Category Archives: Parenting

Heard around the house: a tattling and whining edition.

3 Replies

As I predicted, the magic from Monday disappeared sometime in the middle of the night. In its place, normalcy has returned. And so, as promised, here is a post about tattling and whining. I’ve decided to keep a running record throughout the day of all the tells made to Mommy. 

Shall we begin?

7:45 a.m.

Frances: “Nora took the smoothie that has the blue straw. And blue’s my favorite color!”

Nora: “Fine. Here. Take it.”

Frances: “No. I want the red straw.”

This is typical fickle Frances. Such a pain in the arse.

8:30 a.m.

Nora: “Mama! I want to color and Frances is sitting in my seat!”

Frances: “No I’m not!” (She was.)

Me: “Well, Nora. Did you ask her kindly to move?”

My go-to tattling response is to ask the girls to first try to work it out themselves. Unfortunately, when one of the players is a stubborn, grouchy two-year-old, this doesn’t always work.

10:50 a.m.

Frances: (comes running into kitchen) “Mommy, Mommy! Nora not wearing her socks, so I’m not going to either!”

Nora: “Yes I am, Frances. (Takes off boot). See?”

Frances: (grumpily) “Then I’m gonna wear ’em too.”

Fine. Problem solved.

10:55 a.m. 

Nora: “Mama, Frances said she’s going to beat me into the car, but I told her it’s not a race.”

Frances: “Yes it is a race, Nora!”

Nora: “Mommy!”

Me: (says nothing, but thinks about running away to Mexico)

Sometimes silence is golden. And sometimes not. Sometimes ignoring the tattling just brings on more whining and arguing.

11:00 a.m.-2:00 p.m.

No tattling or whining! We went to the park for an hour and enjoyed playing in the sunshine, followed by lunch at home and some reading of library books (read: the key to halting tattling—keeping kids engaged; sadly, this is not always possible).

2:05 p.m.

Frances: “Mommy. Nora had a date and I didn’t have one.”

Me: “That’s because Nora finished her carrot.”

Frances: “I not gonna eat my carrot. Ever!”

Me: “OK.”

Frances: “And I’m gonna knock these letters off the fridge.” (Proceeds to knock magnetic letters of fridge and onto floor.)

Nora: “Mama! Frances just threw the letters onto the floor!”

As if I hadn’t just witnessed the spectacle for myself and needed the play-by-play. So annoying!

4:30 p.m. 

Nora: “Mom. I was building a tower and then Frances wrecked it. And she did it on purpose. And I told her not to, and then she hit me!”

Me: “Frances, we don’t hit.” 

Incidentally, if I had a dime for all the times I’ve said these words to this child, I’d have enough dough to buy a week’s worth of groceries. Clearly, something is not working. 

Frances’s consequence in these situations is to be left alone. I want her to see that if she behaves in this way, she won’t have any friends. Time out doesn’t work for her and I won’t hit her myself, much as I’m tempted to. Only the leaving her alone doesn’t work all the time either, as the little sprite will often try to follow us around the house into different rooms as we try and make our point. What’s a mother to do, I ask?

6:30 p.m. (Getting ready for bed)

Frances: “Mommy, Nora’s not sleeping on the dust pillow!”

Oh, for heaven’s sake!

Nora’s been having difficulty hearing due to fluid buildup in her ears. The doctors suspect allergies, so before they recommend tubes, they want us to try to alleviate Nora’s symptoms by using hypoallergenic bedding. So, she’s supposed to sleep on one of two blue pillows that have dust-proof covers. Although they are meant to keep dust away, the girls have dubbed them dust pillows, and Frances is always eager to point out when Nora is not sleeping on hers.

For the love!

So, if anyone has any advice for dealing with these annoying behaviors, I’d love to hear it. I know that tiredness, boredom, too much time spent together, and sibling rivalry contribute to the tattling/whining mess, not to mention the girls’ sense of justice and fairness, mixed with a two-year-old’s limitations. 

But I wonder: Am I overinvolved? Not involved enough? Saying or doing the right things? 

Hopefully it’s all just a phase, and once the younger gets older, it’ll all stop. Or at least, lessen. If not, I feel  for the future teachers and peers of these two, not to mention their parents!

If it keeps up much longer I fear I’ll be calling out soon for my own MOMMY! to save me from it all! 😉

A magical Monday.

2 Replies

For some reason—maybe because it’s the day after the hustle and bustle of the weekend, or because two parents for two days is just too much—the girls seem to really delight in each other’s company on Mondays.

Today was no different. The girls woke up happy. They ate a great breakfast and proceeded to play well together all morning. It was amazing.

Instead of bickering, I heard snippets like: “Hey Nora. I have a great idea! Let’s play dollhouse. You can be all the girls and I’ll be all the boys!”

And then later: “Frances. Do you want to go upstairs and have a picnic in the crack?” (We have two beds pushed together in one room, and the girls love to wedge their feet in between them both in order to push them apart.) Playing in the crack is a real treat. Fishing wooden play food out from under the sheets at bedtime, or waking up with a felt mushroom under your shirt is not.

