What are you wearing?

I remember a few years ago I was in the mall on a quiet afternoon and I began to hear a clomping sound. CLOMP.........CLOMP.......CLOMP....... I turned around and saw a well put together woman striding along. Trailing 10 feet behind her, was a pretty, well dressed yet disheveled young girl, maybe 4 or 5 years old. Wearing one white tattered sneaker and one high heeled pink plastic Barbie shoe. CLOMP.... CLOMP..... CLOMP.... She strode along, determined to keep up with her mother and not at all concerned with her lopsided gait. I snuck a quick peek back at the mother who seemed oblivious to the fact that her daughter was so mismatched and unkempt. The mom seemed not to have a care in the world and her nonplussed attitude stuck me as somewhat odd given the fact that her daughter was such a spectacle. Of course, this was before I had children and had not yet realized that some battles are best left un-fought. I think of this woman often, and have grown over the years to admire her and realize that she possessed not a level of ignorance as I had initially thought, but rather a level of understanding that I have only recently begun to appreciate.

I have been on the receiving end of disapproving stares as my youngest Schnuckie has shown a fierce determination to wear only only those outfits by which he deems appropriate. There are many times I decide that the battle over clothes is simply not worth the time and if he chooses not to wear a coat in 12 degree temperature, so be it, he must carry his coat but if he want to be cold , OK. Of course, there are times I do have to draw the line no matter how fierce the opposition, like "No shorts in a snowstorm" but mostly I allow him this small indulgence, I figure he will figure it out and dress normal soon enough.



Now the older Schnuckie boys couldn't care less what they wear (as long as its not pink), in fact there are days I will mix up outfits at the end of the bed and inevitable my oldest will come downstairs dressed in his younger brother' clothes with sleeves ending at his elbows and pants hovering mid-calf, and he will be clueless as to what the problem is when questioned about his attire. When I will finally point out that he is wearing his brother's clothes he will them make the case that it is OK and he doesn't care (because he does not want to waste the time to change his clothes) but he will change when asked. Then along came the only girl. She has very strong opinions about her clothing but it is usually to lobby against dresses or a particular shirt, not for strange outfits. She can usually be soothed by showcasing two different outfits and allowing her to pick one. Lately she has become concerned with matching colors. Combing her hair is our bigger battle, but that's another story.


It was not until the youngest of the Schnuckies who, either by virtue of me spoiling him rotten or merely my exhaustion over the other more important things (like not having him climb up the outside of the stair railing), which has made him decide that he will only wear a few outfits without vehement protest. His favorite, any soccer outfit (his brothers old very large uniforms) cobbled together with soccer shorts (yes they MUST be shorts) from Goodwill. If he is particularly feisty, he will insist on cleats as well (instead of sneakers.) which are a few sizes to big, and occasionally the odd piece of sporting equipment for good measure (a ball or helmet, or even shin guards over ridiculously long large socks). Other variations on that theme include a lacrosse uniforms a swim shirt (I have convinced him it is a soccer shirt) or an ugly blue football mesh shirt he found at Goodwill. More traditional acceptable clothing includes turtlenecks (I have no explanations for that), any shirt with sports equipment on it and 'big boy ' pants (jeans). Hats of all kinds are coveted and worn, he had a day recently, following his sisters' preschool field trip to Giant Supermarket, where he wore the paper deli hat everywhere. Non-traditional choices of clothing include his sister's dress-up princess wear, and another favorite, either brother's cub scout uniform (belt and all). Doesn't matter if he is a Tiger, a Bear, or a Wolf, as long as it is proper dress wear and all parts and pieces are in place. I image with the oldest entering Weeblos we will see a new push for khaki this year.


So I handle it all in the best way I can, mostly by not handling it much at all. It is a wise mother who can look at her child and accept the outer package in whatever state it may be in. It is an even wiser (and might I say braver) who can also allow said child out in public in that same condition. So I now proudly march in front of him, purposefully ignoring whatever creation he may have on and allowing others to look and judge. And while I do give a wide latitude to what is acceptable I do insist on one thing, you have to wear something........ (well usually).

