The End

It's hard to believe that I've now been staying home just over a year now. It's amazing how drastically things have changed in that short amount of time. You have to admit, a whole new kid is a pretty drastic change. I guess it just goes to show that the best laid plans aren't all that great. I definitely didn't plan to have another kid quite so soon, but I also couldn't imagine my life without him.

When I started this blog, my intent was to document my first year as a stay at home mom. The good, the bad, the ugly. I've never been the kind of girl that grew up with the lone intention of being a mom. I assumed it would happen one day, but I definitely didn't see it as a career path. Then again, I also assumed I would spend a few years living in the heart of NYC enjoying the single life. Like I said, that whole "best laid plans" thing is really just a bad joke. I guess I always knew that staying home was going to be a challenge for me. I've never really liked the idea, but I've also never liked the idea of someone else raising my children. I thought I could have it all: a career and a family. It turns out your can, but it's really hard. Something ends up suffering and I wasn't willing to let it be my family. I soon came to the realization that I have the rest of my life to work, but I only have a short amount of time to raise my kids. One day I'll get back into the classroom, sit on couches without pen marks, own something that is dry clean only, and have a morning routine that takes longer than 10 minutes, but for now I'm ok with spending my days being a mom.

Even with that realization, staying home is still such a challenge. I know that's a totally foreign concept for some people, but for me it's a very real dilemma. I've given up a lot to be home with my kids and I'm completely satisfied in that choice, but that doesn't make every day enjoyable and easy. With that said, I've learned more about myself in this year, than I've learned in the first 26 years of my life. They've pushed the limits of my patience, love and understanding. I've learned that there are no limits when it comes to your kids. If my kids need it, I'll survive on 4 hours of sleep and I'll find one more smile when all I want do is scream and I'll never stop finding ways to make my kids laugh. Simply enough, my kids make me a better person. I am so many more things than just a mom, but being a mom defines such a huge part of who I am. I am a different wife, friend, daughter and teacher because of the kids in my life. I don't think I would have been any less of a person without my kids, but I also know they allow me to reach a potential I didn't realize I had.

So this blog, along with the tears, laughs, and smiles that made it, are dedicated to my babies. One day I want them to read this and understand a little more about me. I want them to understand how they've changed me and how I've hopefully changed them. I also want them to get a glimpse of who I am. Because even though I've changed leaps and bounds in the last year, I still see glimpses of the old Stephanie. And I don't want to lose that, because even with all of my mistakes and bad habits, I sincerely believe I have something, no matter how small, to offer them.

I look forward to the many, many years that I will get to enjoy my children and the adults they become. It wont be an easy journey. It will be challenging and overwhelming, but I know that it will be the most exciting journey of my life.

P.S: So with little fanfare, I've decided to stop writing on this blog. I've come to realize that the free time I thought I would have staying at home, is not free and actually non existant. I'll put all of my posts on the family blog, with the intention of keeping the rest of the family updated and giving the kids a modern version of a scrapbook. I'm guessing you'll still see some Stephanie style commentary on the Huffman blog, but I'll be keeping it P.C for the family :)

S.O.S

Dear Boss Man/Human Resources Manager/Anyone Who Will Listen,

This is now my 57th attempt to request PTO. I have worked for this company for a year and have yet to receive any PTO. I'm wondering if this is simply an oversight on your part or if you are intentionally ignoring my requests. When I was hired, I never signed a contract, so I'm really hoping there is no clause stating I'm ineligible for time off. I was easily distracted by the many benefits of the job, so I forgot to ask about the PTO policy. I admit that it was my mistake, but I still don't think that is a justification for not giving me a day off.

According to my calculations, I have been working full time for 8,760 hours (minus the few hours I've been able to leave the compound without my charges) without a day off. I think that might be illegal or inhumane, or a combination of both. If this continues, I might have to report you to the Better Business Bureau. I hate to be ugly, but this matter has become quite serious.

I hope that you will look into this matter, as I think we can both agree that at the very least I deserve a few days off or at least a small salary; I'll take minimum wage. And while you're at it, can you please stop adding more kids to my load? It's getting a little ridiculous. Maybe someone should include a basic biology lesson at the next board meeting (it's just an idea, but a good one if I say so myself).

Sincerely Yours,

Stephanie Huffman

The Symphony of Motherhood

When you are a mother of two, everything seems to be more exaggerated and amplified. Feedings and diaper changes aren't more difficult, there are just more of them. Adding another kid to the mix doesn't always make things more challenging, it just makes more of everything. More laundry, more poop, more crying, and more diapers. And what I've quickly found out: more noise.