There was no whining. No hitting. No tattling. No screaming. It was so refreshing. We even enjoyed a pre-lunch walk to the beach since it was such a sunny, mild day.

In fact, things were going so well, I let Frances skip her nap. This way, I didn’t have to necessarily be an afternoon playmate for Nora. Instead, I got to read for fun and whip up a yummy and nutritious dinner.

To top off this day of great luck, the girls played for over an hour outside before Liam got home, digging in the dirt and making a ‘nest’ full of bush berries, grass, stones, and shells.

Can I get a celebratory whoop-whoop for all the peace we enjoyed today?

Tomorrow, I’m sure the girls will have tired of one another. Probably they’ll wake up grumpy and the first thing I’ll hear from Nora after breakfast will be: “Mom! I was just coloring and I asked Frances if I could help her and she hit me!”

And Frances will counter: “No I didn’t! And I’m not gonna color ever again. And I’m walking away. Because you are not kind.”

Or something along those lines. But that’s OK. Because today’s harmony will help see us through to another Magical Monday.

 

The kids among their driftwood forest.

 

Gluten-free seed bread!

 

DSC_0156

Happily crafting a nest for the birds.

Lent is for fasting from gluten, writing, doing the laundry, and parenting at the top of my game, which—let’s face it—was never really tops to begin with.

2 Replies

It’s been A MONTH since I last posted. What?! How can this be?

I wish I could say it’s because I’ve been killing it at this parenting thing. You know—forgoing all else but the kids and putting their needs first.

But no. Sadly, this has not been the case. Take for example, the following scene from the living room last week, and you will have some sense of where my head has been lately:

The girls and I were sitting on the couch happily enjoying some screen time. Rowan was crawling about on the floor, playing with some toys. I was utterly absorbed by the content I was consuming on my iPhone, when Nora—disturbed by some movement in her peripheral vision—interrupted the melodious chorus of one of Daniel Tiger’s well meaning life lessons, and announced rather suddenly, “Mama! Look at Rowan! He moved the fireplace screen and he’s playing in the ashes!”

And here’s how I’m POSITIVE I haven’t been killing it as a mom. My first reaction was to say, “Nora! Go get him!” Followed soon after by the thought: Nora, how could you let this happen? (She’s been doing some minor minding of the baby occasionally).

As if my very mature and responsible almost five-year-old was to blame for my lack of watchful patenting. Ashamed at my reactions, I quickly got up, cleaned up my son, and shelved the phone for a long, long time thereafter. Like, at least thirty minutes.

Besides my parenting skills, writing has also taken a back seat, apparently. As well as laundry, cleaning, organizing, and laundry. Wait, did I already mention laundry? It’s piling up in mounds—both clean and unclean—around the house. The kids haven’t worn laundered or matching socks in days and days.

So if I am failing at all of this, to what have I been giving attention?

Me!

About time, right?

Part of the reason I’ve been away for so long has to do with some minor health issues I started having soon after we moved to Connecticut. In early December, after we’d been living in our new place for a little over a month, I started feeling nauseous off and on every few days. Of course, like you, I suspected I might have become ill with child. Thankfully, that was not the case.

Dizziness followed as well as frequent migraines. Then came some minor indigestion. What was going on? All of a sudden, relatively healthy me seemed to be in some kind of distress.

I went to the doctor and had some blood work done. The results came back normal. A return visit to the same doctor ended with him concluding I had IBS caused by the stress of the move and being home with three kids. He gave me two medicines he claimed were safe for breastfeeding. He seemed to discount my symptoms of nausea and migraines, while completely inventing others (One of the meds was for reflux, which I told him really wasn’t bothering me, after which he asked, “Is it worse at night?” Hello?? Did you not just hear me say that it really isn’t an issue?).

And so, I left feeling very discouraged. I figured I might try at least one of the meds because I was tired of not feeling well. I had already planned on NOT taking the med for reflux, you know, since I really didn’t have it. I googled the other drug just to make sure it was safe for breastfeeding, and of course, it wasn’t. I can’t say that I was really that surprised given that lame excuse for a doctor’s visit.

In near despair, I started scouring the Internet for resources to help myself while also trying to find alternative doctors.

I ended up putting myself on an elimination diet because I really felt like I had suddenly developed some food intolerances as a result of whatever was happening inside my body, and I wanted to see if I could pinpoint what was causing my distress.

I also found a superdoctor. She is an M.D. with a Ph.D. in Natural Medicine and a Master’s in Mental Health Counseling. What?! She’s perfect for me. And, I love her. I can’t believe it’s taken me almost thirty-eight years to fine her, but now I have. I will never leave her.

We’ve only met twice, for an hour each time. But she listened to me. With really good ears. She told me to continue my elimination diet and be aware of symptoms when reintroducing foods. Also, she put me on a pretty beefy vitamin and supplement regimen. 