Big Boy

Despite the fact that I have been a bit negligent in writing recently, I have been feeling a bit, well... nostalgic. First of all, Papaschnuck traveled this week, and I always seem to get somewhat melancholy when he leaves the roost, albeit for a simple 2 day trip. It makes me somber and I never like being without him. But the thing that really got to me this past week is that my baby, ahemm, my big boy, Schnuckie2 (almost3), has made the decision to move out of diapers and began using the potty. Yipee!! one might think, and yes I am happy that the end is near. After 12 years of diapers (condensed into 9 years of time- we often had 2 in diapers at once) the light at the end of the tunnel is in sight. I can finally see a day with no diaper bag, no diapers, no swimmies and no pull ups.

This is a day in which I dreamed on those long nights, tired and cranky, I'd be scraping poop off the back of a very unhappy baby whose diaper blew out in a spectacular fashion. This is a day I dreamed of as I realized, with alarm, that the very stinky child I was going to change was gonna have to sit in a very dirty diaper because the diaper bag was sitting by the back door where I forgot it while trying to herd all the children into the car. This is a day I longed for when, after buttoning the very last top button of a winter coat, covering a snow pant, tucked into boots, a small be-gloved hand would tap me to say,"Mommy, I did poopy."

And here we are, the other day, my little guy demanding (as I tried to put a new diaper on him), "No! Me no need diaper mommy, me a big boy, me go in the potty." Despite my logical arguments about how it was so much easier for me if he just stayed in a diaper for a little longer, he insisted, and so now he is a "big boy", and using the potty with all the pride and excitement of an almost 3 yr old. We went out for pizza for dinner, after religious education classes on Wednesday, when Papaschnuck was gone (Hey why not?). After 2 earlier failed attempts on the potty he came bursting out of the rest room, with me trailing him, to announce in his loudest, proudest, voice to his siblings, " HEY GUYS! ME GO POOPY ON THE POTTY!" Oh, the sense of accomplishment he felt and wanted to share.

And here we are today, all my kids now use the potty. How soon it arrived and how surprised I am to actually be a little sad to see it come. I guess it is more the reality hitting me that I do not have another baby rather than my own internal desire to keep changing diapers (wow some insight there). But it is a definite demarcation in time and experience: I was a diaper changing mom and now I am not. 2 weeks now and with only a few accidents, he seems to have followed with the others in being really pretty easy to train- I am not complaining. I have always waited till the third birthday before informing them (rather matter-of-factly) that "big boys who are 3 don't wear diapers." (OK there was a girl in there too but she thought she was a boy for a while). Surprisingly, it always worked. Within a week or two the drama would be over and using a toilet would be routine. Dry overnight usually follows in 6 months or so. This last guy was the first one to take it upon himself to make the decision that he was ready. Well, I guess I better accept it cause, "3 year old's don't wear diapers mommy!"

What was I thinking? saying? doing?

I know all you moms (and maybe dads) are going to know what I am referring to when I say Momnesia, the non-fatal condition also known as 'losing your mind'. I seem to be in a rather acute flare up of the chronic condition I developed shortly after the conception of my first child. Some professionals claim that it is the shifting of hormones or perhaps the lack of sleep which leads to the development of an complete and inability to remember things. Things like: phone numbers, appointments, making dinner, changing diapers (OK I threw that last one in so that Papaschnuck finally can understand all the times that the kids were walking around with their diapers sagging off their little heinies and hanging around their ankles. Incidentally, giving them the only acceptable form of 'plumber butt' that is looked upon with affection). Momnesia affects all women differently, and while I started with a mild form of it in June 2000, it has developed into such a full blown case that my family and friends now just nod knowingly when I mix up my children, the days of the week, and verbs and nouns. It is not uncommon for me to insist that a child needs to be put in the refrigerator as I call them "Juice". And to answer the obvious, yes the children derive great pleasure from my mental mix-ups. It seems more often these days, I look at them and wonder, "Why is he laughing?" I have to stop and think, and half the time I still don't know what I really said. I suspect at times, Papachnuck thinks that I am entering the early stages of Alzheimer's. I hope not.

