My mom is here to take care of me when I'm sick.
I know I sound like a big baby, but I don't care. There is no one like your mom when you are sick. I remember getting sick during our first years of marriage. Aaron was very sweet and would check on me occasionally. Then Parker came along. Aaron cared for Parker, and I fended for myself. Then Maddie came along...It wasn't pretty.
Then, in the spring of this year, we came home to Kentucky [cue the Hallelujah Chorus].
I caught a terrible stomach virus on Christmas night. I was up all night. I'll spare you the details. The next morning, Aaron suggested I go to my mom's. After a brief phone conversation with my wonderful step-dad, I was on my way (pink Crocs, green polka-dot robe, p.j.'s, and unbrushed hair - not a good look).
I was ushered into a warm, clean, toy-free room and put in a comfy bed with fresh sheets. A few hours later, mom entered the room quietly. She asked how I was doing. She carried a large, white tray lined with a bright, beautiful Christmas tea towel. Juice, tea, cream, oatmeal, brown sugar, and toast. "Eat whatever you want, honey, and just leave the rest. I'll get it later." She left as quietly as she came.
I had tears in my eyes. I flashed back to my childhood. I remember one time in particular when I was so ill, I couldn't make it to the bathroom. I hid the evidence under my bed and cried in my room. Mom came in and comforted me. She was surprised and concerned, not angry or annoyed as I had feared. She cleaned up everything, tucked me in bed, and stroked my hair.
Some mom's just have it. My mom is one of them. I don't think this kind of nurturing comes as naturally to everyone, myself included. That's one of the reasons I'm so grateful she's my mom. What doesn't come naturally to me, I learn from her. She makes me want to be a better person and a better mommy.
Thanks, mom!
12/24/10
Three Ring Circus
There are different kinds of pregnancy tests. The procedure is the same (and I won't go into all that), but the results may be displayed differently depending on the brand. For example, with First Response, 2 lines mean you are pregnant. One is the "control" line to show you the test is working, and if another line is present...voilà! You're pregnant.
However, with the EPT brand, there is a "control" line, but you must have a "+" in the next window to indicate you are with child.
About six months ago, I had an odd thing happen. I was tired. Not just tired, but TIRED. Picture this, one moment I was playing with the kids in Maddie's room, the next I awoke with stuffed animals piled atop my head, and the kids were nowhere in sight. I thought to myself, I haven't been this tired since I was... Oh. No.
After locating the kids, I rushed downstairs and ransacked my nightstand drawers. Hadn't I saved a pregnancy test from the last time? I didn't have the box, but there was a single test encased in its foil wrapper in the drawer.
Minutes later...2 lines. I showed Aaron. Then I cried. I cried and I cried. Maddie wasn't even 2. Parker was barely 3. I couldn't do this again. Not yet!
We shared the news with our family. They offered their condolences.
A few days later, another funny thing happened. My body did just what it does every month. How was this possible? I rushed to the store. Snatching another test off the shelf, I sped home and took it again. Still 2 lines. How could this be?
Then I actually looked at the box. Ah...EPT. The second line didn't mean pregnancy. It actually meant I was not pregnant. Had a "+" been there, it would have been a different story.
Did I feel like a complete idiot! A zillion phone calls [to giggling family members] later, I was genuinely disappointed. I even cried. Now I know why they make those jokes about women who don't know what they want.
Aaron admitted he was a bit relieved. Life went on. Then one day, Aaron told me he thought it was about time to try to add to our little family again. Say what?! Wasn't this the man who was relieved? He never ceases to amaze me.
To make a long story a bit longer, we are expecting in July 2011. Time to make the Rausch Family Circus a true three-ring circus. We are absolutely thrilled!
(Oh, by the way, I figured out what made me so tired back in July...a new allergy medication. Stopped it right away. The whereabouts of my children trump a snuffly nose.)
However, with the EPT brand, there is a "control" line, but you must have a "+" in the next window to indicate you are with child.
About six months ago, I had an odd thing happen. I was tired. Not just tired, but TIRED. Picture this, one moment I was playing with the kids in Maddie's room, the next I awoke with stuffed animals piled atop my head, and the kids were nowhere in sight. I thought to myself, I haven't been this tired since I was... Oh. No.
After locating the kids, I rushed downstairs and ransacked my nightstand drawers. Hadn't I saved a pregnancy test from the last time? I didn't have the box, but there was a single test encased in its foil wrapper in the drawer.
Minutes later...2 lines. I showed Aaron. Then I cried. I cried and I cried. Maddie wasn't even 2. Parker was barely 3. I couldn't do this again. Not yet!
We shared the news with our family. They offered their condolences.
A few days later, another funny thing happened. My body did just what it does every month. How was this possible? I rushed to the store. Snatching another test off the shelf, I sped home and took it again. Still 2 lines. How could this be?
