly infiltrating their aisles with Christmas teasers).  Several months ago while I was picking up a few last minute Halloween costume accessories at Target, I noticed out of the corner of my eye, an aisle way at the end of the store that was loaded with garland, and tinsel, Christmas lights and ornaments.  The Rudolph lawn ornament seemed to taunt me:  “Come on, Carrie, just wander down my aisle for a minute….I Double Dog Dare You!”  Stay focused.  I need ears for Madelyn’s Cat Burglar costume and a new set of handcuffs for Tyler’s Police Man ensemble now STAY OUT OF THE CHRISTMAS AISLE FOR GOD’S SAKE IT’S OCTOBER!!!!!!! 

Too late, my mind was already forming a mental Christmas list of what I would be buying for the kids, for the family grab bag, for my husband, for the kids’ teachers, for the babysitter….. Would I still give the garbage man (or is waste management employee more PC these days?) his parochial $20 for always waving to the kids and raising the garbage thingy to fling the bags into the back of the truck right in front of our house followed by squeals of delight from my children (I’ve done the math and it equates to about  40 cents per episode which is well worth it!)  The point is, this mental Christmas list quickly materializes into a handwritten list  

and then over the next several weeks as the toy catalogs start arriving in the mail, I start filling in the blanks with all the kids’ “wants.”  Then every Sunday I meticulously analyze the sale papers in the Sunday tribune cutting out coupons and storing them in a very organized………..large plastic Ziploc.  

I agonize over the ads boasting “Our Lowest Price of the Season!”  Is it really?  Last year I bought the kids a large dollhouse from ToysRUs with a coupon for $10 off.  I patted myself on the back for my savings as I waited in the pick-up zone for at least 15 minutes for someone to wheel this monstrosity out to my car and hoist it into the trunk of my SUV.  From there I then unload it at home into the corner of the garage covered with blankets and threats to the kids to STAY AWAY!  Two weeks later the same dollhouse is part of a ToysRUs Doorbuster deal for 20% off which is a far greater savings than my $10 off coupon was causing me to curse toy companies and big box stores and marketing people who probably sit around some large conference table planning out the next way to dupe the coupon-conscious early Christmas shoppers like myself.  Then I get a grip, calmly load the kids in the car with my receipt that I almost cannot find at the bottom of my Ziploc bag of coupons, and proceed to the customer service desk where I attempt to politely demand a price adjustment before I go “Christmas Crazy”.

 This year I decided to get all three kids a large kitchen set.  Once again I stalked the sale ads and the Rewards Member coupons before settling on a perfect plan.  I would do all my toy shopping at ToysRUs (will I ever learn?) because I will receive a $10 gift card for every $75 dollars spent.  I had at least $150 of purchases meaning I could use the $20 gift cards towards the purchase of the kitchen.  Done.  I drop the kids off for an hour with my daycare provider because if you think I am bringing 3 kids into ToysRUS, now YOU’VE gone Christmas Crazy.  I immediately turn the dial to 93.9 since LITE FM started playing Christmas music in April, sip my 2500 calorie Peppermint Mocha with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles and speed off to Toys R US.  Once there I quickly find all the toy items on my list (NOT) and wait patiently in line (NOT) only to learn that the $20 in gift cards I just earned cannot be used until SIX hours after they’ve been activated!  On my way out of the store, disgruntled and defeated, I bump into a former patient who hands me a 20% off coupon she cannot use on her item (GO FIGURE!)  Hooray for me!  Even better savings than my $20 gift card.  With the Christmas Crazy replaced by newly found Christmas spirit, I proceed back into line with the ticket for my kitchen set only to learn that the 20% off coupon is a special deal that doesn’t start until 3:00 and it is only 2:30.  Seriously, they make me wait.  I stall and then at 3:00 on the dot I present my coupon.  They ring up my item but the coupon won’t work.  Apparently it is only for the doorbuster items that were listed on the front of the ad that I didn’t have because the coupon was handed to me by my well-meaning former patient.  My $20 savings in gift cards doesn’t cover my gas, daycare and Starbuck’s expenses.  I lost money.  Sucker for a good deal or just a sucker?  Please don’t answer that. 

In hopes of replenishing my Christmas spirit I’ve decided to give one of you a present!  The last class of all my Postnatal Pilates sessions is a spoof on Oprah’s Favorite Things show called Postnatal Pilates Moms’ Favorite Things.  All the women bring in or discuss a few of their favorite baby items.  I have selected one of their items to be given away FREE (there is no fine print, coupon needed, or any chance to find it for a lower price later in the season!) to one of my blog subscribers.  The item I selected is………The Nose Frida! 

