We went to the playground today, the four of us, and tried to get in some play time before the HUGE freaking rain cloud overtook us. Both the boys were on the swings, and then Sam went off with his daddy to climb and slide. I was left alone with Robby, just the two of us. Once I looked away from Sam walking away toward the big curvy ladder, and once I’d warned my husband to help him because Sam wasn’t wearing good playground shoes and might slip, I looked back at Robby. And looked. It was just us, and the feeling was so foreign. And all of a sudden I had all these flashbacks of when Sam was very little, how we did absolutely everything together, just the two of us. That’s how things were for the first 27 months of his life. And I told him telepathically, I’m sorry. I’m sorry this is the first time I have pushed you on the swing without being distracted. I’m sorry I can’t tell you when this will happen again. You will never know what it is like to share me with no one else. It is something you will never comprehend. And I’m just really, really sorry. He just continued to smile at me.

Do you ever just feel like you’re not very . . . present? Lately I have just been completely overwhelmed. It’s constant. I’m listing things to do, and we are spending every free moment trying to take care of something, some project, some packing, some phone call, some something. I know a lot of it is due to the upcoming move, but a lot of it also is just the difference in having more than one child. I never feel calm or in the moment. If a time comes when both children are content I feel I can’t just be there with them. I need to go make lunch, go return a phone call, go pee. Because if I don’t take advantage of that moment, then I may be making lunch while being screamed at by a baby to pick him up, talking on the phone while being pestered by an almost three year old to get him some scissors, holding the door shut while, well, you know.

There’s just never a moment to just be with them, especially not one on one. Sam is tough right now. Most things are negotiations, warnings, battles. It feels like that’s what we’ve been doing now for about six months. The other night he was running down the hall laughing and singing a song he’d made up himself. I was behind him, watching, and I just thought, that’s right: Sam is fun and sweet and happy. Why does it feel like he is never happy anymore? But he is, it’s just happening when I’m not paying attention because that period of calm for him makes me feel like I can move on to something else. He and I don’t get much time together for just us anymore either. Lately I have felt like I hardly know him. He has all of a sudden turned into a boy who can talk to me and tell me what he wants, yet I feel I understand him less than when it was just the two of us, and he couldn’t speak a word.

The past six months . . . I don’t know where they’ve gone. I don’t know what we’ve done with our time together, or where I’ve been. I haven’t really been here. I’ve just been moving, trying to function, trying to get things done. I hope tomorrow I can stay with them when that moment of contentment comes and tell them, telepathically, you guys are it. You are the center of my everything. I am here with you both. I am going nowhere else, but staying still.

Labels: Learn More Every Day, Mommyhood, The Big One, The Little One

So, there’s this woman I know . . .

She’s a stay at home mom, and I’ve seen her around a few times - playgrounds, community events, etc. - I’ve talked to her a bit. She’s nice, a little weird maybe, really great with her kids. The thing is, she’s like uber-fashionable. Do you know what I mean? Once she was at the playground totally decked out like she was on a magazine cover, wearing all of the “hottest trends.” She had the hat, the decorative scarf (I know that’s not the right term. You can see I am out of my element here. A scarf that is not for warmth as much as it is for fashion. Whatever that’s called), a vest thingy, nice pants that I am tempted to refer to as “slacks,” and it was all coordinated in the colors of the season, if you will. And I have to say, she looked ridiculous.

I know I shouldn’t be talking smack, but I just find the whole thing really fascinating. Why does she dress like that? I wonder about this every time I see her. Is it for me or the other random moms she sees as she goes through her day? Is it for her kids? I doubt it. I suppose it’s for her, but why?

The whole stay at home moms who’ve let themselves go thing is such a pervasive stereotype. I mean, how many makeovers have we seen of moms getting new hair, new clothes, tons of make-up, all to make them feel better about how they look because for the last such and such number of years they’ve been putting everyone else before them/ tending to their needs last/ haven’t had the time or energy to pay attention to themselves/ etcetera etcetera. The thing is though, at the end of those make-over shows - you know, after I’ve oohed and aahed over their miraculous transformation and looked down at what I’m wearing, shaking my head, promising myself that tomorrow I’ll “put myself first for once!” - I then start to think about how weird they’d look if they went through their day like that. Is she really going to wear that scarlet red trench and the shiny boots with heels just to pick up her kid at pre-school? Seriously?

