The Category "C" of Mothering

In pregnancy, they rate medications on an alphabet scale. Category "A" is considered totally safe for women to take during pregnancy. This category involves mostly vitamins. Category "B" drugs are considered generally safe. These drugs have been tested and are not shown to have adverse effects in humans or animals. Tylenol, for example, is a Category B. It goes all the way down to a Category "D", which is the stuff you just don't touch. These are medications that have been tested and are considered harmful during pregnancy.

The thing is, I understand the Category B and D things. But there is this other category, Category "C". That's the tricky stuff. Those are the things that are sometimes considered safe in pregnancy, sometimes not. Generally they include drugs that haven't been adequately tested on humans and should only be used if the potential benefits outweight the potential risks. For example, I used Zofran (a Category C anti-nausea drug) during my pregnancies, because my doctor felt that the risk of taking the Zofran was less than the risk of dehydration from my severe morning sickness.

I don't like Cateogry C. I don't understand Category C. Category C is secretive and sneaky and not black and white. It's gray, and I don't like gray.

In the last 8.5 years I have come to realize that much of motherhood falls into the Category C. There are so many things that are in that gray area. They might be good, they might be bad, they might be worth it if the benefits outweight the potential risks. It's a big huge pot of uncertainty. Uncertainty and I don't really get along well.

Some things fall very easily into a nice, safe category. Giving your child hugs, Category A. Beating your child with a stick, Category D. Letting your child cry himself to sleep? Well, that's a Category C. Some say it's fine. Some say it isn't. The real question is, does the benefit outweigh the risk? For me, it's safer to let my kids cry for a few nights than to wreck the car on the way to soccer practice because I am totally sleep deprived. Lot's of things are Category C in parenting. Here are a few that I have tried:

Crying it out for sleep training
Not washing hands before eating dinner
Using a binky up to age 4
Having a bottle in bed
Eating ice cream/cookies/cupcakes for breakfast
Giving solids before 4 months of age
Giving my kids Benedryl on roadtrips
Co-sleeping
Skipping school for no good reason
Watching television ALL day long for an extended period of time
Not doing pre-school

The list goes on and on...but those are a few. My point is that a lot of things fall into that Category C. Maybe they are ok, maybe not. I think as mothers we need to do the best we can, forgive ourselves if we screw up once in a while and support each other along the way.

I know I'm biased, but I'd say that even with all the Category C activities we have participated in, they sure don't seem any worse for the wear. :)

Just Grin and Keep Walking

Food is good. Toilet paper is also good. Shampoo, paper towels, laundry detergent, hummus (if you don't like hummus there is something wrong with you. My husband doesn't like hummus. He is a strange man, but i digress)-these are all good things. The fact that there exists in this world, a place where you can buy all these things at once is a little slice of Heaven. Actually grocery shopping, however, is akin to a stroll through the seventh circle of hell. I don't say that lightly. It's just the truth. Let me explain...
It's not the five crazy children hanging off the sides of my basket...I brought those. It's not the isles that are way too small, the broken seat belts in the little grocery-cart-car, or the strategically placed candy bars at check out. All those things, I can deal with.
What makes shopping miserable, at least for me, is the people. Now don't hate me just yet. I actually really like people. A lot. I'm a people person. But for goodness sake, sometimes I just want to take a riding crop and walop them on the forehead.
You might actually be one of these people...it's okay, I still love you. You probably just don't know any better. That is why I am here. I have come to educate you. Here are a few of the things you should never say/do to a woman(or man-I am nothing if not supportive of a dad's right to grocery shop)who is shopping with children. You might want to write this down.
#1- Instead of saying "wow, you have your hands full" maybe you should just donate a quarter. If everyone did this, I wouldn't have to pay for my groceries.
#2- Don't ask her questions like "are they all yours?", "do they have the same father?", etc. It's not that the questions are horribly offensive or anything, but for the love of Pete, I am shopping with FIVE CHILDREN, I don't have time for your questions.
#3- If your cart is in the way, move it or lose it. We take up a lot of space and those buggies are hard to navigate when you have two kids swaying back and forth singing "Jingle Bells" and one strapped to your chest and two more pulling on your pant leg. In addition, if you get run into, don't give a dirty look, the first time was an accident but the next time can totally be on purpose. Oh yeah, I mean that!
#4- If one (or more) of the children is screaming, please don't make comments about how "someone isn't happy". We moms have this crazy awesome mom power where we can actually hear if our children are screaming. It's pretty acute. Oh, and don't look at me like I'm burning my child. Lastly, if screaming bothers you, sorry, them's the breaks. Kids are kids and you were one once. I don't mean to be insensitive but seriously, take some advice from Pete and his dragon- "there's room for everyone in this world, if everyone makes some room."
#5- For Pete's sake (man Pete is coming up a lot in this post), PLEASE don't tell a mom who is shopping with her children that she is "brave". I am taking my kids to the grocery store, not Alcatraz Island. I am buying oranges, not diffusing a bomb. I am not "brave" for going to the store-stupid maybe-but not brave.
#6- If you can't say something nice...nevermind, if you can't say something supportive...ya know what, it would be better if you just didn't speak at all. Moms who are shopping with kids just want to get in, get their junk and get out alive and with shoes on. So just smile and do your stuff and leave them alone. I promise, they are doing the best they can.
Well, I feel better.

