Deck the Halls... and the Bedroom and the Bathroom

The holiday season is hectic. Even though it happens every year, the pace and the plans and the lists all still seem to come as a surprise to me. We celebrate Halloween and I blink and I’m eating turkey and I blink again and it’s time to hang stockings, climb on a roof with a string of lights, and embark on a hefty home improvement project.

Isn’t that how you like to celebrate?

I guess I’m just a gluten for chaos, or maybe I forgot what it’s like to have a toddler, as my preschooler turns into a helpful, independent big boy.

On Black Friday I stood in Lowe’s with a 5-gallon bucket of paint and announced the disputed bedroom remodel brainstorm I had a few months ago would become a reality. Drew was less than thrilled.

Since then, we’ve been taping, tarping and painting between the hours of 8-10pm because I discovered it’s incredibly difficult and messy to sling rollers while a nearly two-year-old who has already decimated five Christmas ornaments is running around. That’s the toddler part I forgot about. 

One minute, I'm changing into my paint clothes and the next minute I'm finding that toddler had snuck into a paint-filled construction zone undiscovered, deciding to take "painting" into his own hands. Literally. Unfortunately, his fingerpaint masterpiece did not come out of his clothes. It's just a small dose of the level of destruction he's capable of.

I’ve un-decorated almost as much as I’ve decorated this season. Baby Bro has officially hit the dreaded boundary-testing phase. It doesn’t matter what it is, if it’s in his hand, he throws it. Especially if you tell him not to. After a handful of smashed ornaments and a plate full of decorative pine cones lobbed across my living room, I reluctantly got out the Christmas box and started putting things away.

With paper ornaments and a bucket of paint, I’m tackling this season head-on. And I’m hoping somewhere down the line Santa will bring my little guy a pitching scholarship to make up for it.

Despite the occasional destruction, these boys are definitely on the nice list.

Keeping Score is for Losers

Last night, I pulled into the last parking spot of the preschool lot, briskly walked through the gymnasium door and found my husband seated in the middle of a crowd, taking notes on a tablet during a presentation for parents of future kindergartners. A half hour late, I snuck in and sat down, glancing at the notes he'd taken for me. Teamwork makes the dream work.

I'd come straight from a work event as I often do if there's a parent-teacher conference or after school activity. I'm thankful to work in a flexible environment with a rockstar mom boss who gets it. But even all of that doesn't stop me from keeping score.

Mom Jess looks at her watch at the end of the day and stares down that career girl until she heads home. Mom Jess knows exactly how many weekend shoots I have lined up in the next three months. She judges me for volunteering, for overnight conferences, for nights out with the girls.

Career Jess rolls her eyes at Mom Jess when she turns down a freelance opportunity. She thinks it's totally lame when I want to be home in time to tuck everyone in. She judges me for wearing athletic-wear without actually fitting in a workout.

They're both exhausted.

But deep down, they know how great it is to share the same identity. It's a balancing act, yes, and it's a busy life. But when Mom Jess does the occasional preschool drop-off, she gets to strut in dressed like a boss without spitup on her shirt or a top knot. When Career Jess takes her kids with her on a shoot, they see how cool her job is and spend the whole night taking their own pretend pictures.

What Mom Jess and Career Jess need to remember is that they make each other better. Becoming a mom made me more responsible, patient, confident and pragmatic. Wearing a baby and a camera at the same time is not only adorable, but it's a sight that's perfectly normal that people need more of. Mom Jess and Career Jess need to cut each other some slack. Stop keeping score. 

If we get rid of the guilt, we can be awesome at both.

The High Price of Being a Girlmom

You might think that’s a typo in the headline. How can a boymom like myself know much about being a mom of girls? Let’s just say it’s pretty telling that even I noticed. It all started with a doll.

