Tell Me More

My hairdresser just got married, but ever since I met her, she’s been talking about having kids. No doubt this woman will make a great mother. However, I may have scared her out of the idea this week at my most recent appointment.

I was babbling on about school and life, and at one point I brought up the craziness that my children contribute to my everyday existence. Heidi then said, “So take me through a typical day at your house.” OK, sister you asked for it. So this is what I told her:

“Alright, well, sometimes the kids wake up at about 5am and come into our bedroom. Then we have to try to persuade them to go back to sleep until a reasonable 5:45 or 6:00. This never ends well, and usually results in relinquishing my phone to a tiny person in order to grab a few more seconds of sleep. Other days, they refuse to get out of bed, and we have to use sorcery to get them downstairs. Never do people sleep until it’s time to wake up and just make life easy.

“Once people’s heads are off of their pillows, it is time to get dressed. This is a whole new element of excitement. Harrison can usually fend for himself, but somehow that kid never has socks. I do not know where they go-this might be one of life’s great mysteries. I send him off to the sock bin to get a pair and he regularly chooses two socks that could not be more different. One short, one long? Perfect. One orange and one red? Let’s rock and roll. In the meantime, Ella often forgets that she knows how to dress herself and is spinning around the house naked until I can catch her and finagle some clothes on her body.

“By the way, It is not even light outside and I still need to shower and dress myself in addition to all this other entertainment. Justin makes subtle comments about my inability to ever find anything to wear on the first try.

“Ella asks for Raisin Crunch. I pour two bowls. Life is grand. Life is easy. Cereal is salvation. I head back into the bathroom to do my make up. Then, I hear ‘MOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYY!!!! I HHAAAATTTTEEEEE THIIIISS CERRREEEALLLLL!!!’ from Harrison. I walk out to the kitchen and catch a bowl of cereal almost in mid air. ‘Fine bud.’ I say.  ‘Eat nothing.’ Back to my makeup. Seconds later, Harrison wants milk on his terrible cereal and before I know it, I’ve put foundation on half a face, and I’m ready to leave the house. This often happens. You want a put together mama? Let mama finish her makeup. Let mama put both earrings in. Let mama make sure she has matching shoes on. But this is not how things go. Mama needs to be sure that there are no spiders in the sneakers. Mama needs to be sure that the “good” toothpaste is out. Mama needs to break up a fight over whose turn it is to stand on the bathroom stool.

“At this point, I have emptied the dishwasher, switched the laundry, made some coffee, packed three lunches, and now it’s time to head out the door. But WAIT! No one has their shoes on. No one has their coat on. I have asked seventeen times. It is just not going to get done. I fly around the house, grabbing things that might be useful for survival throughout the day: a sharpie, a protein bar, a megaphone.

“Everyone is very surprised that Mommy is flustered. However, no one remembers that Mommy has had no coffee. This is when everyone decides to ask Mommy questions about God and Heaven and the Treasure at the end of the Rainbow. On a good day, people ask Mommy about how many teeth are in a dinosaur’s mouth or why we cannot have a pony.

“Once we arrive at daycare, Harrison goes into vacation mode. It is as if he has one million years to get out of the car and inside the building. I, however, am acutely aware of the ticking of the clock. Ella foresees an apocalypse and decides now would be an excellent opportunity to proclaim her undying love and cling to me as if her life depended on it. I peel children off, distribute last minute kisses, and slide out of the door.

“Once I am safely back in my car, ALONE, I take a deep breath and pick up my coffee. Eight more hours until more fun begins.”

Heidi cannot handle any more excitement even though I want to tell her how much fun it’s going to be after school when I pick the kids up. I’m dying to explain how one wants to go to the playground and the other wants to go to Grammy’s and how no one wants to go to swim lessons even though it’s Tuesday and we have swim lessons on Tuesday. Then I want to tell her about how it’s going to be bath time and one won’t get in tub while the other won’t get out, and regardless of where any of the kids are, there’s always water all over the bathroom floor. And then I want to talk about dinner time because the kids are starving all day, yet grilled cheese and carrots are just not going to cut it. I also want her to know that no matter how terribly brushing teeth goes in the morning, you can’t let that get you down ‘cause it’s gotta happen again at night. Oh and she definitely needs to know the fun-that-is-bedtime, where you’re too tired to even care if you have to run up and down the stairs 24 times for the right stuffie, and the blanket needs to be polka-dots down, not stripes-down, and the fitted sheets just don’t ever “fit” on a toddler’s bed, because of the voodoo that they perform while asleep at night.

