As my friends around me are continuing to have new babies, and I look our youngest and see all the things we have moved beyond, there are several things that I can say with confidence that I will not miss about these tender years when my children are all grown up. Of course no one will miss the baby vomit, the midnight sheet changes, the potty training, the sibling spats, the inability of children under the age of five to use utensils and on and on. But here are three other matters that rank very high on my won't miss list as my children grow.
The first of these is handicap buttons in every business we go to. First, I must throw in the caveat that they are a wonderful invention and what a boon for technology to help those that the handicap buttons are actually intended for. However, as a mother of four, those buttons are a serious problem. I have always had at a minimum, two children fighting over who gets to push the button to open the door. For example, a few months ago Samuel needed his ears checked at the doctor's office. As we exited the office, all four children trailing behind me, it turned into a complete road derby as the children scrambled around and over and under each other to see who could get to the button first. Ethan, flexible as a fox and quick as a ferret gave an elbow jab to Nina, a duck and twist around Samuel, and an impressive leap in front of this elderly woman using a walker. Horrified, I proceeded to screech at Ethan to STOP! After I got him halted, the elderly lady and her companion stopped right in the middle of the door and my three other children rudely scrambled around them to get to push the button again. By the time I corralled Samuel and Ethan on to the bench outside, I was able to pick up Nina and Jocelyn, football style under each arm and pack them outside as they bleated and screamed "I DO IT!!" while kicking me in the side. It was mortifying. I gave the quick "YOU ARE BUSTED!" lecture, made all four children sit on the bench with little hands in laps and turned around an apologized to the two sweet ladies. To my luck that day, the lady with the walker was in hysterics and said "Don't worry child! That was the most fun I've had all week! You'll miss these days!" Then she reminisced, told me about her seven children all the time I stared daggers at my children's jubilant youthful faces and thought silently, "I will not miss my children's screaming races for the handicap buttons!"
The second thing I swear I will not miss once my children cross over into bored adolescence is the inability to get a decent night of sleep. For about two months in Nina and Jocelyn's 2.5 years, both of them slept all the way through the night. That started when they were 2 years old and ended when they were 2 years and 2 months old. I feel nearly drunk hung over exhausted most days and rely heavily on coffee to encourage functionality. Like clockwork at about 1:30 a.m. every night Jocelyn comes running, crying up the stairs for another "I Love You" hug. Her screeching tirade wakes Nina who stands in her bed wailing, "Mommy! Mommy!" Every night I pack Jocelyn back to bed, tuck Nina back into bed, wake Ethan for a potty break, then crash for about 45 minutes until it starts over again. Usually about 3 a.m. I find myself finally on the couch with my pillow and blanket so that Peter can sleep for his long drives to and from Gillette. Sometimes it holds and I squeeze in two or three hours, sometimes I am up over and over. We've tried everything including keeping them up during the day to make them tired, putting them to bed earlier, putting them to bed later, threatening to cut off limbs (not really). They go back down easily, it is just the constant interruptions in my sleep that turn me into a walking zombie. I assure you, I look forward to children that roll their eyes and demand to sleep until noon, because I will be sleeping too.
The third thing I can't wait to embrace is the ravenous appetites of athletic, growing pubescents. Sound ridiculous? I'm sure my bank account is standing back crossing its fingers that this time won't come. However, I think it would be a pleasure to toss tacos on the table one night, lasagna on it the next, chicken breasts the third, and so on. Then I stand back, watch every one sit and eat as quickly as they can, jump from the table and say, "Thanks Mom!" They will be growing so fast that their insatiable stomachs won't allow their taste buds on their tongues to tell their brain to tell their mouth to whine, "I don't like thiiisss...Ugghhh." They'll just eat it. And if they truly don't like onions, they'll have the forethought and dexterity to pick them out all by themselves. Until then, I'll endure every meal preparation with thoughts such as, "Ethan doesn't like bacon, Samuel doesn't like chewy meat, Nina won't eat sauce on her pasta, Jocelyn will eat every orange and nothing else." And I'll weather all the boo-hoo comments once the food is presented and continue to threaten starvation if they don't eat it.
So as all the onlookers remind me what a joy these years are, I will embrace that it is true I will miss the constant snuggles and delight of discovery. But I won't ever say fondly, "Remember how great it was when Ethan nearly knocked the elderly woman down? Oh! Remember what fun it was to sit for 45 minutes and encourage our children to eat their food EVERY day? Oh! Remember how awesome it was to sleep three hours a night?" How about you?
Something strange is happening at our house. Our babies are two and a half years old now and all the truly "baby" stuff is rapidly evacuating from our home. Okay, the reality is that I am tossing it out as fast as I can because of my crazy simplicity drive and plans for the move ahead. However, suddenly the other day it dawned on me that as I am cleaning out that we are saying goodbye to so many of my children's friends just as fast as new friends come in the door. No, I'm not talking about real live friends (as we try to be kind to the walking, breathing sort of friend), but the kind that children get so attached to with names like Thomas, Barney and Lightning.
