They say change is good for you....

So to be super annoying, I changed the whole name of the blog. "Head above water" was just a tad bit too nautical for me, and to be honest... most days I like to think it's not such a desperate situation. Well sometimes  I DO feel like I'm drowning when all three are clamouring for my attention at the same time. Especially since their primary mode of communication is screaming and/or whining at very high volumes. No wonder people go deaf in their old age, their ears get stressed out after dealing  with all the kid noise. If things don't quiet down sometime soon, I can look forward to hearing aids by age 30 (new fashion trend perhaps?)

After a great deal of pondering and deep thinking (ok, maybe not that much... but I did break a mental sweat. I did!) I decided that "The Young and the Sleepless" suited me much better. There was a very close shave where it was almost named "The Memoirs of an Amateur Mommy", but after thinking about it for a while, I realized it sounded a bit like a really bad adult film. Not what I had in mind at all. Since I definitely keep my clothes on (due to a postpartum body and a strict moral code) and I really don't want to sound like a bad porn, that option was out.  And sleep (or lack thereof) seems to be a big factor in my life. Once my babies have grown a few feet taller, refined their vocabulary and (in some cases) grown some hair, I'm sure I'll still be spending many sleepless nights worrying over entirely different issues. I think all women should kiss a full night's sleep goodbye the moment that second line shows up on the pregnancy test.

So yes, sorry about the name change. If you decided to" follow me " you'll probably have to re-click the link. (Don't quote me on that though, I have NO idea what I'm doing with this whole blogger thing in the first place).

Because it makes me happy...

The creator Baby Blues must be hiding in my closet chronicling my daily life (minus the boy... we're still missing that bit of testosterone). This one is a bit out of season, but appropriate none the less.

Secret: Mommy Doesn't Know Everything....

Maya and her infamous head :)

Each child is utterly and completely unique. When I began this adventure called motherhood, intellectually I knew this fact, but somehow I never managed to completely comprehend exactly HOW different each child was. When Ellie was born, I was afflicted with all the worries and joys of a first time mother, each breath was counted, every ear piercing wail meant she was dying and those first gas induced smirks were a certain sign that my child did in fact love me (those smirks still means she loves me). Once Maya made her entrance into the world, I was filled with certain smugness, I had done this once before and survived.... I knew what I was doing. I wasn't going to be that nervous, paranoid, newbie mother any longer. I had earned my mommyhood badge and this second child was going to be a breeze because I definitely knew what I was doing. WRONG.

As it turns out, Ellie was an exceptionally easy baby. She (and I) only dealt with a week or two of sleepless colicky nights and then she rapidly adjusted to her little life with her characteristic sunny disposition. Being a first time mom, I was in no position to appreciate the godsend my first child was. My mother insisted that she was a very easy baby, but out of my infinite wisdom and experience, I thought she was nuts. Didn't she see how much the kid cried?

When Maya made her grand debut, I was utterly confident. After she had had been a permanent resident for 2 weeks, my confidence was shaken. Where was my happy baby? Why wouldn't this new child stop crying? And why in God's name was she constantly soaking my clothes with spit up? Obviously I wasn't as knowledgeable in the mommy area as I had previously assumed. As both kids have grown older and developed very different personalities, I am continually forced to accept that I am (sadly) not omnipotent.


Confessions of a (toddler) drama queen

Ellie is a drama queen. Each and every incident in her 6 year old life is something to write home about (or in her case, proclaim loudly at the top of her lungs to the whole world... preferably from the top of a roof or chair or high object). For example, when Ellie was around 2 or 3, she was routinely sent to her room for some misdeed or another. One particular time, her feelings were especially injured and upon discovering that she was being banished to her room, she stamped her foot, declared "You are not very nice" and promptly fled to her room, sobbing the entire way. A peek into her room revealed her laying face down on her bed, sobbing as though Justin Bieber had cut his hair and her world had ended.  At the ripe old age of three, she was the picture of teenage angst.

I'm scared to see what actual hormones will do to the child.