Lately, I have been wondering why this might be happening and what can be done to try to improve my scatterbrainedness (how is that for a made up word? The spell check even told me ha ha). I think, quite simply, that it comes from the complete and inability to think anymore. I don't mean that I lack the ability, rather, I lack the opportunity to have contemplative moments these days. And you know what? I miss thinking. There is something to be said for having time to ponder and to theorize. I find that I am often busy with such mindless stuff throughout the day and am so often multitasking, my brain never gets to work coherently. Since it never happens, perhaps my brain has given up trying and just 'phones it in' when I need it to work. No wonder the wires get crossed.

I remember reading once (back when my brain was actually remembering things), that when we are introduced to someone, if we look carefully at their face and repeat their name to them and again in our head we will most likely remember it. Most people forget introductions due to inattention when being introduced. Evidently, we are all so concerned what we might say next that we don't really listen to the name. ( I took particular note of this a few years ago as I would have no idea the names of women I would see and talk to daily at the gym. It would stress me to no end that I would be caught and exposed as an idiot for not knowing their name after so many years. It would get more and more embarrassing to even think of having to ask them their name. I finally gave up the stress and just came clean and asked them their name. It would turn out they had no idea of my name either). Nowadays, I am doing better with people's names but after the last Schnuckie was born everything else has gotten worse. I used to have a great mind for remembering little bits of information, I can remember thinking, Who needs to write down phone numbers? Now, I can't even remember where I put the phone book. I have slowly come to accept my new limitations and have tried make necessary accommodations. At least I have yet to forget a Schnuckie at home or elsewhere (surprisingly enough), and as long as don't, I'm figure I'm OK.

I am gonna try to do better though, writing in this blog has at given me the opportunity to try to put together coherent thoughts despite the numerous interruptions I receive while typing- juice, snacks, lost legos, the phone,- all are unable to wait until mommy is done. Paying attention to things is important and I am constantly telling the kids to pay attention to me. It's time to try to practice what I preach and pay closer attention to things around me and try not to multitask myself into total incompetence. This will be another resolution for 2009.

Now, what was I doing before I sat down at the computer?.....

Holiday Happiness

I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas, I know I did. What's not to like about Christmas? Well...there is the shopping and store crowds, the frenzied consumerism which begins shortly before Halloween. Oh, don't forget the helpful and pleasant customer service at all the stores. Hmmm... and the economy, the environmentalists, and the secular groups who have sanitized Christmas into a simple winter holiday. We won't even mention the whole untangling, bulb replacement and stringing of the lights (actually, I leave that for Papaschnuck). But besides all that, what's not to like? Presents under a tree, love, family, wonder, excitement, sparkling Christmas lights, pretty bows, screams of excitement, frenzied tearing of paper and enjoyment of gifts, given and received.

Christmas is so much fun with the kids when they believe in Santa. Santa is such a representation of childhood innocence. At our house, every year, Santa comes out the fireplace and leaves footprints of magic (fake) snow around the house. This year, he only left one footprint as I guess he has finally getting the message that the clean-up looms larger than the wonder of the discovery. I was a little nostalgic this year because Schnukie8 is, well, 8 years old (9 in six months), and this is most assuredly the last year of complete magic, where all four monkeys believe in Santa. Next year will be different. I have no doubt that Schnuckie8 would keep the secret, he always enjoys the power that is gleamed from possessing information others don't have. More concerning is, that there is a good chance that Schnuckie6 is figuring it out as well. He questioned the whole practicality of visiting every house in one night and posited that is seems an impossible feat for anyone. Oh for anyone, yes, it is impossible, I agreed emphatically, but... not for Santa because he has magic. I then quickly stammered out a rational defense that covered aspects of time travel, the theory of Relativity and a healthy dose of Santa magic. While he seemed confused he didn't reply with any further argument. (I think he decided to humor poor old mom and may approach Papaschuck in the near future.) Once he knows, it's all over. He will spill the beans to Schnuckie4 just to prove he knows more than her and it will break her little heart. He will derive so much 6 year old satisfaction from being able to prove her wrong, that he will be oblivious to the shattering of her little dreams. (well, I guess when she lands in therapy in years to come she will be brimming with all sorts of treasures for the therapist to pick over) But maybe, just maybe, the wonder that is Christmas will allow him to keep the secret and let Schnuckie4 keep that innocence for a few more years.

