We always find our way back home

Adam announced that Andy Grammer's "Back Home" song is his favorite, and I agree.

I'm gonna need you to raise your glass
I don't care what you put in it
Here's to nights that you can't take back
We live hard but we love to laugh ...

And no matter where we go, we always find our way back home.

Here's a few of the things we did in June and July:

Visiting Katie and Baby Sawyer (and Tony, Sam, and Teagan, too!
They're moving to Nebraska this fall, so gotta spend time with 'em while we're in the same state.)

I chaperoned Adam's field trip to the zoo. Fun day.

Five!

When Aaron was looking for photos to go on a photo board for my 40th, he realized there weren't any
photos of us with his mom, so we had this one taken at Ben's party. Isn't she cute!?

We walked down to the lake at the end of his birthday party.
Last bday party in Forest Lake - we'll just have friend parties from here on out.

Oh, what a sweet family. (Wait, what?!?)

Taste of the Nation

Adam was my helper while working the Luxury Home Tour

Aaron is SUCH a good coach. (I might be biased, but other parents seem to agree.)

Gaming

Family vacation this year at The Gathering Place in Birchwood, Wis.

The "out-laws"

Annual vacation to Crivitz, Wis. - Kayaking down the Peshtigo River

When the motor konks out, you swim/push the boat across the lake (gotta EARN those beers!)

Good times with good people (I even forgive them for being from Green Bay)

The golf cart -- a welcome addition at Holly & Kev's cottage

The kids!

The measles and the mumps, a gash, a rash, and purple bumps

In my entire K-12 career, I remember going to the nurse's office once and only once. I was in fourth grade. I was in gym class. We had a linoleum gym floor in the basement of the elementary school (GREAT IDEA, because THAT won't result in ANY INJURIES!) and we were playing a friendly game of dodge ball or pin guard or whatever we played when we rolled around on those little wooden scooters ...

 All I can think is PINCHED FINGERS!

and I wiped out and smacked my head against the floor. My gym teacher didn't notice. My friends didn't say anything. I stayed in phy ed because I didn't want to draw attention to myself. I went to my next class like nothing had happened. I should have told that teacher—a substitute—when I started feeling dizzy, then started seeing stars (just like the cartoons!), but I waited until the teacher noticed me looking weird and sent me to the nurse's office. I felt lightheaded and nauseous, and just as the nurse was dialing my parents' number to pick me up—I threw up in her lap. She was not happy. I didn't tell her that I had hit my head, and I'm sure she thought my parents had sent me to school with the flu. When my mom came to pick me up, the nurse gave her attitude. I still didn't mention hitting my head. I didn't mention it until we were home. When my mom heard that I had hurt my head in gym class, she called the crabby nurse back and told her that I had thrown up because I had a concussion. (You know, like a mild brain injury.) She said the nurse was MUCH nicer to her after that. That was my one and only trip to the nurse's office. 

Adam is in first grade and I can't count the number of calls I've received from the nurse (mostly for head pain/vomiting, twice for a concussion that wasn't really a concussion, one alarming voicemail message about a "gash" on his eyebrow that occurred when Adam took an elbow to the face playing basketball during recess, a message that scared me half to death, only to have the nurse call back and say it was more like a "bad cut" and she put a band-aid on it and he was fine). At the end of his kindergarten year, I was getting calls twice a month—he wasn't eating his lunch, then he would feel lightheaded, then he would feel nauseous. At preschool, they call this "the Mondays" when it happens (there is a definite pattern, always following the weekend) and the preschool/summer school teachers just go with it. If Adam feels sick, he'll tell them his head hurts, make it to a bathroom, most likely throw up, rest/sleep for a bit, then feel ok.
The rules are different at school, though, especially if vomit is involved.  A few weeks ago the nurse called me at noon, left a voicemail saying that Adam was in her office, he didn't eat his lunch, said his head hurt, didn't have a fever, and he had thrown up—could I could pick him up as soon as possible? I was stuck. My first bus wouldn't leave downtown until 2:45, and Aaron was interviewing candidates for an open job position all day. Thankfully my parents were free. Same thing happened a week and a half later and once again my parents picked him up. Have I mentioned how wonderful it is to have helpful, generous retired parents who live 30 minutes away from his elementary school?! They have rescued us more than once.

If only he was ALWAYS this happy around food.

I hate that he struggles so much with eating his lunch and I hate that the migraines seem to be triggered by lack of food. How do you make a kid eat?! You can't. We've been trying. (And trying and trying.) Last year, the nurse had Adam eat in her office. She would count his bites and record it for us. It worked ok, but wasn't really ideal. I mean, she's a busy lady and her office isn't that big. Plus Adam was missing out on social time with his friends. There had to be a better way.

