Stop the Press!

Next to my computer I have a sheet of paper with nearly a dozen scribbles. All of them are future blog posts. Add to that Lola's doctor checkup, her weekend birthday party, Jay's ponderings, getting lost on the way to the zoo, our first Spring bike ride with awesome pictures, and some new spiritual epiphanies and my one sheet of paper has turned into a collection of scribbled papers. This blog can not keep up with my chaos.

However. I need to stop the press for now.

Something happened.

Something REALLY happened.

Something so life altering happened to me on Sunday. My life, as I know it, will never be the same. On Sunday, Fifi became an official toddler.

Hear me weep?

My purse. My story.

Last week, at brunch, I observed a new mommy in action. Before sitting down at her table she opened up her gigantic diaper bag and pulled out a high chair cover. She carefully placed her 9 month old son in it, Purelled his hands, and pulled out some colorful gender neutral developmental toys.

Then she sat down. However she never relaxed. Nor did the baby that was overstimulated by all the toys the mommy dumped out of her gigantic diaper bag. The overstimulated baby began to cry and the mother whisked him away in her arms and nervously rocked him. Although, it wasn't so much of a rocking motion it was more of a jitter. The jittered baby started to cry louder and the mom dumped her gigantic diaper bag out to reveal some organic snacks and juices.

We exchanged sympathetic smiles from across the room. I desperately wanted to tell her to relax. Let the baby just be. Let the baby look at your face and play with your necklace. Just relax. However, I couldn't. I was there not too long ago with my first born child. I was a nervous wreck. Becoming a mom and nurturing one child, for me, was a much harder transition then going to two and three children.

When I was pregnant with Jay I spent hours online researching the cutest diaper bag on the market. When he arrived I filled it with colorful toys, organic snacks, two changes of clothes, plenty of bibs, "emergency" bottles, baby Tylenol, extra pacifiers, and I was officially a walking nursery. I felt comfort in being prepared for the unexpected. And everything is unexpected as a new mommy.

Today. I feel seasoned.

Today. I am seasoned. I can tackle the unexpected.

What does a seasoned mom of three carry around in her purse/diaper bag everyday? My sweet and classy friend Jamie challenged me.

This is my purse/diaper bag. It measure nearly 2 feet wide. The BIGGER the bag, the SMALLER I feel. It works magic concealing my muffin top.



Take a peek inside.... This is the epitome of my classy chaos. An unorganized disaster contained within exquisite french leather. There is no method to my madness.

3 diapers, one diaper liner, and an EMPTY box of wipes.

One headband to cover my new bangs I no longer wear down. One un-charged cell phone. One tiny and empty wallet. And a sun glass case carrying my new shades.

One very full and un-used Purell. One empty Eucerin bottle used on Lola's terrible eczema. Three shades of sassy lip gloss. One portable hard drive for the non-profit I edit for. Some kid hair accessories and an empty trial of perfume.

At the bottom of my bag the following items were found....

This is the purse/diaper bag of a mother of three. A seasoned mommy of three.

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Classy Chaos is now officially a meme graveyard.

Oh... pickles!!!

The other night for dinner, my husband prepared a delicious stir fry of green beans, peas, broccoli, chicken, and added some carrots for color. The dinner was quickly devoured by all.

After dessert we shoved all three children into our master bathroom for a well needed scrub down. Jay nearly six, Lola newly four, and Fifi already 13 months love our enormous jetted tub. It is a very special weekly treat for them and a good 30 minute activity.

Splash. Giggle. Splash. Splash. Giggle.

"Mom?" Jay interrupts the party.

"Yes, handsome?"

"What's this pickle doing in the tub?" He opens up his palm to show me.

"Oh, honey. That is not a pickle." I giggle.

Splash. Shriek. Evacuate. Shriek. Shriek.

Fifi is left. Alone. In the tub with her pickle.
They are no longer bathing together. They are no longer bathing in OUR master bathroom. The ceramic toothbrush holder used to help with the evacuation no longer exists.

"The Easter bunny isn't HUMAN."

