Here's a tip for you: always check out the clearance. I don't care where you are, go find the clearance aisle and look. If you were at the store last week, check again.
I found some fantastic deals at Borders. I didn't even realize they had a clearance section, but when we were there for the Fancy Nancy party in May, I saw it. At the time, they had the Wallies Peel and Stick chalkboard designs for $4 (down from $20). I came *this* close to getting one or two, but decided we really didn't need them.
Then, when we were there about two weeks ago, I had to hunt down the children's clearance section. It was much smaller and was a completely different location. They still had those chalkboard stickers, but this time, they were 98 cents each.
For that price, I snapped them up. One package was a little too beaten up, so I let it go, but I got two packages of the plane and cloud designs and one of the house/tree designs. I figured I'll give one of the plane/clouds as a gift. I saved $60 and paid less than I would for the tiny chalkboard strips at the Dollar Tree.
They have excess in the packaging (like the borders on stickers), so I'm going to cut out some smaller designs too.
Oh and we're going to put one up on the front door so that we can leave notes to each other and reminders when we're on our way out. Another tip is to put one inside your cabinet door and that way you can write down items as you run out. We found it useful to do something like that on the cabinet door where we keep medicine. That way, when we gave the kids a dose of medicine, we wrote down who got what when. That was particularly useful with twins when we often found ourselves trying to remember who we got medicine last.
Back to the topic of unlikely clearance and great deals, I once found a big box of foam Chanukah stickers for $1 on a clearance table at Barnes and Noble. I don't think these are the places where most people even think to look for clearance.
No matter where you are, try to hunt out the clearance section. You might be pleasantly surprised. We certainly were!
It's so bizarre how our children grow up and we don't even see it coming. It should be obvious. Growing is what all living things do. It's common sense that our babies are going to grow up. We help them blow out an ever-increasing collection of birthday candles each year. We move them from our beds to their own. We complain when we realize those brand new pants that fit them just two weeks ago are now too short. We smile proudly when they learn to write their name, then sentences then page 200 of their 500 page autobiography.
So, the other night, when my kindergartener fell asleep in my lap, why was I shocked by how big he has become? I remember putting him to the breast for the very first time. I remember smiling at the toothless grin on that little boy who took to nursing so easily. That very first time, when he fell asleep at my breast, he fit in the crook of one arm. When he fell asleep in my lap a few nights ago, he took up half the couch.
In my experience, we see them grow up, but we often don't see them. I watch them grow, so there's rarely a big jump from one age to the next. It's not until I look back at old pictures that I realize how young they looked a year or two (or eight) ago.
My oldest daughters are no longer babies, but I find that particularly difficult to believe. They're the same age I was when I started wearing a bra. A BRA for goodness sakes! Oh. My. Stars! I can't even think about my first babies wearing bras. I swear they're still toddlers. I still think of them that way even though one is now working her way through all the Harry Potter books in record time and the other is plotting ways to start a business to raise money for a laptop.
I don't think anything prepares you for this. Before you have kids, you hear people marveling over how quickly it goes and you think they're just sentimental saps. When your baby hits his/her first birthday, you may marvel at how quickly it has gone or how much they have changed (unless you have preemies. Then, if you're anything like me, when you get to the one year mark, you think, "It's about damn time!"), but even that only gives you a glimpse into how much you will be absolutely shocked by how these children grow and everything they learn.
I wish there was some way to tell mom or dad up yet again, rocking a fussing baby to sleep at 2 am that in a much shorter time then they expect, they'll relish those moments when their baby is 30+ pounds bigger and, in a very rare event, falls asleep sprawled out across mom or dad's lap.
A friend of mine likes to say, "This moment is brief," in regards to parenting troubles. She then adds, "You can take that whatever way you want." Maybe you take that as a comfort that these difficult times will end soon. Maybe it serves as a reminder that all of these moments are far too brief and we'll find ourselves longing for them in the not-too-distant future.
I asked a friend for help in dealing with my mother. Mom is an odd one and even after 30+ years, I still can't figure her out.