Then I actually looked at the box. Ah...EPT. The second line didn't mean pregnancy. It actually meant I was not pregnant. Had a "+" been there, it would have been a different story.
Did I feel like a complete idiot! A zillion phone calls [to giggling family members] later, I was genuinely disappointed. I even cried. Now I know why they make those jokes about women who don't know what they want.
Aaron admitted he was a bit relieved. Life went on. Then one day, Aaron told me he thought it was about time to try to add to our little family again. Say what?! Wasn't this the man who was relieved? He never ceases to amaze me.
To make a long story a bit longer, we are expecting in July 2011. Time to make the Rausch Family Circus a true three-ring circus. We are absolutely thrilled!
(Oh, by the way, I figured out what made me so tired back in July...a new allergy medication. Stopped it right away. The whereabouts of my children trump a snuffly nose.)
12/15/10
Scavengers
It's been very cold and dry here in Kentucky this winter. I have had to wear lots of lip balm to keep my lips from cracking.
Buying and using lip balm used to be such a joy to me. I loved finding interesting containers and flavors. I bought all kinds of yummy-smelling concoctions for my lips - vanilla, brown sugar, peppermint candy. Alas, these days I use whatever I can find (in my coat pocket, bottom of my purse, medicine cabinet). I wouldn't dare buy an expensive or food-flavored balm...
My kids are such little scavengers! They can sniff out a 10-day old piece of half-eaten candy in the van, on the floor, under books and toys with ease. Like sharks to blood.
If I don a new (or even old) lip balm, and my face comes within 5 feet of my children's tiny noses, they immediately perk up. Closing their eyes, they tilt their noses to the source and begin sniffing. It is not a graceful or delicate sound they make. No, their sniffing resembles a basset hound hot on the trail, snorting along the ground.
Maddie will grab my face and pull it close to hers. When she determines the source is my mouth, she tries to pry it open. I have tried to explain to both Parker and Maddie that the smell is coming only from my lips and not something I have/am eating. Neither believe me. They aren't satisfied until they have searched the recesses of my mouth (yes, sometimes with their fingers).
When they are satisfied that I'm not lying, they immediately request the lip balm. Once I have surrendered it, I never go back. They just can't understand it is meant to only go on your lips, not your tongue and fingers.
As my grandma always said, "This, too, shall pass." One day I will savor my cherry explosion balm in the light of day, without the fear of some snorting little scavengers.
Buying and using lip balm used to be such a joy to me. I loved finding interesting containers and flavors. I bought all kinds of yummy-smelling concoctions for my lips - vanilla, brown sugar, peppermint candy. Alas, these days I use whatever I can find (in my coat pocket, bottom of my purse, medicine cabinet). I wouldn't dare buy an expensive or food-flavored balm...
My kids are such little scavengers! They can sniff out a 10-day old piece of half-eaten candy in the van, on the floor, under books and toys with ease. Like sharks to blood.
If I don a new (or even old) lip balm, and my face comes within 5 feet of my children's tiny noses, they immediately perk up. Closing their eyes, they tilt their noses to the source and begin sniffing. It is not a graceful or delicate sound they make. No, their sniffing resembles a basset hound hot on the trail, snorting along the ground.
Maddie will grab my face and pull it close to hers. When she determines the source is my mouth, she tries to pry it open. I have tried to explain to both Parker and Maddie that the smell is coming only from my lips and not something I have/am eating. Neither believe me. They aren't satisfied until they have searched the recesses of my mouth (yes, sometimes with their fingers).
When they are satisfied that I'm not lying, they immediately request the lip balm. Once I have surrendered it, I never go back. They just can't understand it is meant to only go on your lips, not your tongue and fingers.
As my grandma always said, "This, too, shall pass." One day I will savor my cherry explosion balm in the light of day, without the fear of some snorting little scavengers.
11/21/10
Ghostbusters
Yes, you read the title correctly: Ghostbusters. I bet you thought you were finished with that fad in the 80's. I know I did. Then one fateful day, we happened upon a 99 cent toy car at Kroger that Parker simply couldn't live without. It was the ghostbuster station wagon. Parker asked me all about it.
Given that we don't believe in ghosts in our house, it was a little difficult to explain. I decided to show him the Youtube video of the popular theme song. Both kids loved it. They twirled around the room and begged to watch it over and over and over.
A few days later, I came home after running some errands to find Parker in the living room watching the Ghostbusters movie. What?! That boy had never seen anything above a G rating! I was livid. When I confronted Aaron, he seemed genuinely shocked. "But he told me you let him watch it!" The music video, I explained.
Parker assured us he understood the ghosts were fake and that he wasn't afraid. We allowed him to watch a few clips...until recently when we discovered they said a curse word in one scene. Immediately worst-case scenarios began to pop into my head: Parker knocking down little Jimmie's blocks at preschool. The teacher asking, "Why would you do such a thing." Parker calmly responding, "S#!* happens." Great.
