Hartley's Trial Preschool Experience

Today I’m actually sitting down and handwriting this entry. I don’t now the last time I’ve done this but I feel like this content warrants something better than typing in the body of an email on my phone. 

I want to start from the beginning so here it goes.

This is not politically correct, and it’s far from how I feel now but the first time a professional merely mentioned the possibility of my daughter qualifying for special education Preschool, I cringed a little inside. I remember thinking I didn’t want that; I just wanted things to be “normal”. Whatever the hell “normal” is. I look back and I understand those feelings but I certainly don’t feel that way anymore. The Preschool program I once thought meant my daughter was lesser has actually been one of the very greatest blessings of my life, and, more importantly, her life. Sometimes I think I’m pretty good with words but I know I can never do justice to what these teachers and this program has done for Hartley. The best I can do is borrow words from my mother, a former teacher, who said, “what that Preschool has done for Hartley is nothing short of a miracle”. I should also mention our developmental pediatrician has said she’s never seen a child make such great leaps in such a short period of time. What I once considered a program that meant “less” I now consider this incredible lifeline that was thrown to my daughter, and subsequently our family, that will lead to a brighter future.

With all of that said, shortly after this school year began, Hartley was much less enthusiastic about school than she was last year. I tried not to get too wrapped up in that fact, and I told myself 5 mornings a week of school is a lot so she’s not going to love every day of it. She started asking not to go to school. She’d ask if she could go to school with Patrick or take him to school with her. As these questions grew in frequency, I started to wonder if maybe there was something more to it than being burnt out on 5 mornings a week. I started to wonder if a special ed setting was no longer an appropriate setting for her. She’s evolved so much since starting Preschool in October 2016 so maybe her needs have evolved, too. Four years of parenting has taught me to follow your gut and listen to that little voice. I wasn’t exactly sure what to do but I decided to entertain the idea that Hartley could attend Patrick’s school.

So shortly before Christmas I emailed the director of Patrick’s school for a “trial day” for Hartley. I gave her a little rundown of Hartley’s background. I told her that I personally think Hartley could “keep up” in a typical classroom and wouldn’t detract from the other children’s experience. But I also know I’m her mom so my ability to be 100 percent objective is impossible. I felt like if they let us do a trial I could get more insight about switching Hartley’s school next fall. She told me she could set something up in January.

I kind of assumed I’d be following up with her in January but sure enough, the first day back from Christmas break she approached me at morning drop off. Not only had she been receptive to my request but she was proactive in helping me. His school is awesome. The director and I set up a date. Hartley and I began a countdown, and she was so excited.

When the day came, I loaded both of my kids into the car, headed to the same school. A mom could get used to that - it was nice! Hartley was happy but said, “I’m going to miss you today, Mom.” I told her I’d miss her too but I wanted her to have fun at school.

Drop off was seamless; both kids walked in happily. It was actually better than when I drop Patrick off by himself.

I was nervous and just kept pacing around the house when I got home. At 10:30 the school called, and I braced myself for bad news. They were just calling me to update me on how well it was going. Yes, the school’s director took time out of her day to check on my child and update me so I could relax. Small things like that really speak to the character of a school.

At pick up, Hartley’s teacher for the day told me everything went well. Hartley could listen and follow directions along with the class. They enjoyed having her and said they wished they could keep her. I couldn’t help but ask if she had completely blended in. It certainly doesn’t matter but I was genuinely asking out of curiosity. The teacher said a few times she had some difficulty focusing or she would act a little silly but nothing that would warrant concern in her attending school there. She then repeated they really did wish they could keep her. Equally wonderful, Hartley loved her experience there. She continues to ask to go back!

I cried lots of happy tears that day.

I don’t know why but I sat down during nap and watched a video of Hartley at 2 years, 7 months. In the video I’m talking to her but she’s not giving any eye contact, not even a glance. She’s twirling (she’s in ballet attire in her defense). And as I ask her questions, she simply parrots back the last word of the question I ask. I watched the video on a loop. That little snippet of video reminded me just how far we have come. I just let myself cry and be so happy for the progress that’s taken place. My daughter is blossoming so beautifully.

We spent the bulk of 2016 hearing things like “behind”, “developmentally delayed”, “atypical”, and finally, “autism spectrum”. And at the beginning of 2018, I heard a teacher say my daughter could flourish in a classroom of typical developing children. I can’t full describe how great that felt but I was happy, proud, excited, and above all, grateful.

I’ll be the first person to admit, I haven’t been my best self this winter. Cold, grey days have left me feeling pretty low and really tired. But today I dropped off two Preschool applications for my children to attend the same school, and my heart felt so happy. It reminded me that I truly have so much to be thankful for.

I hope my daughter knows that I would never wish away her quirks. She is wonderfully and uniquely made. I love her for exactly who she is. But I hope she also knows that I believe in her. I want to make sure she is challenged because I truly believe she can do anything she sets her mind to. She’s made amazing leaps, and in my heart of hearts, I know this is only the beginning.