I was skeptical at first (see my July 30, 2011 blog entry) but Cindy made me a believer so I purchased one for my baby and one to give away.  If you don’t have a baby maybe you could try it on your spouse, friends, or simply re-gift it to someone on your Christmas list………tis the season!

P.S. I will also be giving away one free 6 week Pilates class in an upcoming blog to all those who comment.  These make great Christmas gifts and can be purchased at the Women Serving Women Physical Therapy clinic by calling 630-527-0485.  Stay tuned!

Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda

It was 11:30 PM on Thursday night.  I should have been slipping into my pajamas but instead I was slipping into my most “non-Mom” jeans and a sequined T-shirt that made me look 5 years younger (I hoped).  I should have been slipping into bed but I was slipping out of the house.  I should have been slipping into a splendid slumber but instead I was slipping into a movie theater packed with thousands of teenagers (and shockingly just as many twenty and thirty-somethings) to watch the Breaking Dawn premiere at 12:01 AM.  To understand how I got to this point we have to back up 4 years.  OK maybe 24 years. 

I love to read.  I am a bookworm.  When I was younger I read EVERY Babysitter’s Club book in the series.  I read Nancy Drew.  I read fiction and non-fiction, biographies and autobiographies.  I LOVE to read.  Fast forward 20 years and 20 weeks into my first pregnancy.  I read What To Expect When You’re Expecting, and The Happiest Baby on the Block, and Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child.  And then I had a baby and I read Goodnight Moon and Spot my Toys and Where is Baby’s Belly Button.  My second child was about 6 months old when the kids’ 13 year old babysitter begged me to read Twilight, the first book in a series of four.  A fiction book about a teenager falling in love with a……vampire?  No thanks.  A book that would not teach me what my pregnant/postpartum body was going through or how to make my baby happier?  Again, a book about…..vampires?!  I didn’t have time for that nonsense.  But she left it at my house anyway.  Several weeks later I had just finished reading Baby Signs and was desperately in need of some reading material for a little bathroom time (TMI?) and so I reluctantly picked up Twilight.  The first chapter was so-so.  The second chapter was decent.  And before I knew it I was 5 chapters in, I was hooked, and my legs were numb (TMI, again?).  I finished the book a few days later and called my babysitter at 10:00 PM on a Tuesday night.  “I’m coming over to get the second book!”  And over the course of the next few months I read them all.  And I fell in love with reading again.  The excitement of being transported to a world that didn’t include poopy diapers or sippy cups of milk was intoxicating.  The books were a total escape from reality and I learned nothing.  I tried to spread the love, just like my babysitter had done for me.  I had a Twilight sleep-over party with my sister and sister-in-law.  After I put the kids to bed, I lit candles and decorated the mantel with framed quotes from the movie.  I served Pomegranate martinis and Vampire red wine in glasses that I had adorned with AB+ and O- designs.  I melted butter in a saucepan and added red food coloring to drizzle over our popcorn.  I arranged Red Licorice ropes in glasses to form centerpieces.  And of course we watched the movie Twilight.

I should have stopped drinking when I ran out of the martinis but instead I just switched to wine.  I could have gone to bed when I got up to stop the DVD and tumbled to the ground but instead I giggled and hiccupped and giggled some more.  When my daughter awoke at 6 AM I would have rather poked my eye out with a sharp pencil but instead I made the journey to her room, my upper body at a right angle to my lower body, and traveled downstairs to set her down on the kitchen floor at my sister’s feet, uttered something incoherent and slowly found my way back to my tile floor bed.

This story has a happy ending because I felt somewhat human by mid-afternoon and to this day have NEVER had that much to drink again.  But the point is this……..what should you re-discover in your life?  Is there a hobby or passion of yours that is collecting dust while you tend to everyone’s needs but your own?  Could you carve out a few minutes each day or even each week to get lost in a book or a project or whatever.  Would you be willing to put yourself first just for a little while?  I think you would be surprised at just how exciting feeding your inner child can be.

“I knew exactly what I wanted, but I was suddenly terrified of getting it.”  -Bella Swan, Eclipse

P.S. Speaking of knowing exactly what you want, are any of you grasping at straws as you try to come up with your Christmas wish list?  For those of you who are pregnant or have had a child recently, don’t forget there are gift certificates available for 6 week sessions to Prenatal or Postnatal Pilates classes.  These also make a great (and unique!) gift for someone on your list who may be pregnant or recently postpartum.  Call 630-527-0485 if you are  interested in purchasing a gift certificate and visit my website at www.pilatesbycarrie.com for more information on these popular classes!

P.P.S.  I am now filling spots for Prenatal and Postnatal Pilates classes beginning in January.  Fill out the Contact link on the website www.pilatesbycarrie.com to reserve your space.

