Tag: Mario

Hope

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Maria enjoying dress up at school

I drove downtown today to head to an appointment to tour the YWCA in hopes of volunteering there in the future.  I got thrown back in time as I drove down Spring Street towards the heart of downtown.  I had taken that route for eight years – four of them with my daughter to and from daycare at Bright Horizon’s at Grant Hospital and two of them with my daughter and son.  

I had placed my daughter in the Grant daycare because it was directly across the street from my law firm.  I still remember those first few months of dropping her off at daycare, age three months old.  It devastated me to drop her off in the morning because she always cried – always.  The daycare providers tried to console her but unfortunately they had lots of other screaming babies to console (although I would always unreasonably expect that my sweet baby should get all of the attention – not those other babies).  What made it worse, too, was that I would go over in the mid-morning or early afternoon to see her, and she would be crying when I walked in the room.  

This pissed me off beyond belief.  I would remain calm and pick her up and try to talk to the girls about different ways to calm her down.  They would listen in between feeding other babies, burping them, changing their diapers.  I was yet another neurotic parent telling them how to do their job in their eyes, I am sure.  Heck, they were only making $8.00 an hour to take care of my child for eight hours – what could I expect?  I always felt bad for not speaking up more about the hourly wage that these gals were making; it is such a travesty that the women and men who watch over our children and care for them while we are off at work make the same or less money per hour than a valet or grocery store bagger. 

I never have come to terms with leaving them at daycare while I go off and work.  I still feel conflicted when I think about my choice to retain a career.  There are nights when I watch a certain scene of a movie or read a story on-line, and a flood of emotions come over me and I feel like I am the worst mom ever and I think my children will grow up to feel abandoned and lonely and despondent.  I don’t think that will ever go away – subside, yes, but never vanish forever. 

Maria grew into her own at the daycare, and of course, was the little munchball that everyone wanted to hold and play with through the day.  So, it got easier to some extent.  She still was never the type to jump up and down for school (and still isn’t) but at least she was not crying hysterically everyday when I left.  Now, I take her to her new school closer to our house (she started there in September 2009) and she begs to return to that old school because it was so much fun and she misses her teachers.  So, I guess it wasn’t the dungeon that I always made myself feel it was when I left her in the morning.  

It is funny how the same routine consumes you day in and day out, and you feel like there is no way that you will ever forget the monotony of it all.  How you will never forget the devastation and loneliness and sorrow that encompassed your entire self as you tip-toed out of the infant room trying to calm your little one as she sobbed for you to stay.   How you sank deep in your chair at work bombarded with thoughts about whether you were doing the right thing, how your child would be affected by your decision, what you could do to make it better. 

But then they get older and they are less fragile, and they enjoy interaction with friends, and you see them developing, and they say something that is so heartfelt and so enlightening that you think “they are coming along just fine….” 

My darling, happy daughter in her Mexican dress

And those moments from the past, that heartbreak from the past, that confusion from the past, does subside greatly and you feel hope rising up.     

My goofy, muffin-loving son

Be Careful What You Wish For

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When Mario was around 1-year-old, he did not enjoy cuddling with me.  He asked for his dad a lot.  He refused to kiss me. 

No wonder he did not cuddling!

I divulged to Jon how much this bothered me and how I longed for the day that Mario would call for me, run and hug me, kiss me goodnight. 

Fast forward to the age of two and a half.  Mario cuddles; Mario kisses; Mario asks for me…ONLY.  For everything. 

He needs to get dressed – “Mommy Do It!”  He needs his blanket – “Mommy Do It!”  He needs his milk – “Mommy Do It!”  He needs to get out of the car – “Mommy Do It!”  

And, if Jon ignores his demands and picks him up out of his car seat or puts on his pants, Mario launches into an unrestrained frenzy.  He arches his back like an upside down cat, he jabs his arms at any body part available, he lunges his head into your gut, and he screams and sobs “no, mommy do it” with an unfathomable sorrow. 

Yes, I know this ridiculous and that Jon needs to be able to do these things for him, but it still crushes me.  So what do I do?  I pick him up from where Jon left him and take him back to the way life was before Jon engaged in whatever act that prompted the holy fit.  It is really the only thing that calms him (or I can just give him a bar of chocolate but that will lead to another piece and another and another (he has his mom’s obsession with chocolate)).  

Tonight, Jon ejected him from his car seat after we arrived home from Cincy.  He immediately protested as soon as Jon got near his car seat.  Jon had no choice – I had Maria who had fallen asleep in her seat.  Mario screamed, he kicked, he yelled.  He sobbed as Jon placed him on the couch and tried to take his coat off without getting maimed.  I ran down the stairs after putting Maria to bed and he could not get any words out.  Finally, between sobs, Mario blurted out “Daddy took me car seat.”  I asked him if he wanted to go outside with me to the car and he shook his head “yes.”  We go outside and grab my bag from the car. By the time we head inside, he has calmed down and is holding onto me like a little chimpanzee with the mama chimp. 