That friend directed me here: Symptoms of an Adult Child of an Alcoholic and I am absolutely floored. So many of those fit my mother. My jaw is hanging open. Yes, her father was an alcoholic, but so too was my father's father and my dad is the complete opposite of my mom. My mom doesn't often (really ever) talk about her father (he died from liver cancer decades before I was born), so while we all know he was an alcoholic, the details of her life with him are largely unknown. I never even considered that it would play a part in her personality issues (aka acting like someone out of their ever-lovin' mind).
These are particularly shocking for me (and right on the mark)
8 . When someone gets angry at you, do you shrivel inside?
9 . Does personal criticism make you feel as though you're under attack?
11. When things go badly, do you feel like a victim?
Although, I just wish it would explain how in the world I'm supposed to deal with her. If every little criticism is seen as an attack, how in the world am I supposed to ever disagree with her without her hopping on the drama llama?
I think I love you. If I wasn't already married (and it physically impossible since you too are female), I would like to marry you and have your babies.
The other day, my friend and I came to your line with our herd of kids. One of hers was not having a good day and was screaming while confined in the shopping cart (it is NOT a buggy. Shut up). Other employees stared wide-eyed with that look of terror. They may think I didn't see the relief in their faces when we passed them by, but they are WRONG.
You, however, gave no such look. You smiled sweetly and spoke to the screaming child. You spoke TO him, you didn't yell at him or mutter under your breath. You were pleasant the entire time.
When I came up next, you chatted with my kids too. Not only that, but you recognized that my eldest children are twins. For that alone, I could have kissed you. You didn't squint your eyes judgmentally and ask, "How far apart are they, anyway," in that, "Don't you know what causes that," tone of voice.
When you rang up my clearance item (yes, I did manage to shop at Target and only buy one thing. I know! I was shocked too), it came up as even less than labeled.
So, dear cashier, for those many reasons, I think I have fallen in love with you. When I handed you my $1.32, I believe I also handed you my heart. Please handle with care.
I've never done the WFMW thing, but I have a tip I've been meaning to share, so I figure I'll jump in.
Once upon a time, I had a coupon for a free children's bath product. I have no idea where I got it from, but I used it on one of those foam pump soaps for kids with tear-free body wash inside. The soap is long gone, but I kept the pump. Pampered Chef also sells a version too, but it's cheaper if you buy the version in the kids' bath aisle (I found mine in the baby aisle). If you're worried about wear/tear, I can tell you ours has survived for several years and still works well.
You can often find $1 off 1 coupons for Johnson's Baby shampoo. Frequently, there are no exclusions on size. Many stores sell the travel sizes for 97 cents -$1.07. So, very often, my kids get free soap. One travel-size shampoo mixed with water will fill the entire pump. So, anywhere from free to 7 cents, I get an entire supply of tear-free soap for the kids.
Dh takes TheBoy to the bathroom every night before we go to bed. For those who don't have boys, I will explain that there's some penis tapping/shaking which occurs after such an event. The other night, I heard dh exclaim, "That's enough. It's not a guitar."
The next sound I heard was my own snorts of laughter.
For your Bio 101 lesson of the day, I want to explain genetics.
The child's adorable little dimple is NOT from you Great Aunt Olga. You cannot attribute the brown hair to the child's mother's brother. Well, you could, but then you'd be wrong.
DNA comes from the parents. Dad's brother had nothing to do with the creation of this child (well, at least we all hope). So no, that little girl did NOT get her straight hair from Uncle Isaac (unless there's something we don't know). She and Uncle Isaac may very well have inherited the gene that determines hair type from the same source, though, but there is no possible way he passed it along to her SINCE HE PLAYED NO PART IN HER CONCEPTION.
Now that I have shared this information with the world, there will be no reason I will have to refrain from smacking someone the next time one of my father-in-law's sisters says something like, "Oh, she gets that dimple from her great aunt." Knowing, after all, is half the battle (the other half is BEATING SENSE INTO PEOPLE).
