And so, it begins...

Last week, my sweet girl, my third child, my last biological baby learned to crawl. While most parents would celebrate this monumental milestone. I cried.


For 11 months I have been able to successfully distract her and discourage her from crawling.


At 9 months old, I noticed her attempt a push-up while on her tummy and ran to her side.


"No, no, no baby girl. No need to exert yourself. Let's say bye-bye to tummy time and hello to sitting-in-one-spot-and-not-moving time." I smiled and sat her next to an abundance of plush toys.


At 10 months old I witnessed my third child attempt to rock back and forth in the push-up position, reaching for a toy. This time, I ran even faster to her side.


"No, no, no Fifi. Would you like a toy? The red rattle? Shake ah, shake ah, shake ah!!! Mama will get it for you. Here you go." I shook my hips and the rattle.


At 11 months old I sat her in our dinning room surrounded by toys and siblings galore and proceeded to make dinner. Jay and Lola created a fort under the table. Laughter filled the house. My hands were smothered with raw chicken and I heard Jay yell.


"I. AM. SOOOOOOO. PROUD. OF. YOU!!!" Jay screams. "Mama. Mama, come and look at this. Fifi is crawling to us."

Unable to rescue her with my chicken infested hands, Fifi crawled the entire length of the room. Smiling.


"Oh, baby girl. Mama is so proud of you!" I said proudly because I was. She was so happy and giggling outloud. Sweet baby giggles.


This weekend, I was yet again unable to discourage her from the next milestone. Standing. She crawled to Lola's kitchen and pulled herself up and let out a huge squeal of delight.

"Mama, is so proud of you!" I told her and smothered her with kisses. She was so happy and again giggling outoud.

I realized how wrong I was to discourage her. To discourage her from happiness essentially. She is so happy to crawl and pull herself up. Most children her age have been crawling for months and are now taking their first steps. She has sat, in one place, never moving for 11 months. I felt like a horrible mother.



However.



Neverthless.

On Monday morning she did this...


And on Tuesday afternoon she did this....

And on Wednesday evening she did this...

And suddenly, I do not feel so bad. Not bad at all.

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe!

Lola stands before my sister and two cousins, at a family party. The three girls are sitting on the couch and Lola is dancing in front of them. My sister, a very posh and stylish, twenty something smiles and encourages her to dance. My blond cousin, a club hopping fashionista, giggles and claps her hands. My youngest cousin, a sweet natured high school freshmen, smiles naturally and crosses her arms. I, the 30 year old mom of three (with the only small kids in our extended family) observe them from a distance.

Lola continues to dance and twirls around encouraged by her audience. She stops.

“Eeny, meeny, miny, moe! Catch a tiger by his toes. If he hollers, let him go. EENY! MEENY. MINY. MOE!!!” Lola’s words get louder and more animated. She is jumping up and down with anticipation.

“MOE!!! I pick you. You are the moe. That means you are the winner!” She is beaming with pride and staring at my club hopping cousin.

“Right on! Awesome. What did I win, Lola?” My cousin stands up and straightens her teeny tiny almost inappropriate for a family function skirt.

“Yup. You are the winner!!! YOU are going to take me potty!” Lola feverishly jumps up and down, twirls around until dizzy, and claps her hands in excitement.

Her confidence is contagious and natural. I hope she takes what she was born with and holds onto it. Forever. My job today is to nurture some compassion into her confidence. The girl has to learn that wiping her poopcha isn't a reward for others.

In the end, I took Lola to the potty. I was unable to confidently tell my cousin to accompany her.

What happens when mommy blogs...

We had a very busy Friday planned. Full of activities. I had a bag packed full of snacks and baby bottles ready to go. My cell phone was charged. My hair was straightened. I wore a nice pair of jeans and cute new boots.

However.

A baby pooped in the swimming pool and our lessons were canceled. We planned a play date and later it was canceled. Old Navy had a power outage and could not accept my returns.

We went from a jam packed afternoon to having ZERO plans.

Feeling pretty tired from a full week at home with three kids, one dog, and a husband that completed 28 root canals. I needed some R&R and spent the afternoon reading. Online. And neglected my children for a short time. I sat up. Turned around. And...
I need to restrict my online reading to evenings only.