I’m not saying the intent isn’t in the right place. We do need to give ourselves attention and do what we need to do in order to feel good about ourselves. I remember when I challenged you all to get out of those butt-ugly, frayed, unflattering PJs. I expounded on how much better I felt from just a simple change to slightly nicer lounging clothes. My main argument was that if my husband was only going to see me in pajamas every day, then they’d better be some damn nice pajamas. And I meant all of that. When we feel less frumpy, we just feel better, at least I do anyway. But I try to keep it practical.

But where do we draw the line? I’ve used this woman as an example because I have never once noticed what another mom is wearing at a playgroup, school, playground, whatever, and thought she was under-dressed. I never look at someone and think, “Ugh, I can’t BELIEVE she’s wearing a t-shirt and JEANS of all things! She’s REALLY let herself go!” I never think that because I understand what we do each and every day, and I understand that comfort is generally the first priority. It’s when the opposite is the case that I really notice it and start to wonder what is going on with someone, “Where the heck is she going that she needs to dress like THAT?” And then, if I’m feeling bitchy, I enter the “Who does she think she is?” realm, but I really try not to. I understand this is all a preference, I just question the motivation behind a decision like that.

How much of this little show is for us to genuinely feel good about our appearance, and how much is us just buying in to what we are told every day about who we are as SAHMs? We’re told that we’re frumpy, unfashionable, overweight, have bad (mom) haircuts, and constantly put ourselves last. So how much of what we do is just us trying to prove everyone else wrong? How much of it, if any, is a sign of dissatisfaction with what we are doing? Or, are these stereotypes in place because they are all true?

I pretty much wear the same two outfits every day; they’re like my uniforms. They’re not ugly, but they’re certainly not hot either. They’re functional, comfortable, and at the ready when I need to get dressed in the morning and have one, if not two children screaming at me. I would say that if someone saw me out on the street during the day, even without my kids, they’d probably know I’m a mom. I imagine the lack of makeup, the air-dried hair, the bags under my eyes, and the clothes that are clearly not meant for the office or appearances in general probably tells them what I am. I suppose I just look like a mom, whatever that means. So, perhaps I feed-in to the opinion our culture has of SAHMS. I guess I’m just wondering if that really is such a bad thing.

Besides, no one really knows what’s beyond the surface for us moms. My huge nursing bra is hot pink, baby.

Labels: Mommyhood

If there is a sudden decrease in cabin pressure, oxygen masks will drop down from the compartment overhead. Place the mask over your nose and mouth and breathe regularly. If you are traveling with a small child, it is important to place your own mask over your face first, and then help the child.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that. I’ve often sat there and thought to myself, “I would never put it over my own face first, not if I was with my kid,” even as the flight attendant stood before me, instructing me to do just the opposite. And many times, I have actively sat there and thought it through, trying to tell myself why it would be important to put my own mask on first, forcing myself to visualize what could happen if I didn’t follow their instructions. Clearly, there is a reason parents are reminded of this before each and every flight: it goes against our nature to tend to ourselves first.

I can see this pattern emerge in my life just about every day. It’s hard to choose time for yourself when you feel like you’re choosing it over your family, like you’re putting yourself before the ones you love. For a few months now my husband and I have been trying to set aside a few hours for me to have to myself each weekend. It started out going strong but, as you can imagine, it dwindled after a few weeks, turning from an opportunity to do something I really wanted to do into me rushing around running necessary errands just without the kids. Don’t get me wrong, doing the trip to Target without two kids in tow is huge, but it hardly constitutes the time one needs to energize for the entire week. And here’s the thing: you need to take that time to energize. Seriously. It’s taken me nearly three years to figure out that all the stuff I was told or read about after Sam was born - the stuff about getting help and setting aside “me time” and all those things that basically flew in one ear and out the other because it just felt impossible at the time - all of that was true. Who knew? The useless parenting magazines were actually on to something (other than just trying to sell you a magazine based on fear, fear, FEAR - Is Your Child At Risk? I’m pretty sure that’s on the cover of every single issue of every single one, be it risk of the flu or risk of becoming a tattle tale. Hurry! Buy the magazine and save your child! But I digress . . .)