A few minutes later, I had to run down to get his milk.  I did not think he noticed me heading downstairs until I heard a frantic cry followed by “Mommy, take me. Take me, Mommy” over and over again.  By the time I got back up the stairs (not even two minutes later), his face had turned cherry red and it looked as though his head had been dipped in to a bowl of onions.  His tears could be seen from the bottom of the steps, and he looked at me with such misery.  I scooped him up, took him down the steps, re-poured the milk, and rubbed his head.  He looked into my eyes, clasped a hand on each cheek, and purred “mommy.”

There are times when it gets old – especially on weekday mornings when Maria is grumpy and wants me to help her get dressed, too.  But as much as I sigh, complain, or moan about it, I secretly love it. 

My lover boy - for now at least!

I am not naive.  Next time I blink, he will be asking for dad, refusing to cuddle, refusing to kiss.  Therefore, I must slurp it up today.           

From Monsters to Cherubs

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It has been a long week. 

Jon was gone two days.  I let the kids stay up late with me so they were grumpy and mean in the morning.  Mario had a horrid meltdown when I turned off the fan yesterday morning.  He flung his little body against his crib and wailed.  I tried to turn the fan back on and allow him to turn it off but that just pissed him off more.  “No mommy, go away!”  Wah, wah, wah, wah.  Ugh, I just want to scream at the top of my lungs during these moments and tell him to get a life. 

But rather, I walk into my room, lay on my bed, and breathe. 

It usually takes 3 minutes and then he brings his sobbin’ butt onto my bed.  Maria, on the other hand, turns completely silent when she is grumpy or angry.  While Mario was busy wailing and flailing all around, Maria was in her room, door closed, stewing over the fact that I told her I didn’t want to play Barbies 2.2 seconds after we woke up.  I need time to get into that Barbie playing thing.  Before I could even get out the words “not right now” she stomped away from my bed, slammed her door shut, and yelled “Don’t come in my room, Mom!”  Oh, that is so fine with me, little girl. 

After Mario got in bed with me, he realized Maria was not around.  “Where’s Ria?’ I think to myself “the prima donna spoiled thing is in her room wishing evil on me” but I paraphrase that thought to “Ria is in her room.”  He jumps up to check on her sensing something is wrong. 

I continue to lay on my bed, eyes on the cracked ceiling, thinking about what this life is all about.  I tend to get philosophical in times like these for good or bad.  After about 10 minutes of silence out of Maria’s room, I decide I better check on the insane children.  I go in and see this picture.  

Maria reading to her little brother

Every horrible thing they have done or said in the last twenty minutes is forgotten and I am consumed with affection.  Maria is such the mother hen to that little brother.  She is patient when he asks five questions about the same thing on a page and she allows him to choose any book he wants to read.  He is mesmerized with her as she reads to him and trusts her words completely.  The scene is heart-stirring.  

Why can’t it be like this every second of the day?  I mean, really?! 

In sum, it would be boring, I guess.  I wouldn’t get any philosophizing done without the craziness.  I need those meltdowns over fans and Barbies to genuinely appreciate such charming moments.

Snow Day!

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The university closed Tuesday due to the incredible snow fall and ice accumulation. I woke up at 5:30 due to my darling son who has decided that 5:30 am is his new time to rise. You can almost see him popping his tiny head up, rubbing his eyes, and opening his mighty mouth. Indeed, I am quite sure that is his routine before we hear our morning serenade of: “Maaaaaammmmmmeeeeee; Oh, Maaammmeeee.” I dragged myself out of my warm nest of a bed and told him to go back to sleep. “Rock, mommy?” I scooped him up and pushed his head onto my shoulder and firmly stated “five minutes, Mario, that is it.” Yeah, I might as well be saying “blah blah blah blah blah.” He had what he wanted and I knew he was sporting that devilish smile as we headed to the rocking chair.

After ten minutes of rocking and thinking to myself “this is the last night of this – tomorrow he is crying it out!”, I put him in his bed and trip back into my nest. Five minutes goes by before I hear “Maaaaammmmmmeeeee” again.  The irritation and anger I feel at that moment compares to how you may feel if you were getting your eyelashes pulled out or getting run over by a semi truck.  I get up, stomp to his room, and put him in bed with me. It was no use. He was wide awake.

