What's it going to take?

After 9/11, I remember seeing a lot of people putting flag bumper stickers on their cars and talking about patriotism and even being nicer to each other, especially in NYC. While all that was great, all I could think was, why didn’t everyone act like this sooner? Why did we have to endure a national tragedy for our citizens to be proud of their country? And why does it take something awful like hundreds of innocent people dying to get those of us living to treat each other with kindness?

This thought occurred to me again on Friday as news broke of yet another school shooting. All day I saw posts on Facebook about how the events that happened in Connecticut made parents want to go home and hug and hold their kids. What I don’t get is… don’t you want to do this every day? Don’t get me wrong; I get it. I know that when an awful tragedy like this occurs, it makes each of us take a second to really appreciate what we have and we realize how fragile life is. But we need to remind ourselves of this all the time; not just when something bad happens. I can’t wait to get out of work every day and get to my kids. Their faces are my little piece of heaven and make me feel like I have a purpose in this world. I don’t wait until I hear about a school shooting or a kid getting abducted or a massive hurricane to love them. I smother my kids with hugs and kisses every chance I get. They hear “I love you” from me and their dad constantly.  In several years, they will be “too cool” for all of this, and I will still make sure that they never question how much they mean to me.

A Facebook friend posted that her kids’ school contacted the parents to let them know that starting this week, they were putting more security measures in place. Why did they wait until now? We have been hearing about this type of thing for years now.  I recently posted a status about the security when I had to visit a few local schools. What I didn’t comment about was the one school that I was able to walk right into. No buzzer or locked doors or anything. That is scary. Unfortunately, we live in a world where these things can’t be ignored.

And what about our teachers? I am seeing posts about how wonderful teachers are and how they should be appreciated. Shouldn’t they have been appreciated last week? Before we had to be reminded how wonderful they are by losing someone like Victoria Soto who died trying to protect her students? How about we all take the $1 we would have spent on a lottery ticket and buy a box of pencils for those amazing teachers who every year purchase supplies from their own money. Or we could stop overpaying professional athletes and put some of those millions into retirement funds for our educators. Just a thought…

Now that I’ve probably made a lot of people mad, I’m going to step down from my soap box and go home and hug my kids. Just like I do every night.   

Church Talk

I am not the most devout Christian in the world, and I don’t know everything that the Bible says, but Kevin and I were both raised Catholic, and we are bringing our children up that way, too. We try our best to attend church every week, and we are slowly teaching Cole (and one day, Chloe) about religion. He knows the Sign of the Cross (kind of) and that we take turns standing and sitting and kneeling (Catholic Olympics, as a friend calls it) and that he blesses himself with holy water when we leave. In his growing quest for knowledge, Cole threw me for a loop in church this past Sunday.

“Who is that man?” Points to the large Jesus on the cross at the front of the church.

“Jesus,” I say, hoping that is all he wants to know.

“Why is he standing there?” Hmm, good question.

“He’s on the cross.”

“What’s that stuck on his hands and feet?” Points to his own hands and feet.

“Nails to keep him on the cross.”

“Why they do that?” Oh, boy. How do I handle this one?

“Well, a long time ago, people were upset with Jesus, so they put him on a cross with nails and he died there. But he didn’t mind because he loves us. And it was okay because he woke up 3 days later and went to live in heaven with his daddy.”

“Oh. I want a donut.” End of conversation. Thank God. (No pun intended.)

I’m looking forward to many, many more questions in the future about religion and a ton of other topics that I won’t be fully prepared for. Kind of.  

How is he?

Since Chloe was born, a question that we get all the time is “how is Cole with her?” This is a relationship that was much anticipated for us, and we have found the answer to be quite simple.

He absolutely loves and adores her.

I have to admit that I was a bit worried about issues like jealousy or my rough little boy not knowing how to be gentle with a baby. Yes, sometimes he wants to be picked up when I’m holding her. “You can have 2,” he likes to tell me. And sometimes he thinks it’s funny to poke her in the face or try to pick her up. But while these things do come up, I couldn't be happier about how sweet and loving Cole is towards Chloe. And she just adores him. Everything he does makes her smile and stare and now she has started actually laughing out loud at her big brother. It’s the best sound in the world. I know that as the years go on, there will be plenty of fights, but I hope that they will always love each other as much as they do now.

Meeting- Love at 1st sight!

He loves giving her kisses.

She loves looking at him.

She thinks her big brother is pretty funny.

And a little bit of torture. 