Early this year, Aaron, genius dad that he is, came up with a "courage chart" to address Adam's eating issues/food battles. On the days that he likes the hot lunch (pizza! brunch for lunch! burgers!), he doesn't get any courage points because he likes the lunch, and it doesn't take courage to eat something you already like. On days that he doesn't like the lunch and brings a cold lunch, he gets courage points for bringing a cold lunch. If he tries a hot lunch that he has never tried before, he gets the most courage points because it takes the most courage to try something new (he has to eat a certain number of bites in order to cash in the points). Adam is awarded prizes based on his point accumulation: Chipotle, a movie, a trip to SkyZone trampoline park. Because of this invention, Adam will finally bring a cold lunch to school this year—something he refused to do last year. (A few bites of a sandwich is better than dumping a tray of untouched hot lunch into the garbage.)

We know part of the equation is getting him to eat, but we also worried that there was more to it than that. The first time we brought him to the doctor for this "pattern" was last year. I thought maybe he was allergic to something he was eating (after all, he was allergic to cow's milk protein and eggs when he was a baby, so not outside the realm of possibility). His pediatrician ruled out allergies without testing him, explaining that allergies don't "present" as vomiting. If he was allergic, he'd get a rash or a stomachache or start wheezing, but wouldn't feel like throwing up. Instead, she prescribed medication for acid reflux (acid reflux?! The kid rarely ever even spit up as a baby). I never had the prescription filled. 

We saw a different pediatrician at the same clinic. This time, we moved away from the food connection and focused on the anxiety. I tried explaining Adam's anxiety in detail, but must not have done a very good job because that doctor (who was seriously rushed) basically told me that all kids worry to some degree. I'm not sure what I expected from that visit, maybe a referral to a psychologist? I left feeling frustrated. (And by the way, I know doctors aren't always miracle workers, but man oh man do I appreciate a good doctor who takes the time to really listen, even if she or he is taking a shot in the dark with the diagnosis.)

The next time we saw Adam's regular pediatrician, we brought up the anxiety factor to see how she would interpret it. She was very helpful, suggesting ways to help him "take control" of scary new situations. We put a dry erase calendar on the refrigerator so he can see what's coming up. We talk about new situations and experiences just enough but hopefully not too much.

And yet, the pattern continues. The calls from NURSE'S OFFICE were practically non-existent the first half of the school year (mainly because Adam would somehow keep it together until I picked him up from school and then complain that he didn't feel good), but just recently the afternoon calls returned. We saw another doctor. We came prepared with a list of symptoms and possible triggers and questions. After some discussion and a few tense moments when we didn't really think the doctor was "getting" what we were saying, Dr. "K" had a theory: Adam feels a migraine coming on, gets anxious about it, and his anxiety causes him to lose his appetite. Adam was in the room with us, shaking his head "yes, yes, yes" to everything the doctor said. Aaron argued that the migraine is a RESULT of Adam's food strike, not the other way around. Wasn't there anything we could do to help him? No, not really. Blame it on genetics. But, but, but ...

The last time I got a call from NURSE'S OFFICE I hung up with the nurse and called Adam's pediatrician again. This time, I want a referral to a food psychologist. I want to understand why he's not eating lunch. I want to know what it is about a mozzarella cheese stick that disgusts him to the point that—if his friends are eating that for lunch that day—he can't touch his own food. The thought of it revolts him. He can't even look at a photo of a mozzarella cheese stick without feeling like he's going to gag. This, to me, warrants food therapy. I was able to get an appointment with his pediatrician in five weeks (seriously, that was her FIRST AVAILABLE appointment!!) and at that appointment, I'm going to insist that she refer us. We can't keep going on like this. Fingers crossed that, by the end of summer, he'll be going into second grade equipped to EAT HIS DANG LUNCH!!

IN OTHER NEWS, SINCE MY LAST POST:

I helped my dad celebrate his birthday at Stout's Pub, had dinner with my parents and my sister's family at Louis in St. Paul (Cossetta's high-end and, in my opinion, somewhat overrated restaurant), worked another Food & Wine, co-hosted a baby shower for my sweet coworker Jeanne, read the book "The Life We Bury" for book club, helped my MIL celebrate her 60th birthday at a surprise dinner at Grumpy's, went to the annual family sleepover at Patti's, helped Lane celebrate his 10th birthday, went with Kelly & Alex to visit Anna & adorable Baby Inga, had drinks (and a good conversation) with Kelly on the patio at Barrio, signed the kids up for another swimming session at my old junior high, celebrated my niece April's 22nd birthday at Hell's Kitchen (Alex & Jeremy babysat), celebrated Easter with both families, toured 13 "luxurious" homes, stayed at East Bay Suites in Grand Marais, went to various Design Week events, celebrated our 10th anniversary with dinner at Manny's (we had $175 in gift cards and our bill came to $176!!) and drinks at Surly, helped my dear friend Karla celebrate her 40th birthday at a lovely little bonfire party at her house, had dinner with two of my CAKE girls, A & Em, went to Adam's first musical, went to his school carnival (and volunteered in the room with the penny drop ... not a single kid came in the last 20 minutes I was in there, next year I wanna do the cake walk!), had brunch with my mom at the Lake Elmo Inn, went to a Women in Leadership Conference and left feeling empowered and inspired, helped my dear friend Amy celebrate her 40th at a girls' night out in Stillwater (dinner at the Green Room, drinks at Charlie's, Smalley's, dancing at Rafters), enjoyed a laidback Mother's Day bbq in Forest Lake, and poured my favorite beer, Alaskan Amber, at GrillFest (and got completely drenched while doing so, but still had a blast). Aaron's been in Michigan with three of his best guy friends for the past few days, and I can't wait to have him home again. Even though the boys and I stayed with my parents Saturday and Sunday night, I am exhausted. Mad props to all the single parents out there.

Little sib, big sib - so much love and respect

Hurry up and take the photo so I can move off this pink couch.

This girl is one of the reasons I don't mind coming to work every morning.

April celebrating birthday #22 at Hell's Kitchen

We made it to Grand Marais!

So many rocks, so little time.

Pigeon Falls (still partially frozen), Grand Portage State Park, right next to the Canadian border.

Sadly, the donut shop was still closed for the season. (And it was RIGHT ACROSS THE PARKING LOT!)

Do you want to buy a rock at my Rock Shop? My name is Austin.

Rocks for sale!

Shadow family

This anniversary felt like a big deal. 10 years!!

This is what happens when you leave your lip gloss within reach of a toddler.

We stayed out until bar close!! Old but not DEAD!

First backyard bonfire of the year.

They both passed to the next level. Adam can even SWIM now! I so look forward to the day when I can trust them both to "hold their own" in water over their head, so I can relax a little bit around lakes and pools. TG for lifejackets!

Closing time

A few weeks ago I filled out forms at the district office for Ben to start kindergarten in the fall (since we open-enroll). Say whaaaaaat?! In so many ways, it feels like he SHOULD be his age, and in other ways, where did my baby go?!? *sniff, sniff
I think all moms feel kind of sentimental when the baby of the family isn't such a baby anymore.

My pregnancy with Ben was mentally draining (I was so uncomfortable), but I will be forever grateful that I was able to get pregnant and carry two kids full-term, two kids who were so cozy in the womb that they both stayed a week past their EDD. I don't miss certain aspects of the newborn stage ... specifically the constant on-demand feeding schedule (and the pressure to be Baby's sole source of nourishment), the worrying/wondering/Googling ("How often should my baby poop?" "What foods make a baby gassy?" "Circumcision" "Best pediatrics in the XX area" "Is co-sleeping bad?" "What vaccinations does my baby need and when?" "Will my body ever feel normal again?" "Weird rash" etc.), the diapers (and diapers and diapers and diapers), the baby gear, the physical exhaustion, the total dependence for everything, but I do miss the fuzzy baby hair, those baby rolls, the cuddles, the giggles, the CHEEKS!!!, the funny faces, the tiny little clothes (onesies!), the portability (you set them down and they stay put! And you get a freebie arm workout from carrying that bucket seat everywhere you go!), the baby smell, the wide-eyed INNOCENCE, the endless possibilities of who your baby will be and how he will fit into your family.

I never would have guessed I would become one of those "baby" people, but somehow I did. I LOVE to hold babies now. I'm happy to babysit. I love to watch Aaron interact with babies (he knows how to get them to laugh) and listen to the boys talk in high-pitched baby voices (so sweet). I love to see babies expressions. I love it when something as simple as turning the lights on and off can rock their little worlds. They're so easy to please.

And time has a way of creeping up on you, and pretty soon you realize your baby isn't really a baby anymore. He has a first birthday party (and gets so covered in frosting that you have to give him a bath right afterwards) and then—after months of immobility—he gains independence and learns to crawl (and suddenly you have to worry about all kinds of new scenarios: stairs and cupboards and choking hazards, oh my!)

And then he learns to walk, first unsteady, then—as he gains confidence and becomes more bold—more sure of himself. This kid wants to explore. He's a little bit fearless, and that's a little bit terrifying (and a little bit exciting).

And sometimes he's naughty, but you can't get mad at him because THIS FACE.

And the birthdays come, and the birthdays go.