By 6:30 am, we are all eating pancakes and eggs and watching Little Bear. Maria’s new favorite morning activity is to cook pancakes and eggs, and yes, she actually prepares everything to cook them. She gets the bowl out, the mix, the eggs, the milk, and the oil. She stirs it up as much as she can (she has counseled me on numerous occasions that I need to buy an electric mixer so that we do not have to do it by hand!). She prepares her plate and mine, and we all sit down together (Mario finds our pancakes absolutely repulsive – the first bite he takes immediately causes a cringe on his face and a regurgitation into my open hand). After breakfast, we get all bundled up in our snow gear and head outside.

The snow was too light to make a snowman but I found a plastic sled and the kids took turns getting pulled down the front yard hill. Mario popped up after one run and yelled “Mommy, go Stauf’s get ice water and muffin?” I thought Maria would poo-poo it because she likes to stay near home but she agreed (with a little cajoling involving hot cocoa and a muffin for her). I held Mario on my right hip and pulled Maria on the plastic sled. By the third block, I felt as if I had just been in a WWF wrestling match – my body ached completely! Maria could see the pain in my face and got out of the sled, pulled it behind her, and walked the remainder of the way. Why do I try to be Superwoman all the time? I ain’t 20 any more….!

Maria trying to help mom pull Mario (Mario wanting nothing of it!)

We got our ice water, hot cocoa, bran muffin and black russian bagel and plopped down at a table. I love that my kids love Stauf’s – it is a refuge for me and I enjoy that they find it to be the same for them. They will sit in their seats for a half hour eating their muffin and bagel, looking at the pictures on the walls, watching the people, and even talking to me! It is a piece of heaven. After Stauf’s, we walked back home (Maria walked the whole way home again!) and I decided it was time for a little day care. It was close to 11 am and I knew they would not nap with me. And, I wanted a little Mary time before the night came (I fought guilt all afternoon about this decision but that is a whole other blog entry). I dropped them off at school and headed back to Stauf’s to catch up on email and fund-raising for my boards.

Before I knew it, 3 pm hit, and I decided that I would try to take them sledding at a local park with a nice sized hill. I loaded up the sled, their snowsuits, and sped to the daycare. The entire way to daycare, I debated whether to actually take them or not because I knew the hill would be full of kids and I would have Maria and Mario and a sled and just little ol’ me. But, what the he–. Life is too short.

We headed over to the park, threw on our bundles of clothes while maneuvering and squirming around in the car, and trekked it to the hill. There were quite a number of people there already and Maria immediately withdrew. “Why are all these people here. I don’t want to sled here.” We tried a little side hill at her request but the snow was too thick and we barely moved. After that lame experience, she decided to work with the crowd. We headed over to the hill and began the climb up. I held Mario and the sled and she climbed up using the blue and white striped rope that the City must have installed to help with the climb. Maria impressed me with her climbing skills and determination. I had to help her up a few times, but she got close to the top each time and if it wasn’t for the ice, she would have done it alone. I told her her to chant “I know I can do it” each time she got down, and after telling her that, I heard her whispering it as she struggled up the hill.  My girl. 

Maria and Mario after a sled ride down Wyman Hill

The first ride down the hill was all of us on the “Flyer” – an old school wood sled that I think my dad gave us back when Jon and I were dating. We barely fit on the sled, and we flew down the hill after a push from a man who I am sure got a kick out of me trying to handle M&M, the sled, and the ice up the hill. But we hung on, and when we finally stopped, we were all smiles and laughs. Mario turned around and pleaded “Again, mommy?” I looked at Maria wondering if she would want to brave the hill for another run (Maria and exertion do not typically get along). But, to my amazement, Maria was already heading toward the hill. Again, my girl.

Maria found a girlfriend who asked her to go sledding with her and I got a glimpse of Maria playing with her girlfriends in a few years. Ahh, I had visions of me and my Cincy girls when we were 10 years old and taking advantage of our snow days. We did about 7 runs before we called it a night, and I must say, my winter blahs flew away for the remainder of the night. Of course, those winter blahs flew back with a vengeance the next morning when I stepped outside and slipped onto my rear while taking out the trash (the cuss words were spewing out so fluidly that I amazed even myself) but heck, with this weather, I will take an evening  of bliss anyday.

“Give Ria Big Hug?”

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Mario is a complete nut.  He is what you think of when you think of a two-year old boy: wild, rambunctious, ornery, spastic, loud, violent, obstinate, emotional.  It has been quite the ride over the last five months when he turned in to this little creature. 

The wildman at age 2

Maria was never like this at age 2.  She was an atypical two-year old girl: quiet, reclusive, thoughtful, serious, deep, soulful, clingy. 

Maria at age 2

Hence, my surprise and concern when Mario turned into this half boy-half animal after turning two.   If he is not jumping on the couch, holding any long object as a gun, pinching or scratching Maria, throwing a shoe, jettisoning his body on Jon, or running around yelling, then we know (1) he has been taken by aliens and replaced with one of them or (2) he is seriously sick. 