P.P.S.  In the next few weeks I will be giving away one free 6 week session as well as an item from my current Postnatal Pilates moms’ List of Favorite Things.  Be sure to become a blog subscriber to be randomly entered for your chance to win!

Daylight Savings Time

I  HATE the change in time for several reasons.  First of all, my life DEPENDS on the time all day long.  But because I am always running late, I believe in the practice of setting each clock to a slightly different time to “scare” me into thinking I’m late thus allowing me to arrive barely on time.  My watch is set approximately 7 minutes ahead, the kitchen stove clock is somewhere around 10 minutes ahead, and my car clock is about 6 minutes ahead.  I say approximately and somewhere around and about because knowing exactly how far ahead each timing device is set would defeat the purpose.  I would simply calculate in my head that according to the kitchen stove it is 8:40 AM minus 10 minutes which is 8:30 meaning we are doing “good” on time and then we would be late to preschool.  I lost my watch last week and it nearly ruined me.  I had to depend on my cell phone which of course gave the exact time which got me so discombobulated I was almost late to work.   On the day after the time change I then have to wander around changing all the clocks to their new wrong times. 

It made me wonder why we even change the clocks at all.  Apparently, the idea of daylight savings was first conceived by Benjamin Franklin in 1784.  Need I remind you that this is the same man who attached a metal key to a kite and then floated it up towards a storm cloud to tease a lightning bolt?  Just sayin’. The theory is that in the summer months we move an hour of daylight to the evening so the amount of electricity used for lighting and small appliances is less (or something like that).  On the flip side, a study by Carnegie Melon University discovered that the number of pedestrians hit by cars soared at 6 PM during the weeks after the clocks were set back in the fall.  In fact, walkers are 3x more likely to be hit and killed by cars right after the time change than in the month before.  That is a 186% jump in the risk of being killed by a car for every mile walked because, the researchers speculate, the drivers go through an adjustment period when dusk arrives earlier.  Is this really worth it?!!!!

As I read on I am encouraged to learn that I am not the only one disgruntled about the time change.  A Canadian poultry producer named Marty Notenbomer complains, "The chickens do not adapt to the changed clock until several weeks have gone by, so the first week of April and the last week of October are very frustrating for us."  I am right there with ya, Marty.  No one told my “chickens” about the time change either.  When Tyler and Maddy woke up at 6 AM on Sunday they did not check their wristwatches and say, “By Jove, we still have another hour to sleep!  Let us close our eyes for a wee bit longer!”  And when the baby awoke one hour earlier than that he did not sit up in his crib and think, “Based on the sun’s position in the sky outside my bedroom window, I calculate that I have at least another hour before I will cry to get out of this soiled diaper and to have my bottle-full of breakfast escorted in for me!”

I don’t know about you guys but you are welcome to Spring Forward without me because I plan to Fall Back into my bed in exhaustion.  What I DO know is this—I am NOT going for a walk at dusk for at least another 3 weeks!

Divas

Bad hair days.  I don’t look good in this outfit days.   I have NOTHING to wear days.  We’ve all been there, right?  I was late getting out of the house today because there were THREE outfit changes.  Did I mention the outfit changes were for my 3 year old daughter?!  I stood in disbelief as she looked herself over in my full length mirror declaring, “This one isn’t too pretty!”  It was an adorable peach sweater with big brown toggle buttons and brown leggings.  Back to the closet.  OK, she’s looking for pretty, huh?  I pulled out a very pretty velvet striped dress with black leggings and pulled it on over her head.  She marched (with a little swagger in her hips) back to the mirror where she declared, “This one isn’t cool!”  I was dumbfounded.  Back to the closet.  OK, she was looking for cool.  Well, in that case, she better start looking for a new mom because while I can think of several adjectives to describe myself, “cool” is not one of them. 

I am not stylish, never have been.  I vividly remember shopping for back-to-school clothes prior to entering the 6^th grade.  I was at Kmart, yes blue-light special Kmart.  I was in the dressing room and had to summon the courage to ask the dressing room attendant to teach me to French roll my acid washed jeans.  Mortifying.  Fashion trends are my enemy.  I jump on board just in time to read the headlines that cargo pants are “out” or boyfriend blazers are so “yesterday.”  I do not own a pair of skinny jeans, or a skinny belt, or a skinny anything for that matter.  The only scarves I’ve managed to pull off wearing are those designed to protect you from the elements of a Midwest winter.  Last year I had to get my babysitter a gift card to Hollister and nearly lost my life.  It was so dark in that store I needed a flashlight just to navigate my way to the register, that is if I wasn’t mugged by the shirtless, teenage boy spraying asthma-inducing levels of cologne into my face.  A few months ago I watched the MTV Awards in stunned disbelief.  I know I live in the time warp of “Mommy Land” but when did wearing a box on your head become fashionable and don’t even get me started on Nicky Minaj’s outfit which was a mix of surgical mask, aluminum can, and were those shinguards???!!! 