Pure Imagination

I'm loving this 2 1/2, almost 3, age with Cole. Granted, he tests us about 100 times a day, but his imagination is running wild these days, and it is thoroughly entertaining.

Example for tonight:
Leaving Giant parking lot.
Cole: Daddy goes that way (points opposite direction from where we turn).
Me: Well, we live this way. Why does Daddy go that way? To see a girl? (Haha.)
Cole: Yes. (Um, okay.)
Me: Is it his girlfriend?
Cole: Yes
Me: What's her name?
Cole: Keisha
Me: What does she look like?
Cole: A princess
Me: What color is her hair?
Cole: Blue. No, orange.
Me: Does she give Daddy kisses?
Cole: Yes. I like her.
Me: Well, that's great, Buddy. (Laughing)

I can't wait to see what that little mind comes up with next.

Home Sweet Home

When I was 8 or 9, I was walking home from school one day and saw a man taking pictures of our house. I went inside to find my mom sitting at the kitchen table, and I asked what he was doing. I remember her words - that man is taking pictures because we are selling our house. I was devastated. Nothing could be worse to me at the time. I wish I knew then what I know now.

Fast forward to April 2011, and my parents told me again that they were selling our house. Only this time, I’m not a little girl. I’m married and a mom, and I don’t even live in that house anymore. So why am I just as upset?

Over the course of the last couple of months, as my parents finally got an offer on their house, had an offer they made on a new house accepted and started the process of packing and moving, they have both said to me something to the effect of “the bricks and mortar don’t make the memories.” I must respectfully disagree. That house that they are leaving holds countless memories in its walls and oh, if those walls could talk.

They would say that for 22 years, a family lived there, loved and fought there, laughed and cried there. We had good times and hard times and a lot of time in between. There were birthdays and celebrations. Parties that our friends still talk about. We welcomed new people into our family and said goodbye to others. Sundays were for watching football and family dinners. My siblings and I moved out and came back and then moved out again, finally leaving my parents with an empty nest. I got ready for my wedding there and my brother was married in the backyard. A whole new generation of our family started. It was a home for not just the six of us, but for so many others who were welcomed there, so many friends who became family.

I have my own home now with my husband and children, but this change still makes me sad. Sad that I’ll never drive down New Castle Lane again and pull into the driveway at 310. Sad that I’ll never again wonder why we only open one side of the garage or why the builder put the light switch so far back in the powder room. Sad that my parents will no longer be residents of Logan Township. Sad that my kids won’t remember the house that I grew up in and that I’ll never be able to show it to them. But if God is closing the door of our old home, I guess I’ll have to peer into the window of the new one to find out what lies ahead.

“There are places I remember 
All my life, though some have changed 
Some forever not for better 
Some have gone and some remain 
All these places have their moments 
With lovers and friends I still can recall 
Some are dead and some are living 
In my life I've loved them all.” 

 

A Baby Story

In the vast list of things that I wanted to accomplish while on maternity leave, blogging was definitely one of the top. I like doing it but never make the time and thought while I'm "off" for this time, I would be posting new blogs all the time. Needless to say, that hasn't happened even once, so I'm going to backtrack a little bit here.

It's been 7 weeks now since Chloe was born, so I'm going to now tell the story of that day. This is as much for me to remember (one of my original intentions behind blogging) as it is for anyone else who might be interested.

On Friday, June 29th, 3 days after my due date, I woke up at 4:30 in the morning with a contraction. These lasted for about 2 hours but were inconsistent, so I decided to go to work in case it wasn't the real thing. (Fast forward many hours, and I would find out it was very real.) I had Kevin and my mom on notice and went to work. My officemate thought that I was crazy when I told her that I thought I was in labor but said to keep it quiet. I didn't want anyone to know in case it wasn't real or in case my boss caught wind of it and tried to send me home. (I didn't want to waste one single day of my leave.) I worked throughout the day having the occasional contraction and causing my officemate panic at my every sound. I got myself caught up on everything I could (just in case) and left about 2:30. I called Kevin on the way home and told him I still wasn't sure but that just in case this baby was coming, I thought I should go get my eyebrows done. (Yes, I may be slightly crazy, but a new mom with 2 young kids doesn't always have time for that type of thing, so I thought I should take my chance to get it done.) The contractions started to get worse by this point, and I almost had to leave with only one eyebrow done.