We’ve got about a thousand trucks and cars in the house, so naturally, the boys were spending their entire morning arguing over who got to play with the one and only doll we own. I got online to buy another, same exact doll with a different colored shirt so we could tell them apart. I saw the selection: doll with blue shirt that we already had- $25. Doll with yellow shirt- $15. Doll with pink shirt- $59.99. That’s not an exaggeration. The exact same doll from the exact same company in the exact same shirt in pink cost more than double the other options. Wow. Either there’s a real shortage of red dye or there’s something else going on.

I’d heard of the “pink tax” when it comes to things like women’s razors or clothing and other products, but when I stopped to really look at the merchandise aimed at children it was eye-opening. Pink tricycles, helmets, cars, board games, they’re all on toy store isles we only frequent when Big Bro wants to play with the Barbie cars. The price tags on the “pink” isles are definitely different, and when a third option for a toy is available, it’s the most economical. When shopping online, it's so easy to make a direct comparison that I'm surprised companies can still get away with charging triple for a product targeted towards a certain gender.

Most of the moms I know, myself included, try not to play into gender stereotypes when it comes to toys, clothing, activities or interests. I think that's part of the reason grey is such a popular color for baby clothing and nurseries nowadays. But man is it hard to combat the onslaught of marketing from the rest of the world.

So, to all my girl moms out there, I have one wish for you- that your daughter’s favorite color is yellow.

Why You Should Avoid the Hallway

When you become a parent, everyone tells you you’ll develop an unusual interest in poop, especially as a conversation topic. You’ll analyze the color, odor, and consistency of everything that comes out of your precious miracle’s rear end. What they don’t tell you is it doesn’t stop there. Poop will push its way into the center of attention in your household for years to come. Often times, the number one topic of conversation will be number two. And frankly, it stinks. Take it from me, I just finished washing poop out from between my toes.

It started with Baby Bro’s recent interest in the potty. He’s only 19 months old but when he started showing signs of potty training, I decided to get out Big Bro’s little potty to see what happened. He sat on it a couple of times and went in it once. After a few days, I asked if he wanted to go potty and he replied “yes,” but as soon as I took off his diaper I found it was already full. And as soon as I saw, he was already running down the hallway. I ran after him, but needless to say, I did not make a clean exit.

With potty-training ahead of us, I’m sure it will result in more defecation conversation dominating our household. But for now, I think I’ll keep changing diapers a little while longer.

A Very Merry Unbirthday

Today Baby Bro is one and a half, and just two days ago the big boy turned 4 1/2! Now for us adults, a trip halfway around the sun is no big deal but for a preschooler and a toddler it means a lot.

It means the difference between crawling and running. The difference between pointing and grunting, and using short sentences or following a set of instructions. It’s the difference between writing his name with a fist clenched around a pencil, and playing a game of scrabble (with assistance from mom of course.) It’s the difference between cautiously entering a preschool classroom, and strolling in with confidence for the start of a second year, showing around the younger students.

In the last six months these boys have grown inches and leaps in emotional and intellectual development. In the words of the all-knowing muppets from Sesame Street, they’re growing stronger, smarter and kinder. And we couldn’t be more proud.

At 4 1/2, big bro likes pretending, playing with friends, riding his scooter, cooking, singing and dancing. He dislikes not getting his way and having to wait. (Who doesn’t?)

At 18 months, baby bro likes imitating his older brother, snuggles, stories, playing with trains, singing and dancing. He dislikes things that are too heavy to pick up, and the cover of the Ice Age dvd. (Who doesn’t?)

Whatever it Takes

Just yesterday, we returned from a week-long vacation celebrating the Fourth of July holiday with family at the Outer Banks in North Carolina. One big beach house with 11 adults and 5 kids and a whole lot of sand, sun and fun! The boys had a blast playing with their cousins, (three of my nieces) spending quality time with grandparents, and discovering the beauty of the beaches I grew up going to every summer.