This is how I am looked at on a regular basis.

I’m getting worried at this point, looking at Heidi’s face in the mirror. She’s holding scissors close to my head, after all. So it’s now that I tell her about the huge spot in my heart that IS my children, and how, no matter how crazy the day is, the feeling of their soft sweet breath on your cheek after they’ve fallen asleep is the most beautiful feeling in the world. The excitement and anticipation fills back up in her eyes, and I remember for myself, as much as I remember to tell her, that it’s the best thing in the world, being a mommy.

One Granola Bar Wrapper Away from Insanity

In my job, there are a lot of “first days”. There’s the first teacher day. Then the first day with students k-9. Then the first day with everyone all in the building at once. This makes the beginning of the school year a little anti-climatic, and Justin likes to ask me, “Which kind of ‘first day’ is it today?” I always respond that it is the kind of first day which requires a glass of wine at the end.


I managed to annoy my husband before I even got out of bed this morning, which is not an undoable feat, but an unusual one. Apparently, one cannot be tired after a long weekend and reset her alarm four times in the early hours of the morning. Whatever. I’m up now, aren’t I?


Today, we actually got into the full swing of things. You guys know I like to over-achieve, so not only did we have a real first day with all hands on deck, but also I signed the kids up for swim lessons. Because I’m very good at self-harm, I made sure that lesson gave me .04 seconds to leave after school ended to pick up both kids and get to the pool on time. I couldn’t even think about that until I got through the rest of the day though.


I must have told Harrison to put on his shoes seventeen times. Here’s a fun fact: It helps to put your shoes away where they belong in order to find them the following morning! But what do I know? We found shoes for the feet after some painful dawdling around the hallway. In the meantime, I was looking for his bathing suit for the aforementioned swim lessons. Why, people, can we not put bathing suits or shoes where they belong? Justin, in an incredibly casual manner and pace happened to remember that Harrison’s bathing suit was in the boat. He brought me the garment once he located it, proud as a peacock. The suit was, of course drenched in rainwater, and here I am the bad guy for asking what in GOD’S NAME can I do with a soaking wet bathing suit.


Somewhere between the time I was begging Ella to brush her teeth and the time I asked Harrison for the eighteenth time to put on his shoes, Justin used my hair dryer to dry the suit. Everything was nice and dry and warm until we got to daycare where I promptly spilled my coffee all over the passenger side of my (new) car while looking for my checkbook. Sorry, daycare, I’ll pay you tomorrow when my bag and checkbook dry out.


The work day went pretty smooth, because obviously my teaching skills are on point. Just kidding. I had three girls refuse to set up their binders in class and I may or may not have forgotten to eat breakfast.


Since I made it out of there unscathed for the most part, I was looking forward to swim lessons. My kids LOVE to swim, so I knew this was going to be a fantastic event. For those of you just joining us in the life of Katie, obviously Ella decided she hated water and looked at the swim instructor like he was going to abduct her. She added blood curdling screams throughout the 40 minute lesson for sound effects, and everyone at the YMCA now knows that Ella does not want to learn to swim. Fine kid. Good luck finding adult sized puddle jumpers.

When we got home, I was delighted to find homework in Harrison’s backpack. It’s my favorite kind. The family kind. You know, where we all get together and decorate a piece of paper? And the best part is that I just told my class just today that I learned to hate homework only when my own child started school. Karma, you’re silly. But, we’ll do it folks. That apple is going to have the sh*t decorated out of it.


And why wouldn’t Justin have a work dinner to attend tonight? So here I am flying solo, looking at a granola bar wrapper that I SWEAR I told Harrison to throw away. He’s left it on the bar stool to remind me of the good times of today, I think. It’s ok though. I’m going to go to bed early, unless of course, Ella decides to start crying again about our dead cat whom she cannot possibly remember as he died before she was born.