"The Easter bunny is not real, I know." Jay declared three days before Easter Sunday. I asked him how he knew that the Easter bunny was not real.

"Because there is so much snow on the ground. How can he hop around in the piles of snow?" True I tell him. There IS snow piled on the ground (second year in a row) and that would make it hard for him to hop.

Jay continued, ".... and the Easter bunny is not HUMAN. I know Target doesn't let non-humans shop. How can the Easter bunny shop for jelly beans and chocolate at Target?" True I tell him. Target doesn't allow non-humans to shop.

I sat Jay down and whispered in his ears that the Easter bunny was not real and that it was actually Mama who stuffed the baskets. Furthermore, I explained to him that I will continue stuffing HIS basket if he kept it a secret from his sisters.

"Deal." He smiled. "Can you make sure you remember to stuff some Legos in my basket?"

"Deal." We shooked hands. I expected him to ask me about Santa, the Tooth fairy, angels, and/or whether or not Darth Vader was real. But he didn't. We will cross that bridge later. For now, my first born, no longer believes in the Easter bunny. Which officially means that he is growing up.

Which in turn, means I am officially getting older too. Happy Easter to me!

PICTURES DELETED!!!

Coming to America: Part 1

I often wonder what my children will remember from their early years. Will they remember trekking through ancient Mayan ruins on our vacation? Will they remember the colors and feel of their favorite sweatshirt? Will they remember our daily bicycle rides through the forest? Will they remember the words to our beloved goodnight song?

Photos help spark memories. On rainy days, we crawl into bed with our favorite albums. We often flip through them and the children cry out many “I remembers.”

“I remember when we rode in Dave’s convertible!”
“I remember when you filled up our kiddie pool with flour!”
“I remember when we tackled Cocia Natka on the Polo field.”
“I remember….”

But. What will their first memory be of, that is not photo sparked?

Growing up in the heat of Polish communism I have less then a dozen pictures documenting the first six years of my life. My younger sister has three. This contributes to her middle child syndrome. My American born baby brother has shelf loads of albums to help him spark memories.

My first memory, that is not photo sparked, is of the night we left Poland.

I remember the rain that fell that night was much colder than any other rain I have felt before. I remember it was a perfectly dark night and for a five year old the darkness was frightening. I remember the warmth of my mother’s hand as she held onto mine. I remember my two year old sister heavily asleep in my father’s arms and her shallow breaths released in air. I remember the three story brick building we stood outside for hours, in the dark, in the rain, and alone. I remember bland potato soup for dinner was served in metal army canisters. I remember being assigned one heavy army style bunk bed for our entire family of four. I remember the rough texture of the brown blanket my mother lovingly tucked me in with.

This is all that I remember of our first night at the Austrian refugee camp. It was a safe place that other immigrants fleeing from the iron gates of communism stayed. It was temporary until families found new living arrangements in Austria, a foreign land.

My first memory is that of the love my parents had for us that night.

And so, I wonder what my children’s first memory will be.

Left: Picture of OHmommy in Gdansk, Poland

Right: Family passport picture of my mother and sister and me.

Late Night Visions - Early Morning Regrets

When I have a vision I usually act upon it immediately. Especially when it comes to a photography vision. It is very exciting and invigorating for me.

My vision came to me as I was trying to fall asleep for the night. I anxiously woke up in the morning, sped fed the children, and started executing stern orders for my mini photo shoot.

"Don't move. You, middle child, stand here. Jay over there. I'll hold onto the baby." I grabbed my camera to set up the shot. Before I could even insert my memory card, all three kids had scattered.

"Hey. Middle child, over here! Jay hold onto the baby and don't move." Ugh... I can't program my camera fast enough. My kids are always in fast forward mode.

The late night vision I had was of a super sassy photo of our legs. Super sassy vision.

I forgot to take in account my children's constant fast forward mode. I forgot to take in account that Fifi prefers bare feet. I forgot to take in account that Lola can not physically stay in one place. I forgot to take in account that Jay's new favorite phrase is "This is BORING!"

