A Constructed Life, Page 4

SOS! We’re in love with a money pit!

By Liz April 3, 2014 About Me 4 Comments

Any time I try too hard, it never works out. I’ve learned this over and over again – when I overthink writing and lose the heart of it, when I overexert myself in sports and fall short of the finish line (literally, and on my face. True story from 7th grade track), when I get overenthusiastic in conversations and look like a cartoon character. In other words, when I try too hard, I always end up missing the point.

And I am again trying too hard. This time in search of a new home, and just like with writing when I over-focus and over-agonize rather than just let it flow, I am losing the heart behind our quest for a new house, getting tangled in the “we need it, must find it, must fit this price and this picture and these wants,” and now I cannot find my compass – that voice I always trust to steer me in the right direction, to clam me down and remind me that the universe will handle it, no matter how hard I fight to find it, it will come when it’s meant to.

We’ve been looking for a new house for almost a year and only one has gotten under our skin. It’s priced at the top of our budget and is accompanied by crazy high taxes and the ugliest carpet, tile and wallpaper imaginable. Every inch of its 3,300 square feet (Much bigger than we ever planned on owning), needs work. See for yourself.

Do you see what I mean? Clearly Mrs. Brady decorated this place. Too bad it doesn’t come with an Alice to help me clean all that space or watch my kids while I spend the next decade slowly updating it.

While my brain and our bank account says, “You’re an idiot,” everything else in me wants to buy this house. I go to bed thinking about gleefully tearing out carpeting and peeling off wallpaper and my family having all the space and yard they’ll ever need. This house needs tons of work, but it’s less work than our old house, which required gutting almost every room to the studs and tearing down walls and erecting new ones. That’s the things with this place – it needs a lot of work, but we are totally capable of doing it.

We’ve spent days analyzing our finances and spending to make sure we can afford this place, reviewing our spending habits from the last year, creating spreadsheets, etc (By the way, it was eye-opening to see how much cash we’ve dropped on groceries and eating out). We’ve determined that buying this house means living on a budget that would be really tight for the first 7 months and then relax back to a more comfortable amount. But vacations would take months and months and months of saving, big projects will require a loan…until I go back to work (probably in another 2 years). We can definitely handle this house and it’s remodeling demands with two salaries (assuming I can get hired somewhere besides Target or Starbucks). But until then…do I want to live for a few years mildly stressed out about paying for things and pulling back on our retirement and college savings?

Is this big, ugly, alluring house worth it? You tell me. Advice needed.

Some things aren’t worth it.

By Liz March 28, 2014 Adeline, Food 8 Comments

I tried making homemade crackers. Let me say that again. The crackers that you can buy for $2 in the store? I spent 2 hours trying to make some myself with a 4-year-old. Why? Why would I do such a thing when crackers are so readily available? Is there a cracker shortage that only I am privy to?

No. It all stems from my concerns with food and the chemicals, the preservatives, the GMOs, the everything-in-them-is bad, bad, bad, yada, yada, yada. My kids eat crackers as if they were made of crack, and anything they eat a lot of, I try to buy organic or with the shortest, most normal ingredient list I can find. Organic crackers, when eaten by the pound, get really expensive.

The obvious solution was to make heaps of homemade crackers, especially because The Internet made it sound sooooo easy and attainable and delicious and fail proof. And since I know my way around a kitchen, I thought, “I am, from now, going to make all of our crackers, and then all of our bread and then I will buy us our very own cow because it’s probably cheaper than buying 2 gallons of organic milk every week for the next 18 years.”

And because it is such a cinch to make homemade crackers, I invited Adeline to help me. She spent most of the 2 hours sticking pieces of cracker dough to her face and laughing hysterically. I tried to make sure the crackers with forehead grease on them did not end up on the baking sheets.

Don’t mind the scary-looking kitchen. Haven’t gotten around to this room yet.

If you can’t already tell, this project was the biggest kitchen disaster I’ve ever had. I couldn’t get the dough to roll out thin enough, burnt the first batch, undercooked the second, forgot to season the third and then burnt the fourth. And also? They did not taste very good. Perhaps because none of them were cooked properly.