Fellow parents, I wish you well in these first few weeks back to school. Be it swim lessons, kindergarten homework, or remnants of bygone snacks, we stand together in solidarity.

Road Trip

If you want to experience a special kind of hell, akin to repeatedly stabbing yourself in the eye with a sharp object, I highly recommend taking two small children on a road trip by yourself. And by road trip, I mean at LEAST six hours. We’re overachievers here in the Clark household, so the trip I just took Harrison and Ella on was nine hours one way.


We managed to convince my parents to move to our town a few years ago, so we haven’t had to make this trip much in recent history. However, my aunt still lives in my hometown, so off we went. It’s been over a week and I am still exhausted. Here are some highlights.


Fun Fact #1: Even though your GPS says the trip will take you seven hours, this is not the case. I was considering suing for false advertising, but then I realized that my GPS does not have children, thus preventing it from knowing the incessant need to pee that is unique only to pregnant women and recently potty-trained toddlers. Since I am not pregnant, this one goes to Ella. I’d be less annoyed about this one except for the fact that Ella is really just fascinated with the locks on public bathrooms, and she likes to check each one out to see how they all work. Most of the time there is no peeing, because after all, I’m not a complete idiot and I put that kid in a pull-up if we’re going to be in the car for more than an hour. The bathroom breaks did not solely contribute to the extra two hours we spent traveling though. The traffic was insane through Maine, New Hampshire, and Massachusetts. My aunt believes that there are no real houses in Massachusetts; rather, people just drive around on the turnpike. After my recent experience, I might have to agree with her.


Fun Fact #2 DVD players in minivans were designed with the assumption that A) Your children can use a remote control from the back seat (which includes reading the screen) or B) You are incredibly skilled at multitasking and can drive and operate the DVD player (which you cannot see, of course) all by yourself. For the life of me I could not get DVDs to play without having to pull over the car and go through ALLLL the previews. This may have lead to another reason we tacked on two extra hours to our trip. Either way, design fail for my minivan DVD player. Mama cannot be the driver and the entertainment manager at the same time.


Fun Fact #3: Although your five year old managed to stay awake for 9/10 of the trip, he still will not be tired when you finally arrive at midnight. I was about to collapse into an abyss of sleep for hours, but my children were running around like crazy people the minute we got out of the car. It’s like they sat all day or something…


The lack of sleeping did not end at the first night. As a matter of fact, neither child stayed in their bed for an entire night even once on our trip. I even brought their mattresses with us so they would feel more at home. Apparently sleeping with at least one body part on my head at all times was preferable. This is most likely why I am still tired.


The kids really did enjoy the trip. We saw friends and family and we visited places I used to frequent as a child. There were some rainy days where we were kind of at a loss for things to do, though, which brings me to Fun Fact #4: If your kids are throwers of temper tantrums, they put on extra dramatic shows when you’re far away from home and out of your comfort zone. Considering my aunt lives in a retirement community where it is generally quiet, I was concerned that someone was going to call child protective services with all of the screaming going on. We did not get reported for abuse (taking away legos) but those retired people did report me for something else.


Fun Fact #5: You can be as loud as you want, but you MAY NOT speed in the retirement community. Apparently a concerned resident went to the community center with a complaint that a “woman with Maine license plates was zooming down the road”. Guilty as charged. I WAS going seventeen miles per hour down the 10 MPH road. I think maybe this particular resident has forgotten how incredibly painful it is to ride in a car with small children. Had he remembered, he would not have been surprised, and perhaps would have shown some pity for me, since I was obviously just trying to get the hell out of that car.


Speeding was not the only vehicular violation that we committed while at Retirement Estates…but this next one was NOT my fault. My aunt and I decided we’d let the children play outside early one morning, as they were clearly feeling a little cooped up in the house. Ella decided she wanted to go get some things from the car and I acquiesced. I know she likes to push buttons, which sometimes resets the controls I have in my car, but there were lots of toys in there from my feeble attempt to keep the kids entertained on the ride. I figured this might be a good way to get some of that junk cleaned out. Sitting quietly on the couch, enjoying the peace while Aunt Marylou looked over the children from the front porch, I was suddenly startled out of my two minute reverie by my car alarm. You guys, I could not find the keys anywhere. It was like I was frozen. After several minutes of looking I ran outside with the key fob and feverishly pushed buttons until the jarring alarm finally silenced.


