Ahhh...To Be Young Again

It's not like I've put myself on any waiting lists for nursing homes just yet, but let's face the cold hard truth: I will be turning 33 in December. Another little nugget of information, I just celebrated my 10-year service anniversary at my work, which also means I've been out of college the same amount of time.

Much has changed over the past decade. I have accomplished some pretty great things, most noteably are my marriage to the man in the basement (it is just easier to refer to him by that title at this time of night) and the birth of our three little darlings who have FINALLY succumbed to slumber.

But, there are definitely days when I yearn to be younger again. Don't get me wrong, I know I am still young. And I know there are many advantages to leaving my 20s behind. But boy oh boy have things changed. Once a collegiate softball player, I now look forward to my one night a week of volleyball. And by "look forward to," I actually mean consider it my physical and emotional therapy and get royally enraged if it gets canceled.

I was never a partier, but back in the day, at least I could stay up past 10 p.m. without feeling like a truck rolled over me the next day...sans a single drop of alcohol in my bloodstream. At least I can find comfort in my mom friends. None of us can, nor do we want to, party like it's 19-ninety nine (oh man, even that is dating me!) Our ideal night out consists of dressing up in something other than our work clothes, partaking in happy hour specials, and if we REALLY feel crazy, catching a movie. More specifically, the 7 p.m. showing -- let's not get out of hand.

But, you know what the saddest and funniest part is? We will purposely avoid going home until we are absolutely sure that our children are in bed and fast asleep. And I don't think this is unique behavior to just me and my friends. I am willing to bet that moms all around the world follow this unspoken rule. "What time is it? Is it ONLY 8:30 p.m.? That's funny...it seems a lot later. I think we should all sit in my car out in the parking lot for at least 45 more minutes and just talk or enjoy the silence together. Is everyone cool with that?"

And you better believe that, on these rare and wonderful nights, husbands everywhere are anxiously waiting and wanting to know where on earth their lovely wives are. Are the ladies getting down at a club? Dancing the night away with some young college men? Taking body shots off the bartender while their friends gather around squealing in delight?

Newsbreak fellas: We are actually fighting off the urge to crash while sitting in our friend's car listening to Delilah on the radio...all in an attempt to return to a quiet house...at least for six blissful hours until the kids wake up and demand breakfast.

We Pay Just As Much Attention to What's Her Face

So, I have been getting crap from my dear friends Melissa and Nikki ever since Jaycee was in utero about me not exactly being on top of my game prior to her arrival. They actually came to my house days (literally less than a week) before my scheduled c-section to make sure Jaycee's nursery was in order. Not only was Jaycee my third child, but also our first girl.

What they found when they arrived at my house were sacks of shower gifts that had yet to be unpacked, clothes that still had tags on them and had yet to be washed (in Dreft they obsessed!) and a dear friend who had no idea how unprepared she actually was. It was not until after they left that I felt a weight being lifted off my shoulders. Ahhhh...now the nursery seemed perfect.

Fast forward 11 months. Jaycee is here and is adjusting to her new family. How do I accurately describe her parents? Thrifty, practical, tight wads, penny pinchers, resourceful, ridiculously conservative with the cash...all of these adjectives do Ryan and I justice. Case in point: I BEGGED Ryan to see the light and pony up for a new crib mattress before our little girl entered the world. Ryan objected and stood firm on his position that Jaycee would sleep perfectly fine on the same mattress that her now 7- and 5-year old brothers had slept on when they were babies.

Me: But, seriously, that thing has been in our garage for years.

Ryan: Who cares. It's fine.
Me: What are we talking about, really? Thirty bucks max?

Ryan: No need to spend $30 when we already have an acceptable crib mattress in our possession.

Me: But, honestly, we have propped that up against our tree in the back yard the past two winters to protect the boys from sledding accidents.

Ryan: It still serves its purpose.

Me: What if it has mold or something on the outside of it?

Ryan: I'll wipe it down.

Me: Can you really sleep OK at night knowing that your new precious baby girl is lying on that thing?