And so here I am, three years later, coming up on the end of a rough winter in which I have become the mother of two, ready to admit that yes, I need to have some freakin’ me time. And you know why I don’t have to feel guilty about that? Because things have gotten rough enough that I know now that if I don’t get just a little something for myself once in a while I’m just not a good mom. And isn’t my goal to be the best mother I can be?

I’m not talking about huge life altering changes here either. A little goes a loooong way. For example, one problem time that my husband and I noted when we began looking into this was the half hour right when he comes home. He walks in the door and we’ve all been waiting for him. I finally have some relief, Sam finally gets to play with Daddy, and Robby gets a change of scenery. It should be a happy time for all. But it’s not. Hubby and I try to talk to each other because we’ve been waiting to do so all day, and our talking to each other frustrates Sam. Then we get frustrated. Then Sam gets worse. Then Robby picks up on tension and starts to get cranky. And before you know it we’re having one of those dinners where people are screaming and miserable and no one is eating or happy.

Solution: When Hubby comes home Mommy checks out. I put in my earphones and listen to my Ipod and it becomes official that Mommy is not here. In this manner I cook dinner, unload the dishwasher and do any other tidying that is necessary to function the next day. I know that sounds lame, like, wow, you’re suggesting I do chores to energize? No, I’m suggesting you make it as fun as you can. For me, listening to music that makes me happy and being “on my own” in my kitchen is enough to make me feel sane again after a very long day with the kids. It makes me enjoy putting the dishes away. I crank it loud, baby. I dance and sing and get down. As soon as I put those earphones in and tune everything else out I feel my body change. My shoulders drop down again and I take in a huge, audible breath. It happens immediately.

Meanwhile, Hubby plays with the kids. They get his undivided attention when he first comes home so there is no competition. He gets to see them without distraction for the very brief time that he has with them each day. And we just wait to talk to each other because we are adults and we can wait. Do I feel guilty about checking out and letting my husband deal with all things kid related for 30 minutes while I make my family’s meal? Hell, no. Mommy is a whole lot nicer at dinner time now - more patient, more calm, perhaps even smiling. She can breathe again.

There is a reason we need to put our own mask on first. If we always tend to our children and ignore our own needs, we suffocate. And if we suffocate ourselves, then who is there to help our kids? I think I finally get it now.

Labels: Mommyhood

There are two things that I have heard constantly since having Robby. The first:

“Wow, looks like you have your hands full!”

Everywhere I go someone says this to me. Ev.Ry.Where. It started as soon as I began showing, only the verb tense was different - “Wow, looks like you’re gonna have your hands full.” - to which I would smile and nod. Mmmm, yes, thank you for pointing that out. I really appreciate that. Thanks. And it has continued into my daily life now that I am the mother of two, like when I am desperately trying to get the three of us up the stairs while Robby is screaming and hungry and Sam is refusing to walk and insisting that I carry him - “WOW! Looks like you REALLY have your hands full!” - Yes! Yes, I do! Now can you wipe that ridiculous smirk off your face and stop rubbernecking like my family climbing the stairs is some sort of fatal car crash that you’re passing by? Did you just shake your head at the situation? Did you just chuckle to yourself as you kept on walking? Thanks. I REALLY do appreciate that. Thanks A LOT. I sure do hope I made YOUR day a little brighter . . . Jackaaaaassssss . . .oh, I’m sorry, did I say that last part out loud?