While we're on the topic of biology, let Professor Reiza tell you that, in the case of twins, the mother is the only one who determines that. Don't go patting dad on the back for doing anything spectacular. It was mom who either released two eggs or provided conditions in which a single egg could split. Also, you can save yourself the trouble of inquiring as to whether or not twins run in the dad's family. See above. Although, a father can pass down that genetic tendency to his daughters if his mother had fraternal twins. However, if his father's mother had twins, then nope, no deal.
My favorite response to, "Do twins run in your family," is, "Now they do."
Professor Reiza would also like to remind you that, when the answer to, "How far apart are they," is "One minute," chances are that they're twins. Please don't stare at the parents with your brow furrowed completely unable to comprehend that any children could possibly be a minute apart. Please don't follow that question up with, "Are they sisters/brothers/cousins/guinea pigs?" And in the case of flustered parents of twins of any age (particularly newborn), please refrain from distracting them to ask questions of any type (particularly stupid ones). Smile at them. Nod. Then GET THE HELL OUT OF THEIR WAY.
Now you know. Go forth and share your knowledge with the world. Class dismissed.
There are many things I hope 2010 brings those I love. I figured I'd take the opportunity to share them with you all.
In 2010, I hope...
The stupid people stay far away from you.
That if a few of those stupid people wander into your path (or if they live in your house, so you have no other choice), I hope you have a really big stick, a great aim and a complete lack of remorse.
Should you be unable to beat the stupid people senseless, I hope you have the perfect comeback for their stupidity and that, after you slap them with that witty retort, they either change their ways and stop being stupid or they read this and FOLLOW THE FREAKING RULES.
That your children are absolute angels
And that if that last one doesn't happen and you're in public, I hope there's enough room to distance yourself from them so that no one realizes they're yours.
If they disregard that angel part and you're not in public, I hope you have a padded sound-proof room to shove them into until they CALM THE FUCK DOWN.
You have TWO padded sound-proof rooms so that you have the option of locking yourself in one if need be.
Someone finds the secret for yummy calorie-free (kosher) alcohol and chocolate.
Someone perfects that whole, "Beam me up, Scotty" machine.
You laugh at an endless supply of truly funny lolcats.
That your kids continue to supply you with an array of funny phrases.
That when your kids say those funny things, they do so quietly and FAR away from church/shul.
That the vast majority of your days are wonderful and you have one bad (but not awful) day a month so that you can always truly appreciate those great days.
Those around you always let you know how awesome you are.
That you continue to rock on with your bad-ass self.
Please do not ask my children if Santa is coming to visit them. If you should violate that first rule, then please, when they answer, "No," to your question, do not insist they must be wrong. When they politely, but firmly, continue to deny that a fat bearded strange man will break into our house, please do not insist that then my wonderful Jewish children must have been very naughty. Otherwise, I may be forced to teach my children to then loudly announce, "No. We haven't been naughty at all. Lying to children, however, is very naughty."
And yes, they would recite that and, knowing my son, recite it loudly.
I had such a neat Shabbat. Last night, I was up reading until all hours. When I heard the baby start to fuss, I got her, brought her back to the rocking chair with me, nursed her and kept reading. When she was done, I put down the book, took her off, rocked her and just stared at her.
It was a sweet moment. I was awash in the oxytocin. TheBaby is so beautiful. I kissed her little forehead a bunch and ran my hand over her hair. We've known all along that she would be our last baby, so I've been lucky enough to make a point to savor these moments. I held her, felt her weight, and realized how much she has grown. I remember the 8 lb baby I pulled up and rested on my chest. That delicate little newborn has grown. Now, she's wearing 12 and 18 month clothing. She has these adorable gigantic thighs that just begged to be kissed and chubby cheeks that make you smile.
I'm finding a balance between wanting her to hurry up and begging her to slow down. I quite like this little island of balance. Here, I can enjoy her without reserving her spot in an Olympic level gymnastics class and also without trying desperately to shove her back in the womb (did I mention she's the size of a 1 year old? Yeah, not gonna happen. OW!).
