Do you believe in Fate? I don't want to blow the surprise ending or anything but I totally do. I absolutely ten thousand percent do. I just have no other way to explain the path that brought me to my present life. I am also a complete sap/romantic/Dreamy McDreamerson, so Fate is right up my alley. It can get bad at times. I cry a lot. Usually the "I'm so happy" tears or the "OMG it's so beautiful" tears. I cry them silently sometimes too so as not to seem like a crazy person. 

I've been thinking about Fate a lot lately. And every time I do, I start to think of all the things that needed to happen to place me standing in the center of the path that The Husband was on. And there were a TON of things. Every one of which had just as much potential to have happened differently than they did. But they happened the way they were supposed to and now, because of that, I lay awake in the snuggle of my babies and stare at their sleeping faces in awe that they even exist. That's about the time I start to blow my own mind and cry the "I am so grateful" tears. 

There are endless amounts of paths that lead us to our lives. For mine, the path I most often think about is this one.....

In the summer of 2006, I found myself in the Grand Central Station StoryCorps booth in NYC with my bestie. She had just found out she was pregnant. I was asking her about what it was like and how she was feeling, when she turned the question to me, "What about you? Do you think you will have children someday?". The question put a squeeze on my heart and the tears started flowing. Because I didn't know. I desperately wanted kids but in the summer of my 29th year, I was single and struggling to get by. I couldn't answer the question. I didn't know. And that terrified me. But it made me think about my reproductive health. That conversation planted a seed. When I returned home from NYC, I made an appointment with my OB/GYN. It'd been a really long time since I'd had an exam and it occurred to me that I needed one. So I went. No biggie right? Totally routine.

I was drinking coffee and watching Angel when my phone rang. It was the doctors office. My tests had come back and they needed to see me again. "It's probably nothing, but we need to make sure", she said. I needed to come in the next day for further testing. Probably nothing ended up as something. This day was the start of test after test after test and a few in office surgical procedures that would eventually reveal Stage One Adenocarcinoma of the cervix. Effing cancer. Scariest year of my life. Not only did they find cancer IN MY BODY, it was on my cervix and I kind of NEEDED that in order to have children. By the time it was all over, I had come one very small step away from a full hysterectomy. Had my last surgery come back unsuccessful, I would have lost my ability to carry a child. But they got it out and only had to remove about 1/2 of my cervix to do it and I got to keep the rest. Luckily for me, cervical cancer moves at a snails pace and we caught it super early.  So, that phone call I made for a routine pap basically made it possible for my kids to exist. Whoa.

Right after I got the all clear from my doctor (Happy Dance!!), I got another phone call. This time from my bestie. She started asking me questions like, "Soooo, how important is religion to you? Very important, moderately or not at all?", "What would you say your top three strengths are?" and "Would you ever date someone that lived an hour away? Two hours?". It took about 3 of these calls for me to realize what she was doing. She had long threatened to sign me up for a dating site and now she was totally doing it (with the help of another friend too). I told her that I wasn't going on any dates with weird dudes that trolled internet dating sites so they were wasting their money. As true friends must do at times, they did not listen to me. They signed me up anyway. After a few days of refusing to even look, curiosity got the better of me and I secretly looked around, not ready to admit that I was looking for real. I pretended that it was just for fun but deep down I hoped to find someone to share my life with. And yep, you guessed it, The Husband was the second weirdo online troll that I went on a date with. After only 3 weeks of looking around, I'd found my man. And the love of my life. We fell madly in love, got married and made our babies. 

Ready for the love fest ending? I believe we are all connected. Every human to each other and every life to the Earth. We make decisions everyday that affect the paths of others. I believe that my kids were always supposed to be and that they were also meant for each other. That Mr. Pants needs Ms. Plum and she, him. And I believe that The Husband and I were supposed to be their mama and daddy. I believe that for your kids too. And for all of the people you love. We go through the ringer sometimes but turmoil and pain can point us in the direction of our Fate. And for me that meant,  almost losing the ability to have my babies at all. So, I believe.

Do you?  

...that I could be inside the body of Mr. Pants for just a few minutes. I really want to know what it feels like to run forward with the grace of a gisele when you're not even looking.

I was an amazing mother before I had children. My dog Doug was walked every day and was fed on a regular schedule. I even fed him the good food. And he ATE it. Happily. We snuggled in bed and on the couch and watched TV together. I was never late with vet appointments and I always gave him his heartworm pill on time. I brushed his hair and said sweet and loving things to him. He was my baby and I was the best mom ever. Other dogs were probably jealous. Just look at him. He's practically royalty.