In closing, it’s not a guarantee that she’ll get a spot in this Preschool next year. So whether you pray, cross fingers or believe in good vibes, if you could send some prayers, crossed fingers or good juju our way in hopes of Hartley getting a spot, that would be much appreciated :) 

Today I’m actually sitting down and handwriting this entry. I don’t now the last time I’ve done this but I feel like this content warrants something better than typing in the body of an email on my phone. 

I want to start from the beginning so here it goes. 

This is not politically correct, and it’s far from how I feel now but the first time a professional merely mentioned the possibility of my daughter qualifying for special education Preschool, I cringed a little inside. I remember thinking I didn’t want that; I just wanted things to be “normal”. Whatever the hell “normal” is. I look back and I understand those feelings but I certainly don’t feel that way anymore. The Preschool program I once thought meant my daughter was lesser has actually been one of the very greatest blessings of my life, and, more importantly, her life. Sometimes I think I’m pretty good with words but I know I can never do justice to what these teachers and this program has done for Hartley. The best I can do is borrow words from my mother, a former teacher, who said, “what that Preschool has done for Hartley is nothing short of a miracle”. I should also mention our developmental pediatrician has said she’s never seen a child make such great leaps in such a short period of time. What I once considered a program that meant “less” I now consider this incredible lifeline that was thrown to my daughter, and subsequently our family, that will lead to a brighter future. 

With all of that said, shortly after this school year began, Hartley was much less enthusiastic about school than she was last year. I tried not to get too wrapped up in that fact, and I told myself 5 mornings a week of school is a lot so she’s not going to love every day of it. She started asking not to go to school. She’d ask if she could go to school with Patrick or take him to school with her. As these questions grew in frequency, I started to wonder if maybe there was something more to it than being burnt out on 5 mornings a week. I started to wonder if a special ed setting was no longer an appropriate setting for her. She’s evolved so much since starting Preschool in October 2016 so maybe her needs have evolved, too. Four years of parenting has taught me to follow your gut and listen to that little voice. I wasn’t exactly sure what to do but I decided to entertain the idea that Hartley could attend Patrick’s school. 

So shortly before Christmas I emailed the director of Patrick’s school for a “trial day” for Hartley. I gave her a little rundown of Hartley’s background. I told her that I personally think Hartley could “keep up” in a typical classroom and wouldn’t detract from the other children’s experience. But I also know I’m her mom so my ability to be 100 percent objective is impossible. I felt like if they let us do a trial I could get more insight about switching Hartley’s school next fall. She told me she could set something up in January. 

I kind of assumed I’d be following up with her in January but sure enough, the first day back from Christmas break she approached me at morning drop off. Not only had she been receptive to my request but she was proactive in helping me. His school is awesome. The director and I set up a date. Hartley and I began a countdown, and she was so excited. 

When the day came, I loaded both of my kids into the car, headed to the same school. A mom could get used to that - it was nice! Hartley was happy but said, “I’m going to miss you today, Mom.” I told her I’d miss her too but I wanted her to have fun at school.

Drop off was seamless; both kids walked in happily. It was actually better than when I drop Patrick off by himself. 

I was nervous and just kept pacing around the house when I got home. At 10:30 the school called, and I braced myself for bad news. They were just calling me to update me on how well it was going. Yes, the school’s director took time out of her day to check on my child and update me so I could relax. Small things like that really speak to the character of a school. 

At pick up, Hartley’s teacher for the day told me everything went well. Hartley could listen and follow directions along with the class. They enjoyed having her and said they wished they could keep her. I couldn’t help but ask if she had completely blended in. It certainly doesn’t matter but I was genuinely asking out of curiosity. The teacher said a few times she had some difficulty focusing or she would act a little silly but nothing that would warrant concern in her attending school there. She then repeated they really did wish they could keep her. 

I cried lots of happy tears that day. 

I don’t know why but I sat down during nap and watched a video of Hartley at 2 years, 7 months. In the video I’m talking to her but she’s not giving any eye contact, not even a glance. She’s twirling (she’s in ballet attire in her defense). And as I ask her questions, she simply parrots back the last word of the question I ask. I watched the video on a loop. That little snippet of video reminded me just how far we have come. I just let myself cry and be so happy for the progress that’s taken place. My daughter is blossoming so beautifully. 

We spent the bulk of 2016 hearing things like “behind”, “developmentally delayed”, “atypical”, and finally, “autism spectrum”. And at the beginning of 2018, I heard a teacher say my daughter could flourish in a classroom of typical developing children. I can’t full describe how great that felt but I was happy, proud, excited, and above all, grateful. 

I’ll be the first person to admit, I haven’t been my best self this winter. Cold, grey days have left me feeling pretty low and really tired. But today I dropped off two Preschool applications for my children to attend the same school, and my heart felt so happy. It reminded me that I truly have so much to be thankful for. 

I hope my daughter knows that I would never wish away her quirks. She is wonderfully and uniquely made. I love her for exactly who she is. But I hope she also knows that I believe in her. I want to make sure she is challenged because I truly believe she can do anything she sets her mind to. She’s made amazing leaps, and in my heart of hearts, I know this is only the beginning.

