This Isn't As Easy As It Looks

Often, one of my children will ask to help me with a common household task that looks as though it is within their realm of capability. I will often let them have a try at said task and then watch as they become frustrated, or even angered by it. A good example of such a task would be using the Shark Steam Mop. It looks like such fun with it's piping hot steam exploding from the base and the shiny purple handle. The kids consistently attempt this task, only to quit in less than five minutes. Each and every time such an incident occurs, I say the same thing, "(insert child's name), it really isn't as easy as it looks!" Madda and Sawyer have even taken to using that famous phrase before I even get the chance, when they are dumbfounded by whatever mundane task proves to require actual skill and not just passing interest.

This is how I feel about parenting. It really isn't as easy as it looks. Of course, I wanted kids. They're cute and fun and they love you unconditionally. Of course, I wanted a family and a house and 3 kids. (As many of you know, I want more kids....Jason-not so much) Having all of this dream-come-true family life is really not as easy as it looks. WOW, it is so much work and often we are not proud of the things we do as parents. Take for example, the past week in DeWitt parenting:

Last Wednesday, I decided to take the two youngest to Jason's work so that we could have a picnic at the park across from his office. Sounds like a good idea, right? Wrong. If you ever hear me suggest that I will take the kids for a nice lunch with Daddy, please remind me that there has never been one time where that delusional idea has turned into a positive reality. Last week's picnic was no exception. Sawyer was her usual, um, spirited self. Eamon decided to poop his pants and I was forced to change him in the grass, using 3 wipes on a 10-wipe assplosion of a diaper. I held his legs over his head and had him braced tightly so that he would not reach around and grab a handful of his own excrement. He cried and fussed as I held him. He always does; Dude has things to do. However this time, he was crying because in holding his legs above his head, in said restraint, I unwittingly caused him to projectile vomit all of his lunch (and that is a sizable amount) into the grass when he stood up. I could not have felt worse. Mark that in the book at the top of the "careless parenting strategies" page.

Later that same day, Jason (who was really glad that he was not the one to make his son vomit) was messing around in the drawers in the kitchen while Eamon looked on. Because the computer was sitting on the counter above said drawers, Jason assumed Eamon was fussing because of his lack of access to that most sought after toy. Not so much. Jason walked away from Eamon to perform his next task while I was engaged in talking Sawyer off the proverbial ledge. Eamon continued to stand near the drawers with his back to me, and cry. More than once, I uttered a, "You're ok, buddy" or a, "Eamon, that is enough!" Finally, after 30 seconds (or more), Jason returned to the scene to notice that Eamon was crying, not because he wanted the laptop but because his finger was tightly shut in a drawer. Jason quickly accepted his throne as he was then crowned the King of careless parenting for the day.

Of course, these two examples are far from an exhaustive list of the mistakes Jason and I have made. Seriously. That was just one day. Parenting is MUCH harder than it looks. The love that we have for our children is only the beginning of the equation. Thoughtful, careful and intentional parenting is tricky. Some of the choices we make are not always based on the most informed set of principles. Often, we act from a place of emotion or simply because we are rushed, tired and have a list longer than Santa's of things to accomplish. I admit that I need to slow down and pay better attention to what I am doing. This parenting thing is simply much harder than it looks. Who's with me??

Madeline Performs

When Madeline was really little, she used to love going to the Greenwood Park Mall. It was kind of our hang out and continued to be so until we left Indianapolis in 2007. The mall has a play area, a fountain and a pretzel place. Heaven to a little girl. However, the best part of the mall for Madeline was the piano player at Von Maur. The older ladies who continually played in that store were very gracious in letting my little darling touch their beautiful grand piano and assist her in plucking out "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" each time we visited. The fact is, all children love music and Madeline is no exception. At the age of 3, she started to ask about taking lessons. At 5, she started working with Crys, a wonderful teacher at the The Vaults Music Studio in downtown Lafayette (shameless plug). A couple months ago, Madeline added voice lessons to her musical education and she is loving it.

This past Sunday, Madda had her second (and most successful) piano recital. She practiced her piece without argument in the weeks prior and did a great job performing it in front of a large audience. Not much in the way of stage fright there. I was proud of my beautiful little girl and stood watching, with tears in my eyes as she sat at that huge piano, behaving like a miniature adult. Back straight and head nodding to the beat, she busted out her best "Music Makes Me Glad" and took her applause graciously with a perfect curtsy and a lovely smile.

