Weekend of Maddie (Subtitle: How I Figured Out that Parenting Has Nothing to do with How I Parent)

I have quite a bit of ground to cover in this post, so stick with me.  First of all, this weekend confirmed something for me.  I was not made to be a mom to babies.  I know I have said this before, but holy cow, the more I look back on it, I am just thankful for my kids survival and my sanity.  I love my kids, but as babies...eh.  They were okay.  They were awfully needy for my taste.  And I had a hard time getting excited about all the normal baby things.  Like, ooooohhhhh! Baby just ate a Cheerio.  Or, wow! Baby just said some semblance of a syllable that may or may not have been mama.  Super.  BUT, these days:  I'm in my parenting sweet spot.  For instance, my kids' new favorite restaurant is Amigos...I'm so proud that they love chips and salsa.  And this weekend when Maddie and I went shopping together, she used both sarcasm and air quotes correctly.  Be still my heart.  Now I'm starting to get why everyone is all excited about this whole parenting thing - these kids are starting to be fun around (and they still fetch me Diet Pepsi, so win-win up in the Brogan household).

Anyway, back to Maddie.  We got to hang out quite a bit this weekend and we had a lot of fun.  We went shopping (where I put my foot down on any swimsuits that had "triangles"... I may start a movement later loosely focused on what clothing my children can wear based on geometry principles, but that is for another day).  We got to cheer on her cousin Abby at a fashion show, where coincidentally I sort of exposed Maddie to her first Chippendale-like experience as the fashion show opened on a completely-unexpected, probably-not-PG, at-what-point-do-I cover-her-eyes, is-this-what-those-Beckham-kids-Saturday-nights-are-like, type prelude.  But, beyond that she had a great time and looks to perhaps have a future on the runway.

Then this afternoon, Maddie had a gymnastics meet.  For those of you who don't know my love/hate relationship with gymnastics, let me give you a little background.  We have probably invested $2,000 and 2 years of our lives in gymnastics and Maddie can barely do a cartwheel.  She is also super-inflexible.  Like, there is maybe some sort of genetic code passed down which makes it literally impossible for her to do a sit-and-reach.  I had the same disorder, so I know it exists.  I guess that is all of the background you need.

Okay, I may be overstating it a little and being a BIT sarcastic.  Maddie seems to really enjoy her classes and maybe, just maybe, in my heart of hearts I want her to be good at something that I wished I would have been better at.  I mean, I know I was a notable cheerleader and dancer (yep, who was voted "Best Dancer" in her freshman {and only} year as a Kohawk cheerleader...this gal!)  Obviously, Maddie has the genes to be successful...So, we have let her stay in and today that culminated with her first "rec" meet.  Rec meaning it was a "just for fun" type meet (that we paid $35 to enter, but I'm not bitter).  So, anyway, this is where I started to have this great parenting revolution.  

After she was done with all of her events, they started calling the girls up to get their "prizes".  They called them up in the order that they finished in their group, but in a way that was so fast, I don't think the girls even realized what was going on.  But I did.  And I sank a little lower in my chair when she was called dead last for her first event and second to last for her second event.  Then, sure enough, I puffed right up when she was called second for her third event.  I didn't even pay much attention to the fourth event, as I was still reveling in the glow of her second place finish (second to a girl so tall and so obviously older than Maddie by at least 5 years, that I really was counting it in my head as a first place win).  And I thought:

OH MY GOSH.  WHAT IS IT ABOUT OUR SOCIETY THAT MAKES ME DO THIS?  WHY DO I CARE?  

I don't want to be that parent or that person.  I don't want to be the one who tallies their kids successes against other kids failures (or in the P.C. world we live in, against other kids lesser successes).  I don't want to rank my kid based on what they can do well and rub their nose in what they need to do better.  I don't want to log on to Facebook and feel totally inadequate based on all the great things other people are doing like going for runs outside (who can run without Netflix?  I don't get it) and remembering to plan their kids' birthday parties on time (although, when we had Zach's a month and half late and told him it was because we just wanted to keep celebrating him, he totally bought it) and 90% of the time, I think I do a pretty good job of this, but holy cow, I was slapped in the face with this reality of my world.  Then, this....