Last night was so sweet because I was able to just rock there, taking her in, breathing her in and enjoying her.
This time of year, we tend to get overwhelmed by the crowds at the malls, the traffic, and the hectic nature of it all (we've barely been home since Chanukah started because we've been at so many different events).
So, this time of year especially, we feel it's very important to remember to give back.
Here's what we're doing this year:
We donated our old coats to our synagogue's mitten menorah. They asked for new or slightly used coats, mittens, scarves, etc. So that's where the outgrown coats went.
We donated bags and bags of clothes to a local Veterans organization. All my maternity clothes went there (fare thee well, old friends) along with a whole host of the kids' old clothes. They picked up about 5 big garbage bags of clothes.
Our kids give tzedakah at Sunday school, which, this month, is going to a local food pantry. They've given both money and cans of pasta sauce which they bought themselves with their allowance money (can't beat 25 cents a can).
In an attempt to simply, we instituted the rule that, for each new item, an old one must go. So, we're cleaning out toy and book bins and donating them to that same Veteran's group.
How about you? What are you doing this holiday season? How do you teach your kids to give back?
On weekday morning, my husband is up at the crack of dawn for work. He says his goodbyes and leaves. The kids get up to play and I try to sleep as long as they let me.
On Sunday mornings, dh usually gets up with the kids, so I can stay in bed a little bit. Still, I have to get out of bed at a reasonable hour so we can dash off to Sunday school.
On Shabbat mornings, though, everything is different.
This morning was absolutely perfect and I really needed that. I think we all did. TheBaby woke up, so I brought her to bed to nurse her. She noticed daddy was asleep next to her. After nursing for just a little while, she came off, smacked at him calling sweetly, "Dada, Dada, hi. Hi, Dada." He woke up smiling and held out his hand to her. While holding his finger, she went back to nursing for a little while. Then she came off again to smile at us both and crawl up to our faces where the chatting and smiling continued. The three of us stayed in bed like that for a while. It was so sweet and so calm.
It was exactly what we needed.
"More than the Jewish people have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jewish people "
After yesterday's heavy post, I had no idea what to write. I don't want anything quite that heavy because, honestly, I'm STILL exhausted from writing yesterday's post. At the same time, I don't want to write about random funny things the kids said or product reviews or anything too frivolous.
That song, however, is one I listened to quite a bit during dh's deployments, so I'm using it as inspiration.
Yes, I stayed with my husband through the hell that is PTSD. I've been very open about the fact that I nearly left once. Well, twice, really, but the first time was after his first deployment to the Middle East and I didn't have this blog then.
I really do miss the man my husband once was, but I love who he has become. Yes, I liked my husband more before he was forever altered, but I admire him more now.
Where are you going with your long face pulling down? Don’t hide away like an ocean But you can’t see, but you can smell And the sound waves crash down
There was a long time after he came home when he wasn't himself at all. He lived inside his head. He still does this far more than he used to before he deployed. No, I don't like that one bit. He dealt with the physical distance by distancing himself. It's what he needed to do to cope. You can't just snap out of that after months and months, though. He's been home for years and he hasn't completely come out of that.
Yes, it leaves me feeling lonely. I've known loneliness when my husband was a world away. It's a far different type of loneliness when he's lying beside you at night, but isn't really there. I've told him, "I miss you," to his face. That is absolutely crushing.
I am no superman I have no reasons you I am no hero, oh that’s for sure But I do know one thing for sure Is where you are is where I belong
Still, he is there beside me at night. He could have decided he had no desire to stay with someone who pestered him to get help. He could have decided he had enough stress over there and could do without any from me. Family life is stressful as hell. He could have walked away. He didn't. True, he is far less patient with the kids than he was before he deployed, but every evening, you can find him reading bedtime stories to them all on one of their beds.
He does what he can. We just have to adjust our expectations of what he can do.
And above all, this line still rings very true for me,
I do know, where you go, is where I want to be.