Ellie has also informed me (quite matter of factly) that when she grows up she is definitely going to marry two guys, Joe Jonas and Michael Jackson. I can guess where the whole Jonas Brother thing came from (we will be cutting down on her Disney Channel consumption). And I'm mildly upset that she didn't at least pick the cute one. (Come on, Ellie... Nick is the only cute one in the entire group!) But I'm completely stumped as to how or why the King of Pop is the unfortunate object of her affections. I tried to explain to her why a relationship with Mr. Jackson just wasn't in the cards for her, but somehow I don't think I made my point clear.

Me: Ellie, I don't think you can marry Michael Jackson, he's dead

Ellie: Oh. But is he married?

Me: Ummm.... no. But honey, he's dead.

Ellie: Oh, that's ok. He doesn't have a girlfriend does he?

Me: No, he doesn't have a girlfriend. But he can't have a girlfriend, he died a few years ago.

Ellie: That's ok. I'm going to marry Michael Jackson.

Me: Ummm.... sure?

I cannot wait to tell this story at her future wedding (which hopefully isn't to A. Michael Jackson or B. a Michael Jackson impersonator). I also pray that she gets over her polygamy thing.


I swear Mommy still loves you...

Injuries, whether large or small, are inevitable in childhood. What is completely  unpredictable is how each child will deal with them. Maya spends a good portion of her day being doctored up from painful encounters with counters, floors, sidewalks and other sharp objects because she hasn't quite mastered the art of coordination (hands, feet, walking, floor... it's alot of work for a 2 year old). But unless the injury is truly serious, most times she just brushes herself off and continues to calmly destroy my house. She even takes vaccines and doctors visits calmly and in stride. On the other hand, Ellie may have inherited a thing or two from her mother.

Fun fact about me: I am a wimp when it comes to needles.

I am convinced the only reason that I've survived childbirth three times is because a wonderful doctor somewhere invented epidurals. When I was 17, I managed to almost cut off my toe with a paper cutter (long story). 14 painful stitches later, the doctor informed me that I would need tetanus shot. I just had sliced my toe and survived the stitches by grinding my teeth and thinking not very nice things about paper cutters and doctors. But the moment they mentioned a shot, I dissolved into tears and begged the nurses to reconsider. Did they really need to? I would be good, no needles please??? I kept up the meaningless promises and shameless begging until they actually gave me the shot. Then I realized, oh, that didn't hurt. God help Ellie if she has kids.

Kiki: You're going to stick what, where?



The differences between my children have never been as clear as it was in today's adventure at the pediatrician’s office.  Ellie began eying me worriedly the moment we set foot in the doctor's office and began pestering me "Mom, I don't have to get shots today, do I? Do I? DO I?" When I reluctantly informed her that she did have to get a few shots, she proceeded to hide under examination table.

Maya excels at the suspicious glares

Words cannot describe the absolute ridiculousness that ensued once the doctor made her appearance, and the necessary shots were trotted out. I must have been extra sleep deprived when I made the appointment, because all three girls were due for shots at the same time. When the menacing trays of vaccines entered the room, Ellie was still cowering under the examination table, Maya was cheerily greeting the nurses and Kiki was spitting up on me. I handed my youngest geyser *ahem* child, off to the male nurse (who looked really uncomfortable with his baby holding duties), and proceeded to coax/ drag Ellie out from the table. Thankfully Ellie is still a rather small child and I am still bigger, because she was clinging to that table leg like a starving leech. Maya was curiously peering around my legs, "Ellie... huh?? Why??? Ellie, owwie?? Huh??" Once my oldest was finally positioned on the table I was faced with another issue, how to get her pants down? It took both the nurse and I several minutes to finally get her ready (she probably scarred every other small child in that clinic... her screams were horrific). She sobbed nonstop until the actual shot happened, during which she stopped in surprise... oh.... it didn't hurt that much. But then she saw blood, and the waterworks started over again.