                                          

As I rifled through Maddy’s closet searching for a “cool” outfit I wondered if she had overheard me complaining about my own wardrobe at some point, leading to this new diva-type behavior.   While I am not one to obsess about my own body image (see Kmart example above) perhaps she overheard me talking about how my clothes just weren’t fitting right since this last pregnancy.  I made a mental note to choose my words more carefully, knowing how impressionable young girls are today.  She finally settled on a pair of capris because they had pockets and a ruffled T-shirt.  Not altogether appropriate for the forecast that was calling for low 50’s but I decided to pick my battles on this one.  Just like the time she went through a goggles phase.  She would insist on wearing her swimming goggles all the time:  at the mall, at the park, on the toilet!  It was a real crowd stopper but she was so confident and happy in those goggles that I went along with it.  And I admired her gusto.  It reminded me of one of the first decorations I bought for the nursery when I found out I was having a girl.  It was a framed card that read:  If you are confident, you are beautiful.  I really believe that. 

Even though we strive to set a good example as parents, we stand to learn a lot from our children.  So before I get dressed for work today I will proudly stuff my sagging breasts into my new bra and I will not groan as my muffin top droops over the top of the pants that are still a size too small.  Now before I check myself out in the full length mirror, will someone please bring me some goggles!!!

P.S. My next Prenatal Pilates class will tentatively start Nov 12^th (on Saturdays) and my next Postnatal Pilates class will tentatively start Dec 7^th (Wednesdays).  If you or someone you know may be interested please visit www.pilatesbycarrie.com for more information!

Toy Story

Gabriel, my 7 month old, is CRAWLING!  Whenever each of my kids reaches this milestone in their early lives I always have two thoughts:  First, time to clean the carpets (we have 2 dogs, that’s another blog for another day!).  Second, time to abolish the choking hazards.  I scheduled the carpet cleaning and watched my husband move as much furniture as possible onto the non-carpeted areas of the house.  The glider from the nursery found its way to the kids’ bathroom which made brushing teeth an Olympic event.  We dragged the bench from the foot of our bed to our bathroom and then proceeded to stack it with everything from under our bed (bins of winter clothes, wrapping paper, luggage, that old slipper I had searched for last month, etc) until the menacing tower threatened to collapse on us as we sat upon the “throne.”  The living room sofa chairs were stacked upside down on top of the coffee table in the foyer resembling an urban art display, the dining room chairs were lined up in front of the stove in the kitchen (Perfect….an excuse not to cook!), and then he moved the sectional away from the wall in the family room.  OH MY GOODNESS, we could have lived for 2 weeks on the goldfish and popcorn that had been lurking under the couch and we uncovered enough “lost” toys to start a small scale Toys R Us. 

Toys.  My arch nemesis.  Sometimes I hear them laughing at me at night (literally, some of the talking toys randomly go off in the middle of the night scaring the bejesus out of me!)  Every couple of months I get toy fever.  I look around at all the toys everywhere and a hot flash sweeps over me, my heart rate quickens, I start to feel tight around the collar.  It’s like the toys are suffocating me.  I find them in the oddest places:  in my make-up drawer next to my blush, in the silverware drawer, hidden behind the curtains in the dining room.  I end up dumping all the toys in the middle of the living room where I sort through them, returning missing puzzle pieces to their proper places, tossing

 old Happy Meal toys in the garbage, replacing batteries that have rendered many toys useless, etc, etc.  I learned the hard way that this task is best performed AFTER the kids have gone to bed because inevitably they refuse to part with the plastic turtle dressed in a grass skirt that the dogs have chewed the head off. 

Once the carpets had been cleaned, it was time to move the furniture back………..but I loved the look of ALL THAT SPACE, none of it cluttered by toys yet.  I decided in that moment to have a Clean Sweep Party and invited the kids to join me.  Each child had a large Tupperware bin with their own picture on it to put their favorite toys.  Just like on the TLC show, I found a bunch of large cardboard boxes and printed off pictures from Google Images to make it easier for the kids to help me sort.  One box had a picture of a garbage truck and I explained this box was for toys that were broken (or missing their heads).  Another box had a picture of a baby that was choking and this box was for any toy that could potentially lodge itself in Gabe’s throat (think Polly Pockets accessories, marbles, tiny toy soldiers, bouncy balls, etc).  A third box had a picture of a girl who was crying and I explained that this box was for toys that still worked but that they were too old for because some boys and girls were not as fortunate as we were and had no toys to play with.  The kids had a lot of questions about this box.  Who was this girl?  Would she be happy once she got our toys?  Would they be able to give them to her in person?  I guess I hadn’t thought this one out and I skirted around their questions urging them to start sorting through the land-fill sized pile in the middle of the living room.