I am not here to say that my child is a prodigy. This is clearly not the case. After more than a year of lessons, she is still in the very early stages of reading music. She is in the early stages of carrying a tune. She is in the early stages of practicing without argument. Nonetheless, the gift of music is something that cannot be taken from her. Her burgeoning ability to read, play and understand music is part of a package deal that is a value at any cost. The research is there people. Google "music lessons and brain development" and you will be bombarded with studies. Regardless of the cognitive development that is happening, I will continue to encourage and support this love of music that is blossoming within my little Mozart, mostly because it is her choice (and it has my complete approval). It is a skill that will live within her and grow if she chooses to nurture it. Something that could be a coping skill, a career, a passion and a buffer to many of the less than ideal activities children and adolescents often choose.

Above is a picture of my little Sarah McLachlan and on her big day. Did I mention that she is also a bit of a ham for the camera?

How I Know I'm Getting Old

In less than two weeks, I will be turning 35. Please do not assume that I am writing this post in order to garner birthday wishes. Facebook will take care of that. I am writing because, as I approach 35 I can see myself turning into another old fogey who does ridiculous things like enjoy shopping for furniture or driving around fancy neighborhoods to get ideas for landscaping (both activities that my parents enjoyed.) I know that my kids find my interests to be a little "weird" and I am starting to realize that they view me in much the same way that I used to view my parents when I could not believe anyone could every be so boring or be interested in or excited by the most mundane of things. Here is a quick list of the evidence surrounding my "oldness":

1. On weekend nights, I stay away from alcohol.
2. I have wrinkles.
3. I have tons of gray hair.
4. I have known someone who was a grandmother at my very age.
5. Famous actors and singers were born when I was in high school.
6. I'm interested in genealogy.
7. I think about options for retirement.
8. I eat oatmeal for breakfast nearly every day (fiber is an important nutrient in the diet.)
9. I check the Dow/Jones daily.
10. I prefer household tasks over napping.
11. Napping seems like a waste of precious time.
12. The 70's and 80's are portrayed today in much the same way as the 50's and 60's were when I was young. The 80's are now retro and the 70's are ancient history.
13. I am married to someone who frequently uses the term "tool around" when talking about fun activities, for example looking at fancy landscaping and furniture shopping.
14. My parents have an RV and think they could live in it some day.
15. I eat foods specifically because I think they will prolong my life and ward off disease during the rest of it.
16. I have been out of undergrad for nearly 13 years.
17. I have been out of graduate school for 8 years.
18. I have been out of high school for 17 years.
19. I have been a legal adult for nearly half of my life.
20. I started high school over 20 years ago.
21. I have a child in elementary school and I am the room mom.
22. If I became pregnant today, I would be considered to be of Advanced Maternal Age.
23. I think I will make an awesome grandma.
24. My 6-year old rolls her eyes when I make jokes.
25. I realize that my life is finite and I have a makeshift "bucket list" that includes quilting, knitting and marathon running.

Having shared my "oldness" list, I have to also share that I would not change a thing about my age. (I would change some of the things age has done to my body if given the financing) When I was just a young mental health worker, straight out of undergrad, I was talking to the unit coordinator in the hospital that I worked in. She had recently turned 32 and was singing the praises of being in one's 30's. She felt that I had something to look forward to. At the time, I was 23 and I was looking forward to heading to the bar with my work buddy in a few hours (you rock, Kristen Barnett.) Nonetheless, she had given me something to look forward to. She felt the 30's were a more peaceful and confident place. A phase of life that was on your own terms, complete with improved confidence and a sense of direction. I fully agree. Honestly, 35 feels pretty good to me. It sure beats the heck out of middle school (23 years ago.)

Humility and My Life as a Criminal

Although there are many happenings that have brought me to the point where I realize humility is a trait that I would like to nurture in myself, one experience in particular must be shared. Not only is it a good lesson in humility (for me), it is damn funny.

Some of you will remember that I posted a mobile picture on Facebook a couple of weeks ago, while on our way to Ohio to visit my family. The picture was of "Mr. Weenie", a mascot for some unfortunately named pseudo-restaurant in the lovely and bustling town of Peru, Indiana. Many of you who are familiar with the conventional route between West Lafayette, Indiana and Akron, Ohio will wonder what we were doing in Peru. Well, because my husband and I are such an adventurous couple, we thought we would take the scenic route. So we did, and we saw Mr. Weenie and he demanded that I post his ridiculous self on Facebook. So I did. Well, here lies the beginning of one of the single most significant communication breakdowns in my marriage. You know, the marriage that I kind of brag about because we communicate so well and are always on the same page. Yeah, right.