We go through great lengths to share our traditions with our kids, trying to recreate the best of our own childhood experiences. Some of my favorite memories are of the beach, spending time with family members while collecting seashells or catching waves. Every 4th of July I get a little homesick thinking about summers back on the East Coast. Arizona has fireworks, but they're just not the same in 110 degrees. 

It took six months of planning and 2-thousand miles of traveling, but this trip allowed me to share those memories with my own kids and create new ones. Here we all are on the steps of the beach house, appropriately named- "Whatever it Takes."

The Difference Between Have To and Get To

In discussing an upcoming trip, my four-year-old said something that made me realize the true wisdom and perspective that can be found within our conversations with children.

We were eating lunch and he asked if we were taking a plane to the beach and I said yes. His response: “Yay! I get to go to the airport and wait and watch the planes...”

He “gets to” wait. I envisioned all of my recent trips to the airport. The rolling eyes while taking items out for security, the glances at watches while sitting at the gate, the heads sloped down into mobile devices, and all of the people who just want to get where they’re going. My son looks forward to the journey.

There’s a big difference between those two phrases. “Get to” and “have to.”

I got to thinking about all of the times I’ve said I “have to” do something and what a difference it would make if I had just changed that one little word. “I get to work today.” “I get to go grocery shopping.” “I get to tend to the garden.”

The other night my son asked if he could help daddy with the dishes. He pulled up his stool and happily scrubbed and rinsed with dad, enjoying the water, the time spent together, and seeing the results of his hard work. He got to do the dishes, and he turned something my husband had to do, into something my husband "got to" do too.

If only all of us grown-ups thought of our “have-to’s” as “get-to’s.” I think we’d all be as content as a little boy waiting at the airport, eyes wide open, watching the planes.

Finding a Voice

Baby Bro is growing and developing more every day. He’s no longer a snuggly, babbling baby, but a wiggly, chatty toddler with a new favorite word: no.

Our laid-back little guy has finally found his voice, and it’s the cutest little voice anyone’s ever heard. Even when he’s saying “no” as I ask if he’s ready to take a nap, or as I tell him it’s time to go inside, I can’t help but smile.

I’m always fascinated by the way we learn language. Maybe it’s because of my profession but communication is one of my favorite skills to watch as it goes from different cries to different noises and hand signals and now words. It’s clear he understands complex sentences and answers questions. If I mention the park or swimming in conversation he runs to his room, grabs his shoes and sits down in front of me as if to say, “let’s go mom!” If I ask him to help my with the laundry or sweep, he toddles right over to grab a duster or a sock and put it away. I don’t mind that chores take twice as long with a toddler’s “help.” Ten years from now I know I’ll be begging him to put away a sock.

He waves and says “bye bye,” he says “night night” to his brother before bed, he points to dogs, airplanes, trucks and birds, announcing them all by name.

He’s becoming a parrot, making efforts to repeat everything we say and while most efforts are basically inaudible, he succeeds in repeating choice phrases on the first try, like “dang it.” Yes, I’ve cleaned up my language quite a bit since the first child.

Toddlerhood is full of ups and downs and tantrums and messes, but it’s one of my favorite stages. I love seeing him look me in the eye and smile when I ask him a question, processing what I say as he pauses to answer in his staccato little voice- “no.”

The Difference a Decade Makes

A couple weeks ago I turned 33. It’s amazing what can change in a decade. Here’s photo evidence- me on my 23rd birthday, and me on my 33rd:

What a difference a decade can make. Here I was, balloon-hatting it up in a Margaritaville in Panama City, Florida with my friends and then-boyfriend, some guy I’d met recently named Drew.

And ten years later, with two boys, one of whom ran a fever the night before, causing us to cancel our plans for a day trip celebration. Instead we went to the park he chose and snapped a few nice photos before he went zipping away on a scooter and the younger one went toddling toward some ducks.

Instead of dining and drinking with friends, (which I’d actually done a few nights prior to celebrate) we went to The Cheesecake Factory and got dessert to-go after the boys got too restless to stay in their seats.