My cat Gary was the fattest, most badass cat on the block. He barked instead of meowing and he kept the dog on his toes. They wrestled while being careful not to actually hurt eachother. They were the most perfect of siblings. Sometimes Gary was creepy and enjoyed staring at me whilst I slept. Waking up to his fat face staring at me was always startling and also comforting. He loved to eat and snuggle. And he loooooved his mom. That would be me.

Things got a little muddled when I added humans to the mix. I got sloppy. Like Hoarders sloppy. I started forgetting things and stopped doing dishes. Mainly I forgot how to be awesome at parenting. I suddenly found myself without a clue. I have worked with kids my entire professional career. I am counted on by many in my field to explain child development and how to talk to and care for children. I take a lot of pride in knowing how to care for children's bodies and hearts and minds. I am really friggin good at it. So parenting my own lil kiddies should be easy breazy. <insert maniacal hindsight is 20/20 laugh here>.

 
Instead, all of my wisdom (or was it?) left me. I think Mr. Pants and I just stared at eachother for about 4 months. I didn't really do much of anything. Mr. Pants couldn't handle public places or the car so we stayed home. For months. Looking back, that is precisely when I started flying by the seat of my pants. All of my training and all of my knowledge about children and babies poofed from my brain. Instead I found myself questioning everything.  Why is he screaching at me? Is his poop too green? When is puke actually puke and not just spit up? Oh holy hell, what is THIS RASH? What chemicals are in sunscreen and bug spray and clothing and food and diapers? Why is my son climbing the walls? Do I suck at this? Looking back, I see that I've spent the better part of the last two years putting out fires and wondering what the hell I'm doing. I am most definitely NOT the expert I believed myself to be. I don't really know WHAT kind of parent I am or what catagory I fall into. There are so many to choose from and decision making is not my best skill. Which one finds themselves saying "Come here sweetie and let mommy smell your butt"? That's probably the one that fits me best.
What I'm trying to say, not so effectively, is that I'm not the mom I thought I'd be and I'm also not yet the mom I will become. I can only vouch for today. And today, as I type this, My naked son has emptied a large bag of vidalia onions onto the floor and is wearing the bag as a shirt. And there are butt cheek prints on my sliding glass door that, of coarse, I am saving to show daddy when he gets home. He won't eat his lunch even though I know it's stuff he likes. His hair is a hot mess and I think he's about to pee on the floor. Two years ago I would have said that he needed to be dressed and clean. I'd be over there windexing the window. Today? Nah. He's happy and buttcheek prints are funny. I picked him up and encouraged him to pee on the potty but he freaked out and peed in the bathtub instead. Gross? Yep. But he didn't pee on my couch and I call that a win.

So I guess I have no point. Unless my point is that parenting is weird. I do all kinds of things I never imagined I would. And all of those lines I thought I'd draw became blurry. Sometimes I have to parent minute to minute. And that's ok. There are days when I am the worst mom ever and days when I totally rule. Many times, those two extremes happen inside of the same hour. There are days I fall into bed at night wondering how in this world I ever managed to keep the kids alive that day. Or myself for that matter. But I do my best. Most of the time. And when I find that I am not doing my best, I forgive myself, move on and do better. The cool thing about my kids is that they love me anyway (even when I blankly stare at their crying faces with no clue as to what they need). And that is awesome because I love them anyway too. Even when they pee on my couch.

Well, the Family Pants went on a little vacation recently where we met up with about 700 like minded parents and non parents for a week long family summer camp. We stayed in 100 year old college dorm rooms, ate delicious locally farmed food, took classes in yoga and happened upon at least one drum circle every day. We sang songs and took joyrides on golf carts. There were slip n slides, water guns, bubbles and random music groups with people playing everything from the banjo to the cello to the accordion. It was a wonderful time. I was 99% unplugged from computers (I confess I did share the occasional picture because I couldn't help myself), I didn't talk on my cell phone and well, I didn't shave my legs either. What kind of a hippie mom would I be if I shaved my legs? So I didn't. Actually, see #10 in the list below for the real reason my legs went au naturale.

 I learned a lot about my family. Most of which I already knew but I saw it with clearer eyes. Spending a week wrapped up in each other will do that to you. I thought a lot about my hopes and dreams for my kids. I thought a lot about all of the recent evaluations and therapists that have been figuring out Mr. Pants. I also learned a lot about myself and how I need to slow down and chill. Yeah, my kid has sensory input difficulties and yeah, he doesn't talk like other kids his age (read: in English) and yeah, I think he has OCD. But so what? We'll figure it out. He had the time of his life running amok on that campus. Just ask the squirrels. Poor little squirrels. They never saw Mr. Pants coming.  I'm positive that by day 3 they had all networked to avoid the crazed tiny human who had terrorized them so. His eyes like saucers as he sprinted after them, "dog? dog? dog?".  But I digress. I learned some things and decided to share them here. 