And he develops into his own little person, with opinions and interests and a personality! He has a free spirit, he is funny (like really funny), he is adventurous, he is sweet, he is sour, he is athletic, he is clumsy, he is aggressive, he is timid, he is outgoing, he is shy, he is loved (so loved). He likes his milk, his blankies, his superheroes, his naps (this kid NEEDS his sleep), his big brother, his mama, his dad, his grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles (and great aunts and uncles), his Ricky Rubio, his Zach Parise, his Family Feud, his playground outings, his bike, his sled, his waterpark rides, his Channel 2 shows, his Kindle, his basketball, his Pokemon, his books, his movies, his music, his friends. (But only when they're not playing with his favorite toy.) He is unlike his older brother in that he doesn't have a big group of friends, he has a few close friends. Sometimes he likes to play alone, too. You love this independent quality because it is so unlike you.

And on some days you'll feel sentimental about your Vanishing Baby (like when one of your friends has a beautiful new baby, or you start looking at old photos or reminiscing), but then you look at this photo and NOPE. You don't miss these ridiculous toddler tantrums. Not one bit.

Two years ago I constantly thought about having a third. It was an obsession. Could we afford it? Could we handle another one? (The two we had already made us feel maxed out most days.) Was it greedy to want a third when we already had two healthy children and some of our friends struggled with infertility? Were we too old?
I felt mixed emotions every month, simultaneously hoping I was pregnant and dreading the enormous implications of a missed period. 
When I talked to a wise friend about my struggles, she pointed out, "In the long run, you won't regret having another one, but you might regret NOT having another one."
I got what she was saying—every baby is a blessing, and if we had another one, we'd figure it out. But what if I did regret it? What if it changed everything? What if it altered our family dynamic and made me cranky and resentful of not having enough "me" time? What if it ruined my marriage? I don't want to jeopardize what we have - we're in a really good place. 
"Katie is having another baby," Adam said a few weeks ago. "Sam is going to have a brother AND a sister. You should have another baby."
"Katie is much younger than I am," I answered. "And her mom does daycare, so it's not as expensive for her."
"Can't you just GET another one?" Ben asked impatiently, as if it's as easy as walking into the grocery store and leaving with a newborn.
I'm too old, I told them. Having babies is a young person's game. I'd have to worry about miscarriage, being "advanced maternal age," extra health problems and complications (for me and the baby). I like my sleep now. I like the ages my kids are. I don't want to start all over. 
"We'll get a dog some day," I promised them, then changed the subject.
Aaron and I cleaned out our basement a few weeks ago and threw away or donated a ton of our baby stuff, which—without saying it out loud—spoke volumes about where we stand with family planning.  
I think we're both at peace (or very nearly at peace) with the idea that this is it. It's a huge—enormous—decision, to be done. This is our family, our little foursome, and this is as big as this family will get. And that's alright.

On one of those unseasonably warm days this fall, my dear friend Karla and I took our kids to the park and talked about The Decision. There are five of us in our high school group, and the other three were absolutely—without a doubt—very, very, very certain they were done having kids. Karla and I weren't certain. We waffled. For years we weighed the pros and cons. Should we? Shouldn't we? We had a narrow window of time to decide, and it was rapidly closing.
We agreed that there would have been no question of: "Is my family complete?" if we had stopped at three. Three would have been the magic number for us ... but three didn't happen (for a multitude of reasons), and now we're beyond that stage and it's time to let that dream go. (Karla, affectionate/smart/naturally maternal/baby whisperer/role model mom that she is, could have handled 10.) An even bigger loss of a dream, for us, anyhow, would have been to never have any children, and we each have two healthy kids, and those kids are pretty fucking amazing. And fun. So much fun.

Just last night our family "played" American Idol, where we all had stage personalities and 'tried out' for the show. (I had to go twice in a row before anyone else got up the courage to act silly, but once we started, the boys didn't want to stop!) What do you know? We had three judges and one contestant. (Ben kept wanting to be Harry Connick Junior and sit on the end, and it bothered him if I wasn't in J Lo's spot in the middle.) Adam slicked back his hair and sang "Cruise," Ben laid on the floor and his bare feet sing a ditty. (What?) We all laughed. I loved every minute of it. 

When my friends schedule playdates now, our kids entertain one another and we can actually talk!!! For many years, we were all in the trenches, needing "friend time" but way too preoccupied with babies or chasing toddlers to give one another the attention we wished we could give one another.  When they were little, it seemed like we'd never get to a point where we could relax with a glass (or two) of wine while our kids played together, and now HERE IT IS. Cheers to happy, healthy, smart, funny, well-adjusted kids who are old enough to tell us what they want/need, buckle their own carseats, and wipe their own butts. I'll drink to that.