Anyway, total strangers say it to me, without fail, every time I leave the house. I grin and bear it because yes, my hands are fairly full right now, and if people want to sort of look at me and think to themselves about how great they’ve got it in comparison then they can go right ahead. Glad to be of service.

But the thing I cannot get used to is this one:

“So, are you done?”

Every time I get my haircut the woman asks me if I’m done having kids now. Now granted, I don’t get in there for a cut very often at all, but she asks me every single time. In fact, she started asking me this before Robby was even born. And she’s not the only one. I hear it a lot, next to the whole hands full thing.

My answer was always something like, “Well, I don’t really know. I figure at some point I’ll feel like my family is complete, or I’ll feel like someone is missing and we’ll go from there.”

And then, the other day, I felt it. Like we were complete. I really did . . .

I think I might be done.

But man, how do you really know, right? Especially when there are so many factors that can influence something like that, like, for example, already feeling like my hands are really, really full right now. But I have to say, I’m pretty confident about this.

According to my husband, I felt the same way when Sam was a baby. I don’t recall that. And I don’t recall feeling this way. I don’t remember having a sense of completeness when it came to our familial unit. I just remember being exhausted and having no time or energy to even entertain the idea of more. Perhaps I’m going through that again. Perhaps I won’t know for a long time. Perhaps I will know, and then I won’t know. Or perhaps I’ll be wrong.

But if I were to go get myself a haircut right now, and she asked me again, I’d probably say yes. Yes, I think I am done.

Does that mean that when we move in 6 weeks that we will be getting rid of all “the gear,” the toys, the clothes? That’s a toughy. I’m tempted to say we do. I’m tempted to let go of the infant car seat, the stroller that goes with it, the swing, the gym, the newborn clothes, the little linky toys. I’m tempted. But could I do it? Could I really pass on those little onesies? Wow, I don’t know.

How do you know?

Labels: Mommyhood

Yesterday Sam totally caught me sneaking M&Ms. I don’t know what I was thinking; I knew he was on my tail as I headed into the kitchen. But you know how it is - once you decide you want something there’s just no stopping yourself. I was tired and I have a cold and the day was dragging on. Then, all of a sudden, I remembered this tube of M&Ms I had hidden in the cookie jar from Christmas, and I made a break for it.

Sam was close on my heals as I raced around the bend to get to the cookie jar and retrieve some chocolatey goodness. I had my back to the door, but I knew he was in the kitchen with me and watching. As quietly as I could I poured myself a handful, but who am I kidding? I don’t think Sam has ever even had them before, but the kid knew it was a good sound, that satisfying tap tap tap of candy falling into a cupped hand.

He walked up to me as I tried to subtly hide them behind my back. He kept trying to peek around as I continued to turn in the same direction, obviously caught but not willing to admit it.

“I want some . . . what you got?” he said as he ran around me to see what I was hiding.

“Hmmm?” chew chew gulp “What do you mean?”

“What you got? I want that.”

And I knew I was busted, so I showed him the little circles of green and red (Christmas, remember?) and his eyes lit up.

“What that?!” and we shared some M&Ms. Actually, by the end he was saying he would NOT share with me, and it was more like both of us racing to eat them out of my hand as fast as we could before the other person could take them. I know, nice example I’m setting here. But hey, when you decide you want something there’s no stopping, right?

Labels: Mommyhood, Talking, The Big One

Here are the top five things you do not want to be doing while a baby is screaming at you. And I have a lot of experience with this now, so you can trust me.

5. Driving. I seriously considered driving into the car in front of me the other day because it JUST WOULDN’T MOVE.

4. Anything where a sudden jerk of the arm may result in blindness, burn, or maiming, such as applying eyeliner, taking a sip of your cup of coffee, or chopping carrots.

3. Trying to conduct a time-sensitive phone conversation involving something critical, such as making a decision about locking in an interest rate on a home loan before market closes.

2. Trying to put the blue pants on an almost three-year-old who wants to wear the brown pants. BTW, the brown pants in this scenario are obviously dirty and unavailable. Seriously, the moms who can keep it together and maintain patience with their older child when things like this happen (aka child who is being insistent about a minor detail and being totally uncooperative despite younger brother’s screams of fury) are totally amazing.