"This is BORRRRRIIIIING!!!!" Jay yells.

"Fifi stay." I bark.

"Lola don't you dare move a muscle." I threaten.

I forgot that taking pictures of three children is next to impossible. Late night visions turned into early morning regrets.




DEAR READERS..... I have switched back to the blogger comment format and lost all 60 of your classy comments (this morning comments were made with debate intense). I have no way of responding to you today. I apologize a hundred times. UGH!!! I am going bonkers!!!

A letter to my daughter

Dearest Lola,

Today is your fourth birthday. Every morning you tip toe across our upstairs hallway and wake me up with a kiss on the cheek. And every morning I act as surprised as the last. Today was no different.

I am so in love with you. It is intoxicating. Not a day goes by that I don’t look into your hazel eyes and loose myself in your world. Your world is bright purple, full of princesses and wishes, and graceful butterflies. When you dance, you are lost in your world, for you never spot and always dramatically end up on your poopcha. "I am clumsy, right?" Yes, sweet Lola. You are clumsy.

I am happy to report that in the last 12 months you have had only one major accident requiring an ER visit. The year before last you had one broken leg, three stitches in your forehead, a visit to the burn unit for your palm, and countless other ER visits for your holding breath syndrome. Perhaps this is a sign that you are getting less clumsy. "I am soooo clumsy!" You cry out each time you walk into a door.

You love "baking" with me and are angry if I begin to make dinner without your guidance. You run and grab the kitchen stool and sit by my side measuring out the ingredients, pouring, and mixing. I make breakfast, lunch, and dinner with you by my side. You have memorized how to make French toast, scrambled eggs, grilled cheese, chicken Kiev, stuffed cabbage, mashed potatoes, carrot coleslaw, lasagna, just to name a few. You can perfectly crack an egg, gracefully wipe your apron, and whisper loudly "I am a good baker, Mama!"

This last year has shown me how much of a hard worker you are. My vacuum can not keep up with all of your arts and crafts and our playroom carpet is always filled with construction paper. Everyday you sit at the craft table to cut, paste, cut, and color "invitations to a princess ball" for your friends. You are enrolled in two different preschools on alternating days and never seem to forget what day it is and what school you visit. Each day, after pick-up, you arrive with a handful of projects. Every other child has one. You greet me with a handful. "Look at ALL the projects I made today, Mama!" At least I know we are getting our moneys worth.

Yesterday, a package arrived clearly labeled for you. I suggested we wait to open it on your actual birthday. "NO! It belongs to me. It says MY name. I decide." I pick my battles with you. Enough said. "You know, Lola, when you turn four you can not be so bossy and whinny anymore." That, my girlfriend, is something we need to work on for this upcoming year. Your third year was full of dramatic tears, full blown kicking tantrums, lots of verbal "poopie head" blows, incredible amounts of whine, and early bedtimes in which you cried yourself to sleep.

Last night, I sang my goodnight song to you while stroking your blond hair and told you "This is the last time I will be kissing a three year old Lola." You saw the tears in my eye and quickly solved the problem, "But tomorrow, you will kiss a FOUR YEAR OLD Lola!!!" You squealed with delight "I’am sooooooooo excited to be four. I have always WANTED to be four." Sweet girlfriend of mine, may you always be so energetic, so loving, so passionate, so strong, so hard working, so confident. I am so in love with you. It is intoxicating.

Love,
Your sweet little mousie Mama

PS. I know I tell you every night, but here it is again…. "I am so happy to be your mommy!"

Private letter. Comments closed. MWAH for understanding.

It seems like yesterday

Four years ago today, my Mama drove to Ohio in preparation for the birth of my second child. She prepared us a heavy dinner of sauteed sausage and onions and convinced my husband and I to see a movie. We kissed our only child goodnight and drove to the theatre.

I wasn't able to fully enjoy Monster with Charlize Theron that night. As I sat uncomfortably in the seat, 70 pounds heavier, my mind wandered.

Will I love this child as much as Jay?

Is it possible to spread my love?