So, Christmas is over, New Years Eve will fade into 2009 (holy cow- where did the 90's go?) and the cold hard reality of winter and post holiday blues will come soon after. This year we have the added burdens and fears of a terrible economy, bailouts from the government growing exponentially by the day (our children's future tax burden), and my own personal fears over the erosion of the few gains made in the anti-abortion quest for the Right to Life that will occur under a new liberal president. My prayers will be that peace and joy will find our family (and all of yours). May the coming year be one filled with new adventure, new discoveries, and a renewed sense of values and personal responsibility for all. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and may Santa live on, for a while longer, in all of our hearts.

Perfect pictures

Well there they are, Rub a dub dine, four Schnucks in a line. This was one of those pictures you can't plan out too much. It is rare that I can get a halfway decent picture of all of them at the same time, in some organized fashion. Inevitable one or another will be putting up rabbit ears, sticking out a tongue, or pouting because I began screaming Be quiet, sit still, and smile darn it!! They would much rather be silly and goof off and ruin a perfectly good picture than to sit pretty for a half a second while I construct a memory to last a lifetime. As I sit down and try to put together our Christmas card this year, (Yes I am one of those dreaded friends who creates a "newsletter" Christmas card filled with pictures of the kids) I realize that more and more my pictures tend to be candid, resulting is some glorious shots, and many more, not so much. The kids have fingers in noses and scowls on faces, they are showing off bellies and other various places (gee that last line reads like a song from The Sound of Music, these are a few of my favorite things). I now learn to have a camera ready at all times, take lots each time, and beg, bribe, and threaten when I really want a specific structured shot.

So while perfection in light and composition are sorely lacking in most all of my pictures, the sparkle of personality comes through. The picture below was the one I promised to them if they let me take the one up top. Somehow, I like it just a little bit better.

Thoughts of Change

Change is hard. While difficult to do anything involving conscious thought while beating your body to the ground in the 75 minute Circuit 2K/Cycle class at the gym, I began to wonder why I was going to miss this so much. I have been going to the gym somewhat regularly since I started to have children. All of the kids have gone to the pre-school at my gym (except the last Schnuckie who would be going next year) They have all spent time in the nursery while I have schlepped steps, spun the cycle, and heaved weights. I know most every employee, all the teachers, and many of the members. I always bring a book but rarely read it as I can't usually find a willing ear to bend as I work out. I realized that I really like my life and my schedule. I enjoy getting up, going to the gym, dropping one at pre-school and one at the nursery. I work out for an hour or so, shower, pick said children up, head home, eating lunch, then have quiet rest time. An hour or so later, up and clean up, play, await the school kids, then homework, activities, dinner, clean up, reading, and bed. Then its TV, reading or other endeavors. I am a creature of habit. I can eat the same breakfast, lunch and a rotating order of dinners, and be satisfied. I like my life, I like my gym time, and I like my routine.

Change is hard and while I look so forward to home schooling (read earlier post of idealized expectations ha ha) I get blue when thinking of the loss of my routine. I know I will have a new routine and we will work out a different schedule and hopefully I will enjoy it as much, but I am sad about moving on. It is like any other life change. While joyful, I also I mourned the birth of the last Schnuckie, as I knew I would never again be pregnant. Weaning him was hard as well as, after over 4 years between all of them, I knew never again nurse my child, and feel that special bond. As he grew, I mourned the last of the itty bitty teeny weeny babies (although my babies were never really teeny tiny, the first was 9lb11oz). Yes, I would hold others newborns, and maybe someday a couple of grandchildren, but my heart ached as I thought Never again. It is hard to move on and lose times you so enjoy. I often want to grab my kids and hold them stop them from growing so fast. I get desperate to think that there is nothing I can do (nor should do) to stop the march of time. The new joys they bring as they grow soothe my aches for the old losses. But loss it is and thus needs to be acknowledged. I am sad when I think I will not be in "my classes" next year, groaning and straining with all the women who have become my friends over the past 7 years. I will never peek into a pre-school class and see my littlest Schnuckie bend over a piece of paper, lost in deep personal thought over what he is doing. I will never see him sing at the Christmas show there at pre-school. Never will my girl go off in the school bus to Kindergarten, or have to do that "build a house" project. My boys won't be in chess club , or DI after school any more. I could go on and on.

Change is hard. Intellectually, I know I will move on well. But emotionally I am still working it out.