1. You know what it is people . . . yes, you do. Involves a throne? Yeah. I don’t need to tell ya’ll. Man, I hate it when that happens. Talk about a time you don’t want to feel rushed . . . and I especially like it when you can hear the baby screaming in the other room where you’ve left him in his crib and you’ve got the older one in the room with you yelling at you to come and do whatever it is he wants you to do - fix a train, find a sippy cup, pick a booger, whatever - but you can’t actually hear what he wants because the baby is so loud, and you can’t actually help him right now anyway because, well, you’re stuck. Yeah. Love that moment. What is that, like every day?

Labels: Bodily functions, Mommyhood, The Big One, The Little One

November? Really? My last post was in November? Dear God. No wonder I’ve started getting emails asking of all is well over here. Thank you for those, by the way. Hearing from some of you and knowing you still care to check in even when I am not posting and commenting on your blogs really means a lot - it proves to me what I said long ago: that blog friends are real friends too. And I owe you all an apology, because dropping off the face of the internet like that is not cool.

Please, let me explain (not that this is an excuse, because I know some of you were actually worried about me). For me, and this is certainly not to scare those of you with another on the way (see, I do lurk every so often:), but having two kids is more than twice as hard as having one. Honestly. I’m having my butt kicked day in and day out over here. How do you guys do it? Some of you have three, four, FIVE AND MORE children! How on earth do you do it? I think it’s something about the way I feel when I have two kids screaming at me simultaneously that is really throwing me. It’s like I can’t run back and forth between them fast enough for anyone to be satisfied, and that’s kind of what it feels like all day long. Any time I try to take all of us out it results in screaming scenes of horror for at least one (Robby screams for the duration of every car ride), if not two children (Sam refuses to walk), and sometimes one mommy, and anytime we stay in all day to avoid those scenes it feels like the days are 20 hours long, causing Sam and I to go stir crazy…on each other…if it is possible to go stir crazy on another person. So there it is. It’s been rough. And I know it will pass. I know, “things will get easier,” as they get older and it’s the age they are and all that stuff that people tell me. But it’s hard right now. And I’m having a hard time. And some days that’s ok and I can keep it all in perspective, and some days it’s less ok because it makes me feel like an awful mom. And when being a mom is all I’m doing, feeling like I’m bad at it is particularly hard. I’ve said all this before. In fact, I’ve started this post at least three times before and just never finished or put it up. But if I’m going to be honest, that’s why I haven’t been blogging, because if I sat down to blog it wasn’t going to be to post about how beautiful everything is with cute pictures and funny stories. It was going to be blah. And it’s not so much that I didn’t want to abuse you all with my blah - I know it’s my blog and I reserve the right to blah you all if I must - but I just didn’t feel like working up the energy and finding the time just to go and blah around, you know?

With that in mind, I’ve been trying to find other things to work on and focus on so that I have something of my own. This is, perhaps another reason for my long absence. What little time I have had (Sam doesn’t nap anymore!) has been spent looking at various degree programs and working on a few other little projects that I hope to one day share some good news about. Oh, and by the way, we also bought a house. Yeah, our first house. So that was huge and took up a huge part of my time for the past several months - searching, negotiating, inspecting, negotiating more, etc. We move in May.

But I’m still sorry. And I think I might finally be back. I’ve missed you guys. I’ve missed blogging, and this time I think I might really be back. I’ve been lurking around a bit and checking on everyone here and there, not typically commenting because that requires hands, but reading and responding in my mind. And I forgot how much I learn from reading blogs! I’m sort of getting back involved in some current issues on which I have a bit to say, and it’s not like I don’t have some cute pictures and funny stories to share as well. I’m hoping that by getting this off my chest - that this is hard, very very hard, damn hard - and admitting (and accepting) that, I can now move on to other things, other topics, other posts. I hope.

Labels: House, Mommyhood