It's been frustrating for me (and I say, "Me," not "Us" because the children don't remember what he was like before. I find that both crushing and comforting), but I've just had to be a support. I just stand by and watch. He's the one who has had to do the searching. He's the one who took the misguided drugs prescribed by the military doctors. He's the one who had visceral reactions to noises that reminded him of the desert. He's the one who still suffers physical pain.
Where are you going, where do you go? Are you looking for answers to questions under the stars? If along the way you are growing weary, You can rest with me until a brighter day It's okay. You're okay.
No, he's not the same. He is better than he was in the months following his homecoming. Maybe some day he'll be more like the man I married over a decade ago. He's not the same, but he is "Okay." We're okay. Yes, I do mourn who he was and I feel lonely now and then, but I love that man! I love our life. Don't let my melancholy posts fool you. I love that man with so much intensity that it's overwhelming. We share a life. We share understanding. We share a deep love.
Tell me where are you going, where do you go? Where? Let's go.
I've always taken issue with the use of the phrase, "Happy Veterans' Day." There is no such thing!
I don't often let myself think about how being a veteran has changed my husband. On this day, though, there is no hiding from it. Last night was one of the rare nights when I let myself break down and cry about how becoming a veteran has changed him. He, however, didn't notice I was upset. He doesn't anymore. If he did, he didn't say anything about it. He doesn't do that either anymore.
The changes in him caused by PTSD as a result of his deployments go by largely unnoticed. Every once in a while, though, I'm painfully aware of how very different he is. Last night was one of those nights.
When he deployed, I stood there in tears clutching small children watching as my husband filed onto a bus and pulled away for the airport on two different occasions. The first time, I fell to the ground screaming crying while I clutched two toddlers--each arm around one. A mother I had never met came up to me, said nothing, but hugged me tightly. I cried as my husband was taken away. I had no idea that I would never see that same man again. I worried that he would never come back alive. I had no idea he could return, but so very very changed.
I stood at the airport, not once, but twice and ran to him when he came home, but the arms that held me tentatively belonged to a man completely altered by war. Even after therapy and drugs, he's not the man I married. I can never express how grateful I am that he survived those deployments. I worry that some will think I'm being whiny and ungrateful. I am so very thankful that he is alive. I have Sheheyanu-ed many many times. Still, I mourn for the man he was.
I love this man. Despite the hell we went through, I love this man. I have a new respect for this man who came home and was willing to work through these problems not once, but twice. But you know what? I loved the man he was too. I liked that man far more.
I miss the man who would rub my back in bed. I miss the man who would randomly reach out and hold me. I miss the man who was more aware of the world around him. I miss the man whose main interaction with his children was talking to them or playing with them rather than screaming at them. I miss the man who had enough patience to deal playfully with his children.
When TheBaby was born earlier this year, I saw glimpses of just how sweet and gentle my husband once was. He cooed at her. He held her and refused to put her down saying, "The others had to be without me for so long. She doesn't have to, so I don't want to make her."
With the others, he has very little patience. Yes, he's a good father and he loves them dearly, but he can't deal with them the way he used to. The "War,"stomped all over anything remotely resembling patience that he once had. It takes very little to annoy him. I find myself pleading with the kids, "Please don't even ask Daddy. You know how he gets."
Our poor son has it the worst of all. Dh was gone for TheBoy's first year and you can absolutely see the detachment. They butt heads a lot and dh often has no idea how to parent him. TheBoy is a good kid. He's smart and sweet and very stubborn. Dh adored him as a baby, but by missing so much of our son's first year, it created a rift.
After the first war-time deployment, when dh came home to our twins, they were initially a bit timid, but in only a matter of moments, they excitedly, "Daddy! Daddy-ed," at him. With our son, I placed him in dh's arms and while TheBoy didn't fuss, he obviously didn't know who that man was. TheBoy was the only one of our children for whom "Dada,"wasn't one of the first words (it was both the twins' first word). When he did start saying it, it meant, "Telephone," because that's all he knew of his daddy.
