Nerdy at 30

It's taken me a few weeks to come to the realization that I am no longer a "twenty-something". I'm not sure why, and I never thought I would be so petty, but I really had a a tough time adjusting to the idea of my 30th birthday

I know, I know. 30 is not old. I realize that. I also realize that I have a lot to be proud of. A house, three beautiful boys and a husband that oddly enough, loves me unconditionally. It's not that I don't have anything to show for it, as one might think. Really, I just feel that everything is moving so quickly and that my life is just slipping away. I know, I know. This sounds awful. But hey, who doesn't love a little "Debbie Downer" every now and then.

A few months ago my sister bought a new pair of pink high heels. She was elated. I must not have been bouncing off the walls with enthusiasm because a couple of days later she very seriously told me that she had been thinking about my less than stellar reaction to her recent purchase. "Please", she begged me. "Don't turn into one of those moms who lets herself go and only wears sweatpants and ponytails, just because you live with all boys". Never, I chuckled to myself. I'm not one of THOSE. Fast forward to me sitting on the couch in nothing but sweatpants and a patriots t-shirt, my hair in a tangled knot on the back of my head. Uh oh. I have officially arrived.

Perhaps the most daunting moment regarding the "Big 3-0" may have come when looking for a new car. Last year, I made the horrific leap from the last shreds of my single-girl life, when I traded in my VW convertable for a more sensible mid-sized SUV. It had four-wheel drive and plenty of room for another car seat. Although it was hard to leave my beloved Cabrio that fateful day at the car dealership, I managed to say goodbye.

A few months ago, it was also time to replace our Jeep Grand Cherokee, our first major purchase as a married couple. I can't say I was super attached to it, really it was Ben's car. However since I'm the one who drives the kids every day, we began browsing Craigslist for larger SUV's. As you can imagine it's a tight squeeze with three carseats jam-packed into one row. The result was poor little Reid being slightly tilted to one side for the first 10 months of his life.

One evening while browsing some "online inventory" of SUV's with a 3rd row, I stumbled upon an ad for a Chevy Suburban, $5,000.00 with only 56,000 miles on it. Though I pictured a much more "chic" vehicle, I had to look for the price. I clicked on the ad and up popped a photo that would change life as I know it. A gigantic, white suburban glared back at me, with all the bells and whistles. Literally.

Turns out, a local ambulance company was selling the car. The burb was decked out with lights, sirens and a thick electric blue stripe down the side. To top it off, was a gigantic "cow catcher" in front. Laughing out loud, I turned the laptop towards Ben, jokingly saying, "I think we should get this". Next thing I knew we had an appointment to view the beast.

As I hopped into the driver's seat to test drive the Suburban, I was overwhelmed, dazed and confused. I felt engulfed by the car, petite and well quite frankly, like I was driving a school bus. I cruised through the beautiful backdrop of Roxbury Connecticut, I couldn't help but wonder, how did I get here? And why are there multiple dispatch radios talking to me?

I pulled back to the ambulance station, resisted the urge to set off the sirens and before I could say "we'll let you know", my husband was arranging payment. The men began discussing the emergency responder equiptment and through my slow-motion, swirly haze, Ben's voice stood out. "Oh, if you can't get the blue stripe off, I almost don't mind". I quickly snapped out of it and whipped around "NO, we mind. The stripe must go". A week later, we picked up my new ride. Ambulance stripe, and all.

The stripe didn't last long, thank the good Lord above that Ben was able to remove it with a heat gun. Over the weeks that followed I began getting used to the "boy mobile" or "man van", as my mother affectionately named her. After all, it had heated seats. Two days after my 30th Birthday, I had the day off to do a little shopping. Driving home on the highway in the "burb", I suddenly felt very free. Turning on the radio, I came across Madonna's "Material Girl" and suddenly had a flashback to my childhood. I had the album on cassette and have a very distinct memory of carrying my boom box out to the woods in back of my parents house, standing on a large rock and belting out the lyrics. Laughing out loud like a fool, I turned up the radio and remembering the song word for word, sang at the top of my lungs in my new mommy mobile. That day, shimmying around in the driver's seat I realized how far I've come. I also realized I was going about 80 miles per hour and being watched by the car next to me!