However, there are those few fleeting moments wherein Mario is a true gentleman.  We experienced these moments tonight as were preparing for bed.  Maria has a full size bed in her room with a rocking chair in the corner.  The usual routine is to read books together and then Maria climbs in her bed while I rock Mario.  I began rocking Mario tonight, and he looked up at me:

“Mommy??”

“Yes, Mario.”

“Go give Big Hug to Ria?”

“Mario, it is bedtime.”

“Please, mommy.”

Now, how could I resist if his true desire was indeed to kiss his sis?  Besides, Maria lives for that affection from her brother so she would have been devastated if I prohibited it.  Mario hopped off my lap and ran to her bed stepping his right foot on the ledge, grabbing the mattress with both hands, raising his left leg onto the ledge and thrusting his body onto her bed.  Maria sat up with delight.   Mario jumped from the bottom of the bed into her arms and smothered her with a big ol’ hug.  She hugged him in return and sang “Oh, you sweet little baby brother.”  

I called him back to the rocking chair, and he abided.  We rocked about one minute before he glanced up at me and said “Give Ria a kiss?”  I am such a pushover.  I let him down and he engages in the same routine but this time Maria is sitting on both knees with her chin out and mouth puckered waiting for her prince charming.  Mario sits in front of her and pecks her right on the lips.  Golden.  He then proceeds to jump on her again and they roll around together giggling and hugging. 

I watch them and fall in love.  I delight in them.  I call Jon in to see them.  And then I hear a sharp cry….

“Mom, Mario just pinched me right on the arm. Make him in trouble.”

Better fleeting moments than no moments, heh?!

Giving the Love

Night of the Living Dead

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Cancun, beautiful but a jinx?!

I should have known when Mario woke up for the sixth time last night in the matter of an hour that he was sick.  I should have known because me, Maria, and Jon all had been sick over the last week.  But, that hopeful, optimistic, glass half full person that I am told me it was just him being ornery. 

No more. 

I am a jaded, pessimist who sees the world as the cruel dark place that it is. 

On the seventh awakening, Mario began hurling in his crib with the peaches and cottage cheese of dinner landing on every blanket and crevice in a five feet radius.  Just shoot me.  Of course I had a big facilitation to head up today.  Of course Jon was just starting to feel better and I was just starting to feel alive again.   I sware that God is out to get us for taking that Cancun trip.  Ever since we returned it has been hellish between sickness, bad weather, crappy work issues.  How bad of a mother am I?  My little one is puking his brains out and absolutely miserable and I am wailing in self-pity.

But I deserve to wail!

Of course, the only person Mario wants is his momma when he is sick (really anytime!) so I held him and rocked him and put him over the toilet when he started to cry (which was the sign that puke was coming).  We eventually went downstairs to the couch to watch Little Bear.  It seemed like clockwork; close to the end of every Little Bear he would start crying and then the throw up would begin.  By the fifth Little Bear, he was simply throwing up a little water and then there was the fight of trying not to give him too much water to drink even though he wanted to guzzle it because he was so thirsty. 

By 2:30 am, I was starting to teeter and get a little slap happy.  I should have written on this blog at that time – it would have been a lot more amusing.  By 3 am, I had to get Jon to relieve me. I knew I would be worthless at my retreat if I did not get three hours of sleep.   He graciously came downstairs (I knew he felt like crap) and let me lay in our bed and get some shut-eye.  I cannot stand when you are so fricken’ tired you cannot see straight, but then you hit the bed and you cannot get to sleep.  How is that possible, much less fair?  Well, it happened to me and I was pissed.  I think it was 5 before I feel into a deep sleep only to be awakended shortly thereafter by Maria who was supercharged for sleeping in her bed all night (she gets in our bed every night; at first I loved cuddling with her but now I can’t get back to sleep half the time she comes in). 

I somehow gathered the energy to shower (I really contemplated putting my greasy hair up in a ponytail and throwing on some jeans but I knew that I would regret it an hour later as I stood in front of all of those professionals looking like something the cat drug in), and got Maria to get dressed.  She has been a real trooper the last two weeks, so mature for her age and so sweet.  We got out the door, got to daycare, and I got to my retreat.  My body wanted to lay down on the long board table as soon as I walked in but I put on my best face and got through the day.  Now I sit waiting on a colleague to email me her thoughts on a document so I can get it out to others who are waiting on me for it. 

Really? 

Is this what it has come down to?  One concept that came out of our retreat today is that nothing is perfect.  We may want it to be with all of our heart, but it never will be.  These last two weeks since Cancun are a poster child on non-perfection but how bored would I be if both kids were perfectly healthy, work was slow, I had gotten a ten hours of sleep? 

Ok, it is definitely time for bed.  Goodnight.