So my vision of whipping up homemade crackers a la June Cleaver meets Martha Stewart did not happen. At all. No one will eat the crackers, except for me, and they’re only edible with a massive hunk of cheese perched on their charred edges. So…I am back to buying boxes of fancy crackers. And they real must have crack in them because I am thinking of trying this again. It drives me crazy that The Internet can get it right and I can’t. I think I’ll do it without the help of a cute little girl next time.

And then my 4-year-old wrote a love letter to a boy

By Liz March 18, 2014 Adeline, motherhood 2 Comments

Yes, my sweet little innocent Adeline has already crossed this off her list of firsts, about a decade earlier than I had hoped.

My pure-as-the-driven-snow baby girl was quietly coloring at the kitchen table when I strolled over to observe her creations, which typically involve goofy drawings of me with green hair or aliens eating pizza and other age-appropriate scenes. But that day’s creation literally took my breath away, turned my face bright red and sent me running for my phone to text her father, an elementary school principal, with a desperate plea for insight and guidance from a trained professional.

“Look, Mommy!” Addy said, turning her head, a little beacon of purity, toward me with a look of pride.

She even made people with smiley heart heads! And added an “Olive You” sticker from Trader Joe’s. That’s how profound her love is! There’s also a urinating ghost, which I’m totally confused by, but was much too distracted to comment on.

I smiled, my eyes bugging out of my head, as I said, “Oh my!” and my brain logically raced from Early Love Letter Writing = Early Loss of Virginity = Daughter’s Life Ruined.

And then!!! She grabbed it off the table, beaming sweetly, scampered over to her backpack and squealed, “I’m going to give it to Noah today!”

“Nooooo!” I screamed internally, images of an embarrassed, overwhelmed little boy and teasing classmates flashing through my mind. I hyperventilated briefly, checked my phone 100 times for the insightful reply I needed from Joey, and then realized I had to deal with this now, because it was time to leave for school and my husband apparently ~~had abandoned me~~ was in a meeting.

I took a moment to gather my thoughts, not wanting to get this one wrong, remembering that Addy has also professed her love for her buddy Stella and insisted she would either marry me or her friend Lilly, and I finally become logical. She loves this boy, just like she loves Stella, Lilly and all her other friends. She loves him like a 4-year-old – there is no romance, just an appreciation for a person she has fun with.

“Addy,” I began, “Love is an important word that we save for very special people. Why don’t you make a drawing the says Noah is great so he knows how much you like him.”

“No. Noah is special and I want him to know that I love him because he’s my friend.” And she walked away.

“How do I argue with that?” I thought. “I want her to feel confident and free to express herself. Don’t squelch that. But she cannot give that to him at school! How will he react? How will his mom react? Oh my god, I’ll have to have a conversation with the mom about this!”

So I did what any competent, stellar mother would do. I completely avoided the situation and tried to sneak the drawing the out of her backpack. But she caught me. So instead I quickly buried it beneath folders and snow pants, hoping outta-sight-outta-mind would remedy the situation. As I dropped her off, I kept my fingers crossed and a close eye on cute, adorable Noah, who blew his mommy a dozen kisses before heading into school.

Just as a little background for you, Noah and Addy sit next to each other at school and Addy often comes home talking about him. “He showed me how to draw trees today!” “He had a red fruit roll up!” “His birthday is in April!” At conferences, Addy’s teacher even mentioned that Addy and Noah are total BFFs.

When I returned home from drop off, my husband finally texted me. “Don’t let her take it school. Tell her “love” is just a word we use with family members for now.”

“That would’ve been really helpful 45 minutes ago before I let her take the drawing to school!” I texted back.

I arrived at school pick-up a few minutes early and watched Addy running around the playground with her classmates. Sure enough, she and Noah were trotting around, talking and laughing, sticking together even when playing in a group.

“Well,” I thought. “If she did find the note and give it to him, he clearly took it well.”