Knowing I would not be able to relax after that fiasco, I decided to hop in the shower and get ready for the day. I figured it would be a good time to get out of the neighborhood for a while as well, because clearly we were being a disruption. Just as I finished conditioning my hair, I heard that damn car alarm again. This time, though, I was in the shower, naked (because that’s how it works), and in a town that is not mine with neighbors who do not know me, and already the culprit of so many other transgressions that I really did not want to add streaking to the list. I found a towel that I can only hope covered me enough, ran outside, and pushed all the key buttons once again. Dripping wet and very angry, I directed my children inside so that, if they possibly could cause any more chaos, they could do it under my watchful eye.


Fun Fact #6 (or 7, I’ve lost count): In Elmira, where we were visiting, there is a maximum security prison. They do not take reservations. I was thinking a few days in solitary would be good for me, but alas, speeding and disrupting the peace are not quite the kinds of crimes they serve.


We are back in Maine, safe and sound. We may never leave the state again. At the very least, I need to recover from THAT trip. IMG-1040Kids have lunch with Uncle John.


When you hear the word, “annual”, what comes to mind? An annual family reunion, perhaps; or possibly an annual sale at your favorite store. It could be those annual flowers that pop up after months of snow. Maybe it’s the annual fee on your credit card. There are lots of times for this word to pop up in our daily lexicon. For women, however, “annual” denotes a very invasive doctor’s appointment. We get the distinct pleasure of these visits because we were blessed with a uterus. I’m no physician but apparently that uterus is a complicated thing. I cannot recall another body part that needs to be scraped for cells on a regular basis. Could we not do this to the elbow? The ankle? Hell, your ankle is already right up there in the stirrups, go ahead and grab some cells from there too while you’re at it. But I digress. The point is that I just had my annual visit to my doctor. Gentlemen, you may stop reading here. Unless you haven’t eaten in a few hours; in which case, please feel free to continue reading.


I am not a particularly modest woman but I really dislike going to the doctor. Send me to the dentist all day long. They let you lay down and relax while you listen to relatively decent music and they clean your teeth for you. The OBgyn does NOT do any cleaning and there is no music. (Sidenote: OBgyns, you might want to consider music…) Anyway, there is nothing I like less than this visit, and after two children, I quite frankly would be fine if they shut that factory down and I could carry on with my life. But, alas, in the name of health…


So my doctor, with whom I have only met once prior to today, is one of those crunchy granola types. I ADORE her. She is just a little on the the hippie edge of things. When I spoke to her last year about my anxiety, which is a longstanding issue for which I am well medicated, she plopped some lavender oil on a cotton ball and sent me on my way, telling me to smell it whenever I was stressed. (For the record, I still have an active prescription to Lexapro and Xanax and I do not forsee substituting lavender for them in the near future.) With all of her earthy love and such, I should not have been surprised when she asked me if I wanted to watch her perform my PAP smear and pelvic exam.


“Absolutely not,” I replied incredulously.


She smiled a matronly smile. “Sometimes it makes people feel better. Did you know that some women have never seen their vagina? I mean if you’re here, you might as well get the full experience.”


My jaw dropped. Does she really think anyone wants to “experience” this more than they already must??


“Well, I prefer to keep this procedure limited to only sense, and I don’t need to feel it AND see it. I might not recover as quickly.”

She chuckled and patted my leg. “Ok. We’ll get started.”

And then she…just kidding. If you know what happens next, you don’t need to read about it. And if you don’t know what happens next, you don’t need to read about it either.

So once my legs were back together and I was in an upright position, I decided to pose the question that was burning on my mind.

“My husband has had a vasectomy. I know this is not 100% effective, but we are definitely done having children. Do you think I should go on birth control?”