Kiki modeling the cherry tomato look

To be fair, we did the process chronologically (also by how difficult it was to catch them). Next up on the chopping block was Maya. She willingly submitted to the indignities of the poking, stabbing and pinching of the nurses (while Ellie was still sobbing away in the background). She cried briefly after the initial pinch, and then the smile made its reappearance. I heaved a sigh of relief, at least one child wasn't going to hate me forever for subjecting them to needles. Kiki had her turn with the needles (she's too young to really argue about the process). She turned an attractive shade of tomato red and screamed at me in anger. And then, thank God, we were finally done. I felt like a butcher. Pull 'em up, yank the pants down, patch 'em up and grab the next one. We staggered out of the doctor’s office, Ellie still had tears streaming down her face (the lollipop helped quell the louder sobs) Maya was still cheerfully greeting strangers and Kiki was still spitting up.

Yet another fun fact: karma works. I put my mother through hell when I had to get shots.

So the lesson learned here? I still have many lessons to learn. Motherhood is an ever evolving, ever changing, ALWAYS interesting adventure that never is going to end. Thankfully each child is different, a doctor's appointment with 3 drama queens would have been even more disastrous and my laundry pile with three spit factories would be a nightmare. God knew what He was doing. I obviously don't.

Sleeping like a baby

Without enough sleep, we all become tall two-year-olds.  ~JoJo Jensen, Dirt Farmer Wisdom, 2002

Sleep is something I never truly appreciated until I never got enough it. When I was younger, I fought against it with every ounce and fiber of my little being: "Mommmyyyyy, just five more minutes... Mommy, I need a drink of water... Mommy, I need to go to the potty..." and the list ran on. My absolute worst enemy was 8:00 pm. Upon reaching adulthood, I have discovered an appreciation for the night time battles that my parents waged against myself and my siblings. I am also constantly amazed at the ingenuity and variety of Ellie's excuses to stave off the inevitably of bedtime. She seems to believe that bestowing an extra round of hugs to humans, animals and inanimate objects alike (think "Goodnight Moon" only with hugs) will somehow turn back time. She also has the idea that discovering an urgent need to brush her teeth again or developing a new found concern for Maya's lack of water in her sippy will somehow delay the horror that is bedtime. Her favorite excuse is always prefaced by "Mommy just ONE more question..." and is followed by a random, rambling, and stammered off the wall question. Needless to say, this is NOT the last question of the night and this performance is repeated at least five to six more times before she finally realizes the inevitable. Thankfully Maya and Kiki are still stuck in their cribs and are unable to pop in and out of their rooms like a jack-in-the-box's like their older sister.

Whoever coined the phrase "sleeping like a baby" obviously never had a baby, either that or they were trying to be ironic. Because not only do children never stay asleep, but they sleep all over the place, in the most interesting positions. Ellie has provided us with endless entertainment in this area.

Once she has realized that she had lost the battle of bedtime excuses, she wanders all over the house in her sleep. More than once, I have woken up in a panic because she wasn't in her bed only to be reassured when I find her (several panic stricken, heart stopping moments later) curled up in a corner, or closet. There have been several memorable moments where I have found her sitting upright at a table fast asleep or awkwardly perched on the landing or at the foot of my bed. Last night I woke up in the middle of the night to weird squeaking noises. I was fairly certain that we weren't infested with large rats (or R.O.U.S.'s) so I gingerly peered over the side of my bed. In my sleep deprived state, I had forgotten to take into account my daughter's nighttime meanderings and she had stumbled in at some point and was half way on my bed, squeaking away in her sleep. This was infinitely preferable to the giant rats of the Princess Bride variety.

According to family lore, the sleepwalking is inherited. As a child, I would stagger around the house and declare sleepily: "Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom" (all the while doing my version of the frantic potty dance). Luckily for my parents, all they had to do was steer my little self in the right direction and I would take care of my business and scamper back to my bed. Granted they would find me lost in rather interesting  places such as behind their bedroom, bathroom, or closet door (I seemed to understand the door concept). But at least they always found me in time.

As we get older, sleep becomes a precious commodity that we treasure more and more. What was once our greatest enemy is miraculously transformed into our best friend. I suppose we always want what we can't have. And someday, my children will understand the true value of sleep and give their right arm to have someone send them to room for a nap.



Unfortunately, it does seem to be genetic.