As I lifted her into the car I asked if she gave Noah her drawing. “I couldn’t find it,” she said. Thank god, I thought.

That night during dinner, I got the drawing out of Addy’s backpack and gave it to her. Joey took a look and complimented Addy on how well she wrote all the letters, and then casually, like a pro, slipped in, “Hey! Does that say I Love Noah?” Addy grinned. “You know,” he continued, “Love is a great word and it’s good to love people and have them love us back, but since it’s such a special word, let’s just save it for our family for now, okay?”

“Ok!” she replied. And that was the end of it.

I’m still torn over this. I want Addy to feel comfortable expressing herself and to learn that it’s good to tell people how she feels. That being said, I think we made the right call by not allowing the drawing to go to school. I think it’s perfectly reasonable that she hold off on love letters until at least 35, right?

Words…Writing Some and Finding Some

By Liz March 3, 2014 About Me, Friends 6 Comments

Over the weekend I had drinks with my former editor and a co-worker, both of whom continue to graciously act as my mentors and inspirations. After catching up, our conversations always land on the topic that first brought us together – writing. What it means to us, what we’re doing with it, where it might take us if we really buckle down and work, work, work.

I left that evening realizing I’ve totally copped out, having essentially given up on writing (unless I was getting paid to do it). This rarely updated blog is the best example. I typically don’t sit down to write here unless I feel inspired to, which appears to happen only once every 4-6 weeks. I have a zillion excuses, but, as my husband loves to say/quote, “Excuses are the tools of the incompetent that build bridges to nowhere.” (Yeah, I married a guy that says shit like that. Shit that makes you want to roll your eyes and walk away, but, infuriatingly, actually has a point.)

As I’ve mentioned, writing has always been my thing, even when I was young. I’ve been lucky enough to get paid to do it for a while now, but these days it’s mostly just for me, and I can’t say I’m actively striving for anything else.

The point I’m making is that I need to get my ass back here and fill this little space because it makes me feel better.

So while I work to find my own words to share with you, here are some other people’s that I’m loving.

For a New Beginning

In out of the way places of the heart
Where your thoughts never think to wander
This beginning has been quietly forming
Waiting until you were ready to emerge.

For a long time it has watched your desire
Feeling the emptiness grow inside you
Noticing how you willed yourself on
Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.

It watched you play with the seduction of safety
And the grey promises that sameness whispered
Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent
Wondered would you always live like this.

Then the delight, when your courage kindled,
And out you stepped onto new ground,
Your eyes young again with energy and dream
A path of plenitude opening before you.

Though your destination is not clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is one with your life’s desire.

Awaken your spirit to adventure
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk
Soon you will be home in a new rhythm
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.

-John O’Donohue

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do. It’s not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own lights shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

– Timo Cruz, from the film Coach Carter (paraphrased from Marianne Williamson)

Eyeballs are the New Poop: A Letter to Adeline

By Liz January 24, 2014 Adeline, motherhood 8 Comments

Dear Baby Girl,

Now that you’re 4-years-old, attending school, and beginning to read books by yourself, I am finally convinced that you are, indeed, growing up, and that one day, you will, indeed, be an actual full-grown adult. Somehow I didn’t really believe it until now. It crushes me to see you growing up so fast, a weighty mix of pride, gratitude, whistfulness and hope.

You’re starting to ask big questions, like, “Who made us?” and “How did we become people?,” and so I do my best to give open-ended “this is what I believe about God” answers (because one day I want you to decide for yourself) and the bare bones of evolution, except now I’m pretty sure you literally think you used to be a monkey and that God is like Santa, “cause they’re both magic, Mommy,” which wasn’t exactly what I was saying, but I think you get the gist.