I've mentioned before that Riley and Emerson have some sort of weird otherworldly connection. Not the sort of connection that has them playing together and speaking their own language, but a connection that enables them to try my patience and push my buttons. Which I'm pretty sure I didn't even know the phrase "push my buttons" until kids came along. Most of the time they are good car seat kids, but when they decided they've had enough, they've really had enough. Rarely, do I have one unhappy kid in the car. Once they've decided that this is what they are going to do, that is see exactly how much whining and crying I can tolerate, they let loose. Talk about amplifying your life just a little. They like to perform a melody of sorts, a musical round, if you will. Emerson starts up with his Barry Gibb cry and soon after Riley chimes in with her whining, which as of late has consisted of her screaming "All done!" (as in I am all done with this car seat charade, so it's in your best interest to let me out NOW). Really?? One kid isn't enough? One whining screaming kid isn't enough to remind me that I should never go anywhere? I can feel my teeth clench and my blood pressure rise. Every inch of my body wants to pull over to the side of the road and walk off into the sunset, or at the very least yell some magic word that will make it all stop. But instead I turn the music up a little louder and put on my most convincing impression of ignorance. I remind myself that two is just more than one. It's just more of everything. More screaming, more crying and more whining.

Brent had the pleasure of enjoying their musical symphony for the first time last night. In true Brent fashion, he said it best: How do you still have a face? I would have scratched mine off a long time ago.

Miserly Mac

If I were on the lookout for classy people, let's just say the cream of the crop, I probably wouldn't start my search at a buffet. A buffet is a scientific laboratory of sorts. It's one of those places where you can see living, breathing stereotypes in action. People aren't frequenting buffets for the atmosphere; they're going for the vast, never ending quantity of food. It just so happens that this particular scenario doesn't always bring out the finest specimen of mankind. People are rude, pushy, and passionate about their food. With that said, I figured I was avoiding that when I took Riley to Sweet Tomatoes. They have salad. And fresh fruit. And foods that don't contain 100% of your daily sodium intake. It's like the Bloomingdale's of buffets. But apparently that was all a facade; I was mislead by the low fat blueberry muffins and garbanzo beans.

It was all fun and games until we attempted to indulge in some comfort food. Just as we headed over that way and I clearly asked Riley if she wanted some mac and cheese, a portly gentlemen inserted himself between us and the bowl. Even though I was completely confident that he heard me discuss my plans with Riley, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and figured he was just really hungry. So here I was thinking the guy was just wanting to maximize all of the space that his Hawaiian shirt offered, and then he decides to scoop ALL of the macaroni and cheese into his bowl. This guy didn't leave a single noodle behind. In front of my very own eyes a 45 year old man with bad facial hair is competing with an 18 month old for food. I'm pretty sure he felt my mouth hanging open (or sensed my desire to throw a fork at him) because he quickly turned around and offered to...wait for it...scrape some of his macaroni into her bowl. Um, no. Not even no thanks, just a resounding and emphatic NO. Yes, I'm using a fork and bowl that's been used by hundreds of other people and probably hasn't been properly sanitized in months, but I draw the line at a bowl that someone else has claimed. A bowl that he probably sneezed in or grabbed with unwashed pee pee hands. This might be a food free for all, but it's not total anarchy. There have to be some sort of rules or boundaries, even if they are unspoken. It's not like people have to specifically tell you not to reuse a dirty plate at the buffet; it's obvious. Just like it should be obvious that kids should get the right of way. And if your stomach can't stomach the idea of letting someone in line before you, then at least have the decency to leave a few noodles untouched for the people behind you.

Defining perfection

I'm starting to think that there is some sort of weird cosmic connection between child rearing and unwanted comments. It's as if birthing children somehow requires you to listen to the ridiculousness that falls out of people's mouths. And because I despise the phrase "do as I say and not as I do" I must smile and nod in an effort to show my kids that it is possible to be the bigger person.

When life feels hectic and three tantrums short of crazy, you would think I would revel in hearing how perfect my family is. So wrong. I can't stand it. I can't even think of how many times people have given me some version of "Aren't you lucky? A boy AND a girl! What a perfect little family." Since when was perfection defined by the bits and pieces found between my kids legs? What would have happened, if God forbid, I had another girl? Should I even admit that I actually thought I was going to have a girl and I was completely and totally happy with that? I wouldn't have been any less happy and my family certainly wouldn't have been any less perfect for me. I could care less what body parts they're sporting. I guess I am just to busy focusing on what a blessing it is that I created this being out of nothing. Nothing. That's a miracle and I'm pretty honored to be a part of that.

I know the sex of my children will eventually play a role in my parenting, but at this point I'm too busy just getting through the day to even think about how I'm supposed to handle boys and girls differently. They're kids. They're Riley and Emerson, not Vagina and Penis. I could care less if Riley wants to play with trucks and Emerson wants to dress up. Yes, they will eventually need to adopt some socially acceptable gender role, but at this point I'd rather they just worry about being happy. Maybe that's why I find myself so bothered by the comments. I just don't get it. I don't understand how you could even begin to consider yourself unlucky or unfortunate because of circumstances beyond your control. I want my kids to know that they are wanted and loved and appreciated because of who they are and not because they won a 50/50 lottery in the womb. There's no luck or fortune involved with that. That's a decision you make when you have a family. If you choose to have another kid, it should be because you want to complete your family in a way that makes it perfect for you, not because you want a certain gender role fulfilled. Five years ago I couldn't have even begun to predict what my family would look like; but I also knew, without a doubt, that whatever it turned out to be, it was going to be right for me. And I'm sure it might not be perfect according to everyone's standards (especially the women who asked me if I wished I had Emerson first), but I can't possibly imagine it any other way. Maybe it's because I had my second baby when I was least expecting it or because I know what it's like to lose a child. I know what it's like to feel surprise and loss and anxiety, but I also know what it's like to find comfort in the fact that there is a reason for everything. I'm ok with how life unfolds, because I know I'm not the one making the decision. Life doesn't happen according to my timing or my desires. It happens the way it should, whether or not that works for me in the moment. There is a reason I have a Riley and an Emerson. They're perfect for us, because we created them, not because they fit some other person's criteria for a perfect family.

