Miss Elizabeth Anne Gardner Has Arrived!

This is a guest post by knittergran, grandmother of hokgardner's new daughter!

Elizabeth Anne was born at 10:38 last night (Sunday evening), and weighs four pounds, fifteen ounces.
(Eat, girl, eat!)

Yes, she was four weeks early, but hokgardner went into hard labor and the doctor said there was a reason for that and that it was time for Elizabeth to meet everyone.
hokgardner is doing fine, considering, but wants MORE DRUGS please, and Elizabeth (isn't that just the loveliest name!) is now breathing regular air rather than air with oxygen added. She needs to meet three requirements in order to come home:

1. Breathe completely on her own.
2. Eat via her mouth rather than through a tube.
3. Maintain her own body temperature.

She is currently in NICU, but not in an incubator, so that's a good sign, and she's well enough that her big sisters are visiting her this afternoon. They have to scrub up in order to meet her, and I'm sure the solemnity of all of that will quite impress them. Lily, in fact, announced no fewer than four times at breakfast that SHE had wished for a girl and that's what they have gotten.

The new mother of four will be back blogging soon, I'm sure, but wanted you all to know about the newest Gardner! Pictures to follow....

Positive feedback

When you think about it, us moms spend most of our lives hearing what a bad job we're doing from our clients children. It's the very nature of our job to make our kids unhappy. We spend our days thwarting their plans and goals. Here's a list of things I said yesterday:

• No, you may not have ice cream now (it was 9am).
• No, you may not tie toys to the ceiling fan to give them a ride. . . . Because doing so will break the ceiling fan.
• No, you can't have a sleep over at L's house because we don't want to spread lice to their house.
• No, M can't spend the night here because we don't want to spread lice to her house.
• No, you may not sleep with your mattress flipped upside down. . . . Because now the sheets are on the bottom.

Most days, praise is hard to come by, and it's usually only as a result of something like new running shoes or root beer floats for dessert. Those kinds of things will elicit a "You're the best mom ever!" But those comments are forgotten the next time I say no to something.

Yesterday afternoon I had a meeting about a project I've been working on. This particular project involved writing a 20-page continuing education module on childhood diabetes. The meeting was attended by the project manager and her assistant from the marketing/pr firm I work for and diabetes experts from Health and Human Services who have the final editorial review of the document. One of the men there is THE expert on childhood diabetes for the State of Texas.

I was a bit nervous going in. I hadn't received any feedback of any type on the module, and since I'm not a medical professional, I was worried that I'd missed the mark on the paper.

Instead, the doctor offered some revisions based on his expertise. But otherwise, he left the paper alone and said I'd done a good job on it. He even commented that he really liked that I'd added two sections that weren't in the original outline and approved some suggestions I'd made for further additions. Another one of the experts said that my explanations of the different types of diabetes were clear and well written.

I left the meeting walking about three feet off the ground. Not only had the experts liked my work, they'd said they liked it in front of my boss. I immediately called B to tell him the good news.

My buzz didn't last long, though. When I got home, Campbell started melting down about everything. Then the neighbor called to say that her kids have lice, probably from my kids. That's when I cancelled the two sleepovers and had to break the news to the girls, who cried. And then Campbell threw up on the living room floor.

Back to reality. And unfavorable feedback.

The (almost) forgotten child

Some of my favorite childhood persecution stories involve my mother's forgetting to pick me up from swim practice. My father arrived at the pool one night, half an hour late, and said, "I'm not supposed to tell you this, but your mom forgot we had to pick you up." Another time she forgot because my dad had been out of town for a week, and I had been driving myself to and from the pool with his car. She kept waiting for me to walk through the door, and when my dad arrived instead, she remembered that I didn't have a vehicle.

I never understood how a mom could forget to pick up her own child. I mean, doesn't remembering to pick up your children come as part of the whole maternal instinct thing?

And then today I almost forgot to pick up Lily from preschool.

Campbell was napping. I was working. Ella was watching last night's gymnastics. My dad was talking on a conference call. The house was so peaceful.

Then I looked at the clock and it was 12:55; Lily's school ends at 1:00. I yelled and bolted out the door. It was very good my dad was here to keep tabs on Campbell and Ella. Fortunately, traffic was light because UT is on break, and I made it to school in record time. I was only two minutes late for pick-up. Phew. If I had been any later, I would have had to do the walk of shame and go inside to fetch Lily from the office.

After today, though, I think I'll stop telling the childhood persecution stories about being forgotten. Now I know how it can happen. Besides, I have plenty of other stories I can still tell.

What a contrast

Here's an article about a mother who is such a contrast to the mom who made last week's news. I loved that she referred to herself as the "meanest mom on the planet" in her ad. And bravo to her for sticking to her guns on her rule of no alcohol in the car. I think I'll file this one away for when and if our kids get cars. We'll make them sign a contract, AND I'll do something similar if they break the rules.