In closing, it’s not a guarantee that she’ll get a spot in this Preschool next year. So whether you pray, cross fingers or believe in good vibes, if you could send some prayers, crossed fingers or good juju our way in hopes of Hartley getting a spot, that would be much appreciated :) 

Milestones

I'm hoping to write this in such a manner that it doesn't come off as a rant because it isn't one. But this is a blog I've wanted to write for some time, and just haven't gotten around to sitting down and doing so. 

I'll start from the beginning.

On Hartley's 3rd birthday, a little alarm went off in my brain that said, "3 years old! Time to potty train!" As she's my oldest child, I admittedly had no clue what I was supposed to do next. I'd been having Hartley watch me in the bathroom. I'd been reading her fun potty books. I'd already purchased a cool Elmo potty. And we were all about watching the Elmo's Potty Time DVD. But I wasn't sure what came next so I reached out to Hartley's teacher, a woman and mother with education and lots of experience. I sent her an email and awaited for some magical secrets to come my way. 

Instead of magical secrets, she pulled me aside at pick up, and I could tell she was being careful not to hurt my feeling or disappoint me. She told me Hartley wasn't displaying any readiness signs to begin potty training, and if she wasn't ready, it wouldn't work. She said she might be ready over the summer. Anyone who knows me knows I've come to embrace the individual timeline of childhood so I tried to hit home with the teacher that I was cool with that but I just thought I should bring it up because of her birthday. 

Over the summer, my mom aka Santa Claus, dropped off pack after pack of cool underpants with designs and characters that Hartley loved. So I decided to make a go of it, and go with the whole, "don't you want to wear cool Peppa underwear like a big girl?" approach. Well, I'm not going to delve into details here but after just a couple days I could tell she still wasn't ready. I was honestly okay with that.  

Ok, now it's fall, and she's in school again, and I'm making my hardest, strongest push to date. I've gathered all the tips and tricks, and we're trying them left and right. And I think (maybe wishful thinking, I don't know), it's clicking a little bit this time. I'm determined this will be the time we push through and get it!

But on Columbus Day when I was home with both kids, I was feeling a little overwhelmed. We were probably not even two hours into the day, which meant probably the tenth potty visit with no luck. I was sitting on the floor of my powder room pulling up Potty Time on YouTube for H to watch on the throne. And in that moment I wanted to feel better, like it was okay to have a 3.5 year old who wasn't potty trained. I turned to google - holy big mistake, Batman. The first page it turned up was a mom posting on a mom's board, "Isn't it child neglect or at least lazy parenting to not have trained your 3 or 4 year old to use the potty?"

Now, the internet is all sorts of dangerous for mom's. The most ignorant of people have this beautiful confidence that seems to spawn from being anonymous; they become expert level parents from their years of parenting that don't even fill up a whole hand yet. So I know to take these things with a grain of salt. But it did lead me to want to steal a page from their playbook and come to my space on the internet to talk about what I've learned in my less than handful of years of parenting experience ;)

I'll admit, before I was a parent, I thought I'd do things perfectly. I would have all the answers and the best rules. I had it totally figured out - I just didn't have the kid yet. And then I had a baby. I was humbled a little bit because she was a tricky (understatement) newborn. In her infancy, she was this stellar little human who was hitting her baby milestones early or on time, and that definitely stroked the old ego. 

It was all going great until some point when I started to realize it wasn't. To date, the point when Hartley's development started to branch off from what was typical was the hardest chapter of my life. I felt guilt. I blamed myself. I felt sadness. I felt disappointment. I felt like my world was crashing down around me because things weren't timeline perfect (to say the least). 

If I could go back in time and tell myself one thing it would be this, "Your daughter is bright and brilliant. She's doing things differently. And that is ok. It's not your fault. It's not her fault. She is unique, and that is a wonderful way to be." 

Reading that post online reminded me of that. 

I have two beautiful, healthy children, and they could not be more different from one another. The milestones that came in earlier for Hartley, came in late for Patrick. And vice versa! As parents, it's our job to guide and encourage our children. To give them opportunities to succeed (and also, sometimes fail). It's a tough balance to strike but we need to push them and simultaneously accept them. Side note: for me, that will always be my biggest challenge as a parent. 

Parenting is a long term game in every sense of the term. There are all sorts of little things along the way that help us get to the final goal of our children being well-adjusted, self-sufficient humans. I whole heartedly believe that everyone has their own timeline. And just because some things happen later, does not a loser mother make! If we're working to move forward when we can, we're doing just fine!

One of the most brilliant mothers I know is my own mom. The woman literally had 3 children under the age of two at the same time. I don't even know how many motherhood gold stars that earns a person - an infinite amount. I'm biased but I think she did a killer job. But to give an example, my brother and I didn't walk until we were 16 months old. Doctors say if a child walks before 18 months that is "typical development". But as a mom who had a child walk later (Patrick at 14 months), I can tell you that I definitely received judgement around my baby boy not walking around his first birthday. Gasp, what I must've done wrong! 