Diary of a Dorky Girl...

My son is really into the "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" series. In fact, all his classmates are as well. It's an elementary school phenomenon. I read the first book, just to see what the hulabaloo was about. The thing is, it's a cute book and all, but it's sort of my autobiography. That's right, I was (still am slightly) a wimpy kid, a dweeb, a dork. I was the full package, complete with gangly stature, crooked teeth and big poofy hair...I'm talking frizz fro ya'll. My nickname in middle school was "poodle puff", and not in the cute way. (I'm not posting a picture, so don't ask.)

For most of my youth I was pretty awkward. It might have been my over-active immagination, my quirky sense of humor, maybe it was the unsocialized only child thing. Who knows. The point is, I was never really "cool". I kind of understood cool. I had cool friends. I tried to be like them. Personalities are somewhat inveitable though. My inner geek would slip out at all the worst times, no matter how hard I tried to hide it. Such is life.

But don't go feeling too sorry for me. The truth is, being a dork isn't as awful as it seems. I mean, all in all, I had a really fun childhood. The teen years weren't too bad either. Here's the best part...I actually turned out to be a somewhat normal adult. For serious. I know how to work a hair straightener now. I wear pants that go below my ankles. I turned out okay.

It's true folks. Despite my dorky origins, I graduated from high school, got accepted to college, found friends who really didn't mind my dorky-ness...I even found a husband. He's pretty cute too. He was actually one of the popular kids in school (oh the irony). Secretly, all those popular guys like dorky girls, just ask Juno.

Not only did I get married, I somehow convinced my cute, popular, athletic husband to reproduce with me, and even with the 50% dork genes...my kids turned out to be pretty freaking awesome.

So there ya go, sometimes being a dork turns out ok. Just don't ask my husband how it turns out for the popular kids...some geeky habits die hard. :)

Mr. Sandman, Bring Me a Bed

I tend to think of myself as a relaxed person. I don't get too bent out of shape about too many things. One thing that I am really funny about is beds. I have this thing about people in my house having a place to sleep. You can ask my husband, when company is coming, I kind of freak out. I want to know where everyone is going to sleep. I want to make sure they have clean sheets, clean blankets, a nice pillow, easy access to a bathroom, properly functioning light fixtures, temperature control...these types of things. I get a little nuts if I think that people won't be comfortable in my house.

So of course it stands to reason that my children have always been really fond of pulling the pillows and blankets off their beds and camping out on their bedroom floors. I let them do this, mostly because I don't want my husband to think I am a lunatic. On the inside, I am having a nervous breakdown. Don't they know what beds are for? There are THINGS on the floor. It's hard on the floor. It's cold on the floor. The floor is covered in cracker crumbs...dirty underwear...floor-type-things. GROSS! I hate it. But, I try to be accomodating-and cool-and go with the flow mom (even when my skin is crawling). Also, I have a slightly irrational fear that Child Protective Services is going to show up at my house one day (with all the noise in our house, I am sure the neighbors have thought about calling) and they are going to see my kids sleeping on the floor and be like, "you rotten mom! Why are your kids on the floor?!?!" I have seriously rehearsed what I would say to them if this happened. That does not make me weird. Don't judge me.

So, knowing how I feel about beds, it's really no surprise that I would get the puppy a bed when we brought him home. Everyone needs a bed...even puppies. It's fluffy and cute and honestly, I wouldn't mind having one in my size (it's even machine washable...BONUS!). So where does Watson sleep?