When Samuel was just a wee toddler of one, he discovered Lightning McQueen and was immediately enamored with the bright eyed speedster. From birthday celebrations to die-cast cars to bedding, he had to do it all Lightning style. Samuel was so attached to Lightning, his cuddly buddies at night were die-cast cars with coordinating Mack trucks. It was a hard concept for us to grasp, because they were truly his snugly pals and he would not share them with any one which caused many fights for play-dates and family stay overs. It truly took a bit of time, being dense adults and all, to embrace that these cars were as dear to Samuel as as a teddy to another child. Once that lesson sank in, we no longer asked him to share those particular toys and the fights were alleviated for the most part. Imagine my sadness when he said "Mom, I am so tired of Lightning, can I just have everything dinosaur now?"
Ethan was similarly attached to Thomas and friends. We snapped together Thomas train tracks day after day, read Thomas books, watched Thomas videos, sang Thomas songs and pretended Thomas could talk to us. We had a Thomas themed birthday cake and knew all the names of the other trains. Then suddenly, like Lightning for Samuel, Thomas was replaced with Spider-man in just the blink of an eye.
These stories are to be expected as children grow, change, mature and discover new things. But here is the saddest part of all...ALL my children have moved beyond the Wiggles. Sniff. Sniff. I knew it was coming, but I was not prepared. You may laugh at me, but I think I loved the Wiggles about as much as my children did. When Samuel was a babe, our neighbors passed on some VHS videos of the Australian group and we thought they were nuts at first. But the Wiggles grew on us and became part of our family. Considering children tend to watch shows over and over to the detriment of most parents' sanity, we did okay with the Wiggles. Greg Paige and Sam Moran's voices were soothing rather than obnoxious (ie Barney). We researched the group, learned their history, bought their videos, had some of the CDs for the car, and somehow ended up with Wiggles sheets, books, and coloring books. The Wiggles passed from Samuel to Ethan then from Ethan to Nina and Jocelyn. I grew so accustomed to having Wiggles played in the background that on one occasion, after I left the children with my mom and dad, I drove away happily singing with the Wiggles for 30 minutes before I realized I was the lone person in the car and could listen to adult music.
But alas, Dora and Blue invaded our house, and the Wiggles were never requested for our little ladies in the last few months. When I suggested Wiggles I would received a big, "NNOOOOO!!" from four little people, and I felt a little crack inside each time. Knowing I could retrieve Wiggles at any point on You Tube, I heaved a sigh the other day, and packed the Wiggles stuff away and dropped it off at the Salvation Army. Hoping some Wiggles desperate child would be beyond delighted to discover a Wiggles jackpot later that day. Goodbye Wiggles. Thanks for the hours of entertainment and for the many hours of sanity, you made many of my stay-at-home mom days more pleasant and you will be missed.
Last year, about this time, I blogged that Peter and I were making an extensive effort to empty our closets and drawers and part with much of the stuff holding us back. In our 2012 resolution to simplify we've actually made some serious progress. As a new year starts, and we are planning a big move to Gillette, I thought I'd tell you how we have been doing in our endeavor to streamline our household and part from all of the clutter that inundated our lives.
When Peter and I moved in together in our first home, we had very few possessions. As we unpacked our belongings into our new condominium in Gaithersburg, Maryland, during the winter of 2000 we claimed:
- a whopping 17 boxes between the two of us
- 2 pieces of furniture - a dining room set and a bed
- 2 suitcases and
- one shared Nissan 240SX for transportation.
Fast forward 12 years, and wow do we have serious stuffitis. Add to the mix our four children and the stuff has multiplied at an astronomical rate. These days, you're at risk of sitting on a dozen books just by lounging on the couch!
Between January and July of 2012, we parted with a minimum of 2 boxes of stuff per week either to a consignment store or for donation. Impossible you say? You'd be surprised. Between the toys, linen (towels, table, bedding), clothes, books, tchotskes, dishes, shoes, collections (stamp, coin, jewelry, beer steins, china settings), wall hangings and baby stuff (2 high chairs, strollers, rocking chairs, dishes), media (DVDs and CDs), and old memorabilia, we parted with about 80 boxes and bags of "stuff." We've also parted with several pieces of furniture and are ready to limit our home to one television. We have empty drawers, cabinets, end tables and dressers now. Our closets are meticulously organized. Our Christmas decorations were more than cut in half this year alone. And here is another fact. Peter and I used to each have a huge dresser and each had our own closet. We are now sharing one closet and one dresser between the two of us, and are prepared to cut back again.