Dear God, it is me OHmommy...

“I am so cold, kiddos.”

“Mama, let’s go to Mexico. It’s not cold there!” Lola yells out loud. I grab my blanket and wrap it around myself. It is a chilly 9 degrees outside, we are wearing layers upon layers inside and are still cold.

“How will we get to Mexico? I didn’t buy any tickets.” I respond and crawl into our make-shift tent we created under my new dinning room table.

“We can drive. We Can!” Lola, again, yells. She comes in two levels, loud or VERY loud, and as a three year old believes that ANYTHING is possible.

“Oh. I don’t have the energy to drive to Mexico. Can YOU drive me to Mexico?” I ask her.

“That is silly, Mama. I can’t drive!” She yells. Seriously, I might need to check her hearing again. She had tubes put in her ears two years ago, maybe they don't work? Why, oh why, is she so loud?

“Mama. I have an idea!” My first born. My first love. My Jay jumps in.

“Sweet handsome fella… what idea do you have?” I ask him and turn my attention toward him.

“Just call GOD. Call him on the phone. Ask him to make it summer already. He'll listen. He always does.” He smiles. I smile. Oh, to be five years old.

“I don’t have God’s phone number.” I explain to him.

“Yes you do. You called him yesterday to tell him Lola was being bad. It HAS to be on the caller-id. Just check it.” He explains. Lola looks up at me and remembers that I did in fact call GOD yesterday to complain about her whinning.

“Okay. Handsome. You want me to call GOD?” What do I do? I have a Masters degree. I went to school for a VERY long time. I am educated. What. Do. I. Do? Do I actually pretend to call GOD and ask him for summer? I burned all of my parenting books years ago and never read THIS chapter.

What do I do?

“Hello. God. It is my Ohmommy. Yes, hi! How are you doing? I am fine. Except. It is a little too cold for us here in Ohio. Can you make it summer? Fast. M’kay. Thanks!”

I hang up the phone. Sweet little 11 month old Fifi is clapping her hands. For the first time in her life. Clapping out loud.

Cheers

I have a REAL life date. With a new girlfriend. Tonight. Yes, I am really THAT cool. Yes, I am really THAT dorky to mention it. But it has been years.

I miss having girl nights, very much. Beening pregnant for the last five years... put a damper on my social scene. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I really need a little break. Away from three small children.

By the way. Check out my forehead. Yup, three wrinkles. Uggg!

God likes me fluffy.

God must like me a little fluffy. He must. Why else would I wake up the morning of my first workout day paralyzed? The first morning of my very first workout in years. I purchased cute and tiny running shorts in an assortment of colors. Very comfortable running socks that promise arch control. And splurged on a brand new treadmill.

Yes, the outfit came first. It always does. Years ago I decided that tennis was my game. At the first lesson, I was the only pupil pimped out from head to toe in professional tennis gear. I was so cute! My workouts are so much more productive when I am feeling cute. They are. I can burn some serious calories when dressed cute.

I woke up and was physically unable to sit up. I called for my husband who came to my side and lifted me up, as if I were an 80 year old woman.

“I can’t move my head. I don’t feel anything in my right arm.” I explain. “You have to cancel your first patient. You have to!”

“Um, what’s the matter?” Mr. OH asks me.

“Did you hear what I said? I. Can’t. Move. My. Head.” With every word said ,I feel sharp electric currents race up my right arm.

Mr. OH makes a couple of phone calls and cancels his first patient. He calls my chiroprator. Dresses all three children. Feeds all three children. Assembles them in the car and takes them to school.

I drive half way across Ohio, unable to turn my head, staring at the road feeling very dizzy. Dizzy from the pain. Each bump in the road sends more electric currents up my right arm. I am so dizzy and helpless. I arrive at the doctors office and after eight x-rays and an evaluation he sits me in his office and explains.

“You have an acutely swollen disk that is degenerating and causing your nerve to swell and pinch…… BLAH, Blah, blah…. Inflamed and swollen…. Blah, blah, blah… wedged and degenerating disk causes arthritic spurs…. Blah, blah, blah…. Tipping of the vertebra…” Dr. Hehurtsmewithhiscoldhands explains.