How will I handle two children under the age of two?

Are these cramps or just a full belly of sausage?

My husband, unaware of my wandering mind and upset stomach, was completely devoted to the movie. I remember looking at him in the darkness and preserving the memory of us sitting quietly together. My mind wandered all night long. I rubbed my belly and went over our list of names on the drive home.

"What about Katherine?" I asked my husband. "No, too common. 50% of all Polish women are named Katherine." He replied.

"What about Olivia?" I tried again. "No. Remember Olivia on the Discovery Health Network? She was dying of cancer." He answered.

"Hmmmm. What about Emily?" I shifted my 200 pound body around because my stomach was seriously upset at this point. "No. Your mom said her slutty cousin was named Emily, remember?"

We arrived to a sparkly clean house. It took my Mamusia just under 3 hours to wash dishes, put Jay to bed, completely clean the entire house, and light candles. My husband retired to bed early and I finally fell asleep minutes before midnight.

This was my last day as a mother of one. It seems like yesterday.

My husband won't sleep with me...

He told me so.

My loving husband is a man of few words. When he does say something it is usually profound and I listen.

Last night he rolled over and faced me, in bed. "This can not continue. I am done! I am moving to the guest bedroom."

Frankly, I was too tired to argue. I rolled over to my side of the bed and closed my eyes.

We woke up in the morning very groggy and upset. The kiddos jumped into bed with us and turned on the cartoons. I turned on my happy-love to see you-morning face. Mr. OHmommy silently left the bedroom to pour his coffee. I could hear him downstairs fumbling around angrily. Very rarely is this man an angry one. Typically he is kind, silent, gentle and loving.

I could hear him angrily walking up the stairs. Huffing and puffing and dramatically dragging his every step.

He entered our room, took a deep breath, and declared "We need some professional help."

Oh my gosh. He is serious. He thinks we need professional help or else he is moving downstairs to the guest room. This is serious.

"She had a runny nose. I could not let her cry all night." I try to defend myself for bringing Fifi into our bed at 2 am. Again.

"Seriously, she is over 12 months old. I can no longer function with this interrupted sleep." He defends his beliefs.

I know he is tired because I am too. I can no longer function during the day. I religiously rescue Fifi at 2am daily and bring her into our bed. It is our routine. However, the problem is that for the next five freaking terrible horrible hours she tosses, turns, thrushes, kicks, cries, screams, scratches, and does an unrealistic tango between us both. She is not human. She can not be.

"I know." I say in tears. "I know. I am so tired too."

I was tired from the lack of sleep in August of 2007. We thought we taught her to sleep shortly after. I wrote "we will NEVER AGAIN in our lives have a newborn infant, produced by us, crying all night long. Knock on wood." But I really never knocked on any wood. In September, Fifi, started sleeping with us.

I asked for help from my readers and very cleverly titled my post "My third child DOES NOT sleep. At all. I am tired." Brilliant title.

My readers responded and I thanked them. "Thank you. Yes YOU." Another brilliant title.

I followed my reader's advice and proceeded with the Dr. Ferber's method and brilliantly titled the following post "Dr. Ferber's 1st Night." That was is in November. It worked until she was hit with a cold and our routine was broken.

It is March. My third child STILL does not sleep. At all. I am tired.

Every night I pray for only two things: health and happiness. So far, God has delivered. Tonight I will begin to selfishly ask God to deliver us uninterrupted sleep. I do have HIS direct phone number. "Dear God, It's me OHmommy."

Brilliant title. I know.

I know one thing for sure. I am so tired. Fifi is finally getting the memo tonight because I have the man on my side.

Mmmmm.... Chaos

Tuesday morning was the only time I had to clean the house after entertaining friends and family from last LAST weekend's festivities. Naturally, Fifi, did not get the memo and refused to go down for a nap while the others were in preschool. I sat her down in the middle of our kitchen surrounded by Tupperware and spoons. She kept busy for some time. I got lost in my work.

Minutes passed by and I heard her.

"Mmmmmm..." Fifi mumbled. "This? This? Mmmmmm...."