I digress. Back to my point - my mom had twins that walked at 16 months. My mom will tell you my brother waited for his lazy twin sister, and there's probably truth to that ;) But regardless, we weren't walking at freshly a year. Guess what happened? We both walked. I write this after I spent my morning jogging on the treadmill. And my brother? Well, he's literally run marathons! So what if we didn't walk early; we're both doing just fine. And let's be honest, my brother running marathons probably puts him in higher than the "fine" category!

Anyway, here I am with a daughter who is 3 years, 8 months, and we're a work in progress with the potty. She'll get there! She's done many, many things early so so what if this is a little late? It doesn't equate to child neglect or lazy parenting. It also doesn't mean that there's something wrong with Hartley. This is just her timeline. 

The thread that my google search populated from was an old one, and I'm not in the business of getting into mommy internet fights. I'm pretty sure hell is just a hot place where you're forced to go tit for tat online with a stranger about breast feeding. Ok, I totally intended that pun because it was too good to pass up! But food for thought I'd pass along to mom's who think that way, potty training your child early doesn't mean your winning motherhood; you still have lots and lots of work ahead of you. And passing judgement on people whose kids might potty train later than yours? Well, that doesn't make you a very nice human being either. 

Let's all try to help our kids move forward, trying to figure out a timeline with goals that are right for them. Let's cheer them on for their successes and comfort them in their failures. I'm so cheesy I can't even take it but these are the words of a woman living on coffee, wine and prayers. And oh, lots of laundry detergent ;)

Back To School

So I actually wrote a back to school blog entry detailing the kids' first week of school and their transitions only to not be able to find my iPad to be able to publish it! Then the other day I was walking over a rug in my family room and felt an oddly hard rectangle that seemed to be hidden under the rug, which turned out to be said iPad. I feel like this stuff doesn't happen to other people but maybe other people with small children find goodies under their rugs? My kids literally went through a phase where they liked to pretend the rug was a blanket. If only I were kidding but you'd be amazed at the creative ways Hartley and Patrick can turn my house upside down.

When I found it, I went to charge it and retroactively publish my post the entry but it already seems so dated! Only with little ones do I feel like my world can have drastic shifts in a matter of a couple weeks.

I did want to come on here to say that both of the kids are absolutely loving school, and I could not be happier. 

Hartley's big change this year was starting to ride the bus, and I have to say that was definitely the hardest part of the new school year for me. She's only ever been driven by my parents, Brian, and I, so handing her over to a bus driver I had never met before hit me pretty hard. It was hard for Hartley, too, and there were lots of tears when she realized I wasn't getting on the bus with her. But being the impressive little person she is, she warmed up to the bus, bus driver and aide very quickly. The second day she boarded without tears. And every day since then she's boarded the bus with a huge smile. Her little eyes and nose are all that show in the window; she looks teeny on that big yellow bus! But she watches me and gives a wave as it pulls away each morning. 

Here she is waiting for the bus:

She's the first on the route to school and the last on the route home which makes it about a 30-35 minute ride each way! She brings a stuffed animal to be her bus buddy, and I think that helps her a lot. I'm also very grateful at how much the driver and aide have really put Hartley and me at ease. Since the last couple months have literally been the first times I've trusted my children with non-family members, I have a great appreciation for these people who take care of my kids as if they were their own. 

Patrick's transition was not as fast as Hartley's, which I fully anticipated. He cried at drop off the first day but the teachers told me it was very short lived; once I was out of his line of sight, he was okay. He almost never has cried during school, just drop offs. Each drop off he cried less. Now we're down to maybe a little half hearted whimper as I unload him from the car, and then he'll happily take his teacher's hand and walk in. 

Both of their schools are absolutely wonderful. They are very different, and I think they suit each of the kids perfectly.

Hartley's school obviously wasn't one we picked but it is just phenomenal! Something about the structure just speaks to Hartley, and in my heart of hearts, I know it's been the main driving force behind her fantastic progress. As the summer progressed I saw things stall out for her a little. Something I used to beat myself up about before she started school in the first place was "what am I doing wrong?" And now I know, as her mom I can take her on all the field trips or organize all the play dates, but there is a structure at school that I simply can't replicate at home. A FCPS teacher actually told me that as her mom it's not my job to try to replicate the structure of school but rather give her the softer, safer place to fall. When I felt like she had regressed a little over summer that was hard to remember but now that we're back to school I can embrace it. 

Patrick's school is different, and it just felt like the best place for him. I'll admit, a year ago I never would've even thought that he'd be attending school this fall. He is young - the second youngest in his class (by a day)! But we actually decided to enroll him because of the all the growth we saw for Hartley last year. The beauty of him starting preschool was that it was my second time at the rodeo. I knew to look into schools last winter so we'd get a spot somewhere we loved for this fall. I knew freshly two was young to start school but I didn't see any real con's to it. Then at Patrick's two year check up the doctor recommended he start some form of preschool! His verbal skills aren't a real cause for concern (at least not yet) but they are coming in later, and the doctor said how great school is for kids who are slower to verbalize. It was kind of a happy accident that we already had it lined up but that might've been my first "on the ball" mom moment ever ;) 

His school is just the sweetest thing ever. I love love love his teachers; they are the nicest group of women. It's such a warm and welcoming school with a nice sense of community. They even told mom's at back to school night that if they wanted to come in to the office and have a cup of coffee on the first day of school that they were welcome to. Patrick's teacher told me, "if he cries the whole day the first time you leave him, I'll rock him in the rocking chair all day for you." They put so much time and effort to the transition for the kids, and it was not lost on me. Well, Patrick loves school. He's learning, having fun, and coming home tired - I truly couldn't ask for more. 