Anyway, the kids still love watching the Ghostbuster music video. They request it often. If we ask Maddie, "Who you gonna call?" she enthusiastically replies: Go-buth-uhs!
I'm adding a link so you can take a trip down memory with the Go-buth-uhs yourself! Enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KvkKX035484
Given that we don't believe in ghosts in our house, it was a little difficult to explain. I decided to show him the Youtube video of the popular theme song. Both kids loved it. They twirled around the room and begged to watch it over and over and over.
A few days later, I came home after running some errands to find Parker in the living room watching the Ghostbusters movie. What?! That boy had never seen anything above a G rating! I was livid. When I confronted Aaron, he seemed genuinely shocked. "But he told me you let him watch it!" The music video, I explained.
Parker assured us he understood the ghosts were fake and that he wasn't afraid. We allowed him to watch a few clips...until recently when we discovered they said a curse word in one scene. Immediately worst-case scenarios began to pop into my head: Parker knocking down little Jimmie's blocks at preschool. The teacher asking, "Why would you do such a thing." Parker calmly responding, "S#!* happens." Great.
Anyway, the kids still love watching the Ghostbuster music video. They request it often. If we ask Maddie, "Who you gonna call?" she enthusiastically replies: Go-buth-uhs!
I'm adding a link so you can take a trip down memory with the Go-buth-uhs yourself! Enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KvkKX035484
11/14/10
My Baby
My baby is two. Deja vu!
I seem to recall this bittersweet feeling when my son had his last birthday. I watch my children grow every day, but somehow I don't see it happen.
When did Maddie's toothless grin fill up with tiny pearly whites?
When did tufts of soft hair grow into long curls?
Crawling predictably gave way to walking, but walking is now often replaced with enthusiastic galloping and skipping.
A tiny potty seat has replaced diapers.
I imagine the crib will soon be replaced with a big girl bed.
It all happens so fast. Parents of adult children often warn me that the next thing I know she'll be graduating from high school. They smile when they say it, but I have a feeling they aren't joking...and it scares me to death.
I try to soak it all in...tiny arms wrapped around my neck for a squeeze hug, sloppy, slobbery kisses, lisps, five tiny fingers wrapped around one of mine, tears that simply need a kiss from mommy to disappear, nuzzling a warm neck with my nose to elicit belly laughs.
I enter her room singing "You are my sunshine" because she is just that - a daily ray of sunshine. Now don't get me wrong. Just like any other child, she has her moments, and I get glimpses of a tiny little diva, but for the most part, she is still my darling baby girl. Happy birthday, Maddie!
I seem to recall this bittersweet feeling when my son had his last birthday. I watch my children grow every day, but somehow I don't see it happen.
When did Maddie's toothless grin fill up with tiny pearly whites?
When did tufts of soft hair grow into long curls?
Crawling predictably gave way to walking, but walking is now often replaced with enthusiastic galloping and skipping.
A tiny potty seat has replaced diapers.
I imagine the crib will soon be replaced with a big girl bed.
It all happens so fast. Parents of adult children often warn me that the next thing I know she'll be graduating from high school. They smile when they say it, but I have a feeling they aren't joking...and it scares me to death.
I try to soak it all in...tiny arms wrapped around my neck for a squeeze hug, sloppy, slobbery kisses, lisps, five tiny fingers wrapped around one of mine, tears that simply need a kiss from mommy to disappear, nuzzling a warm neck with my nose to elicit belly laughs.
I enter her room singing "You are my sunshine" because she is just that - a daily ray of sunshine. Now don't get me wrong. Just like any other child, she has her moments, and I get glimpses of a tiny little diva, but for the most part, she is still my darling baby girl. Happy birthday, Maddie!
10/28/10
Foolish Pride
That is what stings right now - my pride.
See, I am "room mom" at my son's preschool. I'm in charge of coordinating volunteers and making sure parties go smoothly. Walking into the school at 10:15 AM, armed with streamers, balloons, and cupcakes, and candies, I had spectacular visions of his preschool Halloween party...Happy, cooperative children, appreciative smiles from the teachers, Parker running to me with open arms [hey, it happens sometimes when I pick him up from the gym] to thank me for the amazing party.
Fast forward 2.5 hours...Ignoring the confused stares of teachers and parents in charge of darling, smiling children, I gracefully muscle my way out the door of the school, lugging a 35lb heap of crying, snotty boy and a bag filled with extra napkins, icing, crafts, etc.
Thank goodness my mom was home with Maddie. I fixed lunch for mom and the kids and retreated to the office for a good cry, prayer, and reflection. I came out laughing at myself and my own foolish pride. That's really what the problem was.