It was fun at first.  “Uh-oh, Mom, another choking hazard”, Tyler said holding up the top to one of Maddy’s 25 chapsticks.  “Why don’t you put that one in the garbage box, Buddy.”  And so we sorted.  My heart was touched each time one of them put a toy in the “Give-To-The-Sad-Girl Box”.  I was shocked at how generous they were being and slightly sad to see them place some of their once-favorite toys in that box.  This went on for about an hour until the kids lost interest and went running off to play with some of the “new” toys they had discovered in the pile.  When my husband walked in from work, he tried to quickly escape the horror that had become our living room.  Not wanting him to miss out on all the fun I insisted he come help me finish up.  He knelt beside the give-away box and the surprise on his face mirrored the sentiments I had been feeling all afternoon long.  “Tyler wants to give away Robbie the Robot?!”  he exclaimed.  “Why would Maddy put her first baseball bat in the giveaway box?!”  “What are ALL these baby toys doing in here…….oh, well, I guess Gabe isn’t really a baby anymore, huh?”  One by one he rescued the kids’ favorite toys from the give-away box and re-distributed them to their Tupperware tubs of toys to keep. 

And then it hit me.  Number 1:  Next time I get toy fever I will have to wait until my husband is asleep as well.  Number 2:  Maybe the kids were not to blame for the avalanche of toys in our house after all.  Maybe it was our own unwillingness to part with these precious symbols of their childhood because it meant that they were growing up and one step closer to not being dependent on us anymore.  True, when I picture my husband and I in our elder years, hair graying, sipping coffee (probably decaffeinated Sanka or something), sitting on our porch swing (why does every daydream of being old involve a porch swing?) I do NOT see a 50 year old Tyler and 49 year old Madelyn bickering in the background or a 47 year old Gabe trying to steal their toys.  But it is impossible to imagine our house without the sound of their squeaky voices, running feet, and the kind of uninhibited laughter that makes you laugh out loud right along with them.  That is one of the many reasons I started keeping a gratitude journal.  Before I go to bed most nights I take 30 seconds to write down a few things I’m grateful for, or my reflections on the day so that long after the kids have moved out of the house I can look back at the yellowing pages of that journal and remember the days when they were young.  The entry for 10/5/11, the day of the Clean Sweep, says it all:

1)  The kids are growing up                                    

      --Tyler took a shower ALL BY HIMSELF

      --Maddy got dressed ALL BY HERSELF

      --Gabriel crawled FOR THE FIRST TIME

2)  The kids are growing up  

The Race of Life

My husband and I ran the Morton Arboretum 5K this weekend.  We signed up months ago, both desperately needing a deadline, a goal, SOMETHING to motivate us to keep in shape despite the craziness that is raising 3 kids under 5 years old.  It worked.  When an overcast day threatened to keep us inside or the couch and our DVR full of this season’s newest premieres beckoned us from the family room, we decided to run instead (neither one of us wanting to embarrass ourselves on race day).  Two days before the race we still hadn’t found a babysitter for the kids and were not sure if we would make it.  Then my Aunt Maureen (AKA Fairy Godmother) stepped in offering to meet us at the Arboretum.  The night before the race we had second thoughts again.  My husband, returning from a bachelor party and me, up with a teething Gabriel, met in the kitchen at 1 AM.  Should we really wake everyone up at 6:30 AM to leave for the race tomorrow?  ……………..Yes.

I hit the snooze on my phone alarm at 6:15 AM.  That extra 5 minutes would later prove to almost thwart our efforts entirely.  We got dressed in our race clothes and then began slowly waking the kids one by one.  First Tyler who was most chipper in the early morning hours.  Then Maddy, NOT a morning person.  And finally Gabe (I can count on one hand the number of times I have willingly woke this child up in all his 7 months of life).  He squinted up at me from his crib with a disoriented expression of “WTF?!”

The temperature read low 40’s so we ran around grabbing the kids’ coats and the “Bundle Me” wrap for Gabe’s carseat.  Breakfast consisted of dry Cheerios in baggies and cups of milk to inhale in the car.  So much for the Race Day Smoothie I planned to make for us.  I grabbed us a few granola bars, oh and a bottle for Gabe, and ran to the car.  We were late.  We were ALWAYS late.  Even when I left an extra 10 minutes in our morning routine.  There were the last minute diaper changes for Gabe, the missing pink gym shoe of Madelyn’s (that I once found in the refrigerator, certainly a prank pulled by Tyler), the lost car keys.  You name it.  Once we actually leave the house, the 25 feet we travel from the garage to the car in the driveway is full of temptations for the older kids.  There is Dad’s open toolbox to rifle through, a spider web to inspect, dandelions in the front yard to pick, etc, etc, etc.  “HURRY up!  Get into your carseats!  You guys, we’re LATE!  Tyler where ARE you?!!!”  It’s the same story every morning.  I once tried to leave the house without saying “hurry up” once.  Impossible. 