She had made her way to our pantry, pushed opened the doors, and had managed to grab everything off of the bottom shelf. It was a smorgasbord for the toddler. Boxes of goldfish overturned, Kix cereal spilled, Capri Suns missing straws, and Fifi amidst the chaos smiled up at me with a yellow streak of saliva dripping from her chin.

"This? This? Mmmmmm...." Fifi mumbled and it was clear she had something in her mouth.

I looked into her mouth, finger swept, and pulled out a hard yellow grain. What the heck is this? I searched around her to see where this grain came from. I pushed aside wrappers, boxes, and bags of snacks. Finally I found it. Fully aware that babies aren't allowed to have peanut butter, shell fish, and berries at this age I turned the bag over to read the ingredients.

"... has a unique and powerful antioxidant combination and an enhanced level of natural DHA. It provides precise nutrition for a complete foundation giving your puppy the best start in life. Formulated for puppies up to 12 months, also for pregnant and nursing dogs."

Thank goodness, I exhaled. She has totally had DHA before, in her organic vitamin D milk. (DHA is an ingredient found in mother's milk) Just to be safe I called our doctor.

"Hi. My one year old daughter is a patient of the incredibly patient Dr. HateswhenIcallwithstupidquestions and ummm. Well. She just swallowed some dog food. Should I be worried?" I whispered.

I can only imagine the notes the nurse took. Our doctor files keep growing fatter and fatter with each passing day.

I made a mistake

It happens. Not very often. When it does, I am the first to admit I made a mistake.

I made a mistake yesterday.

I told Lola that her birthday was only 8 days away. Furthermore, I told her that we would go get our nails done together and have lunch.

"When is eight days?" Her eyes twinkle as I count the days on the calendar with her.

"How many times will I go to sleep?" She asks.

"Eight."

"And we will go and get our nails done. Just you, Mama, and me?" She asks.

"Yes. Just you and I. Together." I smile knowing that my daughter is finally old enough to sit through and appreciate a manicure.

"Can we hold hands?" She asks.

"Yes. I guess so. And you know what? I think we should make it a tradition." I tell her and smile picturing us together 60 years from now with full heads of curled grey hair and matching Naturalizer stilettos.

"YES! That is a great idea. We can get our nails done even when I am a stranger!" She informs me.

"A stranger? What do you mean?" I ask her, not really understanding.

"A STRANGER! Like in high school. SSSTTTTRRRAAANNGER." She speaks slowly so that I could comprehend.

"Oh. A TEENAGER?" Thank goodness she can slow down for me.

"Yes. We can get our nails done even when I am a teenager." She smiles. I return to my work and she looses herself in the land of Polly Pockets.

A mere 5 minutes later she walks over to me whispering. "We are going to the nail stylist on my 4 year old birthday. Yes?"

Five more minutes pass. "Mama. What color of nails should I get?"

Four more minutes pass by. "Do you think the nail stylist can paint a pattern? Pink. Purple. Pink. Purple. Pink."

Two more minutes pass by. "Can our nails match? We can get the same pattern!"

Another minute passes. "Even when I am tall, like a stranger, we will go to the nail stylist. Yes, Mama?"

More minutes pass and she is quiet. I am happy. The topic of conversation has passed and we can continue our day.

"Mama? Mama! What about lunch? Where should we have lunch?" Lola asks. "We didn't talk about our lunch!"

And so, I will admit to making a mistake. I told her way too soon about her upcoming birthday. I now have SEVEN more days of Lola talking about nails and lunch and patterns and colors.

Seven more days.

God must like me cold & lonely

He must! Why did he dump 24 inches of snow within 24 hours? On the ONE NIGHT MY BEST FRIEND was flying in to see me?

All the flipping Ohio airports were closed. Only emergency vehicles were allowed on the streets at night.

The only way she could have gotten to see me was by cross country skiing 500 miles.

It is completely ironic that my husband and I were high fiving each other last weekend. "Dude, we saved 300 hundred dollars this winter by not using a plow service and it is already March!"