And when you’re not asking things like, “How did God make my shirt?” you’re exhibiting a very peculiar fascination with eyeballs, in that you think they’re somehow hilarious. For example, we’ll be eating dinner or driving in the car or standing in line at the store and you’ll say things like, “Who punched my eyeball?” or “There goes my eyeball” or “I see my eyeball” and start laughing hysterically, just like you used to do whenever you randomly mentioned poop. I’m assuming this is something you’ve picked up from your little posse at school (yes, you have a posse). I totally don’t get it, but then again, I am not 4-years-old. I cannot wait for Eyeball Obsession 2014 to end, but in the meantime, your little brother is now also running around the house yelling about his eyeballs, and I am developing a slight fear that something may actually happen to one of your eyeballs.

Please keep those eyeballs safe, God/Santa

You’re in 4-year-old kindergarten, and school has ignited such joy and growth in you. From learning to write the entire alphabet, adding and subtracting, learning letter sounds and now reading!!!! you are blowing our minds with how much you’re learning. Listening to you slowly put letter sounds together into a word is like watching you push open a big, heavy door to a whole new world of truths, fantasies and independence. Life will completely change for you when all those words and letters you see everywhere make sense and you discover a whole new way to express, entertain and educate yourself.

School has also brought a new slew of buddies who you adore, and I love watching you interact with them. I have to admit, I pay close attention to the role you adopt with the group, watching to see if you stand up for yourself, are kind and feel free to act silly. So far I’ve deduced that you’re 4-years-old and just want to have fun and can get a long with almost any playmate.

Addy and part of her posse investigating a ladybug at recess.

Dare I say that I think we’re tip toeing out of the picky eater thing? You actually seem to want to try new foods, and often exclaim, “Love it!” after one bite, and then I buy/cook a whole bunch of it, all giddy with excitement, and then you decide you hate it. So that’s been fun. But I’m confident that in a few more years, you’ll be even more open to new foods and hating a lot less of them.

One of the biggest joys of my life is watching you and your brother play and laugh together. You two are tight – I’ve even heard you tell him he’s your best friend – and 75% of the time you genuinely enjoy each other. The remaining 25% is a blur of screaming, crying and hitting, but I feel like you two are building a rock solid foundation for a hopefully (fingers crossed really tight) lifelong friendship.

My Little Girl, you continue to blow my mind numerous times a day, and I just hope I’m doing you justice as your mother. I wish the big, grown-up you could know the little you, because you are pure joy and happiness. No emotional trauma yet, no big wounds to spend years trying to heal. Not jaded at all. And as you continue to get taller, interact with new posses and push open even more big, heavy doors, I will continue to watch you, to see if you will still stand up for yourself, be kind, act silly and play well with others. Because if you can do those things for the rest of your life, there’s a good chance that joy and happiness will stick around.

I love you, I love you, I love you, my sweet, sweet, baby girl.

Love,

Mommy

A New Year, A New Noise.

By Liz January 3, 2014 Adeline, Buddies, Celebrations, Crosby 4 Comments

Since Adeline’s arrival four years ago, we’ve spent New Year’s Eve in our jammies, surrounded by snacks, bottles (of the adult and infant kind), sippy cups and champagne glasses. This year, our old neighbors, who we miss terribly, spent the evening with us as we drank, munched and rang in the New Year at 9:00 p.m. sharp for the kiddos. It was a blast, and happily, there was not a sippy cup in sight.

Katie and Wayne brought along hats, necklaces and noise makers for Addy, Crosby, and their cutie-patootie daughter, Lydia. I cracked up when I scrolled through photos from the night and realized that as I snapped pictures of the girls, I also captured Crosby’s discovery of the noise makers, which apparently was the greatest moment of his life. Look in the background of each photo to see for yourself. His excitement only breaks briefly for a photo op. (A note to UB and Ky – this is what Grandma’s living room looks like now).

And as is the case with every great New Year’s Eve party, the affair ended in jammies, full bellies, and complete gratitude for the amazing people in our lives.

And then he leapt from his crib for all of eternity

By Liz December 19, 2013 Crosby, motherhood 3 Comments

The day was difficult to begin with. I had already acquired a bloody, fat lip complements of my 4-year-old’s head accidentally nailing me in the mouth and spent 45 minutes thrusting a yard stick down the laundry shoot in a ridiculous attempt to unclog a mass of clothing while my children fought with each other.