We pulled up to the Arboretum on race day to hundreds of cars and thousands of people.  We were directed to a parking lot at least a mile away from the registration tent.  Many people were already sporting their race numbers and jogging or stretching to warm-up.  It was 7:35 AM, the race started at 8:00 sharp,  and we hadn’t even parked.  Looks like there would be no warm-up for us.  I hopped out of the car, abandoning my husband with the three kids in a long line of cars waiting to park, and jogged to the registration tent.  It was 7:45 AM (looks like I got my warm-up after all).  I found my Aunt Maureen.  I frantically called my husband.  He had just pulled into a space and was getting the kids out of the car.  Madelyn had just fallen in the grass and was whining in the background, “My pants are WET!”  It was 7:48.  We might not make this.  I heard the announcer asking everyone to take their places—“The race will start in 5 minutes.”  At 7:56 I saw my husband jogging with the baby (in the non-jogging stroller), a tired and sleepy Madelyn and Tyler being dragged along behind him.  We had 4 minutes to find the starting line and take our positions.  As usual, someone needed to use the bathroom, only this time it was my husband.  I paced outside the Porta-Potty while the Rocky theme song started to play and the announcer informed us there were just 2 minutes to go.  We jogged to our places (me near the 9 minute milers and my husband near the 7 minute milers) and seconds later we were off and running!

The first mile was almost entirely uphill.  My lungs were screaming, my quads on fire.  At the first mile marker I realized I had hardly looked around at the beautiful scenery.  I started to take it all in.  The clusters of trees formed canopies for us to run under and some of them were changing colors already.  The water on the ponds was sparkling under the morning sun.  On our path I noticed fallen leaves, empty water cups, a dead chipmunk (and for a second I wondered if one of those eager runners at the front of the pack were to blame for this fresh road kill?!)  Then as usual my mind started wandering.  Because physical therapy has been my occupation for the last 10 years, I began evaluating everyone’s running mechanics.  The man in front of me was clearly an over-pronator and I frowned at his poor choice of running shoes.  The woman to my right held her elbows at least 12 inches from the side of her body creating unnecessary wind resistance and taking at least a minute off her time.  There was someone wheezing so heavily behind me I wondered if they had brought an inhaler with them or where the nearest medic was.  Focus, Carr.  Ah yes, the trees, the fresh air, the……..did I tell Aunt Maureen where Gabe’s diapers and bottle were????  This is how my mind works all day, every day.  A constant inner dialogue.  I passed mile marker 2, then 3 and had enough energy left to sprint the last 100 yards and finish strong.  I re-united with my husband and we compared times, neither of us quite meeting our lofty goals and blaming the hills.  But we were proud of ourselves nonetheless  as we filled each other in on the run from each of our vantage points.  And it hit me.  Life is much like this 5K.  It is a bit of a race.  Some of it is a blur.  There are a million distractions waiting to steal our true enjoyment of it all.  We are our own worst enemies, often expecting too much of ourselves.  But it’s not about the pace we set, or the place we come in, or how we measure up to everyone else.  It’s about what we take time to notice along the way.  Like the way Maddy crawled into Gabe’s crib this morning when he was fussing to play with him, or the way Tyler helped Maddy put her coat on before preschool, or how content my husband looked last night watching football surrounded by our 3 crazy kids.  As I glance around my messy house right now, I vow to spend less time spinning my wheels about chores or laundry or cooking or work and more time to notice the things that REALLY matter in this race we call Life.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta run---I'm late to pick up the kids!

Potty Talk

We have several Golden Rules in our house.  There is No Hitting, No Talking Back, No Jumping on the Couch, and No Tattling.  That last one can be kind of tricky because if Tyler tells me that “Maddy is picking her nose,” she will often counter with (insert angry, whiny voice) “Mom, Tyler tell on me” which is actually tattling on the tattler so everyone goes to their room!  The rule that is probably broken most often is No Potty Talk.  Sometimes it is an obvious and punishable offense.  “You’re a poppy head,” for example would earn an instant time out.  In other situations, the kids are just stating facts or making observations and at times like these I try to keep a straight face and educate them.  Here are some recent examples:

Maddy:  Are we having vagina for dinner?

