The Easter Tantrum

From the gate, Easter was difficult this year. Matt traveled to France and Belgium (which got bombed by terrorist the day before we was set to ride the train into Brussels) the week of Easter, planning to fly into St. Louis the Saturday before to meet us. This means, I played single mom (with A LOT of help from my sisters, moms and nanny) and worked full time, with a broken garbage disposal and an insane work schedule for the week leading up to Easter Sunday. I woke up EXHAUSTED Saturday morning. It's extremely rare for me to actually feel physically tired, but, wow. Eight days, with five kids, alone, even with help, is rough. Period. So, my expectations for the weekend were relatively low, and despite this, for whatever reason, I totally forget, from year to year, how awful Easter really is for families with toddlers.

But think about it for a minute. We fill eggs and baskets with chocolate and jelly beans and chocolate and suckers and chocolate. They hunt for eggs, fueled by sugar, with no interest in "real food". Our parents, family, relatives and friends just have jars upon dishes of candy sitting around the house. We pump them full of this candy. We give them gifts. Then we force them into nice clothing. We take them to church where they are supposed to be both quiet and still, while they are still buzzing on a sugar high (and perhaps heading downhill.) We then want a picture because they are so stinky winky adorable in their Easter clothing, and this must happen before brunch, because, well, if it doesn't, the outfits aren't so cute anymore. We do this year after year.

I couldn't really put my finger on why Easter seems so much more tumultuous, and tantrum-filled than Christmas, but then again, I never really tried. Until today. We go to mass on Christmas Eve. They all have their adorable outfits for evening mass after a full day of good food and naps. We then open gifts and eat mounds of candy in our pajamas the next morning. We leave them in their jammies and let them just play. All day. No obligations. No fancy, smile at the camera, type pictures. Just good ol' candid fun.

I guess I really wanted to figure out what went wrong this year, because we drove all the way to St. Louis. (By we, I mean me getting all 5 kids packed and ready alone. There was a point on Saturday morning that I was not sure we were actually going to be able to make it out of the house. Not my finest moment. It never would have happened if my Mother-in-law hadn't taken them the night before to let me pack, and then rode up with us that morning. I think she was also played an integral role in helping me get out of my speeding ticket, from the woman cop, state trooper...oops.) I had all their clothing set out, as well as my own dress. I had time to shower. I got us all ready (Matt helping minimally, but he's in charge of the family Easter egg hunt AND had returned from France/Belgium the night before. His father helping bathe Mitch who had a blow out right before dressing change.) We could have made it to 10:30 mass, but, when it came to it, neither of us could stand to put ourselves through the torture. We had 5 wild children. It would be a sweaty, anxiety provoking hour or so of just corralling and shushing our children. So, we accepted the Catholic guilt, and just skipped it. Which, prompted me to assess the situation and try to figure out what we could have done to make it go differently.

First. No more candy in the eggs or Easter basket (except their Laura Littles' Chocolate Bunny, of course). The stuff sitting around is ENOUGH.

Second. Real breakfast. Eggs. Bacon. Yogurt. The works.

Third. As early a mass as possible. Maybe even save baskets and egg hunt for after.

Fourth. Maybe pictures after mass, before the potential hunt (if it gets moved). Then they are free to play as they please for the day.

Yup. I think that's it.

Despite all of this, it was a truly Happy Easter, filled with joy, blessings, family and love...with a few melt-downs in between.

The War on Laundry

I am not proud of the way I acted. I'm not proud of screaming at Mitch so loud, the baby started crying because she'd never heard her mother make noises that frightening. I'm not proud of how abruptIy and roughly I shoved Mitch out of the closet. It bothers me, the amount of effort it took to compose myself enough to walk up to my sobbing 2 year old, squat down to his level, look him in the eye, speak in a civil tone and "discuss" his behavior. It ended in a "sorry" and a hug. But I was livid.

You see, in less than 90 seconds, Mitch managed to undo what took at least 6+ hours of hard work and effort: my laundry. 

I have been waging a war on laundry for months. Years. Well, really, ever since the 2nd child came along. I hate sorting and folding clothes. I don't care who you are, you can only do it so fast. It's a time sucker. It takes hours out of my week that I could otherwise spend doing, oh, I don't know; ANYTHING else!!!! Building a marble run with my kids. Making a home-cooked meal for the 3rd or 4th time in my life. Painting a room in the house. Crafting with my kids. Going for a walk. Relaxing. 

I've become so bitter about laundry, that I have gotten rid of 3 trash bags full of it in the past week. I figured, if I went all out, got it all sorted, folded, organized, maybe I could stay on top of it easier. I moved it all into my closet. 