You guys, look at her little self.  She was up there, proud as can be, just loving the fact that she even competed and people were clapping for her (you can also take note of the size of the other competitors if you want, but that is neither here nor there but she is the little, teeny, tiny one in the red leotard competing against kids twice her size).  She didn't care that she was called up almost last.  She was just ENJOYING THE MOMENT.  So, before I start my geometric-pattern-clothing parenting movement, I move we start an "ENJOY THE MOMENT" parenting movement.  Maybe there already is one....and if there is, I apologize if I stole your slogan or anything.  I feel like this is an original idea, but I did zero research to confirm that fact.  While it may not be practical to do a "gymnast salute" during the moment you are enjoying, it would be freaking awesome if you did.  I might.  You might see me walking down the street, enjoying a Diet Pepsi, laughing with my kids, and just pop into my stance.  You will know what it means.  

So, while thinking about how important (and how very seldom I actually do) it is to enjoy the moment, I moved into Phase 2 of my parenting epiphany of today (Enjoy the Moment, was Phase 1 if you aren't keeping up).  In Phase 2, I realized that I'm pretty sure being a "parent" has very little to do with what kind of Parent you are, but almost 100% to do with what kind of person you are.  I think about now, in my life, I get really wrapped up in being a "good parent" instead of being a better person.  Guess what, folks...a better person would have cheered like crazy for those little girls doing gymnastics without wondering who those frigging judges are that didn't notice that my daughter's legs were totally straight while everyone's else's weren't even close, yet she came in 5th?  What?!?

Plus, this totally supports my theory that although we have four kids and have raised them pretty much exactly the same, it has no impact on their behavior.  Wesley is totally and completely unparentable.  Which gets all of us off the hook...don't worry about parenting, people...it is a crap shoot anyway! Enjoy the moment you are in now and hope that you never have to enjoy the moment while bailing those kids you didn't really parent out of jail.  But if you do, just pop into a gymnastics salute...I promise it will make everything better.   

  

 

Oh Zachy, My Zachy

This is a recreation.  Any similarities to a known person are absolutely and completely true, however, if I posted the picture how it really happened I would probably be arrested for posting inappropriate pictures of my own children.  Plus, who really wants to see that.  So anyway, let me tell you about Zach.  Well, before I tell you about Zach, let me tell you about how I tend to tell you about Zach.  I feel like Zach always gets slighted, is the third child totally sandwiched in between a whole bunch of other kids with seemingly more obnoxious personalities and then there is sweet, sweet (slightly aggressive) Zach.  Anyway, if there is one kid who will probably show up to take care of me in the nursing home, it's going to be him, so I need to take care of him now. 

Anyway, Zach tends to live life at 110 mph.  He goes at whatever he is doing 100 percent all of the time.  He is rocking kindergarten like it is no one's business (he does however refuse to pee at school because his teacher, with all the compassion and understanding {and frankly magic} that only a kindergarten teacher can possess explained to all of the boy students that they can't pee all over the toilet.  Zach took this to mean that he can't pee at school.  Ever.   Not even if you really have to go.  As such, he gets off the bus, sprints for home, and leans over the toilet and pees like a man newly freed from prison - if that man was not allowed to ever pee while in prison).  That was a really long parenthetical.  Another example:  he is taking a flag football clinic with some 4 and 5 year olds, and Zach tends to run on the big side of those boys.  I saw him up at the O-line giving some two and a half foot 4 year old the hand signal for "I've got my eyes on you, punk".  And he meant it.  That kid didn't go anywhere.