The Myth of the Third Child

All of my best ideas occur to me in the shower. Perhaps it is the relaxation of the hot water or washing away the cares of the day, or maybe it's just because it's the only time all day that I'm really truly alone. And by alone I mean no one is physically sharing the same space as me. Of course there are several shower interruptions ( A new species perhaps? Genus:"Showerus Interruptus?) within the course of my 15 minutes of alone time, and of course all of them are incredibly urgent and of the utmost importance.

A Typical Shower: A Play in 15 Minutes (with stage directions)

Enter two year old
Loudly bangs on the door
Mother shuts off water

Maya: "Mommy tub-tub? Mommy tub-tub? Maya tub-tub too??"
Mother:  lovingly and patiently "Yes Maya, Mommy is taking a shower, and no you can't take one right now. Mommy is very busy."
Maya: Why??
Mother: Because the water is hot, I need to wash
Maya: Why?
Mother: Because we hold these truths to be self evident that all men are created equal."
Maya: .....Why?
 5 minutes pass


Enter 6 year old
Bangs on door 
Mother shuts off water

Ellie: urgently: "Mooommmmm, Maya has my princess toy and won't share with meeeeeee....."
Mother: still lovingly and patiently: "You have a million princess toys, I'm sure you can find several to share"

5 minutes pass

Enter 6 year old and 2 year old
Both bang on door
Mother shuts off water. Again.

Maya and Ellie (with baby screaming in background): Mooommmmmmmmyyyyyyyy???
Maya and Ellie:  can I have a sugar snack??? Num-Nums??

Mother: no longer patient *SIGH*


My concept of alone time has altered greatly since I've become a mother. My brilliant idea of the day: water proof headphones that filter out any sentence that begin with Mom and doesn't end with "gushing blood, fire, or dying".

Musings of the day:

Several mother's of my acquaintance swear that their third child was their "easy child". This mythological child is supposed to be quiet, easy to manage, sleep through the night from day one, in fact this child is every mother's dream come true (until the hormones kick in at puberty, then it's a whole new ball game). Apparently Kiki missed the memo about the "third child perfection gene". Granted she has only been out of the womb for approximately 6 weeks now, and it isn't quite fair to judge her yet. But so far, she definitely doesn't sleep through the night and her lungs are exceptionally healthy and she exercises them quite vigorously on a daily basis. The poor child also seems to be suffering from a bit of colic and reflux; so again, I can't blame her for the enthusiasm of her screaming or the lack of a regular sleeping schedule. The projectile vomiting is also quite impressive. I was under the impression that Maya was quite gifted in the spitting up arena; in fact we called her Mount Vesuvius until she was 9 months old. But if Maya was Mt. Vesuvius, then Kiki is Pompeii. All the small people dumb enough to make their home near her would have been buried under an awe inspiring flow of lukewarm spit up. She is always armed and dangerous. Sounds much more impressive when you're talking about volcanic ash and lava, but I think I made my point. The kid is talented. And we change clothes. Alot.

I have also come to the conclusion that Kiki is going to be a female body builder when she grows up. Perhaps it is just the proud mother in me, but the child just seems really strong for her age.  She seems to object to being held normally in my arms as she constantly tries to jump up and out of them. She then gets irrationally angry when she hits herself on my head or collarbone (try explaining to a 6 week old that it’s her fault that she’s hurt). When she’s in the middle of one of her infant temper tantrums, she is known to pull my hair, pinch me and scratch me. Sounds like she has the makings of a world class wrestler, I should start calling the networks now. Or maybe she could be an Olympic pole vaulter. Personally I think female body builders and wrestlers are kind of, well, gross. But I guess it works, whatever pays the bills. Maybe she can go into construction or just be a really really muscular doctor. But maybe it would be nice if I postponed deciding her future until she can roll over.

Thankfully God must have taken pity on me and realized that if I couldn't have the perfect third child, he would inspire my eldest child to become a house keeper extraordinaire and exceptionally helpful. And I am not complaining in the slightest. Ellie has decided that it is her job to be my helper and has taken to folding my laundry, putting away toys, cleaning her room, etc. And it is all completely voluntarily. Today she was literally begging and pleading me to sweep and mop the floors. I am a very lucky woman and some day she is going to make some man very very happy. Granted she isn't an angel 24/7 and is still prone to her whining fits and fighting with Maya, but I really lucked out. Now I just have to figure out how make this miracle a daily ocurrance.