And then she laughed so hard she fell on the floor and almost choked to death. Not quite, but you guys, it was seriously close. I’ve given that “are you fucking kidding me” look before and I know it when I see it. She informed me of the science of vasectomies (which I know) and about how it can NEVER be undone, which is an absolute fallacy. So the moral of that story is: A) my doctor thinks I’m an idiot. B) I’m not on birth control and C) I tried to share with her webMD info that she promptly rejected.

So, not only did I leave there exposed physically and mentally, I could get pregnant. Thanks, Doctor.

And this is why my kids are in daycare

Last week, when I handed my check to our daycare provider, I told her that if it were appropriate, I would kiss her. She smiled nervously, took a step back,  and then I flew out of there like Tinkerbell herself. The taste of freedom was on my lips. I was going to DO things. A pedicure? Sure. Shopping? Definitely. Visiting a friend? Put it on the list.  It’s not that I don’t love spending time with my babies. Watching them this evening on their Slip n’ Slide, giggling huge full belly laughs all covered in grass made my heart swell with a kind of happiness I didn’t know existed before parenting. But there are also other moments. For example, Ella brought me my ice scraper this morning while I was in the shower.  Also while I was in there, she asked me for a snack. While I was attempting to shave my legs she informed me that she needed lotion and I peered out from behind the shower curtain to find her hoisting one leg up on the bathroom counter.  Meanwhile, I believe Harrison has lost his sense of hearing because he has literally ignored every single direction I have given him all day. Favorite activities include, but are not limited to: hitting his sister, trying to knock me out of a rocking chair, and practicing lacrosse inside the house. He also decided to show his new and improved vocabulary to his grandmother. (Here’s how I found out which word it was that he said: “Harrison, was it the ffff sound or the sh sound? It was the fff sound. Spectacular.)


It’s only Sunday night and it feels like I have been with my kids for seventeen straight days without a break. But no, it’s just a summer weekend. To be honest, I can’t even remember what I did on Friday, it seems so long ago. I can tell you that the kids were in daycare that day though, and I had some remnants of my sanity dangling from my conscience before I picked them up.


But this is where it gets dicey and where people get judgey. I don’t work during the summer. We send the kids to daycare two days a week because I need to get shit done. I also need to sit down and breathe and think a full thought without interruption. I’ve had moments of self doubt about this decision because, after all, I COULD be home with them this summer. But then I’d return to teaching in the fall a frazzled crazy mess. Those two days per week that my children are in the loving care of another human being give me the ability to recenter my brain and my soul. I truly am a better mom when I pick them up after their day at daycare. I also feel that I should share the wealth. I mean, it wouldn’t be fair of me to keep all this fun to myself. I am so thankful that there is a human being who actually enjoys getting all of the 4- and 5-year olds in the whole town together all at once. Then she takes them out in PUBLIC, all at the same time, and somehow they all come back at the end of the day. Had this been my job, I’d have lost a child or two in the shuffle. Not only do they all come back but they all have their shoes on. Honestly, the woman is a saint.


Tomorrow, my kids are going to go back to daycare. I’m going to do things like take out the trash and empty the dishwasher. If I get adventurous, I might clean out my closet. But the good news is that I can shave my legs in peace.


Five years ago today, I was in a hospital bed with no real intention of ever getting out. I was in so much pain that I could not conceive of the immeasurable task that lay before me. Five years ago today, I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy via C-section in a very scary situation. I couldn’t imagine that it would ever be harder to parent than in that moment. Forget about learning to change diapers and breastfeed, I couldn’t even walk. How on earth was I going to care for this new human when I literally could not care for myself? Well, we made it, but there’s a reason why.

Luckily, Harrison and I had the love and support of Justin who nursed me back to health and nursed Harrison as well. Just kidding. He’s good but he’s not THAT good. (He did, however, go out and buy me a breast pump so that I could try in vain to breastfeed, and although that didn’t work out, we made a go at it.) We made it through those first several months by the grace of God. Even with the two of us giving our best to this tiny person, we still couldn’t believe what we had gotten ourselves into.