Lastly, school has been so wonderful for me. I know, I know, it's not supposed to be about the mom. But I opened up on my blog over the summer with my feelings of being burnt out. I know that sometimes it sounds really silly to people to say that being a stay at home mom can be draining but I've found that it can be. I had felt so much guilt about admitting that. I love my kids and I love the opportunity that I have to get to be home for these early years. But I also really love that I now get a handful of hours a week where I don't constantly have someone in tow. I feel like it actually allows me to appreciate my time with them more because I have some time to recharge my kid batteries. I have more energy and patience for them. I actually injured my back pretty badly earlier this year from carrying Patrick (the downside to having a ginormous babe), and now that I have these bits of "time off", I actually physically feel better! 

This fall is off to a really great start. I feel like we're now in one of those really good chapters of life that you long to bottle up. Everyone is happy, healthy, and our little Crane world is at peace. 

I hope everyone else that has gone through the back to school transition is finding their groove, too. I'm pretty convinced now that Fall really is the most magical time of the year :)

Summer Wrap Up

I've basically fallen off the blogging grid this summer. I started out with high hopes; I was going to chronicle all of the fun things we did, starting with our awesome beach trip. But the cruel reality of this summer has been that caring for and entertaining a 2 and 3 year old has kept me busy and exhausted, and there hasn't been a great deal of time for anything else. 

I want to sit here and say that our summer was a fun-filled breeze but it wasn't. While it actually was a lot of fun, it was also very challenging. Neither of my children is potty-trained yet (I know, clearly I'm at the top of the list for Mother Of The Year) so there were lots of diaper changes, which Patrick still loves to physically fight me on for some strange reason. Also, he still tosses poop diapers around if he yanks it away from me in time, joy. Neither of them can dress or undress themselves (though we made some progress in this area over the summer and maybe Patrick fights me slightly less when I dress him?). Neither can do their shoes or bring me their snack or drink cups to refill, or look for lost snack or drink cups for that matter. And they don't eat meals I make them - just a minimum of a dozen snacks a day. Patrick has gotten better about walking but still prefers to be carried - and he's 41 pounds. Neither likes to cooperate while I put on sunscreen so they cry and Patrick flails around and runs away from me as if he were on fire. There's been rivalry, hair pulling, hitting and shoving. There have been tantrums and meltdowns. Screaming. Crying. Fighting. Literal holes in the wall. Messes and stains galore. Days where my hardwood floors appeared to actually be carpet as they were covered in Cheerios and Ritz cracker dust. Bodily injuries. A stomach bug. And I feel like I've heard "Mom! Mom! MAAMAA!" whined or shouted at least a hundred thousand times. 

This was a summer I didn't see coming. At the end of last summer I thought, "well next summer they'll be older and listening to directions." Past Page, your idealistic vision of the future failed me. I learned the joys of two kids (not listening) running opposite directions, and I learned the harsh reality that I can no longer carry them both. I learned that these ages are a challenging combination. They are still very reliant on me for almost everything yet they are now old enough to assert themselves with one another and with me. 

With all of that said, I'm very proud of myself. As this summer winds to a close, I have to give myself a gigantic pat on the back. I did so much for them this summer. I tried to make it as fun-filled as possible, and I genuinely believe during this challenge level of parenting, that I did. There's nothing on the summer bucket list that we didn't do! 

At the beginning of summer my goal was that I was going to make sure that a minimum of three days a week I did something fun with them. Either play dates or field trips but that I planned to take them somewhere fun or to play with friends. I blew this goal out of the water. We ended up having very few days where we were at home all day. If we did it was usually a rain day or a scorcher. Obviously we did fun things at home when we weren't on an outing but I didn't want to spend the whole summer cooped up inside, and we definitely didn't. And to anyone reading who thinks taking them out of the house is hardly an accomplishment, you are totally welcome to borrow my children to take on as many outings as you like ;)

Ok, a laundry list of summer 2017! 