But, back to the picture at hand.  Zach runs at 110 mph until he just runs out of oomph.  Take last Friday night.  It had been a long week of school, we had played outside with our friends for a while and finally everyone collapsed into bed.  Matt went to make a final bed check and came back down and told me I needed to "come see this".  This usually isn't a good statement in our house.  Someone probably peed somewhere they shouldn't, pooped somewhere they should have but didn't flush (and my hubby is impressed that something so big came out of something so little), or the dog ate something she shouldn't have and I'm needed to dissect what could possibly have come up looking like that.  I was all nine-year old girl whine with "do I have toooooooo".  To which my husband answers:  "You are going to want to see this.  Any maybe explain it to me."  And, at the top of the stairs I was greeted with the above image, sans clothes.  Any clothes.  No clothes anywhere on this very large, incredibly tired 5 year old.  It was really quite jarring.  It's like he disrobed thinking, well, maybe I'll take a quick bath before I go to bed, took another look, thought the bath tub was just a wee bit too far away, looked the other way and thought, well my bed is just a smidge too far back that other way and now that my clothes are off, maybe I'll just lay here, naked as a jaybird and have a little sleepy-poo on this inexpensive, not very comfy, shag carpet.  I get it Zach.  There are times when I have just wanted to give up on life too and go to sleep.  Trust me, I get it.  I hope no one is ever there to capture the moment when I actually do. 

Memories

So, Memorial Day weekend is rapidly approaching.  It doesn't seem that it can be here already, because I just put away our winter coats, but it is.  With it, comes all of the awesome things that go with Memorial Day:  3 day weekend, extended time with family (admittedly, this one has pros and cons), awesome food (no cons there), and {fingers crossed} good weather.  It is also supposed to mean so much more - but this is neither a patriotic or preachy post (sorry).  Okay, maybe I'm going to get a little preachy.  Memorial Day weekend has me thinking, more so than I normally do, about my mom and all of the awesome times we had together, but even more about the awesome times my family has had in the two and a half years she has been gone (how can it have been that long?)  One thing my creatively crafty sister-in-law (shout out and photo cred, Christy Stolz) masterminded was the making of a barn quilt for the homestead.  Mom always wanted one, so we (well, mostly Jeremy and Christy) made her one. 

And last week, Maddie and I went to pick out flowers to put out at the cemetery for mom and other family members.  All awesome things to do.  But you know what, I want to start doing things for people that are still in the here and now.  I believe in God, I believe in Jesus and I believe mom is up there appreciating all we are doing in her memory (while she is not taking care of heaven's Dorito problem - if you ask Ben, this was probably her number one priority).  But I bet she would also say, "Hey, world! Send flowers to someone who can enjoy them!"  and for the love of Pete, if your mom wants a barn quilt {figuratively speaking...I can't imagine that many moms want barn quilts} get off your butt and make her one!  Have fun with your families this weekend!  I will make a concentrated effort to appreciate mine, because holy cow, they have been a tad bit on the squirrely side. 
{Side story:  I wouldn't let them go back out and play last night because I am the worst and most unfair mother in the history of all mothers of all time on any planet in any galaxy and Zach came up to me, all sweet and angelic and I was convinced that my exasperated rant about kindness and respect and loving each other had finally sunk in and he was coming up to love on me.  He got real close, our hazel eyes locking on each other, pointed a dirty, grubby, Dorito stained (it's not just Grandma Laura that has been cursed with that gene) finger at me and said under his breath "Curse You, Mom.").  Ahhhhh, I can't WAIT to make memories with my family!!}

Check out the videos that my brother, Jeremy, put together documenting the making of the legendary barn quilt:

Such a Sucker

I am such a sucker for letting the kids do things in the name of Mother's Day.  I just gave Maddie a 5 minute, well-thought out, articulate, air-tight argument as to why she could not use wrapping paper this afternoon (summary:  I didn't want her to).  Two seconds later, Zach comes in, already holding wrapping paper (sidebar:  this kid has it figured out - don't ask permission, beg forgiveness) and telling me why he needs wrapping paper: to wrap my Mother's Day present he is working on.  Heart = melted.  Of course, Zachy, you can use the wrapping paper.  Would you like to run around the house with sharp scissors first?  Can I give you a permanent marker to use, as well?  As long as it is in the name of Mother's Day, I apparently do not care.  If the kids figure this out, I'm going to be in trouble in a few years.  Markers and wrapping paper could quickly morph into borrowed cars and credit cards.  I better start figuring out how to reign it in quick!  

Love The One You Are With - And Everyone Else Around You

Lately I've been thinking a lot about just how lucky I am to have the family and friends that I do.  And of course, how lucky my family and friends are to have me.  I mean, man, are we a lucky group or what?!?  Some of my family and I, pictured above, along with my husband who I hope will from now on out be dubbed "Twerk Queen" did a 5k this weekend in memory of my sister-in-law's sweet, sweet niece.  Talk about an eye opener.  My perfectly healthy, happy and relatively normal family walked together (in awesome tutus) for an 11 year old girl who lost a brave fight with cancer.  Here's the deal - we were there for a great cause and we got to come together and make some memories as a family.  Admittedly, some of the memories aren't so great - Wes got knocked over by a giant dog in a tutu (which by the way, is a great memory for me, maybe not so much for him - cutest dog ever!), Zach and Matt walked together with Zach telling Matt the whole time "next time we do a 5k, why don't you just leave me at home?" and Matt telling Zach the whole time "this was your mom's idea, not mine".  But we had some really awesome memories too - Ben walked/ran with his older cousin Evan who I can tell is slowly morphing into someone Ben is both fascinated with and proud to be friends with.  I got to walk with my niece Abby and could see how Maddie is going to forever look up to this wonderful young woman in our family.

I mean, c'mon, how cute is that. 

With Mother's Day rapidly approaching, take two minutes and love on your mom.  Don't have a mom to love on?  Guess what, I bet if you think about it there are literally dozens of moms around you that have inspired you or helped you or made you think, man, what a great person that lady is! If you can't think of any of those people, get ahold of me because I honestly started listing them this week and my list goes on and on with ladies around me that I am so glad to have in my life.  Just wait until I get to Father's Day, holy cow, there are a lot of dudes I'm pretty thankful for too. 

Anyway, my message for today is to just be happy and thankful for those people around you.  It's such a good way to be.  It's so easy to be fueled by unhappy mommy stuff and competition and worries about how we look and my list could go on and on about things to not be happy about or things that make me jealous.  Don't give into it.  Except of course if your husband is the Twerk Queen - let's be perfectly honest - that is going to create some jealousy.  Sorry ladies, he's all mine!

Accepting Applications for Zach's Best Friend (also known as Why I Hate Play Dates)

Alright, look at this kid.  How can you not want to be best friends with him?  Our poor Zachy.  The kid has been having a tough couple of weeks realizing he doesn't have a "best friend".  (As a third child, he is lucky if his mom and dad acknowledge him bi-weekly).  We are SO lucky that both Ben and Maddie have a friend that lives right next door that they can play pretty much without supervision and without any scheduling.  But Zach has no such luck.  He has Wes.  Who destroys everything and laughs about it.  So, I have decided I need to take applications to seek out a best friend for Zach. 