And all I could think about was my very cute and tiny running shorts on my bedroom floor.

“Stay away from heat. Ice is your friend. Blah, Blah, blah… I need you here twice a week for the Cox-Flexion Distraction manipulation.” He continues.

And all I could think about was my very cute and tiny running shorts on my bedroom floor.

God must like me a little fluffy. He must. Those shorts are still on my bedroom floor and will be for another two weeks.

I drove home feeling a bit better. Mr. OH had to go back to the office to start a root canal at noon; but, was curious to know what the doctor said about his degenerating wife.

“Oh. He said that my neck nerve is swollen and inflamed and with the proper cute running shorts and matching top the nerve should de-flame. And. And… the nerve could possibly stop degenerating with the proper diamond tennis bracelet.” I smile.

Happiness & Closure

OHmommy has a very severe pinched nerve in her neck and can barely look at the screen. While she tries to recover (with three small kids on hand at home & no Canadian pharmacy nearby) check out the closure to her Mexican happiness. Writing in third person is exciting to OHmommy. It doesn't take much to excite her. Not much at all.

++PICTURES DELETED++

An acceptable looking family photo - everyone is looking at the camera. Imagine that! Also, Mr. OH's first internet debut!

Marta the Mexican Orphan

Marta was standing outside of a Mexican convenient store, just blocks away from our hotel. Lola made eye contact with her immediately and we approached her.

She was selling hand woven bracelets with her older cousin. On the streets. During school hours. Marta had four badly decaying baby teeth but wore a beautiful smile. We learned that she was five years old and had recently lost her mother. Marta the orphan.

We sat down on the curb of the street, facing the Mexican convenient store, and spent ten minutes of our day in Marta's presence.

After taking some pictures with Marta and buying bracelets for Lola's entire ballet class we parted ways. Walking towards our beautiful and extravagant hotel, Jay asks me...

"She got a lot of money for the bracelets she made." Jay ponders.

"Yes. We did buy a lot of bracelets, didn't we? But it probably took her a long time to make." I answer.

"I could make bracelets if I didn't have to go to school. I would have so much time." Jay starts thinking about it more. "You know, Mama. I could sell bracelets on the street of Ohio. How about that?"

Lola gives Marta a hug. "Everyone understands a hug. Yes, Mama? Marta is my Mexican friend. Yes, Mama?"

This is why I travel with my children. I want them to see the world. Mexico was just an introduction of what they will see in their lives. We mave so many Martas to meet in our future.

Yesterday I cried, today I smile

Traveling and seeing the world opens up so many emotions. There are so many stories to tell. Yes, it was only Mexico. But to see a different world through the eyes of three small children is seeing the world through new glasses you didn’t realize you needed.

I could write about the Ukraine family and the uber-controlling, highly-competitive, thong wearing topless mother. And, I will. Later.

I could write about the five year old, toothless, dirty, but smiling Mexican orphaned on the streets that befriended Lola. And, I will. Later.

I could write about the loud, obnoxious, drunken Americans that embarrassed our nation. And , I will. Later.

I could write about Madeline, the hotel maid, who’s only job was to sweep the lobby all day long and the friendship we created. And, I will. Later.

Today. I will write about the 5 minutes that has affected me the most. I didn’t even have to even travel to a foreign land for this…

Breath.

We were standing around waiting for our return flight to Ohio. My parents, whose flight left 20 minutes later then ours, were sitting across from us in the terminal discussing our vacation.

“Next year it will be easier. Fifi won’t need a bottle, or swim diapers, and will be sleeping better.” I try to comfort my overly tired parents.

My parents say nothing.

“Last year, it was harder. I was 8 months pregnant and the kids were younger, they needed me more.” I continue.

My parents say nothing.

“It will only get easier to travel with them as they get older.” I try again.

“They are spoiled. Your kids act like spoiled brats.” My father is the first to break the silence, in Polish.

My mother. My mama. She nods in agreement.

“It will not get easier. You let them get away with everything. Lola… that Lola…. She is STUBBORN and too opinioned. You let her get away with EVEYRTHING” My father. My Tata. He raises his voice, in Polish.