B's dad did something similar when B was 15. B's dad had gotten him an MG convertable to drive when he turned 16. But B and one of his friends decided that they couldn't wait that long and snuck out one night in it. They got busted by the cops, of course, and the parents got called to pick them up at the police station. B's dad, as a punishment, gave the car away shortly thereafter. B was crushed. He still talks about it, to this day.

Mom's tall tales

My mom has a genius for telling stories about horrible accidents that cause the death of a friend of a friend. I thought my mom was the only one who told these stories, but the more I talk to friends about their mothers, the more I realize it seems to be a mom trait.

One friend told me how her mother, or was it her mother-in-law, told her to never knit in the car because someone she knew was knitting while riding in the car and died when they were in a crash and the knitting needle stabbed her. She also told my friend never to carry a punch bowl in her lap because she heard about this bride who was riding in the car on the way to her wedding/reception holding a punch bowl. Of course, she was in a crash and died, on her wedding day, because a shard of glass from the punch bowl pierced her heart.

Heidi's mom tells tales, too. But Heidi named my mom the winner after two recent stories. A few weeks ago Ella and I were riding on the inner tube up at the lake when B whipped us across the wake. Ella and I both went flying. When I told mom, she got pretty upset at B for driving the boat recklessly. A few days later, she called to tell me about a friend of a friend who was at the beach and leaned over to pick up a shell. While he was bent over, he got hit by a rogue wave that knocked him over and broke his neck. He died. It is tragic, really. I feel awful for his family and friends, I really do. But I had to laugh at mom for telling the story as an illustration of why B shouldn't have sent me and Ella flying off the tube.

Today I took mom and dad to Ella's school so we could join her for lunch. As we were leaving, mom commented on the signs about how the school is doing things for the environment. Then she told me about a friend of a friend who went out to turn her compost heap, which had some rare spores in it that got released and she inhaled them. And she died. I groaned. Dad asked if she had been returned to the compost heap to join the decomposition cycle.

There have been other stories - kids who climbed into dishwashers and poked their eyes out on the things that stick up (she has told me that story with each kid), kids who swallow refrigerator magnets and get horribly sick, kids who poke their eyes out with knitting needles and get horrible infections and have to wear eye patches for the rest of their lives. Or was that last one just her fear of what will happen to Campbell if Lily leaves her knitting needles out? I can't remember.

I'm putting out a call for stories - has your mother, mother-in-law, grandmother, etc. told you a cautionary tale that ended with someone's death? I'd love to hear one that beats mom's two stories.

Sorry mom, I just can't help myself on this one.

I quit

Today was one of those days that I really hate my job of stay-at-home mother of three. It really was one for the record books.

First I missed Wednesday morning running because of the after-effects of a migraine last night. Then Campbell woke up on the wrong side of the planet and nothing made him happy. The first of many rounds with Ella ended well, but after that things deteriorated - especially after she jumped on her brother's head after climbing a door frame. I sent her to her room so I could calm down and get Campbell settled. But that sent her into hysterics about how unfair I was for sending to her room for accidentally jumping on her brother. Nevermind that we've told her time and again she's not allowed to climb door frames when Campbell's on the loose. While I was trying to explain things to her, she threw a lovie at me, which got her sent into time out, leading to more hysterics.

After getting jumped on, Campbell was just plain miserable for hours. He whimpered regardless of whether he was in my lap on the sofa or if we were sitting on the floor playing with toys. Even nursing him didn't help. His crankiness lasted until his bath time, when he perked up considerably.

While I was picking up Lily from school my iPod died, again. I'll probably have to send it back to HP, again. This will be the third time I've had to send it back for replacement. And because it's an iPod + HP, I can't just take it to the Apple store. They won't touch it because it has HP software on it, or so a snippy 19-year-old informed me the first time the thing broke. If I didn't love my iPod so much it wouldn't be so bad, but I've gotten used to not having to listen to radio stations.

As I was messing with my iPod, refereeing the girls and attempting to soothe Campbell, B told me he has to go to Mexico City for a meeting about the development project in San Miguel de Allende. It wouldn't be a big deal except for the timing. I'll have to drive down to South Padre for our annual beach tip with the kids and pick B up at the airport in Harlingen on the way. Sigh. I'm not looking forward to 6 hours in the car with three kids and no reinforcements.

Dinner was the final straw. I actually cooked a meal tonight instead of just heating something up. As I was getting ready to plate everything up, B strolled out dressed in work clothes. He claims he told me that he had a 6:00 meeting, but I have no memory of it. So I plated up dinner for me and the girls, but of course Campbell was ready to go to bed. So I left the girls at the table while I nursed the baby. Ella and Lily both came into the living room to tell me they didn't like dinner, which was roasted chicken, wild rice and steamed broccoli, not exactly exotic fare. I spent the afternoon cooking a dinner that no one but me ate, and mine was cold by the time I got to eat it.