Instead of staying out until two in the morning dancing and walking on the beach, I sat down on the sofa at 8:30pm. “What do you want to do?” Drew asked. I replied, “I want to sit on this couch. I want to watch tv. And eat a cheesecake.” And I did. It. Was. Glorious.

That 23-year-old girl might be a little skinnier and have more color in her face and fewer wrinkles by her eyes, but she has no idea what she’s doing. She barely knows who she is. She goes out with friends, she can hold her liquor, and has a love-hate relationship with her job. She doesn’t know that her boyfriend will become her husband. She doesn’t know the work she’s doing will bring her to Arizona to start a phase of life she’d always dreamed of.

This 33-year-old might not be the stereotype of “young and hip.” But if you want to chill on a sofa and eat some cheesecake, I’m always game. And I’ll even leave you most of the bottle of wine.

Meanwhile, this little guy is 15 months old today! He likes splashing in the water, playing with his big bro, eating, dancing, chatting, and laughing.

He dislikes diaper changes and staying still.

Toddlers Vs. Velociraptors

In just one month, Baby Bro went from taking a couple steps to walking laps around the house. It actually happened in just one evening. Now, I know how the scientists felt in Jurassic Park upon realizing they'd created something magnificent, capable of learning and developing, but at the same time capable of destroying an entire house in a matter of seconds. I know I've compared toddlers to dogs before, but you'd be surprised at how much they also have in common with some of history's most predatory species.

The night Baby Bro gave up crawling, you could see something in him just clicked. He stood up, walked all around the kitchen and then to the hallways and back, smiling and cooing while Drew and I watched in disbelief. It happened so suddenly, and there was no looking back. As soon as the moment of pride and joy had passed, my mind darted to every sharp corner, every breakable decoration within a toddler's reach, and of course- doorknobs. One of the most terrifying scenes in the famous film happens when the velociraptor learns how to open doors, the handle slowly turns as the children crouch behind a counter cowering with fear. It's a game-changing skill, doorknobs. It means I have to remember the top latch on the front and garage doors every single day. The front door has been a habit since Big Bro learned this skill, but the garage door- let's just say it's a good thing the handle tends to stick. 

In addition to their risk of escape, velociraptors and toddlers can move very quickly in short bursts. For example, if Baby Bro gets hold of a piece of trash at the park and senses my intention to take it from him, he's already 20 feet away and shoving it in his mouth while laughing as if to say "catch me mom!" I look at him and think, "where was this coordination when I was trying to change your diaper this morning?"

Toddlers and velociraptors are also pack animals. They're at their most destructive when they have help. This is where Big Bro comes in. If I so much as put a load of laundry into the washing machine while they're in the playroom together I can guarantee I'm walking back into tornado alley. At the moment my house is rigged with traps of legos, blocks and hot wheels cars. Just minutes ago I tripped over a pile of childrens' musical instruments while trying to put Baby Bro to sleep. Needless to say, it took a little longer than usual.

Lastly, the velociraptor battle cry. It's a known fact that until preschool, toddlers are equipped with the same set of vocal chords as the prehistoric carnivore, projecting a high-pitched screeching noise that can penetrate the thickest walls and the quietest churches. 

But while he may be loud, destructive, quick and sneaky, he's also sweet and snuggly and far more adorable than any dinosaur. He does bite, but we're working on that.

On the Move

Just days after his first birthday, Baby Bro stood up in the front yard one evening, and walked about five steps into my arms. We were all there to witness his first steps and yet even with two professional videographers as parents, neither of us had a camera in hand.

Since then, he has taken a few steps a day on his own, and the rest of the time he holds my hand as we wander aimlessly, stepping up and down the doorstep repeatedly or pacing over the stones in the backyard, or following his brother around the house. He could do it on his own be he prefers my hand to hold for now. I know “now” is so short I don’t mind at all.