 1. Daddy Pants gets Mr. Pants on a level that mystifies me. He understands his needs for input. He plays with him in a way I have never seen anyone play with a 2 year old. And Mr. Pants eats it up. Loves it. Needs it. It occured to me that 2 yr old Daddy = present day Mr. Pants. They are cut from the same cloth. And as I watched my boys play, I fell in love all over again with both of them.
2. When babies poop loudly during a church service it is super funny.
3. Family naptime is essential and delicious. It feels amazing to fall into a deep sleep holding your babies in front of a wind tunnel fan. Even when they and you smell like an armpit.
4. Taking a toddler and an infant to a week long summer camp is a little bit crazy, a lot a bit exhausting and worth every meltdown.
5. Speaking of meltdowns, It is absolutely possible to over stimulate a stimulis seeking toddler. Who knew? I certainly didn't until last week. Note: the empty basement of a recital hall makes for a nice hideaway to regain one's composure. Add goldfish crackers and a rousing chorus of "I'm Bringing Home a Baby Bumble Bee" to be sure the worst is over. Repeat as needed.
6. When your kid doesn't eat in public, cafeteria dining can be rough. I was so proud that he did better than I expected and ate several of his meals right there in the dining hall. But most of the time he couldn't and that's ok too. Ziplocks and to go cups come in handy. And there is no shame in shoveling food into a ziplock and leaving.  
7. Oh man. I am a hippie. I have long held the belief that I could not possibly be a hippie but it turns out I am. It seems I've been a hippie all along. 
8.Drum circles are pretty sweet. Especially when your little boy is embraced and welcomed into them by people eager to share their drums and love of music with him.
9. Guess what? Infants don't give a crap if your volunteer workshift is mandatory. They especially could care less if that shift happens to fall over naptime. They could care still even less if they are also hungry. And for good measure, God bless America if they also need a diaper change.
10. True comedy lies in showering your toddler, infant and yourself in a one stall college dorm shower. Bits flying everywhere. Soap in the eyes. Screaming and yelling and laughing and slipping and butt sliding. Total and utter insanity.

And finally, I believe in magic. I even believed in it before hippie summer camp. But now I really believe. There are stories told that this summer camp is filled with it. Kids are learning to ride their bikes, people are falling in love, babies are standing up to walk for the first time, long lost friends are finding each other and this year we even got a private screening of the new Harry Potter movie. Well, on the last day while sitting with Grandma Pants on a bench under a beautiful oak tree, some magic dust fell. Grandma said, "I love you Mr. Pants". He looked at her for a moment. "Huh?", he said. "I love you Mr. Pants", she repeated. "uff ooo too", he told his grandma. And his mama's mama looked at her daughter and cried. "Did you hear that?". I nodded and tried to swallow the lump rising in my throat. Oh yeah, I heard it. I just needed a minute for my heart to allow me to speak and the tears that filled my eyes to quell. My lil dude is a boy of very few words. But on that day, at that time, he told his grandma he loved her. And it was magic.

She's an alien. I am convinced of this. She sleeps well and nurses like a pro, she plays with stuff and laughs all the time. There are many people in our circle that have never heard her cry. She is chill. Like super chill. She lets me put her down and will even watch me do dishes. When she gets gassy, she laughs about it until she gets it out. Kicking her legs wildly and cracking herself up. She knows the sound of her name and it makes her smile. She has about 20 different cries that I've come to learn. My favorite is The Warning Shot. It's a very quick and very loud angry yell. She'll give one off about 3 minutes before she's gonna get super pissed and if you get to her in time, all is good. She forgives you. Now this is all very strange to me.  And while I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, I wonder if it's ok to be like "What? Hey gift horse! Who is this alien baby? Surely she isn't actually made from Pants family DNA" But dang it if she doesn't look exactly like my baby pictures, so I am assuming she is mine.

Once we brought Ms. Plum home and the intial curiosity wore off,  it took Mr. Pants about 3 solid months to really see his baby sister. Until then, it seemed she didn't exist to him. He never looked at her or came over to try and touch her. I worried about his feelings but he didn't seem bothered either. So then I worried that he didn't seem bothered. I worried that inside he was in turmoil and would be scarred for life because we'd had the audacity to bring another kid into the mix.  I agonized over what I could do to help him to want to get to know her. I thought about it all the time. But my solutions fell flat. Then he came up with one. He wanted to nurse. He'd weaned himself six months before while I was pregnant because the milk was gone. But I had long suspected that he wasn't ready. At least not completely. He watched as I nursed Ms. Plum and I could see his wheels turning. Then on a very generic day, with no warning, he waited until I put her down for a nap and crawled into my lap and he nursed. Only for a minute or two. He was 23 months old. 
 