We went to the beach for a week (best week ever). We went to the pool. We visited a Children's Museum. The kids rode bumper boats for the first time. We frequented the petting zoo, various parks and playgrounds, and the splash pad. We hosted and attended our MOMS Club playgroup. We did lots of play dates. We did lots of deck time: eating Popsicles, playing with the water table, sand table, baby pool and bubble machine. We did our red neck pool parties with our inflatable pool an running through the sprinkler. We did wagon rides and trail walks. We were in and watched a Fourth of July parade. The kids went to a Japanese hibachi restaurant for the first time. We went to the mall play place and rode the carousel on a rainy day. Hartley got her first haircut (and Patrick got his fourth!). We went to Udvar Hazy (the Air & Space museum). We went to Theatre In The Woods at Wolf Trap to see Pinkalicuous and Wilhelmina the Opera. We threw Patrick a 2nd birthday party with friends and family. We took the kids to the Baltimore Aquarium. We got to see a Rocknosceros concert at Burke Lake Park. The kids got to go have fun-filled days playing at Nana & Poppy's house or splashing around in their neighborhood pool. On my low key days with the kids, we did art time inside - coloring or painting. We played with toys. Patrick's favorite toy this summer was his trains and train tracks so we designed lots of fun track set ups. Hartley's favorite toys to play with were ones where she could do pretend play, so playing with figurines (Peppa ones, calico critters) in her Little People dollhouse. She also loved attempting to play House with Patrick. We read books and baked. And jumped on the bed a million times! We took a lot of just for fun baths in mama's tub, and we snuggled and watched movies in our jammies. 

I learned to be picky with the places I took the kids by myself. We obviously jumped at play date invites since I can easily take them to other people's houses. When we were solo I would either do the petting zoo, small less-crowded playgrounds or ones with fences, and a small less-crowded splashpad near our house. Unfortunately nothing is walkable from our house and that's why a lot of outings are productions for us. Last  summer Patrick wasn't walking so we did way more variety, and this summer I just had to be pickier. The wagon was my people mover of choice this year but for quick gym or errand runs I used my double stroller. I only think I went out once by myself without a stroller or wagon (which I learned was a mistake). I learned backpacks are gold. I use to think a backpack diaper bag looked dorky but this summer I needed both hands, and my new backpack saved my life. Just my two cents if anyone else out there finds themselves juggling a 2 & 3 year old! 

I'm so very ready for school to start but now that that finish line is in sight, I actually do plan to soak up what is left of our summer break. Having Hartley in school five mornings a week is so wonderful for her and it gives us so much structure, but I do know I'll miss her once we get back into the swing of things. Motherhood is such a bizarre, tricky thing: so many moments this summer I just wanted it to be school time, yet I know I will miss her when she's back at school. Patrick will be in school only two mornings a week so that absence feels much more welcome ;) It will be our first time spending regular time apart, and I think/hope it'll be good for us both. 

Anyway, I actually have more to say and write but this was a lot. And I'm living on borrowed nap time so it's for another day. 

Hope everyone gets to soak up the last bits of summer before the most wonderful time of the year starts ;) 

Some photo favorites: 

The Story of Patrick Frank

This blog may be a little redundant because I've said a lot of this before but I'm going to write it because as a mom, I can't help but travel down memory lane on my children's birthdays. 

When I stop to think about how Patrick came to be, I realize how much of a miracle he really is. After struggling to conceive Hartley, I never thought I would experience a spontaneous pregnancy. I thought I was "broken", honestly. 

I remember feeling pregnant on Friday December 5th, 2014. We were scheduled to have a morning play date and then have neighbors over for drinks in the evening. I woke up nauseous and sweaty, and I literally felt pregnant. I knew I couldn't be and thought it had to be the flu. So I cancelled the play date but I ran out to Target to buy a pregnancy test to rule that out. Yep, right on the conveyer next to my wine because of the drinks with neighbors. I had specifically picked to buy my test at Target because they don't have those horribly awkward plastic cases you need to ask someone to unlock. The devil - but, I digress. The thing I hadn't accounted for was how weird it must've looked. I had an infant, wine and a pregnancy test. 

When I got home, I took the test right away. And I could not believe my eyes. I remember standing in my bathroom just in utter disbelief. I called Brian, and he was shocked. I'll never forget him just saying "what?", over and over. It was a very joyous thing. We were very happy but it didn't make any sense to us. I choose to believe (in a very cliche Hallmark channel kind of way) that it was a Christmas miracle. 

I scheduled my first doctor's appointment for shortly before Christmas. Once we were doctor confirmed, we'd tell our families at Christmas. 

Only, our excitement, very quickly turned into anxiety and disappointment. At my first doctors appointment they confirmed I was pregnant. But the baby measured small, and they couldn't find a heartbeat. They also found a blood clot in my uterus. All in all, things did not look promising. And about a week or so before Christmas, which was Hartley's first Christmas, I was told to go home and take it easy. I was told I was in a state of threatened miscarriage, I should go home, be easy on my body, and be prepared to lose my baby. I should call them when I started to cramp or bleed. Otherwise they'd see me for a follow up ultrasound after Christmas. 

I wish I could lie and say I stayed positive but I genuinely thought I was going to lose the baby. I was really sad. This baby wasn't one that I'd begged God for for years but I loved it already. 

Hartley took her first steps. We celebrated Christmas. I tried not to think about what was going on but I pretty much thought about it every second. 

Shortly after Christmas, we went back to the doctor. They did the ultrasound first thing. And sure enough, we heard that beautiful thump thump thumping of his heart right away. He was still there, and he was growing. He heartbeat was perfect. The clot was still there, too. So with a wiggly 10 month old at home, I was placed on modified bed rest. There's nothing they can do for these clots so they tell you to be safe, and you have to hope for the best. They would do ultrasounds every 10 days to see how things looked. 