Meanwhile, Big Bro is enjoying the scooter he got for his birthday, and the bike he got for Christmas. Recently at the neighborhood park, one of his friends let him try out a bicycle that had no training wheels. Big Bro hopped on and rode down the grassy hill like a pro. The two friends took turns riding down the hill over and over, getting faster and farther each time.

Watching the boys gain the courage to let go- whether it’s a hand or a set of wheels- are some of the best moments I’ve had as a mom. I can’t wait to see them on the move even more as Baby Bro’s walk turns into a run, and Big Bro learns to start off and go on his own bike. But for now, the short now, I’m happy to hold on.

One and Four

Three days, two birthdays, and I have a four year old and a one year old.

We celebrated Big Bro (formerly Baby B) with a Cars-themed party at a local park, complete with scooters and bikes and trails painted like tiny roads. B got a new scooter and loved riding it around with his friends.

I can’t get over how much he’s grown, learned and changed in the past year. He started preschool and can write his name and he’s starting to read. He has taken on the role of older brother with confidence and kindness. He’s social, smart, sweet, silly and spunky. He’s got the energy of a chihuahua after 12 cups of coffee. He’s full of fun and surprises. He’s charismatic and curious. He made me a mom and it’s an honor I’m thankful for every day.
Baby Bro is starting to show us his personality as well. Now one year old, he can hold his own when it comes to his big bro and their toys. He isn’t afraid to express his opinions with a point and yell or ask for “dada” or wave goodbye. He is cruising around, gaining the confidence he’ll need to walk. He’s got a sense of humor and loves to be chased. I can’t get enough of his sweet kisses and hugs. He loves to read books, play, and eat whatever’s on my plate. He completes our family of four, and made my heart grow beyond what I’d thought possible.

It’s been the shortest four years of my life, but time flies when you’re having fun.

Proceed with Caution

This Christmas, we got Big Bro his first two-wheeler. A “pedal bike” as he calls it. We were so excited to give it to him knowing how thrilled he’d be to have a Lightning McQueen bike, bright red with a carrying case for hot wheels cars attached to the handle bars. Christmas morning after his initial reaction he immediately started inspecting it. When he saw the case he exclaimed “I can take my cars to the park!”

Given that he’d more than mastered his pedal-less balance bike, I just knew he’d be great at riding this one right away. We didn’t even bother with training wheels. Why would we? I know my own son’s potential and with all his confidence and energy, teaching him would be a breeze.

A couple days later, we set out to the park to learn to ride in the safety of the grass. A hesitant Big Bro told me he didn’t want to practice. A persistent mommy took him anyway, and sat down for about 10 minutes waiting until he was ready to try getting on. He got on, but didn’t sit down. Didn’t even let me push. Not even while holding on. 

I was so frustrated I could barely speak. Here I was, so excited for him and confident for him and courageous for him, but in this moment he exhibited none of those traits for himself. We headed home, walking the bike the whole way. I took the dog for a walk to clear my frustration.

That’s when I started to think back about his balance bike. He’d waited weeks before slowly and cautiously getting on and making his way around the driveway. It even took time for him to warm up to his tricycle before that. He hasn't climbed to the second story of the playground or tried the big tire swing. At the beach he played on the shore without me having to worry about him getting in too deep. What made me think he’d be ready to dive right in?

I think as parents we sometimes tend to project ourselves onto our children, especially when we see so much of ourselves in them. But they’re their own people with their own personalities. 

We put the training wheels on the bike and Big Bro started out slowly. By the end of the day we had to drag him inside when it got dark. He absolutely loves it.

Eventually we’ll take the training wheels off. When he’s ready.

In just one month, my cautious little guy will be four years old, and his Baby Bro will be- one!

At 11 months old, Baby Bro likes giggling, playing with his kuya, cruising, singing, drumming, dancing, nodding yes and no (mostly no) and hiding things in his laundry hamper.

He dislikes getting dressed, diaper changes, and teething.