My mama nods in agreement.

I look at them both and my eyes fill up with tears. I turn away so they don’t notice. I gather up the family thrilled that my husband doesn’t understand a word of Polish and that with small kids we can board the plane first. I wave good-bye and walk onto the plane crying.

That. That was a direct attack on my parenting. My kids are 100% reflection of me. I wouldn’t have had any tears if he were to mention that my butt was big in my swimsuit or that I should do this or that . However, he, my very opinionated and very stubborn father attacked my children. My parenting. And my mother nodded in agreement. It has been a while since I have hurt that bad.

Breath.

I sat on the plane thinking about what they said or didn’t say. Many things are lost in translation and the word “spoiled” in English has a different meaning in Polish. What my father meant is… well… I don’t know… my kids are spoiled? If I were to make excuses for them (and I hate excuses), my sweet beautiful children on vacation, they would be that Jay had the FLU sleeping 20 hours of the day. Every day. Lola had a mild fever and a diet that consisted of maybe 600 calories a day. Fifi, well, Fifi is a baby and she ate some sand and maybe rubbed it in her eyes and got pink eye somehow and was miserable.

I sat on the plane with my amazing children and equally as amazing husband. Thinking. Should I punish Lola for not wanting to carry her own sand pail back from the beach? Should I punish Jay for the tone of his voice when he answered my parents during dinner?

No.

No. I have no manual to follow but my heart. I love my children. My parents love me and mentioned their opinions to have me reflect upon them. They have single handling observed the stress I endure each and every day with three small children. They mentioned what they observed to lovingly try to alleviate my stress. My parents are subscribers to the open ended dialogue. Especially my father, who although preaches to think before he speaks, he never really does. (Note: more excuses coming) I have to pick my battles. I can’t argue over every small detail that happens each day. I have to find what is important and be consistent in my parenting. And I am. I am a hardcore disciplinary, when compared to other moms. I pick my battles and I fight until I win and I talk until my heart can no longer talk with my children.

With three small children I can not sweat over the small things. I would be a nut case.

Breath.

I sat on the plane trying to enjoy the movie and snack and children aboard. We arrive in Ohio. We go through customs. We wait for our luggage. And an elderly man approaches us.

“Your children are beautiful!” He screams over the sound of the conveyer belt.

My husband and I smile.

“They are so well behaved. I sat behind you on the plane. Walked behind you in customs. They are really so well behaved in this day and age. You guys must be so proud. What a delightful family.” He is still screaming and the belt is now quiet.

The entire crowd around the baggage claim is quiet too. I look around to see everyone. Everyone. Everyone is nodding silently.

I cry. It felt like an awards assembly, everyone looking at me.

Yesterday, our first full day in Ohio, I was still a little sad about my father’s comment. We scrambled up the family and attended our favorite mass in Church. It was a long mass. A very long mass. A mass that I wasn’t prepared for. The church was packed with people that do not regular attend and although we were on time we were bumped up to the balcony. A place we have never been to before. Fifi dropped her paci on top of a man’s head below. The always clumsy Lola nearly fell over the balcony. Jay, still sleepy from the Flu, nearly fell asleep.

After mass, during donuts in the gym, a woman approached my husband.

“You have the most beautiful family. Your children are so well behaved and under control. You must be so proud.” She says and smiles gently at my husband.

Yes.

Yes. I am so proud of my children. In my world they are perfect. The overly-tired Jay. The dance to the beat of her own drum Lola. And the crying baby. They are perfect.

Home sweet home

Yesterday was our first full day in Ohio, at home, since before the holidays. I didn't have the energy to tackle this project:
Nor did I have the energy to tackle this re-stocking project:

Today my kids are hungry and wearing last season clothes. Heh.

.

We have twelve inches of snow. It is about 17 degrees. Heh. I don't have the energy to tackle getting three kids dressed to grocery shop.

.

On the upside: I turned our thermostat up to 72 degrees, found the number to our favorite pizza shop, closed the door to our bedroom where our luggage is, and am blasting some happy music to fill our house. It will be a good day here in Ohio.