I think being a mother is hard. We tend to take everything personally and immediately find ourselves defending our kids, whether or not an attack is imminent. We're given that instinct for a reason, whether or not it's always appropriate. More than anything, I want my kids to know that they've helped create a family more perfect and amazing than I ever thought possible. They are perfect for me, not because of what they are, but because of who they are.

The neverending urge

I'm just returning from my sixth trip to the bathroom. And I don't have food poisoning. Or an overactive bladder. I have an 18 month old that has decided that every twitch, pain or spasm is an urge to poop. Not a warning or a signal that it's time to go, but an absolute, without a doubt need to run to the bathroom this instant. And of course I'm involved with this potty routine. It wouldn't be such a big deal, if it weren't for the fact that during any of these given urges I could be nursing a baby or changing his dirty diaper. So let's just say it borders on the side of inconvenience. Here I was, naively thinking that it would be months before she would recognize the urge or even realize there was an urge, and a few weeks into it she is suddenly thinking everything is an urge. And you know what? I do what the books and wise moms tell you to do: I drop everything and make it a priority, whether or not I have a sneaking suspicion that this isn't the big finale. And in my finest example of follow through, I do it 6 times. By this time, I'm definitely not feeling the whole potty training thing. A huge part of me wants to hand her a diaper and say "Here, have a diaper. Now make some happy noises." Instead I prepare myself for another onslaught of poopie urging. I ready myself for the "Done!" knowing that I will go in there and see that she is not done, but wants to get down from the toilet so that she can crouch on the floor and scream "poopoo" again. It's this ongoing, never ending cycle. And I'm just not sure how to handle it. Is she constipated? Hungry for attention? Developing a love/hate relationship with the toilet? I really don't know. But I do know that I have a hungry baby, a suitcase to pack and a kitchen to clean. So Riley, here is a diaper. I really, really want you to go in the potty, but I would rather not make 6 more trips just to make that happen. So unless you are sporting a prairie dog, go make some happy noises.

When life hands you lemons...

It didn't take me long to learn that kids give off signals. Glaring, bright red signals that warn of the whining, crying, and all around lack of enjoyment that is headed your way. For Riley, that it's waking up crying. If she wakes up from anything, whether is bed time or nap time, crying, I know what to expect. And it's not good. It means she is waking up on the wrong side of the crib, which is going to put her on the wrong side of the day, which is where the whole lack of enjoyment thing comes to play. Unfortunately, the introduction of another kid has totally raised the bar when it comes to these signals. Riley and Emerson have some sort of infared capabilities which allow them to subconciously communicate how to drive me just a little crazy. The other day, they both decided to poop at the same time. Normally, this wouldn't be cause for worry. I can handle two dirty diapers in my sleep, with the lights off and only 3 wipes. The problem was that they both decided to create dirty diapers that didn't stay in the diaper. This is where that whole infaraed thing plays a role. It has been a really long time since Riley has leaked out of her diapers. I've even switched her to a size that is WAY too big at the urging of people who couldn't believe she was still in a size 3 diaper, even though she clearly fit the weight limits (apparently only dads and sleep deprived moms actually read and follow the labels on the front of the package). So, she really shouldn't have been leaking. She doesn't have the same runny, seedy excuse that Emerson does. So, somehow, Emerson mananged to communicate with Riley while she was sleeping to alert her to the fact that, not only was it time to poop, it was time to P-O-O-P. And suddenly I am left with two children who have poop stained clothes and sheets. I had a choice. I could either decide that this mess of an incident was going to ruin my afternoon and leave me frustrated and longing for the hour hand to hit 6 o'clock or I could make the most of it. So I reached deep into my ever diminishing reserve of patience and decided to make some lemonade with those smelly lemons. I stripped the kids down to their clean diapers and grabbed my camera. It was an old fashioned pants off dance off at the Huffman household. And let me just say, it's amazing what a camera and lack of pants can do for your mood. Suddenly, it was no big deal that I had a new pile of laundry to do. And it was no big deal that Riley had decided she was not in the mood to take a nap. Somehow it all seemed manageable after some quality time with the kids. It's pretty sad that it takes two kids for me to truly understand the life and lemons cliche. But I finally get it. It's all about what you make of it. You have a choice in that moment and its up to you to decide what to do with it. Sometimes I don't make the right choice, but when I do, I'm always glad I did.