My mom actually went with me to my 14 week appointment while my dad watched Hartley. Each appointment I went to I knew bad news was an option so sometimes if I could have someone come with me, I did. 

That day they said the clot had shrunk. It was also the day I found out Patrick was a boy. I didn't find out in an elaborate way like I did with Hartley. I really wasn't in a space to do a cake or some Pinterest-worthy reveal. But it was beautiful. My mom was there. My favorite nurse told me she wasn't allowed to show me my panorama test results but she couldn't stop me if I looked at the computer and saw on my own. I read on the screen "MALE", and I bawled happy tears. I said to the nurse that several years ago I thought I might not have a daughter or a son, and how lucky was I that I now get to have both. I was so elated. 

We revealed his name on Facebook - Patrick Godfrey (my maiden name). 

My pregnancy had little bumps along the way. I have massive anxiety at the end. The idea that I was going to be juggling an 18 month old and a newborn was terrifying to me. At the end, I wanted him to come on his induction day because I didn't felt ready; I needed every last day to get ready. But in true Patrick fashion, he surprised me. A week before my due date, I went to bed after popping an Ambien. So when I woke up at 1 am in a puddle, I was in a mental fog. I apologized to Brian for wetting the bed - and then I realized, my water had just broke. I was in labor. 

Things got far more emotional. When I was laboring in the hospital, I learned my grandmother had passed away in her sleep. I remember my mom saying through tears that she was probably taking her last breaths around the time my water broke. It's something that gives me chills to this day. 

I still remember all the details of that day, and how I learned about my grandma. I remember my mom knew before I did, and we listened to this Garth Brooks song about meeting your mom in my delivery room. I was crying. My mom was crying. And I was surprised my mom was crying but I didn't know at the time that she'd just lost her own mother. 

I remember after finding out my Yaya had passed, I told my mom that she didn't have to stay. And she told me there was no place she'd rather be. She told me that Yaya was there with us in the delivery room to make sure everything went safely and smoothly.

After 45 minutes of pushing, I felt that beautiful feeling of relief, and my mom shouted out, "He's here!"  Patrick was born at 7 pm on the dot. I still remember bawling as I held him for the first time. I told him how beautiful he was and that I loved him. 

We changed his name to Patrick Frank to honor my Grandmother Carryl Page Frank, whom I am also named after. I feel like he will always have a connection to her. And I feel like him being born on the day she passed has some very special meaning. 

Whenever I stop to really think about Patrick, I think about all of this. I think about (and I'm sorry, this is cheesy) how he restored my faith. He was this baby who surprised us, and he seemed so determined to stick around and grow and join us. And now I know why, he truly was this wonderful, silly, happy missing piece of our family puzzle that was so beautifully meant to be. I really never knew how much I needed him, and now I literally can't imagine life with out him. 

I always said if he had a slogan it would be: "I'm just happy to be here." 

Patrick Frank, 

At two, you are a man of few words (they are coming in though!) but you're never short on personality. You're hopelessly flirty. You tend to remind us an excited puppy. You freely hand out kisses and hand fives. And you are fiercely close to your sister, who has become your little partner in crime. You still love to be tickled and snuggles. Life is all about cars, trucks and stop signs. You are pure joy. We love you beyond measure. 

Burnt out but figuring it out

I think in all the years I've had this blog I haven't written much about myself. I did write about my struggle with infertility and my journey through pregnancy. Then the last three and a half years, my children have been the subject matter on this writing space, and I like it that way. 

But in the past couple years I've had a couple close friends blog about their struggles with anxiety and or depression. When I read what they wrote I felt like their words rang so true to me. I want to write about it but this could easily end up a novel. Well, I'll go for it anyway, a so hear shorter version. I seriously don't even know where to begin though. 

Ok, I'll start with the night I called 911. Brian had been gone longer than normal that week; he was on jury duty. When he would come home, he'd help put the kids to bed, and then he'd get on his own computer and do work. It was obviously a very long, difficult week for him. But it was for me, too. It felt pretty isolating to spend a long week only really communicating with toddlers. I couldn't talk to Brian over text during the day like I usually can, and he didn't have time to talk to me in the evening. I'd already been starting to feel the weight of the 50-60 hours a week I spent solo with our almost 2 and 3 year old so far this summer. Terrible two's and tyrannical threes are not terms I love but maybe it helps to give understanding to those unfamiliar with the age group. And also, those ages make for a rough combination. And then that week happened.

It wore my out pretty badly.

Well the last day of the trial Brian would get home much later than the kids bedtime. I headed up to my bathroom to grab some trash to take out to the garage. I had sat the kids at the kitchen table, each with a stack of Ritz crackers. As I come back downstairs a couple minutes later, Hartley is throwing up crackers. It looks like she's foaming at the mouth. She's coughing and coughing. Then she begins to scream bloody murder. That's a relief because I know she's breathing but she's wailing. Grabbing her throat, grabbing her stomach. Shouting, "yucky cracker!" to me. She won't stop screaming and crying. I'm already fried, I have no husband to be my rock in this situation. I'm asking her questions to try to assess the situation, and she can't respond with words, only shrieking. I frantically call my mom and she doesn't answer. I text Brian that I have an emergency, and he calls my dad, who calls me. My dad will come over but says I should call 911 if I'm really worried. I decide I won't but then I see amidst the shrieking and gagging that blood is starting to come up with Hartley's saliva, and I call 911. The dispatcher can hear Hartley completely distraught in the background, and she tells us she's sending out paramedics right away. 