Laundry shoot blockage

Joey was gone overnight at a conference, and I had visions of an early and easy bedtime for the kiddos so I could enjoy the peace and quiet of being alone. Of course, the opposite occurred.

Our 2-year-old son, because he is the way he is, had been trying to scale the walls of his crib and hurl himself over the edge for 3 days. We dreaded the toddler bed, because we knew, once emancipated from the bars of his crib, he would spend hours jumping in and out of bed, ransacking the room, disrupting his sister, throwing a party and finally jumping out the window in excitement from achieving sweet freedom.

Crosby’s crib. He would nightly toss all his blankets out of the crib then try to climb out after them.

But on this night, after 45 minutes of vigilantly babysitting Crosby from the darkness of the hall as he struggled to mount the rail of his crib, I saw him get dangerously close to victory. He teetered on the edge, his belly slung over the railing. His sister, whose bed is 10 feet away, yelled for the 30th time, “Mommy, he’s trying to get out!” and I gave up. It was 9:00. I turned the lights on, told them to get out of bed and play as I dragged the crib’s toddler bed conversion kit from the closet. Upon opening it, I realized I only had 1 of the 4 screws needed to get the job done. I scrounged in the basement and grabbed 3 more good enough screws and the only screwdriver I could see. Twenty minutes later, Crosby climbed into his bed all by himself.

“New night-night?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I said, “but you stay in the bed until Mommy gets you.”

He nodded, grinning, which I knew meant there was no way in hell he was staying in that bed. An hour later, at 10:30, after returning him to his bed 32 times, he gave up and finally fell asleep and I had a drink. At 5:00 a.m. I heard a noise and found him standing in the hallway. I returned him to bed, dug out a baby gate from the attic, and gave him a new jail that extended to the doorway of the room he shares with his sister.

The next morning, the very first thing he did was fall out of his new bed, slamming his eye on the corner of the wooden safety rail and getting a black eye.

What remained of the black eye, four days later, when I decided to photo it

Between his eye and my still swollen and scabby fat lip, we looked as though we’d been fighting each other. And we had been. It was a battle of wills, as it always is with my children, and we had both seen victory and defeat. The next night, I skipped right to having a drink while Joey returned Crosby to bed 26 times in the span of 50 minutes. At 4:30 in the morning, we found him laying in the middle of the floor saying, “Oh no, oh no,” after apparently getting out of bed and playing until he fell asleep on the carpet.

It’s been over a week and Crosby still spends about 45 minutes every night getting in and out of bed. We’ve tried both tactics of silently returning him to bed – no eye contact, no words – and letting him party it up with his stuffed animals and books until he collapses. I’m counting on the novelty of an unconfined bed wearing off soon. In fact, he only got out of bed 8 times tonight.

This boy is supposed to be napping

Not a chance, Mom!

Making Winter Suck Less

By Liz December 12, 2013 Adeline, Celebrations, Crosby No Comments

I’m not a huge fan of winter, mostly because of the cold and how it makes everyday tasks completely unappealing because now, a trip to the grocery store involves 15 minutes of squishing children into a zillion layers, forgetting to bundle myself up and then freezing while I stand outside of the car buckling everyone into their designated car seat. Also, shoveling? Meh. Slippery roads? No thanks.

Of course, I enjoy the holidays, snowmen, sled rides and the beauty of freshly fallen snow, and I’ve found a few new wintertimes favorites to add to my list.

Admiring hat hair. Crosby’s is awesome.

Making gingerbread houses (from kits. Thank you, Trader Joe’s)

The kids devoured 50% of the decorations

And making Christmas cookies with these two, who are both now old enough to “help.”

So I guess winter’s not so bad, as long as we’re inside with candy or food. I think that’s the sentiment of many.

The Boy at Two

By Liz December 3, 2013 Crosby, motherhood, Uncategorized 1 Comment

Dear Crosby,

At 2-years-old, you are the very definition of ying and yang. Your “ying” is totally awesome, smiley and adorable, but your “yang” is a total punk who hourly drives me crazy.