When you already have a kid at home and you're pregnant, you do your best to plan for that child, but there is no way to really prepare. Sure, we had someone on standby to watch Cole, a bag packed and his Big Brother shirts cleaned. But I never thought about how he would react to Mommy being in labor. At first, it was pretty funny. He copied me as I breathed through contractions and laughed at my odd behavior. Then the contractions got worse, and as my little boy could tell I was in pain, he got really upset. It honestly broke my heart to worry him like that, so I just tried to assure him that I was okay.

With my contractions still irregular, I debated calling the doctor. And something else delayed me, too. Kevin had an important school board vote at 6pm, and I didn't want him to miss it. (Yeah, yeah, I know I'm still sounding crazy.) As the pain was getting more intense, I told Kevin to go to his meeting and that I would call the doctor while he was gone. With my contractions still all over the place, the doctor told me that I could come in or not and that the choice was mine. I told her that I would come in when Kevin got home which would make it another hour or so until I could get there.

The ride to the hospital was not fun as I was in a lot of pain by that point. We got there around 7pm and went up to Labor and Delivery where I was checked. If my irregular contractions cast any doubt on the reality of my labor, when they found me at 6-7 centimeters dilated, all doubt was gone.

The next hour or so was not my best. You know when you watch those movies where the woman yells and pleads for drugs and you think that no real woman ever acts like that? Well, I did. No exaggeration. It was bad. I cried and screamed and begged my mommy to help me. (Meanwhile, my mother didn't really think I was in labor and had shown up dressed to go out to dinner with my dad. Jeez.) Kevin and my mom found my antics quite amusing and found it hard not to laugh in my face. (Nice, guys.) Waiting for the anesthesiologist to arrive, I was checked again and after being at the hospital for only an hour, I was at 9 1/2 centimeters. I couldn't believe how quickly I had progressed and of course I was worried that it was too late for an epidural. This is something else you see in the movies. The reality is that even that far along, I was still able to get the epidural. The doctor tried to tell me that we should just move forward without it, but there was no way. I pushed for 2 hours with Cole and if I had to repeat that, I insisted on doing it with an epidural. I would have liked to be tough about it, but I'm not tough. I don't like pain. I told them to get me the drugs asap. Even if that meant the baby would come a little later. Everything was smooth sailing (besides a very brief drop in the baby's heart rate) after I finally got the epidural and after less than 3 hours at the hospital and a few pushes, our daughter arrived!

Chloe Audrey Tinsley
June 29, 2012
10:06pm
8 lbs, 8 oz
20 inches
Perfectly healthy!

Yup, still pregnant.

It’s been a few years since I was last pregnant, but I feel like I remember most things. The kicking and feeling the baby move. The sensitivity to smell and wanting to eat everything in sight. What I did forget is how being pregnant somehow opens you up to everyone’s opinions, questions, and comments. And I don’t just mean your family and friends who get on you about how much weight you’re gaining or what you’re eating. Or ask what you plan to do about daycare or what you are going to name the baby. For some reason, when people see a pregnant woman, even if she is a complete stranger, they lose any filter that they may have. Here are just a few examples of things that have been said to me.

1-      A male student at my school: “I guess you’re almost ready to take a nice, long vacation, huh?” (As he points to his own stomach). Yes, buddy. Labor, delivery and a newborn are definitely equivalent to sitting on the beach with a cocktail in hand. You got me there.

2-      Several people who are apparently parenting experts: “How are you going to have 2 kids in one room?” This is usually said with a frown or skeptical look on the doubter’s face. Sure, having 2 young kids in the same room isn’t completely ideal, but that is our situation for now, and unless one of these naysayers would like to buy us a house, then I’d prefer these opinions to be kept quiet. A special thanks to a friend who is in a similar situation and made me realize that it can work and even work really well and bring the kids closer!

3-      Someone new everyday- “You got bigger!” Ask any pregnant woman if she wants to be told on a daily basis how big she is. I can pretty much guarantee the answer will be no 100% of the time. Enough said.

4-      A drunk girl at a wedding over the weekend when I told her how far along I am: “Shut the f*** up!” I just didn’t know what to say to that one.

5-      People who ask what we’re naming the baby and are told that we are keeping the name a secret: “What’s the point of that?” When we decided to find out the gender of this baby, I wanted something to still be a secret, so we chose not to share the name. I don’t understand the big deal, but some people actually seem offended. They just have to deal with it. Everyone will know soon enough.

6-      Again, someone new everyday: “You didn’t have that baby yet?” Yes, actually, I did. She is here sitting under my desk. I’m just that good.