New moms everywhere ask of veteran moms, “How do you do it?” and of course the answers vary greatly. Most honestly one might answer that you have no choice but to do it and hope you end up still standing by the time your kids learn to stand. For me, that was part of it. But the bigger part was the people in our lives. In the past five years, Harrison has had the love and support of three sets of grandparents, two aunties, and an uncle. He has two step aunties, and two step uncles. He has a great aunt, two great grandmothers, and a great grandfather. With each one of these people, Harrison has formed a special bond  because each person has opened his or her heart to him. They’ve let him in. They have inside jokes with him, he knows where they hide the cookies, and he knows that when he’s alone with that special person, there is adventure and treats abound. But I can say with certainty, that if the treats were gone, if the adventures fizzled, he’d still crawl into the lap of each family member and offer a snuggle because he knows that is his safe place. That is where love is.

There are friends we’ve known since his birth, and ones we’ve met along the way. He goes to an incredible school where his teacher extracted his love of learning and planted Miracle Grow in his brain. Because she gave him a safe place to learn and explore, he has had great success in the classroom. Harrison also has the best daycare provider I could have ever imagined for my babies. Despite his incredibly emotional tendencies, she opens the door to fun for him, and encourages him to let loose a bit.  

The countless playdates with mom friends who became just friends who happened to be moms showed me that I was not alone, that my kid is normal (sort of), and that we all have so much in common, all kept me grounded. They still do, as these friendships continue to form and grow. The children with whom my boy interacts give him love and patience and kindness and friendship. For that I could not be more grateful.

Everywhere I turn, there are these amazing people with whom I have shared my child’s life and who have helped him grow. I cannot believe that FIVE is here, but my heart is full with all of the love around us, that just wouldn’t have been without our boy. And I couldn’t imagine a better life for my child, so thank all of you for making Harrison’s life complete. IMG_0659

Playing Catch Up

Yikes! Where have I been?? I honestly couldn’t tell you all of the details of my past few months as a working mom because it’s truly been a whirlwind. We survived the holidays just barely, and all of a sudden I go outside and it’s 70 degrees out there. Here are a few highlights from the past months:

Ella turned three in March. She used her magic princess wand to turn boys into frogs. The child is wise beyond her years.

Justin suffered the man-flu. The first time around it was the man-flu. The second time it was pneumonia and bronchitis. I think there’s a story about a boy and a wolf and some crying here that might support my lack of sympathy, but the good news is that he is feeling well now, albeit the serious paper cut he has on his left pinkie finger.

My students are still appalled that we have to read in class. By the way, I teach English. To seniors in high school. I told them that this was a necessary evil that must be endured. They’re still showing up, so I suppose they have acquiesced.

“Acquiesced” is a vocabulary word this week. How’d I do?

Cousin Shellie, who lived here, moved out to house sit for my mother; but she has since moved back in. She actually wakes up early to come downstairs and “watch the madness.”

Harrison developed a double ear infection and upper respiratory infection on my 35th birthday. The doctor at urgent care didn’t actually say, “upper respiratory infection”, but she wrote it on the discharge sheet for an extra surprise when I got home. It was as if she just wanted to dig the knife further into the wound. Speaking of wounds, the antibiotics H was prescribed turned him into a big red blob of screaming, kicking, itching hives. I told the pediatrician I had been treating the rash with Benadryl and he was all like, “You shouldn’t do that. It makes kids drowsy” and I was all like, “Yeah dude so what’s your point?” and he was all like, “Well you don’t want your son to be sleepy all the time do you?” and I was all like, “umm well I don’t know the correct answer to this question.”

If you missed it in number six, I turned 35. This monumental event coincided with the man-flu and double ear infection/upper respiratory debacle. Cheers!

I managed to slam my fingers in a door, pinch them in a carseat, and lose a diamond from the ring I was wearing on that hand all in one day. My middle finger still works fine though.

Harrison demonstrated his literary prowess by practicing the alphabet on our walls. He tried to blame it on his sister, who does not have the same skill set at this current time in her development. Unfortunately he gave himself away with his repetition of H’s throughout the house. He cleverly wrote a bunch of E’s outside of Ella’s room but we weren’t fooled. On another note, we’ve had to engage in several conversations about how lying is wrong.

Summer is now on the horizon and I hope to get back into this, so stay tuned. I’ve included an actual picture of my children getting along. This will go in a museum one day.17498760_10155208101311383_1998342815584970627_n (1)