Ok, so Jason pulls up to the pump to fill up the mini-van (read "family truckster" ala National Lampoon's Vacation) and I head out to take a picture of the aforementioned giant "weenie" in the sky. I post the pic and head inside to purchase some super sugary, use only in case of emergency travel snacks for the kids, a Diet Coke for myself, and also to use the ATM and the restroom. While at the counter buying these goods, the workers start talking about how a drive-off had just occurred and I am stunned that people would actually do that, especially in a small town. I mean, stealing gas? I head to the ATM and there are several foreign-looking people looking confused in front of it. Therefore, I head to the car and suggest to Jason, who is waiting for me around the side of the building with a full tank of fuel, that we find another ATM because we might just have to wait all night for the current ATM customers to finish their transactions. Jason begins to pull away and sees that the ATM is now free. So I head back in and request some cash from said ATM. Apparently small town ATMs only have a limited amount of funds and I was given what was left. What I was given was not what I had requested, so I told the girl working (this being the same girl who I had discussed the drive off with, five minutes prior) that her ATM had an error and was currently "temporarily out of service." Nonetheless, my receipt from said ATM clearly stated the difference between my request and disbursement and I figured all was well. I bid the workers at the Peru BP farewell, and we were off on a drive that can only be described as "less than ideal."

Hellish as it may be, Jason and I had great conversations on many subjects throughout most of the drive. We talked about family and religion, hopes and dreams. We discussed future plans and probably held hands and felt close and connected. I am always proud and probably a bit boastful about the way Jason and I communicate. I love having the chance to talk to him about intellectually stimulating topics. Never once did we further discuss our trip to the Peru BP, except to giggle sophmorically about Mr. Weenie. After a couple hours of talking, I climbed in back to soothe our crying son and watch a movie with our daughters. Jason listened to an NCAA final of some sort. We had a great trip and made it back safely to Indiana on Sunday.

It was not until Tuesday that I was struck by the fact that perhaps my husband and I do not communicate as well as I would like to think. The caller ID told me that my bank was calling and I quickly answered. The representative from the bank let me know that she had received a call from a merchant who had used my card information to track me down because ACCORDING TO THEIR SURVEILLANCE CAMERA I HAD NOT PAID FOR GAS THAT JASON HAD PUMPED. Folks, let me tell you that I am a perfect candidate for a life of crime. My fingerprints are so faint that they have to be done via laser detection. Traditional methods do not work. I look pretty innocent. People give me the benefit of the doubt. Nonetheless, I WOULD NEVER STEAL GAS. I am a rule follower. Jason had stood outside and pumped $50.00 worth of gas into our van and expected that I would pay for it when I headed inside on that day in Peru. I thought he would use his card and pay at the pump. I sympathized with the clerk about the drive-off and lo and behold- I was the drive off. Apparently, the communication in our marriage is not as brag-worthy as I had thought. Luckily, I was such an obvious customer that day; what with my bright pink jacket, picture taking and repeated trips into the store. So obvious (or obnoxious), that the clerk contacted my bank, giving me the benefit of the doubt. She said that she had never before tried to contact anyone or given them the benefit of the doubt. She said she was sure that there was some kind of misunderstanding. She just didn't think that I "looked the type to steal gas." Yeah, maybe because those who are trying to break laws are a lot less chatty and annoying when they are in your store.

The moral of the story is that I am humbled by the fact that as good as my marriage is, there is still so much work to do. I am humbled by the fact that Andy, the clerk at the Peru BP, took time to offer me another chance because she was sure of a "misunderstanding." I am humbled that as a complete stranger, she was able to recognize my honesty. She could have easily called the police. That would have been much quicker and the much more obvious (or jaded) program to follow. This is only one of the many lessons I am learning in humility these days. If you got to this point in this very long post, I am humbled that you have stayed with me for such a lengthy read.

A New Conversation

I hope that this blog can be a vehicle for many things including laughter, a connection to others and a place to start conversations that are not always easy to engage in the day to day. Several posts ago, I gave an account of my experience in caring for Madda when she was a newborn. I mentioned my bout with Postpartum Depression and I would like to expand on that topic. At the risk of appearing to be a "Debbie Downer", this is a conversation that I would like to start and a serious issue that I would like to explore. The statistics on depression in women are staggering and the tiny bit of internet research that I have done does not paint a pretty picture.