Maybe I'm getting older, but there's nothing I can do about it. Besides, I still have some pretty sweet dance moves. And, I have to admit that even though my new car could have eaten my VW for dinner, it is pretty fun to drive. Plus, it can fit my whole family (and probably yours too). So if you happen to see me cruising the strip, toot your horn, wave hello...and don't mind the sweatpants and ponytail.

As I mentioned in my last post, we recently embarked on a 3 day journey to our nation's capitol. Try outlining that concept to a 3 year old. I tried everything from explaining, "our town is in Connecticut, and Connecticut is in a country called America...or...The United States of America...or USA for short". Game over-in the end I settled on, "It's where the President lives. He makes all the rules".

Simplicity. It's the best notion known to man (or should I say, woman?). It's my ultimate goal in life, and perhaps the biggest challenge to obtain.

As I packed for our trip, I did my very best to keep it simple. The 3 boys had a duffel bag and Ben and I shared a suitcase. Then I packed snacks. In two bags. Oh, and a pack and play. Then came the lap top and the portable DVD player. Oops, then the double stroller...and the umbrella stroller. Don't forget the diaper bag and my pocket book. So much for simplicity.

While we were on our mini vacation, Ben had workshops throughout the day. Fortunately my saving grace was the presence of two of my very best friends Addie and Kate. I'm not sure I would have survived the big city on my own with “Dennis the Menace” and his two mischievous sidekicks. Although the girls kept us busy, getting to and from the rental car and navigating D.C. was up to me.

There are many moments from our trip which will carve their place in my memory, but one in particular stands out among the rest. The five of us left our hotel room with our supplies for the day, and headed down to the “atrium” to have breakfast before parting ways with Daddy-o. After scarfing down our $10.00 bagels, we said our goodbyes. In an instant, the boys and I were left amongst the hustle and bustle of suits and briefcases, that only a convention center hotel can offer.

I can do this, I thought to myself. Carter behaved like a good little angel and threw out our napkins like he was told. I washed up the boys and strapped him into his stroller. Perfection. Then it occurred to me, this is all well and good, but I have two strollers and one set of hands. Oops! Didn't think that one through. With a quick change of plans and my determination in high gear, Carter was out of the stroller and pushing it all on his own, zig-zagging throughout the hotel, carrying the diaper bag as if it were his own baby. We made it out of the atrium and into the elevator (barely) without one person so much as smiling, holding a door or moving out of our way.

Now, one thing you should know is that in all major areas of the hotel, there are roughly 6 elevators, naturally you take the one that opens first. Well, when your 3-year-old runs in before you, leaving you stranded with two strollers (and two babies) panic mode sets in, imagining him alone in a 20-story hotel with a million and a half strangers. I just about broke my hand lunging forward and grabbing the elevator door in an effort to prevent it from closing with him in it. The next thing you should know is that my child has an unnatural obsession with elevators and REALLY enjoys the pressing of the elevator buttons.

So, we all make it into the elevator and then out of it in one piece. Only then did I realize that we had gone to the wrong floor. So we waited for another elevator, which in itself is not an easy feat, since Carter took off towards the escalator. Some genius of a businessman tapped me on the shoulder to say, “he's headed towards the escalator”. Thanks bucko, I hadn't noticed. Fortunately (or unfortunately) a lady managed to swoop him up for me, rolling her eyes and judging me, as if I were Britney Spears cruising the streets of L.A. with a baby in my lap (love ya Brit Brit). Needless to say, I somehow managed to corral the children back towards the elevator.

As we waited, some jerk comes flying by and stumbles, spilling his hot coffee in the air, ultimately chucking it into the garbage and leaving a few droplets of coffee on Landon's forehead. Thanks a billion, you big A-hole. To top it all off, another kind gentlemen popped into the elevator we were waiting for prior our coffee shower, and hit the button to close the door. It was only then that I stated out loud, “Thanks. There are some really nice people in this hotel”, as the doors slid shut before my very eyes.