Me:   No!  Watch my mouth, La-Sa-Gna.

Tyler:  I just peed in the backyard.

Me:  We don’t pee outside when a bathroom is readily accessible.

Tyler:  There’s poop in my underwear (AKA skid marks).

Me:  It is important to wipe really good after pooping.

Maddy:  Do you know what color my poop is, Mom?   GREEN!

Me:  What have you been eating, child?!

Tyler in the bathtub:  The bubbles from my farts are tickling my penis!

Me:  That’ll happen.

Tyler:  My penis is hard and it won’t go down.

Me:  Go talk to your father immediately!

In these regular, daily moments when farts, poop and privates are the topic of conversation I will often look to my husband for assistance.  He is less successful at hiding his amusement.  Understandably so.  He, like so many males that I know, has spent a lifetime making jokes about bodily functions.  He once laughed for 10 minutes at the sound of his own fart!  When Tyler farts at the dinner table or Madelyn burps like a 40 year old man, I will often find my husband covering his mouth with his hand to hide his grin or disappearing behind the Chicago Tribune, his shoulders bouncing up and down in fits of laughter.  For now I guess the responsibility of enforcing the No Potty Talk rule will fall on my shoulders but I will still defer all questions about erections to my husband.

P.S. If you or someone you know is interested in Pre or Postnatal Pilates classes, visit my website at http://www.pilatesbycarrie.com/ for upcoming class schedules as enrollment is in full swing!

Beach Bags and Sex Tips

(Late entry for Friday, Sept 2nd)

We are half-way through a 1 week “vacation” at my parent’s summer home on a small lake in Michigan.  I use the term vacation loosely because after rising before the sun and traipsing the 200 feet down to the beach carting a wagon full of sand toys, a beach bag full of towels/snacks/juice boxes/sunscreen, a diaper bag full of diapers/wipes/plastic bags/binkies/baby toys, making the return trip for lifejackets/fishing poles/worms, then making 2 more trips to blow up rafts and go potty (when can you just tell kids it’s OK to pee in the lake???) we are exhausted.  Not to mention the countless hours we spend building sand castles, catching frogs, then begging the kids to let the poor frogs go back to their Mommy and Daddy, unhooking fish from Tyler’s line, then explaining that fish need to be in the water to live and to set them back gently versus twirling them triple-gainer style back into the lake, etc, etc. 

I find myself in a rare moment of solitude on the sand in my favorite beach chair.  The baby is sleeping in the stroller under a tree in the shade, the older 2 kids are playing nicely by themselves (stop my beating heart) trying to contain some frogs in the bottom of a paddle boat.  My husband has collapsed on the beach, his face in the sand (no towel), an illustration of just how exhausting a week at the lake with 3 kids under the age of 5 can really be.  I rifle through the beach bag looking for the magazines that my husband and I stopped for on the 4 hour car ride up to Michigan.  Wishful thinking.  Untouched, they have moved their way to the bottom of the bag only partly visible beneath a damp beach towel, half-eaten bag of cheez-its, and an empty Capri Sun.  I grab the first magazine I see.  Figures.  It is my husband’s Men’s Health and I simply do not have the patience or energy to go rooting around for my Real Simple.  I glance at the cover.  Amidst the tag lines for “Dress for Hotter Sex” and “17 Day Abs” there is a picture in the lower left corner of a Supermodel with her shirt unbuttoned revealing a lacy black and mauve bra barely containing her breasts with an inset reading “Sex Tips From the Girl Next Door.”  What is the term girl next door supposed to imply?  I picture the women living on either side of my own house and neither of them look anything like this Supermodel (thankfully!)  Right under the picture there is another cover story for “Double Your Endurance, Go Longer, Go Harder” which I learn is actually a fitness article.  Clever advertising…see what they did there?  These are the cover stories grabbing my husband’s attention while my own Real Simple cover is tempting me with “33 low-cal snack ideas” and hopes of finally organizing my closet or finding a new use for my “old things.”  One more example of just how different men and women really are.  If my husband should, by some stroke of good luck, have a free moment during the remainder of this vacation to flip through his magazine, perhaps looking for some sex tips, I will be one step ahead of the game.  I find the article and speed read through the 36 tips knowing my “research” will be interrupted at any moment by Tyler and Maddy arguing over whose frog got loose or by Gabe stirring from his nap, or worse, by my husband wondering why I am reading HIS magazine!  A few tips jump off the page at me (the bold type below is verbatim from the magazine).

#4 WATCH THE NOTEBOOK so you can understand my references to The Notebook.  These things matter. 