Long story slightly less long, the paramedics deemed Hartley okay. But I stood in my foyer with them unable to hold back the tears as they rolled down my cheeks. It came up that I had an almost 2 year old in addition to Hartley. I had stowed him in his crib while the paramedics were there to keep the scene slightly calmer. Both of the paramedics, who were parents themselves, looked at me with utter empathy. "Wow, two and three, huh? That's - that's a lot. Go you, Mom." 

But that was the moment it really came to a head. This summer I've had a mouse infestation in my car, that left me housebound with the kids a few times. Brian has been doing lots of schmoozing for work in the evenings, making for very long days at home with no extra hands to help. Patrick is learning how to assert himself just as Hartley is beginning to experiment with pushing his buttons. And I have felt exhausted every single day. Pretty much every day I rev myself up with coffee, in the evenings I take the edge off with wine, and at night, I go for a sleeping pill to stop my racing, overtired mind. And while I have felt burnt out and like a failure, I push those feelings down as far as they can go because right now, my family needs me, and I don't have time to take better care of myself. 

I want Brian to get to do whatever he needs to do for work to further his career and achieve all the goals he has for himself. I want my kids to be happy and entertained and feel loved and secure. And even though there are things I've wanted for myself, I don't really think to much about it because I'm pretty busy thinking about my family and what I can or should do for them. Brian never fails to tell me that he appreciates all I do, and that I am the person who keeps everything running (somewhat) smoothly for our family. 

But around the time of the mouse nest in the van, work entertaining, jury duty, and calling 911 for the infamous yucky cracker, I realized I was starting to fray. You see, I've started to fray before but managed to bandaid fix it with an evening bath, Chinese take out or a run to Target by myself. But this time, I was fraying, and I realized I couldn't use a band aid. No coffee, wine or sleep aid was going to fix my problem. In fact, in some divine clarity, I realized these things were probably making all of my exhaustion worst, and probably taking a horrible toll on my already beyond neglected body. 

I thought about something that would help me, it has to be feasible. Brian has to go to work. He has to go to these Top Golf events and baseball games (it's a pretty rough gig, guys!) I have to take care of my two young kids, who I'm trying to discipline but they will struggle with inside voices, tantrums, hitting and making the craziest, stickiest messes. This is my chapter - that I will mention, I don't hate but it takes a lot of patience and energy, both of which are depleted lately. 

So I got online, did some research, and emailed a gym about membership costs. A gym with fantastic childcare. That was what I wanted. For three and a half years, my children have been like my extremities. I have rarely done anything without them, and I have never ever left them with a babysitter. I have left them with relatives but outside family or preschool for Hartley this past year, they have never been left. I'm pretty sure that's not healthy. Both of my kids are "mama kids". This summer, since Hartley's been out of school, she has become my shadow. She follows me when I change my clothes, use the bathroom and shower. While it is sweet, I can't convey quite what it feels like to never be alone. 

When I emailed for the price quote and went to pitch the idea to Brian, I felt embarrassed. I felt really embarrassed to tell my own husband (who I can tell anything to) that I was having trouble. Physically, mentally and emotionally I was having trouble functioning, and I felt this overwhelming urge to save myself. Like I had been treading water, and I was tired of treading and wanted to take back some control. Some tiny semblance of self. 

And Brian didn't even think for a second. He told me it was a fantastic idea. He told me how much it would be good for all of us. 

I walked in for a consult. I dropped the kids off, and I ran out of the kids club like an ex con breaking out of prison. Sorry, it's horrible but I wanted to rip it off like a band aid. I sat in a consultation office there across from a beautiful, svelte girl who had just graduated college. She sized me up, my squishy body in my pathetic makeshift gym clothes. She asked me how much weight I wanted to lose and how quickly. I muddled through my response trying to explain I just wanted to feel healthy again. I'm pretty sure that didn't make any sense to her. So I told her 20 pounds by Christmas and handed over my credit card. 

So I don't know exactly the point of writing this. I don't know if a gym can fix me. But I'll say my first full week of membership, I went four times. I felt the best I have since maybe even before Hartley was born. I had two days that I didn't even have a cup of coffee! I drank four glasses of wine that week (two for The Bachelorette and two for Friday at home movie date night). I took ZERO sleep aids. And two nights I fell asleep at 9pm! 

I don't know if other moms feel guilty because they hit a wall and feel like they need to do something for themselves. After three and a half years, I hit my wall. I felt guilt. I felt embarrassment. I felt weak. And in that office, across from that Miss America, I felt like a pathetic, walking cliche. But getting past those feelings, and starting to feel good, I'm feeling less shame. And who knows, maybe I'll lose 20 pounds by Christmas ;)