We used to have toys spread throughout the house and have now made a rule that if the toy doesn't fit in the one of the children's bedrooms, then it has to go or we have to get rid of other things to make it fit. We talk about clutter to our children and they are AMAZING at choosing to get rid of some of their art, clothes and passing their toys on to other children. We've also made our voices heard to the point that I received lots of consumables for Christmas in the form of wine and chocolate (woo-hoo!) and no nick-knacks. My mother even said prior to Christmas, "I refuse to get you anything except wine and a gift certificate or it will just end up at SaversMart!" Ha!
I look around my house and see so many more things that need to go, and it just keeps coming into the house, especially with the little ones. Additionally, weeding out means a mess amongst messes and it then takes me a lot longer to get it all put back together. Never mind the endless line of helpers I have to ask me a million questions or dig stuff out of boxes after I've decided to part with it. My favorite difficulty is that sometimes they move my piles after I've sorted them and then it becomes a do-over!
Some friends come to our house and say, "Wow! For as much as you've gotten rid of, your house doesn't look too much different!" I think that is true, but I know. I know those dusty skeletons in our closets are vacating, one by one. I know I'm not at risk of anything falling out when I open doors. I know, and I feel lighter.
We are still working on limiting the other aspects of our lives, as Peter and I do have a hard time saying no. But it wouldn't be life without a challenge! In addition, when we move to Gillette, our "dream house" is taking a new form. Even though we do have four children, we are actually looking at homes smaller than the one we live in as another step in our lives toward simplicity. After the insane 2012 we had, and looking forward to a big move this spring, the goal is that all this simplicity brings us time. Time with our children, time to read, time for philanthropy, time to travel and ultimately time to just play.
Well we did that. Blew right through 2012. And in typical Rossi fashion, we finished off December 31st the way we had most of the year, in a mess. Yesterday Peter woke up with fantastic inspiration to take the kids sledding, pick up some crickets for the frog and lizard for their New Year's feast, grab a bottle of champagne (or two), and rent a few movies from Mr. Movies. We had planned on snuggling in for an evening of Vietnamese summer rolls and lobster tails, movies with the little kids, bedtime for little ones, and then a push for midnight with champagne and movies for the big kids. After some morning chores, Peter pulled out the inner tube penguins and inflated them only to find leaks in both of them. Of course, having the perseverance that only belongs deep inside Peter, he tried to repair them twice, resulting in ultimate failure. With a four-year-old and a five-year-old standing guard and asking four hundred times when they were going sledding, Peter finally tossed in the towel and headed up to Walmart to purchase new sleds.
As I was pleasantly ensconced in my kitchen whipping up some goodies for the day, the girls were happily watching Dora the Explorer. Then the phone call came. "Sabrina, can you come to Walmart. I've lost my keys somewhere in here. I was distracted by the kids and think I put them in the cart." He had left the cart at the door, walked back to the pickup and realized his error. By the time he had returned to the entrance to get his cart back, someone had already grabbed it and went shopping. Peter just got this pickup and the dealership did not have a second set of keys for it when we purchased it...and of course we had yet to make and extra set.
When I arrived at Walmart, it was disgustingly busy, like ants crawling in and out and over each other. Possibly worse than Christmas eve. I found the pickup with Peter and the boys standing next to it. The boys loaded in the van to stay warm. The next four hours were spent with me driving through the parking lot looking at shopping carts for an errant set of keys, popping down to Dairy Queen to get the kids something to eat, driving Peter back and forth between Walmart and the Ford dealership across the interstate, and sitting in the van entertaining children while Peter talked to customer service reps all over Walmart. Me, naively believing that most people are good Samaritans, thought we could just leave the pickup there overnight and try again the next day. However, after a discussion with the police, there arose concern that based on the key fob to open Peter's truck, there was a high risk that after the parking lot cleared out that evening, it would be easy to identify the vehicle and steal it simply by a press of the button if some devious fellow had found the keys. So, being AAA members, the truck was towed over to Ford where two new sets of keys were made, for a price.
When Peter had called me, it was 12:30. I returned home with four kids in tow around quarter to five and frantically tossed together a dinner. We managed to get the "Yoppa tails" (Nina an Jocelyn verbiage) cooked, whip together the summer rolls and sit down to a chaotic dinner. As we were seated to chow down, Ethan looked at us and said, "I don't feel good," resulting in a 101 degree temperature. This was followed by Nina saying her stomach hurt, and Samuel saying he wasn't hungry because of the emergency Dairy Queen run where he ate a hot dog. As I medicated Ethan for his horrible headache and gave the girls juice, Peter popped in a movie. Peter and I finished the year on each end of the table cleaning up plates alone, exhausted from the insane holidays and nervous about Peter's keys because they contained much more than just his truck keys. As of early this morning, they have yet to be located.
Midnight eventually came and we kissed each other and 2012 good bye. After all we've been through this past year, we can embrace that we have weathered another storm as a family, and learned a lot about patience and home construction. Happy New Year everyone, I hope to see you a lot more in 2013. Because if I do, that means 2013 isn't quite as maddening as 2012 was.