I feel badly complaining because my husband is still a great man. He parents. He helps at home. He supports me in our decisions. He's generally a nice guy. But you know what? The man I married was even better. The man I married was gentle. This man is gruff. The man I married was sweet. This man ignores. The man I married wanted to be a more attached and loving parent than his parents were. This man calls his children, "pain in the ass" behind their backs and is more likely to yell AT them rather than talk WITH them.
This man is a veteran. The man I married is gone. I hate Veterans' Day because today, of all days, I'm thankful for my husband's sacrifice, but I'm painfully aware that I traded the wonderful man who was my husband for this man who is so very changed--this veteran.
Manic Monday asks (among other things), "What does it mean to you to have courage?"
I don't think I had a good working definition of "Courage" until I had children. When my twins were probably around 2 or 3, Girl1 was afraid of something or other. I can't remember specifically what it was, but I do remember that she was willing to try whatever it was that scared her despite that fear. I remember telling her, "Being brave doesn't mean you're not afraid. It means that you ARE afraid, but you're willing to try anyway." I then pointed out that she showed real courage in facing her fears.
I've used that definition quite a bit with all the kids. When my son insists, "I can't. I'm afraid," I have a two-fold answer for him. First off, my children are repeatedly told that there's nothing they can't do without help. Instead of, "I can't," they say, "I need help," or "I don't know if I can, but I'll try." Secondly, I remind him that it's okay to be afraid, but asking for help and trying shows courage. "I know you're afraid. I know you can be brave too."
My middle daughter has a fabulous story to explain the phenomenon of birds on wires. When she sees them lining up, she announces that they're waiting for fireworks. Apparently, birds have firework shows that only they can see. These are most likely to happen around dusk, but they can occur at any time. Our fine feathered friends line up before showtime to wait on fireworks. This information was first shared with us by our middle daughter one July fifth.
Apparently, birds line up for a variety of reasons, not just fireworks. Birds line up on wires for Hebrew school too. Of course, this information was shared with me by my eldest daughter while on her way to Hebrew school. I didn't think to ask if birds wear tiny kippot in their Hebrew school of wire.
I suspect we will learn about other reasons for birds on wires as we witness it more and more often on our way to other events.
One adult friend of mine swears they're alcoholics since she sees them lined up every morning on her way to work, not on wires, but on the sign for a liquor store. I think I'll keep that story under wraps for at least a few more years. :)
I love that! I love how my children can observe something seemingly mundane and can weave an elaborate tale around it--a tale which directly relates to their lives in a number of ways. I can't wait to hear their explanations for everything else they happen to observe.
And I love that my friends are smart asses too. :D
Yes, I know I have children. Yes, I know I have more than the 2.3 that has become the norm. Yes, I really do dare to step outside my home with said children. You've noticed. I know. What you may not have noticed, however, is we want, we adore and we are responsible for and with our children.
I'm sure you didn't notice that. How could you? You were far too busy gasping from shock at the sight of our gaggle of children. That sharp inhale of copious amounts of oxygen must have left you light-headed to the point where you missed that entirely. I realize the sight of four children is simply shocking. I apologize for not always having an extra person with me to catch the fainting folks who are so stunned at the sight of our gigantic reality-show-sized family.
I'll make you a deal. I'll try to be more considerate if you try to be less of a moron. What say you, world? Do we have a deal?
Sincerely, Reiza (and the huge family you think should be featured on TLC)
Photo courtesy of Awkward Family Photos. I suspect this is how my family appears to most folks.
"You look like Spock," dh told TheBoy. "No I don't," he shot back. I told TheBoy, "You're gorgeous. Tell Daddy, 'I'm gorgeous.' Go on. Tell him." My son then announced, "Mommy's gorgeous."
I'm a former military wife (the wife part is current, it's only the military part that's former), trying to find out where we fit in the civilian world.
In While They're At War, Kristin Henderson compares military life with going to Mars. When you return to the civilian world, you step off the spaceship and return to Earth for good, only to find you're out of place. ****************** She's right and we're adjusting. Welcome to my Earth where we still dream in Martian and search desperately for our place in the world.