YING!

But then your shirt proves to be a prophecy…

YANG!

I have been wronged! I shall throw this toy at you in protest!

Perhaps you did not see the toy I hurled at your face. In case you hadn’t noticed, I am MAD, MAD, MAD!

Hey, Lady! Hello??? Upset toddler in front of your face!

React to my anger!!! React to my anger!!!

ARRRGGGGHHHEEEEEEEEAAAAAOOOOO!!!

Behold my wrath, resplendent with irrationality!!!

Then we gave you a shot of brandy and you totally calmed down.

I’m kidding!!!

Crosby, you have mastered the defiant glare over your shoulder as you march away from me when I tell you no, are well-practiced at dramatically throwing yourself to the floor with a scream and regularly demonstrate your aim by throwing toys at or hitting whoever or whatever upset you. In other words, your tantrums are epic, often and infuriating, though I try so hard to keep a poker face and not mirror you with my own little fit (believe me, I want to scream in anger right back at you).

Your dad and I often discuss how completely amazing you’ll be once you outgrow this phase or we discipline it out of you (time outs, taking away toys, removing privileges). Because you are an incredible little man with an unbelievable belly laugh and near-constant mischievous (in a good way) glint in your eye. You are sweet, often cozying up in our laps or arms for a snuggle and you so often show all of us your love.

Just like crawling and walking did for you, language came hesitantly, but now is exploding from your brain to your mouth. However, you like to give objects their own names (bumpy choo choo = railroad tracks, up-down = railroad crossing, eyes = sunglasses, ah-da-da = I do it, whoa = truck) and we’re having a hard time convincing you that you’re incorrect.

You adore your sister. Addy is your favorite playmate and gets you laughing like no one else. She is your teacher without even knowing it, as you instantly copy her words and movements. Any item that is hers becomes the item you must have. Much like I did to my older sister, you push her buttons, simply because you want her to react, to pay attention, to engage with you. And holy crap does she react. Whining and tattling is the soundtrack to our days lately. Because you like to mess with your sister’s stuff, she’s becoming a hoarder, hiding her belonging in nooks and crannies and under and behind furniture so you can’t get to them. But of course, she fully expects you to share all of your things with her.

Cars, trucks, trains, buses and throwing and kicking are your loves. You could spend hours kicking a ball in the yard (or the house) or dragging your trains around.

The last several months have been difficult, as we help you learn wrong from right and you test our limits every day. You are an incredibly persistent child who wants what he wants, passionate, stubborn, funny, smart, playful and occasionally gracious. When you learn to use these traits correctly and for good, you will be unstoppable. Can’t wait to watch you keep learning, growing and exploring and hopefully finding a new, more constructive way to express your anger. Like just saying, “Hey, Mom. I’m angry.”

A New Look

By Liz November 16, 2013 About Me 3 Comments

I have been meaning to switch the look of this place up for over a year! Part of why I haven’t been posting much is because I wasn’t digging the way things looked around here and I felt frustrated by how difficult is was to change it myself and find the time to do it. But finally it’s done. For now.

I’ve also been struggling to feel inspired to write here, mostly because I don’t feel like I’m really saying anything, just flashing images and facts about my “home” and family. I’m not taking the time to tap into any emotions or even trying that hard to write well…instead I’m throwing words out to fill the space, trying to avoid entire months passing between posts.

I’ve always said this blog was like an online journal for me and my family…to capture the moments of our lives as they pass too quickly. So my kids can look back and see their beginnings, because it’s unlikely they’ll remember much of what’s happened in their lives so far. And it’s unlikely that I’ll remember all the details and anecdotes for them if I don’t write them down immediately. I miss writing. I miss shaking all the loose change out of my mind and heart and finding that it adds up to something when I put it into words on a page. I hope to be back here more. I hope to occasionally say something interesting or entertaining. I hope to share experiences that are relatable and meaningful. But there will probably be a lot of times I don’t deliver on those things. At least I changed the decor a bit for you guys. We’ll see what comes next.