According to medtv.com, it appears that 1 in 4 women will suffer from serious depression in her lifetime. This statistic is confusing to me because the same web site asserts that only 1 in 5 women actually seek treatment for their symptoms. Because only 1 in 5 is seeking treatment, does that mean that statistics related to depression in women are grossly underestimating the prevalence of such a disabling condition? Of course, the statistics obtained from sites like medtv.com, webmd.com and about.com are not always to be trusted. Nonetheless, I am certain that rates of depression among women are higher than any of us would like to see. Depression is often an incredibly lonely and isolating place. It is a source of shame and often seen as a weakness. Nonetheless, depression takes many forms and can occur in various phases of life, ignited by both external and internal functioning. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) calls depression various different names: Bipolar, Major Depression, Dysthymia, Postpartum Depression. Depression can manifest itself in many forms and women (or men) can experience anxiety, psychosis, hopelessness, intrusive thinking, anhedonia (the inability to experience pleasure), fatigue, loss of appetite, crying, withdrawal; The list goes on and on and on. Despite being so common, people shy away from discussing the symptoms, treatment and experience of depression because of shame and embarrassment. American society is not always easy on those who are seen as "weak." Although the commercials play on TV for various medications used to treat depression, we don't talk about it much outside of our Doctor's office or the occasional support group. Often the closest friends of those afflicted have no idea of the internal struggle going on. It is no surprise to me the depression is so common. Our society is a rat race. We feel compelled to measure up to scrutiny that is beyond that of mortal (wo)man. We are constantly reminded that we are not good enough by the media and the flood of images and ideas placed in our conscious and unconscious minds. Women, whether they are mothers, singles, marrieds, black, white or otherwise expect so much out of themselves. We experience guilt over so many things. We are emotional and hormonal and stressed. We often feel isolated and lonely. We are the perfect storm for depression.

I have experienced depression both personally as previously blogged and professionally in my former life as a therapist. It is a crippling and scary disease of the human body and mind. I am fearful for my daughters and their statistical and genetic vulnerability to this illness. I hope that the safe home and thoughtful parenting that Jason and I provide will be their first defense against depression. The next million defense strategies are already in the works. What are your thoughts on this issue?

Forward.....

Disclaimer: If you are creeped out by cheesy posts about love and marriage, please STOP here.

I am going to try and give an honest account of the love story of Katie and Jason DeWitt. I promise a couple of good laughs and a candid look at marriage between two unlikely candidates. Yesterday, Jason and I celebrated our 7th wedding anniversary. That means that we have been together for nearly 8 years. We were married 51 weeks from the day we met in a quickie shot-gun style wedding. As many of you know, we met in a bar. I truly believe that all of the years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes and even seconds in my life culminated and were perfectly orchestrated so that I would walk into O'Bryon's Irish Pub on Madison Road in Cincinnati, Ohio at the moment in which I did. I immediately sat down next to who was to become my husband and sparks began to fly. Then there were fireworks and the rest of my life was decided, rather quickly. I moved to Indianapolis, having completed my MSW at UC in June and shacked up with my boyfriend of 3 months in an 0ver-priced apartment and we began our lives together.

Ladies and gentlemen, there was never a question in my mind about our relationship. I never considered whether he would be a good husband, father, companion or friend. I knew he would- I knew in my heart and my oftentimes over-active brain trusted that smitten heart and forward we went. In December, (having moved to Indy in July) I started noticing some changes to my, um...body. I was suddenly a curvaceous woman and inquired of my live-in boyfriend/future doctor whether or not he thought I could be pregnant. "Absolutely not!" was the response I received....like 10 times. Finally, I took a test. It was positive. I was a stereotype. A non-married, knocked up, living in sin pregnant lady. In retrospect, the timing was perfect. In the moment, we were dumbfounded. Adjusting to the idea of having a child in the mindset we had at the time took more than a couple days. Our plans for the short term were rendered irrelevant. We talked ad nauseum about how this could have happend and how we felt fearful and not ready for having kids. The moment where we were able to accept our fate will forever be etched in my mind. As with most DeWitt milestones, it was not during a lovely walk through a garden or over a romantic dinner; it was at Mike's Express Carwash. As we drove our non-child friendly VW through the shooting soap and spinning brushes, Jason, out of nowhere says, "We can do this. Geez, I'm gonna be a doctor in 5 months, you're educated. We're old enough to have a baby." Again, I had never questioned whether he would support me or us. I had never questioned his capacity for becoming a father. I knew this would mean as much to him as it did to me. And, forward we went. We were married in the aforementioned quickie ceremony in Brown County, Indiana. We had a party, I was able to shove my voluptuous self into a dress. It was not the dream wedding; it was not lavish or even very representational of us personally. Nontheless, it was ours and it was perfect. A beautiful, dainty baby girl was born in August and forward we went, as all new parents do, in awe and wonder with a sense of pride and responsibility heretofore unknown. Our marriage is built on love and like-mindedness and those two qualities certainly had their place as we fought our way through Jason's residency and the necessity of my full-time job. Never once did either of us sacrifice one moment away from each other or our darling daughter. Those moments were precious and few and the memories of those first years are inexplicably dear to me.