Finally, we got to the right floor, and managed to make it through the convention lobby where we looked very out of place and got a few chuckles out of some older businessmen. By the time we reached the door to exit, someone decided to learn manners and open the door for us. Well, they should have known better, that my little preschooler wanted to push the handicap door button on his own. I tried to explain to the people, but it was too late. He was having a tantrum, in front of about 100 people indoors and a group waiting to load a tour bus outdoors.

Fortunately the episode was short-lived. We walked across the parking lot and into the parking garage, up another elevator and to our rental car. I looked at the clock and realized that it had taken me a full 45 minutes to get from our breakfast table to the van. Truly unsure whether to cry or laugh, I decided on the latter, scanned my hotel card and headed out onto the open road (which, in case you were wondering, happened to be the wrong road).

The point of the matter is, though I may strive for simplicity, it seems as though the more you try, the more it slips from your reach. Sometimes it's the complexities that make life interesting-my stories certainly seem to entertain some of you, right? For now, I'm going to keep my chin up, and continue laughing at my boys and how frazzled they make me at times. An estimated forty billion kisses, 4200 diapers and 14,500 ounces of breast milk later...10 months down boys, and Mommy hasn't cracked yet!

5 in the bed and the little one said, “roll over!”

I'm sorry to tell you, but families who believe in the philosophy of “The Family Bed”, are not a bunch of hippies who believe in a wholesome, nurturing sleeping experience for their kids. They are simply tired and exhausted zombies like the rest of us, who are entirely too lazy to get out of bed and bring their children back to their rooms.

Lately it seems as though there is some combination of boys in my bed every night, and their names are not Tom Brady, Zac Efron and Christian Bale, if you know what I mean.

First, Carter went through a phase where he would wet the bed, night after night and rather than haul ourselves out of bed to change the sheets, etc. We let him crawl on in. Next, the babies decided to play a fun trick on us called, “You thought we were sleeping through the night....boy were you wrong you big idiots”. Then, right around mid-September their first teeth decided to make their appearance (same tooth, same weekend). Finally it seemed, Carter had outgrown his toddler bed and just preferred the space and abundance-of-down comforter, which only our bed had to offer.

Nearly every morning, I wake up feeling overtired and unusually sore. Did I exercise the night before you may ask? Not unless you call hanging off the side of the bed, one arm in the co-sleeper one tucked under my head (so as not to elbow anyone on the other side of me) exercise. Every morning, typically around 3am, the monitor goes crazy with the sound of a boy (or two) and illuminates the room. 9 times out of 10 my adoring husband gets up to retrieve the culprit. Sometimes I notice, sometimes I just wake up from a swift kick in the head courtesy of my oldest child.

A couple of weeks ago, we were in Washington D.C. Tagging along with Ben on one of his work conferences. We arrived at our hotel around 1am and a light seemed to shine down from the heaven onto a big fat king-sized bed. This is my chance, I thought to myself. It's the middle of the night, the kids are exhausted...a big, comfy bed and a good nights sleep!

Open mouth, insert foot. OF COURSE, we weren't that lucky. Apparently a bigger bed equals bigger opportunity for snuggling. Upon our return to Connecticut, the conclusion was drawn that maybe Carter needed to upgrade to a twin bed. We rearranged furniture, bought new sheets and plopped down a down comforter as if to simulate our own comfy nest. Ben and I even made a pact to go to him in the middle of the night, rather than letting him climb into bed with us.

I am happy to report that it SEEMS to be working! The past few nights we've still had slumber parties with the little guys, but hey-baby steps, right? The lesson I'm learning for this phase in my life? That's just it, it's only a phase. I highly doubt my three sons will be crawling into bed with me when they're 16 (and if they do, let's face it-I'll have bigger fish to fry). Until then, I guess I'll suck it up, (protect my face) and cuddle my boys while I still can!