Ryan: Yep. And so will she.

I let him win that argument. But, last week, I finally threw up the white flag and admitted to myself that my friends are right. We don't exactly supervise and protect Jaycee as much as we did for our boys. Don't get me wrong...she is spoiled rotten and will likely get away with murder for the rest of her life...but behold the straw that finally broke the camel's back.

I walked into Jaycee's room a few weeks back and I saw a shiny metal object on the floor. Giving myself a pat on the back for finding it before she choked on it, I examined it more closely and found that it was a bolt screw from somewhere on her crib. Rewind to when Owen was a child, I would have immediately bent down to the floor and hunted down the location from which it came.

Then, about a few days later, what do you know? Another one of those damn bolt screws was lying there on her carpet. And this time it had one of those washer things (pretty sure that was broken) next to it. I marched it over to the kitchen counter and slammed it down next to the first one, huffing at my husband the entire time, because I told Ryan about the first one and he simply ignored it. Rewind to when Austin was a child, I would have NEVER rested until that crib was safe and secure.

So yesterday rolls around and I happen to stumble upon those two bolt screws and the washer on the kitchen counter. What in the hell have we become and how did we get here? Ryan and I have transformed from the excited, expectant parents who regularly attended classes to learn how to care and nuture our newborn to two, tired sorry excuses for human beings who really should not be held accountable for caring for little human beings. Meanwhile, Jaycee just keeps bouncing up and down in that rickety old crib blissfully unaware of the conditions around her. Thank heavens we don't retain memories from when we were babies.

Note: We did end up fixing the crib. Don't want CPS at my door!

All Good Things Must Come to an End

I have joint custody of Cambria. Not with my husband, but with my friend, Anne, who watches her during the week. We drop Cambria off with Anne at 7:30 am and pick her up at 4:30 pm. Cambria goes to bed at 7:30 every night, meaning Anne spends 9 hours a day with her and we spend 3 (during the week). I haven't added it up – as a working mom, you simply can't go any further than this with the math. Seriously. I've thought about this a lot and I get to this point (9 vs. 3) and then stop. I can't go any further or I would probably sink into a deep depression. All working moms know this going into it, so it's no big surprise, but actually following through with the math simply isn't worth it. However, I'm pretty sure it's equal amounts (when you figure in the weekends)....hence the joint custody.

Don't get me wrong, if I could choose anyone in the world to have joint custody with, it would be Anne. She is one of the only people that I agree with her parenting style 100%, and if you met her kids, you'd probably agree. They're polite, well-mannered, smart, but yet funny, quirky in their own right and all developmentally way ahead of where they should be. All moms know that it is very rare to find someone whose parenting style you completely agree with. I mean, I love Heidi and she is one of my bestest friends, but if I lived at her house, I would go crazy...or at least deaf.

Here’s the problem. Anne is going back to work. The perfect part-time gig fell in her lap and since her youngest is now in kindergarten, she accepted. I can’t blame her – it is the perfect job for her. But, who will I now share joint custody with? This began my week-long (felt like month-long) journey into childcare research, calls, tours and advice. I had never researched childcare before because Ryan and I knew we wanted Anne to watch our baby even before Cambria was conceived, so I had nooo idea.

I’ll save you all the gory childcare details, but let me just say this:
-I don’t know how people afford to send more than one kid to childcare. I mean, I always knew childcare was expensive, but holy hell!
-Apparently not all childcare centers provide lunch, meaning some crazy moms and dads out there pack their children’s lunch every day AND don’t get a pay cut for doing so.
-Getting a 14-month old into a childcare setting is more difficult than a newborn baby.
-I would never leave my child at a couple of the “top” centers in Omaha.

Luckily, after a week of nightmares, stomach aches and stress, we found the next-best-thing-to-Anne place. Ryan’s work has its own childcare center and it’s fantastic. However, I will miss my joint custody partner. I don’t know much about the new place yet, but I’m pretty sure they won’t dress her up as a princess, feed her brownies or teach her how to sing important songs like "Boom Boom Pow."

TSIB
-M