My system was going great. I've dressed cute all week. I had reduced the time spent getting dressed in the morning by half!! No more walking between closet, laundry room, bedroom, back to closet just to assemble my outfit for the day. It was so, so beautiful. 

Then. Tonight. While I was washing my hands, after changing Diana, he did it. Mitch walked in my closet and pulled EVERY. SINGLE. Piece of clothing off of my shelves. He pulled shoes off the rack. He destroyed so much. He broke my spirit. I'm not sure I can ever face the laundry again. Mine, or the kid's. 

So, next time you see me, if you're questioning my style sense. Or the children appear disheveled. You know why. I've simply given up. You win, laundry. You win.

Big City. Small Town.

The other day, while examining a patient, he mentioned the name of a specialist he had recently visited, to which I responded, "Oh yes! I know him really well. In fact, he's a friend of mine." The foreign born patient, most recently from New York, kind of laughed to himself, and in his lovely accent said, "Oh yes, I forget that everyone in this town seems to know one another."


Though, the connection in this instance, isn't surprising at all, as I was the referring doctor, the observation from the patient remains significant. And true. And what I love most about my town.


Yesterday, my second born, requested we go to the "burrito place with red sprite". He was talking about Ninfa's. A quite literal, hole in the wall, family owned and operated, tiny little, as authentic as they come Mexican food restaurant that serves warm, fresh, handmade, melt-in your mouth tortillas instead of the "traditional" chips and salsa. These are the "burritos" to which Curtis referred, and the "red Sprite"? Strawberry Fanta. Seeing as I have a 2 hour lunch break on Fridays, how could I resist the opportunity?

Eventually, I texted my mother and sister, and informed them of my lunch plans. To which, my sister replied, "Ha! Mom and I were just talking about that and she said, don't say anything to Erin until we know what time..." Thus. Had I not texted them, there is a really good chance we would have run into one another at this place anyway! Which, I forgot to mention, is no where near our neighborhood. I also forgot to mention, that the owners of this establishment had children who attended Matt's grade school. So, we kind of know them. Which is why we even know of the spot. Which I then introduced to my mother, who has a special affinity for tiny dives with amazing food.

 As we lunched, a few women walked in, and my mom remarked, "Oh how funny, I went to high school with a couple of those ladies." Small town is right! Then, not a moment later, who walks in? My mother-in-law. She was meeting these ladies for lunch. Curtis pops up and runs over to give his surprised Mimi a hug (and ask her to play on her phone.) What should have been a quick little lunch date with my 2nd child, turned into a family affair, and mini reunion of sorts. I left lunch all warm, and fuzzy, and full. Really full. Full of incredible food. Full of love for my family. Full of love for my city, and my life, and where I have landed.

Born and raised in Kansas City, I have lived in the same 6 mile radius for my entire life, with the exception of 5 years. I have moved exactly 6 times. Ever. Three of those instances occurred in those 5 years of college and post-grad work. I went away to Indiana for under grad, mostly because of swimming, but, I would have been fine staying near home. Though, I sometimes wonder if I am missing out on some beautiful part of life because of my extreme lack of wanderlust, I am mostly thankful that my family chose to establish themselves here. In Kansas City. Maybe, had I been born elsewhere, I wouldn't have such a content feeling about my city. Had I been born elsewhere, I definitely wouldn't dine out at the most seemingly obscure of places and run into 10 people that I know, let alone are my relatives.

I know the world is filled with all different types of people. To some, this small town living sounds appalling, and awful. I assume they feel trapped. Suffocated. Stymied. Missing some larger opportunity lurking for them, out there, in the great unknown. I am not sure what makes one full of adventure and the desire to uproot. To me, more possibilities and opportunities await me here, in my village full of people I know, who know me. It's who you know not what you know, right? Perhaps, there are 7 degrees of separation for humans throughout the WORLD, but in Kansas City, there are only 2 degrees.  Knowing that I can enjoy a meal, a moment, a conversation, face to face, with a friend or loved one, at nearly any time of any day? I love it. It makes me feel comfortable. Important. Supported. At ease. Loved. And home.

I will never claim to understand the meaning of life, yet, I can't help but think, living in the right place helps you discover it. I will never insist that Kansas City is the place for you. But, thank you, God/universe/random chance for dumping me here. In this wonderfully large city of opportunity, and this small town of comfort and familiarity.

I have a question.

Scratch that. A few questions. Ok A LOT of questions. Like:

At what age do they stop crying!? Because at nearly 7 years, Brock still cries, probably EVERY DAY. Curtis every day, a few times even. George, about the same as Curtis. Mitch, every 2-3 hours, or every hour of you count his scream. And Diana. Well, she's a baby.