Behind the toilet...of course. Where else? In a house with FIVE boys, he wants to sleep behind the toilet, who wouldn't?

The Doctor is in!

Well, as some of you already know, last week we welcomed a new member to the family: Dr. John Watson. "Watson", for short.
The good doctor is very cute. He is very small and white and fluffy and puppy-like. I have to say, I'm not really a dog person. My previous attempts at dog ownership have resulted in...well, not owning a dog. However, the doctor is manageable and I actually find that I (gulp) like him.
He's so stinking adorable, how do you not love this face?



Dr. John likes lots of things. He likes mostly chewing on shoes. We have lots of shoes, so he's kind of in Heaven. He also likes Tyler. A lot. Tyler is his boy. Sometimes Tyler wishes he wasn't Watson's boy. Sometimes the other kids wish they were Watson's kids. But they aren't.



Dr. John gets into a lot of mischief. He chews on my Christmas tree. He piddles on my floor. He does some other things on the floor sometimes too. But, of course, when you are as cute as this, you can pretty much get away with anything.

Unbelievable

When Suzy came down for school this morning I got a little choked up. If you read my previous blog post you understand why!




Is that purple pants with a green top and a MAGENTA sweater?!? This might sound a bit silly to some, but little things like this strengthen my testimony of a loving Heavenly Father. It has been a rough week in the Ramsey house and seeing my daughter decked out in a way that would have done her grandmother proud, to me, was a tender mercy from the Lord.

It's That Time

That time of the year that I love so much...the holidays! I love them. I love Halloween, I love Thanksgiving and I especially loooooove Christmas! Food, lights, candy, feasting, music, decorations, feasting, feasting (did I say "feasting" more than once? I did...don't judge. I have a very special relationship with food. You should too, it's very nice.) and general merry-making of all sorts.

It's also the time of year that I really start to miss my mom. Don't get me wrong, I miss her year round...but I miss her double around the holidays. She loved the holidays like I do.

Sometimes one of the hardest things about not seeing her is that I kind of forget all the little quirky things that I loved so much. There were lots...she was a super quirky woman...that's where I get it.

A few of my favorite quirks (I so wish I was clever...I could set it to the tune of "My Favorite Things" and it would dove tail perfectly with the Christmas season...ah well):

1. My sweet teeth come from her. Most people have only one sweet tooth...those of us who are super special in the handling sugar department, have many. My mom could take down a box of Little Debbies or a bag of Pepperidge Farm Milanos in one sitting. The two of us together were lethal.

2. She had this pair of purple sweat pants...I mean REALLY purple ya'll. And she liked to pair them with a bright green sweatshirt, her blue cloth clogs, some random socks and her down vest which was...wait for it...MAGENTA! That's right folks, magenta! I have never seen a woman wear so many uncoordinated colors. The thing is, she was so content with who she was that it totally didn't matter. She liked what she liked and that was that. I want to be just like her when I grow up.

3. We used to drive to school/work in the mornings and home in the evenings. It was about 45 minutes each way. It was my favorite time of the day. We'd fight over what radio station...she always won, until we switched over to listening to tapes full time. Christmas was nice, we NEVER fought over music selection, plus I got a break from NPR.

4. I frequently caught her cussing to food while she was trying to prepare it. Pie crusts in particular. I actually don't have a hard time with pie crust, I think she psyched herself out. In fairness to the universe, she was good at literally everything else, so it's only right that she should have one area of which mastery eluded her.

5. She called my first boyfriend "dog breath" after he took another girl to a dance. Not just once, I mean, that is what she called him...all the time. As in, "are you going out with dog breath tonight?" or "dog breath called while you were gone." I lived in constant fear that she would say it to his face, which she thankfully never did. Thank you for that mom.

6. She called every spider that she ever saw, "Charlotte". If I was afraid of it she would scold me. "Jenny!" she would say, "Don't be silly! It's just Charlotte!" Mom, they can't possibly ALL be Charlotte. And Charlotte or not, it's a spider, it's gross, it's frightening and it should not be near me. Go figure, I married a man who will not kill spiders. He scoops them up and takes them outside. What is it with me and these spider loving freaks?

I'm going to stop now. I have this two year old who likes to get into trouble. I should really go attend to that situation. Thanks for indulging me in my long-winded post.