It wasn't so much that the kids weren't that into our crafts and games, or that we waited so long to give them the cupcakes they were ravenous little beasts with no interest in decorating them, or that trying to move them from one activity to the next was like trying to herd cats...no, those weren't the real issues.
I realized I was in trouble the minute Parker saw me and wanted to pick him up, to let him hang on my knees as I tried to move around the room, to sit with him, to do his craft for him, to whine incessantly. I was embarrassed. Then his teachers said the most awful thing. I have heard it before from more caregivers than I care to count - grandparents, gym workers, church nursery staff. "He never acts that way here!"
My hackles raised and stayed up for the rest of the party. Why would someone say that, I asked myself. My inner child [brat] wanted to scream at them: "Congratulations! You must have magic powers! I'm sooo glad he's such an angel for you! Maybe you could teach me some of your voodoo, and I wouldn't be such an incompetent parent."
Later, after some reflection, I have come to some different conclusions about their motivations for sharing this information. Perhaps they were just trying to assure me that he's well-behaved at school. That's nice. I am sure they weren't trying to insult my parenting skills. I realize I was hypersensitive.
However, for all of you caregivers out there. Please don't say that to parents. Ever. It really doesn't help.
See, I am "room mom" at my son's preschool. I'm in charge of coordinating volunteers and making sure parties go smoothly. Walking into the school at 10:15 AM, armed with streamers, balloons, and cupcakes, and candies, I had spectacular visions of his preschool Halloween party...Happy, cooperative children, appreciative smiles from the teachers, Parker running to me with open arms [hey, it happens sometimes when I pick him up from the gym] to thank me for the amazing party.
Fast forward 2.5 hours...Ignoring the confused stares of teachers and parents in charge of darling, smiling children, I gracefully muscle my way out the door of the school, lugging a 35lb heap of crying, snotty boy and a bag filled with extra napkins, icing, crafts, etc.
Thank goodness my mom was home with Maddie. I fixed lunch for mom and the kids and retreated to the office for a good cry, prayer, and reflection. I came out laughing at myself and my own foolish pride. That's really what the problem was.
It wasn't so much that the kids weren't that into our crafts and games, or that we waited so long to give them the cupcakes they were ravenous little beasts with no interest in decorating them, or that trying to move them from one activity to the next was like trying to herd cats...no, those weren't the real issues.
I realized I was in trouble the minute Parker saw me and wanted to pick him up, to let him hang on my knees as I tried to move around the room, to sit with him, to do his craft for him, to whine incessantly. I was embarrassed. Then his teachers said the most awful thing. I have heard it before from more caregivers than I care to count - grandparents, gym workers, church nursery staff. "He never acts that way here!"
My hackles raised and stayed up for the rest of the party. Why would someone say that, I asked myself. My inner child [brat] wanted to scream at them: "Congratulations! You must have magic powers! I'm sooo glad he's such an angel for you! Maybe you could teach me some of your voodoo, and I wouldn't be such an incompetent parent."
Later, after some reflection, I have come to some different conclusions about their motivations for sharing this information. Perhaps they were just trying to assure me that he's well-behaved at school. That's nice. I am sure they weren't trying to insult my parenting skills. I realize I was hypersensitive.
However, for all of you caregivers out there. Please don't say that to parents. Ever. It really doesn't help.
10/27/10
Insanity
Do you know what insanity is? It's when you do the same thing over and over and expect different results.
My children haven't quite grasped this concept. Here is a snippet of a conversation that occurs (in some variation) every day of the week in our van.
Maddie: Dyno-saw, mommy. [turn on the dinosaur song]
Parker: Maddie, look at me! [begins swaying in his seat with a gleam in his eye]
Maddie: No Bubba dance! [in her own little world, Maddie is the only person allowed to dance]
Mommy: Maddie, everyone can dance.
Maddie: Noooo! Go way, Bubba! [go away, Parker]
Parker: Maddie, I can't go away. See? I'm buckled in!
(pause)
Maddie: Hippopahmuth, mommy. [turn on the hippopotamus song]
Repeat sequence above.
Every. Single. Day.
Fun.
My children haven't quite grasped this concept. Here is a snippet of a conversation that occurs (in some variation) every day of the week in our van.
Maddie: Dyno-saw, mommy. [turn on the dinosaur song]
Parker: Maddie, look at me! [begins swaying in his seat with a gleam in his eye]
Maddie: No Bubba dance! [in her own little world, Maddie is the only person allowed to dance]
Mommy: Maddie, everyone can dance.
Maddie: Noooo! Go way, Bubba! [go away, Parker]
Parker: Maddie, I can't go away. See? I'm buckled in!
(pause)
Maddie: Hippopahmuth, mommy. [turn on the hippopotamus song]
Repeat sequence above.
Every. Single. Day.
Fun.
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