Here are some requirements I have come up with for the mom of said best friend:
1.  You must live right next to me or be willing to move right next to me.  I am not nearly organized nor motivated enough to schedule a play date that will require me to travel any distance over 100 feet. 
2.  You must quickly come to the realization that I suck at reciprocating play dates.  I just do.  I love for you to take my kid a few hours (giving me time to read a book or update a blog, perhaps) but I don't want your kids to come to my house.  It stresses me out. 
3.  It would also be nice if you feel sorry for me and say once in a while, "no of course Wesley can come with Zach to play.  I love your kids and they are welcome to come over whenever they want."
4.  You can't be a mom that plans fancy birthday parties.  You just can't.  You make me feel to bad about my own birthday party planning skills and raise the bar for my kids who wonder why their mom doesn't love them enough to buy coordinating decorations and great goody bags.  OR, bonus points for being a mom who likes to plan awesome birthday parties so much you just go ahead and plan mine too!
5.  It's okay if you like to do arts and crafts.  Zach loves arts and crafts and would love to do arts and crafts at your house.  Just make sure he knows that we don't do that kind of stuff at our house.
6.  It would be great if you owned a trampoline.  Zach also loves trampolines.  That ain't happening here. 
7.  Must love to play board games.  But if you play Monopoly, make sure you play by the Brogan house rules as to not confuse Zach when we play at our house:  you each get to roll the dice five times and whoever gets the farthest on the board wins.  If you ruin this for me, the best friend relationship will be immediately terminated.

Zach says he doesn't have any specific requirements and will consider applicants between the ages of 4 and 6, although a 5 year old is preferred.  I told him he can't ask that kind of question in an interview.  Let me know if you would like to apply!  I'm sure the competition is going to be stiff, so bribes of Diet Pepsi are highly encouraged.  

Top Five Reasons Wes is Playing Me with Potty Training

If talk of potty training doesn't float your boat, you may want to skip this post.  Furthermore, if talk of poop grosses you out, be forewarned, this post has poop.  Unfortunately for me, lots of poop.  I sometimes can't believe my life has been reduced to writing about bowel movements.  Anyway, I digress.  So, we all know that Wesley is just something else.  I really haven't decided what "else" he is yet.  We have been potty training him for what seems like ten years and what is actually probably about two months.  I also would like to interject here that his failure to be properly potty trained can be blamed 50% on my laziness, 40% on his laziness and 10% on his genius.  He just doesn't really care and I can't say I blame the guy.  I also don't really care - I'm the first to admit that Matt and I are both pretty much tapped out when it comes to toddler parenting and it is 100 times easier to just put a pull-up on the kid and call it a day.  However, Matt and I were talking a couple of days ago and it kind of sounded like a Jeff Foxworthy skit, except instead of knowing if we are rednecks, it is knowing that Wesley is totally playing us with potty training...here are some of the top reasons:

#4 If you ask him if he has to go to the bathroom, he will look at you and ask if he is wearing underwear or a pull-up.  If I tell him he is wearing underwear, he will say he should go.  If I tell him he is wearing a pull-up, he insists he doesn't have to go (probably while quietly and effortlessly relieving himself in said pull-up).

#3 He hates going to the bathroom.  I mean seriously hates it.  I sometimes just have to close the door, sit against it so he can't escape and pull his pants down.  He screams for about five minutes, I start to threaten to spank him, he finally climbs up on the stool, pees, instantly stops screaming, looks at me and says "I told you I had to pee".

#2 The other day when Wes was with Matt he (Wes not Matt) peed and proceeded to change his own pull-up and pants.  This started the whole conversation of "the kid could probably just be potty trained if he is changing himself for you".  Point taken - I started putting him in underwear vowing that I am just going to keep him in underwear, even if it takes until kindergarten to get the whole thing figured out.  Heck, even if it isn't figured out in kindergarten he already has the pants changing skills down, so whatevs.  Then this happened...

#1 I myself was tied up in the bathroom and when I was done, Wes was no longer at the kitchen table eating lunch.  I yelled for him and he said he was upstairs "dumping his poop".  I figured on a scale of 1 to 10 on grossness, this was probably going to be a 34.  I go upstairs and he is literally dumping the poop out of his underwear and proceeding to put them back on.  What do you even do with that?  I figure maybe it's some new age type of potty training and we will just go with it.  God knows we already have enough on our hands.