And then Sawyer was born. Colic nightmare that she was, we now had two gorgeous daughters and a residency that was winding down leaving us with time for family life. My husband informed me that he wanted to pursue a job opportunity in LAFAYETTE, INDIANA. I was truly speechless. For all I knew at the time, Lafayette (West Lafayette) was another horrible and forsaken Indiana town. I wanted to stay in Indianapolis. Or leave Indiana all together. Jason's insistence on moving to Lafayette was incredibly frustrating to me and this was a time that I had to trust him, like it or not. For our loved ones, we do things that are unexpected, scary and often, downright against our better wishes. As many of you know, we moved our young family to West Lafayette, a place where we knew approximated 4 people and we started over. At the age of 32. We lived in a dumpy rental and sweated out the still lingering mortgage in Indy on top of our (again) over-priced rent. We paid 2 sets of utilities and finally sold our Indy home after an agonizing YEAR on the market. And then, we settled down. We bought a home in what I have named "suburban utopia" on Nice Guy St. and were ecstatic to welcome a miniature version of my husband by the name of Eamon.

Last week, I wrote a post about my husband and it may have been misconstrued by some as painting my husband as a neanderthal. Although a caveman on many accounts, he is a great husband, friend, and hopefully a life-long companion. We came from very different backgrounds and value systems. Nonetheless, through all the changes we have been on the same page since that evening in March of 2002 when I sat next to him at O'Bryon's. Forward we go....

What My Husband Probably Thinks....(inspired by Bilak)

Recently, a friend from high school joked that he would like to start a sarcastic version of my blog, as told from the male perspective. As I told him, there are endless ways to poke fun at the Mommy blog. I'm sure many non-moms or non-parents read a Mommy blog and find the information trite and annoying. I get it. I do. So, in the spirit of Bilak's comment, I will attempt to write a blog from my husband's perspective. I will start his internal dialogue from the time he wakes up in the morning.

Today when I woke up at 7pm, I was so tired, but ready for a little you know what. My wife was still sleeping with those stupid pajama pants on that have a tie around the waist. She probably double knots those SOB's so that I will leave her alone. In my defeat, I headed to the shower and got ready as quickly as I could. I really wanted to get out of there before any of the kids woke up. I hate when they wake up crying and needy and want me to help them with a bunch of stuff. So, I kissed Katie and headed to work. I had a busy day; implant case, pediatric sedations, a full mouth at 2pm. Generally a good, productive day. I ate a crappy lunch from Wendy's despite the fact that Katie encouraged me to take the leftovers from last night. I always act like I forget the leftovers because honestly, Katie is a terrible cook. Not to mention the fact that she insists on using green peppers, tomatoes and onions in 90% of the crap she makes. I hate all three of those ingredients but moreover, I hate leftovers. I prefer the Baconator. Cholesterol and/or saturated fat are not concerns of mine. Anyway, after jacking around at my desk long after everyone else has gone home, I head home myself. Katie has already called me 5 times (screaming kids were, of course in the background) and asked me to bring her a Diet Coke from the fridge at work. I always try to bring her one. It scores me some points. (You know what I'm talking about, right guys?) Anyway, I walk into my house and it is trashed. My baby boy starts crying and holding his arms up to me, the girls are dressed like bag lady-princesses and are running around screaming like banshees. My wife looks like she has not slept in 10 days. She is cooking some slop that I explore critically and I start thinking about how pissed she might be if I suggest a phone call to Papa John's. Honestly, she tries, but she is not a good cook. I go through my normal routine: listen to Katie blabber on about her day and all of the "interesting" things that she did (I process approximately 25% of the information), I check cnnsi.com, I go upstairs and change clothes. I start wondering what kind of shot I have at getting Katie to hook up with me tonight. I ruin my "dinner" by eating crackers and cheese so that I don't have to eat that mess she has created. I attempt to talk to my daughters who are currently dancing and singing to some super loud music blaring from the TV. I hold my dirty son who looks like one of those babies you see in a cart at Wal-Mart. And then, I start to help my wife. She looks overwhelmed, tired and in need of a shower. I pick up a little bit, try to help my 1st grader with her homework, hold my son and play with our younger daughter. I have to admit it, my life is pretty good. I have cute kids, a great wife and I work 4 days a week. I'm honestly a pretty good husband and an attentive Dad. Seriously though, what do you think my chances are with Katie tonight?