It seemed like nursing was the connection he made with Plum. He'd stop and see her for about 10 seconds, then 15,20,30. He'd watch her, taking her in for a moment and then going about his business. Then one day about 11 weeks in, it happened. He came to me, looked me in the eye, looked right at Ms. Plum and smiled. He walked over to the couch, picked up the Boppy pillow and sat down waiting for me to bring her to him. The look on his face, excited. I frantically found the camara to document this momentous occasion and started snapping away. I told him that Plum had been waiting for him to hold her and that it made her very happy. And it really did. She smiled and cooed and looked into her big brothers eyes as if to say, "Oh hey big brother. I totally love you". Then he leaned down and kissed her, the big, sloppy, open mouth, drooly kind, and she laughed. AND my floodgates opened and I cried all over the place. I tried to stifle it because crying confuses Mr. Pants and I didn't want him to think I was sad, so I started to laugh through my tears. My chin started to quake because, damn, this was the most precious freaking thing I had ever seen in all of my days. My chest rose and I felt that hard lump rise in my throat. I will never forget the day my babies finally found eachother. To an outside observer, I more than likely looked insane. And maybe I was a little.

There's a small patch of land in our yard lovingly maintained by our neighbors. There are ceramic bunnies, American flags, plastic flower bunches and one very large, tired looking deer with removable ears that we affectionately call Creepy Deer. Basically it looks like a pet cemetary. It's every bit as shiver inducing as it sounds. Aaaand it's a wonderland of awesome for Mr. Pants. I can practically hear the enormous sigh let out in the neighbors cottage everytime Mr. Pants wanders into "the garden". Now, they've never said anything (and we are careful to keep it just the way it's supposed to be, aka, creepy) but I just can't help but think they would rather be living next to a nice elderly couple or a shut in. Sadly ( or by some design? ) for them, about one year ago, they got the Pants family. They had spent a blissful year alone with no neighbor as the previous tenent stayed gone most of the time and now they had not just neighbors, but neighbors with a toddler and a baby on the way.
 
The first time they met Mr. Pants, they happened upon me spraying him in the face with a spray bottle as he laughed maniacally. I imagine they thought that was weird. The second time was in the "garden" when the dude strolled over to the pet cemetary and replaced the ears on the deer that Mr. Pants had, uncharacteristically, left on the ground. See Mr. Pants doesn't leave things undone and you bet your ass he watched that guy mess with his plans for those ears. Mr. Pants looked to Daddy for answers. His face full of confusion. Why in the heck was this dude messing with his patterns? Who the heck did he think he was? So Mr. Pants sauntered over side-eyed with his left arm extended out and placed the ears back to the ground and then picked them back up and replaced them on the deers head. That was HIS job. That was the order of things. Silly silly neighbor.

There are times I feel bad for the neighbors.

The other day as Mr. Pants emotionally played his harmonica next to the open living room window, it occured to me. They can probably hear that in their cottage. But see, if I stop his flow of musical genius (at least it is to me), they will also be able to hear the avalanche of crazy that would inevitably follow such a slight. I mean, I KNOW they've heard the thunder come down and like me, I'm a positive they do not like it. It will vibrate an ear drum. Mr. Pants has game when it comes to losing it. And it's too damn hot to close the windows anyway. So I'm doing them a favor by allowing him to play. Plus I totally didn't mind it when they blared Freeway of Love the other day. Not one bit. I even sang along. So as he played his mouth harp with majesty, stopping only to wail some incoherant lyrics to his original tune, I listened. His pride in his song filling him up. His need to be loud, satisfied. The vibrations on his lips, calming. Then he hopped down off the chair he'd been perched on and sauntered over to the microwave to give it some open and close action. I watched as he opened and closed the microwave door about 100 times. No need to stop him because eh, it's old and it just doesn't matter. Plus it's the toaster oven that needs protecting. I figure that since the toaster oven is off limits, the microwave can handle it. Once all of this is done, he is ready for a nap. He lets me know by getting his cotton pillow case and heading toward his bed. No tears, no resistance. He climbs up into bed and I kiss him on the head, brush his bangs to the side and say "Goodnight Mr. Pants. I love you". He responds with "ogda ogda" and we are golden.