The girls are in their jammies, teeth brushed and ready for stories. Campbell's in his crib slowly winding down. I'm dreading the evening ahead; I have hours of work ahead because it was impossible to work during the day.

I think I'm ready to resign my job.

Being a mom means having to say "I'm sorry."

I'm learning as a mom is that it's ok to admit to the kids when I'm wrong and to say "I'm sorry" to them. Doing this has really made a difference in my relationship with Ella. I've discovered that when I apologize to her for something, she's more likely to do the same when she does something wrong.

This has been tough for me. I think it's human nature to defend your actions no matter what, even if you have been dead wrong about something - our president is a prime example. It's also in my nature to get completely stubborn about things and refuse to back down. But sometimes Ella is right that I'm not being fair to her or that I've done something that I shouldn't have.

This morning was a good example. I told Ella not to do something, and she looked at me and did it anyway. So I sent her to timeout. I stand completely by that decision. Later, I found a note from Ella on my desk asking why I don't put Lily in timeout every time she hits, kicks or pinches her. My immediate reaction was to argue that I can't put Lily in timeout each time because it happens so often - Lily would spend her entire life in timeout - and because often Lily does stuff while we're out in public or in the car, when it's impossible to put her in timeout.

But instead of arguing with Ella about this, I took a deep breath and a step back and switched courses. I wrote a note back that said, "You're right. I don't do a good job of putting Lily in timeout each time she hits, pinches or kicks you. I'm sorry. I love you."

Lily delivered the note to Ella, who came out and gave me a big hug. Sometimes sorry really is the best thing to say.

Children, children everywhere

Today definitely proved the axiom that it takes a village. I had children scattered all over town this morning just so I could be parent helper in Lily's class for the first time all year.

The plan was supposed to be simple - I'd take Lily and Ella to school with me, and Ella would go to her friend Lisa's house from school and I'd pick her up afterwards. The sitter was supposed to arrive in time for Brandon to leave for a meeting, and she would stay with Campbell until I got home.

Things fell apart completely. When I told Heidi that Ella wouldn't be at swim lessons, Matilda got really upset. So Heidi offered to take Ella to lessons and then deliver her to Carol's house. Fine. Then the sitter had to go to San Antonio with her real job and couldn't watch Campbell. I begged Heidi to take him for two hours, and she agreed. Then she called to say that she forgot that she had to take Matilda to art camp and asked if it was ok if Campbell went along for the ride.

I was joking at one point that I needed a color-coded chart to keep track of where all my children were and what time I was supposed to get them back again.

But as my mom pointed out, I'm very fortunate that I have the support network I do to make this morning possible. There are lots of moms who aren't so lucky.

Helicopter mothers

Apparently that's the new term for mothers who hover over their kids all the time. I've found myself surrounded by good examples of them during swim lessons this past week.

There's a little boy in the class after Ella's who is home schooled - I know this because his mother talks often and loudly about it - whose mother is definitely a helicopter. She was hugging and kissing him this morning, which of course I do to my kids, but then she told him that he was just her best friend ever. Ewww.

During Lily's class, there are a whole bunch of helicopters lined up along the one-way mirrored window that looks out on the pool. They watch every move their kid makes, gasping when the kid goes under water, cheering when the kid blows bubbles, and clutching their chests when the kid cries.

I view the time that the girls are in their lessons as MY time. I sit and do nothing, or read, or return phone calls while Campbell scootches around on the floor. Some mornings I walk to the bakery next door and get coffee or iced tea and a snack. But I feel like the odd woman out when I do.

Yesterday, I walked next door while Lily was in her class to pick up a sandwich and salad. When I returned I glanced in at the pool to check on Lily before sitting down. One of the mothers shot me a nasty look and said, "YOUR daughter is just fine." It was like I had been neglectful by leaving for 10 minutes. I just smiled and sat down to read.

I guess I'm sensitive to this because none of my mom friends are like this - none of them. We peel our kids off us and run for the door if necessary at gymnastics or swim lessons or school. We don't hover around, watching every single move.

If I were to tell Brandon about this, he'd just laugh and say it was my own neuroses coming out. He'd say that the mother probably didn't mean anything by her comment, that she was just trying to be friendly and helpful. But still . . .

I can't claim to be completely innocent of helicoptering, though. For example, it's only just recently that I've decided it's ok for me to stay in bed for a few minutes in the mornings while the girls get their own granola bars and juice and watch cartoons. The key to this change was remembering when I was little - I distinctly remember getting up, getting a bowl of cereal and watching Bugs Bunny on weekend mornings while my parents were still in bed. I decided that if mom and dad allowed me to do that, I could let the girls do it too. It's made mornings a lot easier.