Hmmmmm....

It is a good thing that both my best friend and the mister were born in August. I can get a great deal on skis and snowblowers for their birthdays!

Girlfriends...

We invited two of Lola's girlfriends to our house yesterday for a play date. Immediately all three girls ran to our dress-up chest and began to change. It was raining princess gowns. Tiaras were picked through, heels were being matched, and dresses were thrown.

"I am the MOST beautiful girl in the world!" Confident Lola looks in the mirror and inspects her ensemble.

"No. I AM the most beautiful girl in the world!" Equally as confident, Anna tosses a boa across her shoulders.

"No. I am the most beautiful girl IN THE WORLD!!!" Lola raises her voice and tosses on a necklace.

"No. I am." Chirps Kate, friend number 2. I look up from my novel and sit back to observe this chick fight unfold.

"Actually. I AM the MOST beautiful girl IN THE WORLD." Lola affirms her statement with a confident smile and a twirl.

"NO! I am." Anna frowns.

"No!!! Actually, I am." Kate chirps in again a little louder this time.

"I am the most beautiful one." Anna tries again.

Lola takes one step back and looks at them, "Okay, girlfriends. We are ALL the MOST BEAUTIFUL girls in the world." Lola smiles knowing she has the last word.

I put my book down and smile. Oh. My. Gosh. She is compassionate. I have a compassionate daughter! A compassionate daughter that loves her girlfriends and loves the last word. My job raising her is done.


Tomorrow, I am having my own play date with a girlfriend. We too will make it rain gowns, tiaras, and heels. Renatamic, my friend of 23 years, is flying from Chicago and joining me for a well needed girlfriend's night.

I can't wait to tell her that "I am the MOST beautiful girl IN THE WORLD!" Actually, I just can't wait to talk.

Shhhh!!!! I am going on a picnik...

Who knew I had so many artistic readers listening to my silly blog? I was blown away the comments made yesterday on my post. So many of you commented about my talent. Thank you. I blush.


Shhhhhhhh......

Don't share this with anyone.

Yes, I have talent. Yes, I have thousands of dollars worth of camera equipment. Yes, I have invested hundreds of dollars into photo editing software. But sometimes. SOMETIMES. Sometimes, I take bad pictures.

Yes. It happens. To me. A wanna be photographer.

Take this horrible picture I took on Monday. Fifi was playing our piano and the lighting inside, on a cold March day, was absolutely horrible. But I really liked her expression.
See?

Perfect expression. But horrible lighting. Taken with a VERY expensive camera.

Here is where picnik comes in. It is a FREE photo editing website. You can auto-fix your exposure. See the after for yourself....

And picknik does much more. You can create borders.

You can create black and whites with picknik. And. And add font! For FREE!!!
This is my favorite shot that I think I will print out. A vignette. Does it get any classier than that? I think not. What do you think? You can't even tell she has carrot smeared across her right eyebrow. I fixed that too.
Okay. I have NEVER sent my readers elsewhere nor have I ever earned a penny.

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But visit http://www.picknik.com/ where you can edit your photos online without downloading a poopie program. Tell them OHmommy sent you.

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Anyways, you can save your pictures onto your computer or send them to so many different locations like... your blog, flickr, photobucket, costco, snapfish, smugmug, and WALMART for crying out loud!

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Does this sound like an ad? It isn't.

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It is just a mommy that is doing the happy dance cause she found a FREE photo editing website that is fool proof easy.

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It is free. It is soooo simple.

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Again, for crying out loud the picnik people invented an UNDO button that you can hit over and over and over again. This is the most PERFECT photo editing for busy moms. Still uncertain? It took me exactly 17 minutes to download and play around with all of the above pictures.

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I am going on a picknik. Are you?

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You can thank me now.

Stilettos 101

Lola has enrolled in OHmommy's "Stilettos 101" course. This morning we covered the first three topics on our syllabus.

Physics: the proper way to balance.

World Cultures: preserving the French leather.

Language Arts: learning to pronounce Louboutin. Lu-bu-tahn