When do they stop the candy obsession? My sister recently mentioned that she had forgotten she even had candy sitting out at her apartment until my 2 oldest boys walked in...she has a 10 year old, so I guess by then?

When do they stop getting into shit. Like everything. I mean, NOTHING is safe. Not even junk mail. My children's particular favorites seem to be dirt/mud, puzzles/board games, legos, art supplies and food. With the occasional medication or hazardous substance attempt.

I feel like my husband is relatively well potty-trained. He seems to get 97% of his urine in the toilet, and lifts the lid, and whatnot. At what point in his life did he become completely self-sufficient in the bathroom? Even this morning, Brock somehow managed to get poop on the toilet seat, and urinated, almost completely, outside the toilet.

When do they become able to put themselves to bed? I fantasize about that moment where I am sitting on the couch, my 5 children happily playing quietly around me, I look at the clock and it says 8:00pm, so I say, "Everyone go to bed." Then, they all get up without complaint, put away whatever entertainment device seemed to be occupying their attention, come give me a kiss and hug, say, "goodnight, mom. Love you." Then proceed to walk upstairs, brush their teeth, and go to bed. OK. I know. That NEVER happens. Not even when they're grown. But, that's why I termed it a fantasy.

When will people not get up because they got seated near us at a restaurant? (Yes. OMG. That really happened, for the first time ever the other night.) In our defense, they were seated at the exact moment that Diana grabbed a water glass and poured it into Matt's lap as well as the car seat, and George was about to throw a fit about Mitch eating his french fry, so I jumped up and pulled George out of the establishment (again, a first for us.) Otherwise, the meal went smoothly, if I do say so myself. In fact, the booth behind us complimented us on our beautiful and well-behaved family. So, I guess I change my question, when will dining out with the whole family become an enjoyable experience for everyone?

When does the antagonizing stop? Haha. Ok, I am kidding about this one. Obviously, never. Still one of my favorite things to do to my siblings. And mom. And husband...

When can I leave them all home alone? Will that ever be a good idea?

When will they just do their homework? On their own? Without prompting?

When will they do their own laundry? Well, at this point, I'd just take them being able to get one shirt without unfolding and emptying their entire dresser drawer. I mean, damnit. That takes a lot of time and effort for clothes to get washed, sorted, folded and put away!!!!!!!!!! And. When will they stop stripping randomly throughout the day, creating more laundry than necessary? Will they ever stop tearing holes in the knees of their jeans? I don't anymore, so I guess it stops at some point.

When will I stop thinking they are so cute, that I want to squeeze them to death? Or stop wanting another one?

Will the questions ever end? I don't think I want them to...

Epic Family Photos.

Back in 2010, I was determined to get a unique family photo. I wanted it to be "real" and almost have a "dark" feel to it. I wanted it fairly obviously photoshopped. I really wanted this photo just for myself, something that I felt really captured "us". I tried to describe this photo to Matt. I tried to find examples of what I was even talking about...none of which really existed in the exact form I was looking. But he seemed to understand what I was describing, and said, I know just the photographer to do this, Chris Mullins. So he talked to Chris, and we scheduled a day to do it.

The result blew us (and Chris, I think) away. We were astounded and in love. Every single tiny detail in that photo was US!! The dogs, the cat, the kids, the smiles, the mess. I found that photo to be the most beautiful, perfect image I had ever seen. So, naturally, I had to share it. We wanted the photo to be untouched, no writing on it. I also wanted to send it to a lot of people. Therefore, we opted for a simple postcard at Christmas. I am not the most "green" person, but when I see the opportunity to send 200 cards, minus 200 envelopes, I take that opportunity.

This postcard has become somewhat "famous" in my tiny world. There are expectations out there. People want to know what our next card will be, sometimes offering ideas. When Chris walked in to photograph our 2014 version, he said, "Hey guys. Another year, another baby!" As I was pregnant with #5 at the time. For a brief moment, I had almost come to dread the creation of our yearly Christmas card, as I feel the pressure to out-do the previous years. Then, I think about the first one. 2010. How excited I was to just take a family photo, a photo that captures "us", for us to keep forever. And share for fun. So, I got over the expectations. I got over my own need to compete, and always go the extra mile, and the perfectionism. I decided, you know what? I have been dying for a family photo at the tree farm we have visited for 9 years now to cut down our tree - so we opted for that in 2015.

2022 Update: Still going strong, added the past few years...just completed our most recent photoshoot.

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