On a completely and totally random note, did anyone know that there is such thing as a Jewish Reggae artist? I have discovered (at 3 am with a screaming baby) that yes, there is such as thing. Apparently Matisyahu is a Hasidic Jew who actually had a Top 40 hit. We live in a very random world.

I also discovered that:

1. Listening to my iPod on shuffle at 3 am (this happens to be Kiki's favorite time of day)  helps me to stay awake while trying to calm the mythical perfect third child. And I have very random taste in music. Going from Hanson (yes I still listen to them), to the Jewish Rapper to Toby Keith to Nelly to Hello Dolly to the Hush Sound is guaranteed to keep anyone awake. (Thank you to Rosita for this most helpful hint)
2. Coffee+ Cleaning + Coffee+ Dousing my face with cold water repeatedly+ more coffee= staying awake after a long night which is utterly imperative because a two year old cannot be left unsupervised for longer than 2 seconds.
3. Chocolate solves almost every problem.

Why? Because it's Freedom from Facebook...

After suffering in (partial) silence, from the censorship and injustice of the 420 character limit on Facebook's statuses, I have decided to exercise my right of freedom of speech. No longer will I be limited to a tiny corner of  Facebook cyberspace, no longer will I have to edit out the most interesting words of a long thought process, and no longer will my friends be involuntarily subjected to my ramblings on their newsfeeds. So there. My Declaration of Independence From Facebook Statuses (although I suppose I just sold my soul to blogspot.com)

Originally I had planned on declaring to the facebook world my thoughts on 2 year olds and their never ending (always frustrating) "why's". But I found that there was no way on God's green earth that I could adequately express all of my genius ideas in such a limited space. And then *ding* the light bulb goes off; they have those wonderful things called blogs! So welcome to my first foray into the world of blogging, I hear it's addictive. I can't promise it will be fantastic, but it will definitely entertain me and hopefully help me retain my sense of humor while dealing with my children.

2 year olds have such a beautiful sense of wonder and interest in the world around them. Nothing escapes their notice. Everything from a flying bird to a leaf on the ground to a dead worm laying in a puddle (true story) is utterly and completely fascinating. All of the mundane things that adults pass by every single day capture the imagination and attention of a two year old. And every single little detail is inevitably accompanied by the questions: "Why", "Whass-at" or "Huh" (repeat a million times).

 Normally I patiently try to answer Maya's (my two year old) every question. But I have come to the conclusion that she doesn't entirely understand the function of the word "why" in the first place. I think she thinks the word is more of conversation filler and a way to keep the conversation ball rolling so to speak. So her lack of comprehension has both positive and negative effects. On a happy note, she never really expects a rational answer to her questions. But in that same vein, she is never satisfied with any answer you give her (rational or irrational).


Today her normally patient mommy lost her patience. After Maya began her litany of "why", followed closely by "huh", I just started answering every question with "because the sky is blue." Surprisingly, she seemed to accept that answer and the chorus of "whys" seemed to end. For about 2 minutes. Since this experiment has been met with (limited) success I plan on repeating it tomorrow, but for my sanity's sake, I will vary my responses:

• Why? Because pi= 3.14
• Why? Because i before e except after c
• Why? Because four score and seven years our fore fathers...
• Why? Stop Drop and Roll
• Why? Yes
• Why? Because 30 Days Hath September
• Why? (it's inevitable) Because I said so...

No worries though, eventually I will stop torturing the poor child and give her a logical answer. But it's amusing to think about in the mean time

If you made it this far, congratulations. I am truly long winded and have a very difficult time knowing when to shut up (both in person and when writing). They should hand out awards to people who wade though half coherent blogs. But I feel much better, many people have said that writing a blog is very therapeutic, and after tossing around all those jumbled thoughts and ideas, I feel much improved.