-Interesting.  The Notebook was an incredible book (only a mediocre movie) but I see where she is going.  It’s the same reason I force my husband against his will to watch Supernannny with me and then discuss our own parenting skills afterwards (and utter a sigh of relief that our kids' behavior is no where near as bad as the kids on that show!)  OK, you got my attention Miss Dicker (I swear that is really this Supermodel’s name!)

#11 LISTENING IS TO WOMEN WHAT ORAL SEX IS TO MEN:  PROOF THAT YOU REALLY CARE.  Remember my favorite ice cream flavor, my childhood best friend’s name, where my little brother goes to college-even if you have to take notes. 

-I agree (with the listening part that is!)  But I talk a lot and the thought of my husband following me around with a little notebook has me laughing myself right out of this beach chair!  Then again, if there were a “reward” in it for him maybe this idea is not too far-fetched after all.  Moving on.

#16 PLAN A SURPRISE PARTY FOR ME….

I did not even finish reading this one.  ABSOLUTELY NOT.  Just my luck it will be the day I was too tired to clean the house or shower or whatever.  Plus, the stress of raising three kids and working part-time has frayed my nerves  beyond recognition and the shock of a surprise party may be all that stands between me and a nervous breakdown.  NO SURPRISE anythings!

#27 SOMETIMES I FEEL AS IF I HAVE MULTIPLE PERSONALITIES.  Adjust yours accordingly.  

-Now we’re talkin’.  I think I could really be friends with this woman (but I still don’t want her “next door”).

#31 IF YOU NOTICE THAT MY BOOTS NEED REHEELING, that my closet door squeaks, or that my watch needs a new battery, take care of it—without being asked.  Your fixing something is like my initiating sex; it makes both of our lives a whole lot easier. 

-I do like when my husband takes the initiative to change light bulbs that have burned out or scrub the moldy shower curtain.  Perhaps I can return the favor by making a pot of coffee tonight, propping my eyeballs open with some toothpicks, and making the first move.

#35 WOULD YOU MOVE INTO A NEW HOUSE WITHOUT EXPLORING EVERY ROOM?  My body is that house, you don’t know me until you’ve kissed every inch of me. 

-Now hold the boat, Miss Dicker!  Yes, my body IS a house.  I’ve had THREE kids recently and just stopped breastfeeding.  THIS HOUSE IS UNDER CONSTRUCTION and there ain’t NO WAY I want “every inch” of it being explored.  At least not yet.  So keep your sex tips to yourself and leave my husband alone!!!!

Disposal and Playdoh

There was a morning a few weeks ago where my husband turned on the garbage disposal in the sink and an awful crunching and clanging sound bellowed from the depths of the drain.  I cringed and busied myself making the kids’ breakfasts.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw him reach his hand down and retrieve a mangled spoon, 2 marbles and Little People doll that had been chewed apart by the disposal blades.  “Do you have any idea why these things were in the sink drain?” he asked.  “Hmmm, that’s odd,” I returned nonchalantly.  He wasn’t buying it.  “I mean I guess I can understand the spoon but what the heck are toys doing down there?” he demanded accusingly.   I decided to come clean.  Sometimes I let the kids pull their chairs up and play with their toys in the sink when I just need 15 minutes to finish cooking dinner or feed Gabe a bottle or just hide from the kids for a bit.  Sure it’s messy.  Despite my warnings and safeguards, the kids end up soaked, the counter resembles a small pond, and the kitchen floor under their chairs could be mistaken for a slip’n’slide.  Sure, it’s a little wasteful to have the sink on for a long time (I swear I have it on just slightly more than a trickle).  But those rare 15 minutes of un-interupted time are well worth the expense of running the water and the clean-up in my opinion.  The same can be said for playdoh.  My husband hates the stuff.  Every time I bring the big Tupperware full of playdoh down from its hiding spot (in clear view on top of our kitchen cabinets) he looks as if I’ve brought out a nuclear waste product for the kids to play with.  Sure it’s messy.  Tiny little particles of playdoh quickly make their way from the table to the floor to the bottom of our feet.  Or worse….the same tiny particles go undiscovered until days later when they’ve hardened to a razor-blade sharpness ready to pierce our bare feet.  Once again, that precious time while the kids are busy making playdoh noodles and ice cream and hamburgers trumps the annoying clean-up process afterwards. 

“I’ll be better,” I promised.  “No toys in the sink.”  But then there was that phone call I had to take about my Pilates classes.  And the rainy day where the kids were SO bored.  And the day I had to jump in the shower before rushing off to work.  This morning my husband turned on the disposal and a horrible grinding sound cut through an argument Tyler and Maddy were having about who was going to sit next to me at breakfast.  I slouched down in my chair and hid behind the Cheerios box, knowing I was in trouble.  Now who can loan me a 20 spot for this month’s water bill?!