Her conclusion, which I happen to value so much more than the guy with just the one M.D., was that stress, combined with an uptake in caffeine consumption along with lots of processed, sugary foods (hey, it was the holidays!), combined with lack of sleep (tandem nursing two at night), combined with malnutrition (not only was I eating crap food, I wasn’t taking any vitamins), led to adrenal fatigue and overall havoc on my systems.

Sadly, I’ve had to cut coffee out of the daily routine. It’s the thing I miss most. I’m also gluten-free, sugar-free, and mostly dairy-free at the moment. 

And…I feel great. I have tons of energy and almost all of my bothersome symptoms are gone. No more headaches, nausea, dizziness. Nada. And I’ve lost about ten pounds. Not that I needed to or was trying to. But still. With summer almost around the corner…

Want to know the side effect I didn’t expect? My stress and anxiety levels are SO. MUCH. LOWER. Crazy how food can be both culprit and cure.

So when evening rolls around these days and I wonder about whether I should write on the blog, I’m like, “Eh. I’d so much rather read a book. Or take a bath. Or just go to bed.” 

So, I’ve been taking care of me. And reading lots of recipe sites for nutritious and yummy food I can eat (which is why I missed the whole seeing the kid in the fireplace thing). 

My bottom line here: if you are someone who is struggling with any kind of chronic anything, get thee to a naturopath! Immediately. You won’t regret it.

Coming soon: How to get your kids to stop tattling. (I’m not going to tell you. Rather, I’ll be solicitating advice. So thanks in advance.)

Everyone told me so.

5 Replies

A year or so ago, two of Liam’s buddies came to Pennsylvania for a weekend in the summer to play some golf. Both guys are fathers of young boys, and I can remember their astonishment when—after spending several hours with us at our house—they remarked about our daughters’ dispositions. 

“You mean, they just sit here and play like this all the time?”

Yep. (Well, at least mostly.)

“You don’t have to chase them around and keep them from harming themselves?”

Nope.

Well, ever since we found out we were having a boy, parents of sons everywhere have been warning us to be prepared for the difference. ‘Just you wait and see’ they all said.

Let me just say one word about this: Truth.

Those parents were right.

I spend my days these days either holding onto my son, strapping him into a chair, or trailing about behind him and cleaning up in the wake of his destruction, or else making sure he doesn’t accidentally injure himself doing something foolish.

He’s just recently upped his game too. It’s like he’s grown an inch taller just this past week, and so now—even though he’s not yet walking—he can pull up to standing and knock down child-sized glasses full of water stored on window ledges and small tables, something he never thought to do before. Those surfaces had once been safe. No more.

And everything, EVERYTHING goes in the mouth. I know, that’s how babies explore the things around them. We rarely had problems with the girls putting small pieces in their mouths. I can remember playing with marbles with Nora before she was two. And small beads. 

Not this kid. He is especially fond of tasting plant leaves, small wooden dollhouse parts, stickers, dried up food scraps mommy hasn’t cleaned off the floor, paper (paper towels, tissues, receipts, etc.), and dust bunnies. And oh, he’s not above dumping over the trash and trying to sample a dirty diaper or two. 

I will give him credit though. When he sees me coming or hears me yell, he will jump a mile—or maybe just an inch—and wildly toss whatever is in his grubby little hand, like he knows he’s been caught, but is trying to get rid of the evidence. It’s hysterical. 

The boy is into climbing stairs too, so we have to be vigilant about putting up the gate. A couple of weeks ago we forgot. I thought Liam had been keeping an eye on Rowan, and he thought the same of me. All of a sudden I sensed things were a little too quiet.

“Where’s the baby?” I asked aloud, to no one in particular. 

“I thought he was with you,” Liam said.

“No. He’s not with me,” I said, sounding slightly alarmed. 

We frantically looked all over the downstairs, including the front hall bathroom where a week prior I had caught him splashing about happily in the toilet water. No baby.

Then it hit me. The stairs! I found him playing merrily on the landing after he had scaled the first eleven steps, resting presumably, until he was ready to tackle the last three. That stealthy ninja! He was so proud of himself, too. 

I can’t help but love his squishy round face. He is just delightful. The happiest baby. But when he upends the girls’ set of 48 markers and sends them scattering all over the dining room floor, or rips every last book off the bottom bookshelf when I’m not looking, or keeps going back to the TV and Internet wires and cables behind the chair in the living room over and over and over again, no matter how many times I remove him and firmly say ‘no,’ he has a tendency to make me a little batty, you know?

And let’s not even get started about cleaning up after him at meal times. I think he secretly enjoys flinging grains of rice off the side of his tray, and rubbing yogurt into his hair. It’s like some kind of a challenge for him to out-soil his clothing, his face and hair, and every surface within a three-foot radius with food matter every time we eat. It’s just disgusting. 

To all of you moms out there with multiple boys—I tip my hats to you. One is enough for me. 

 

Love this little guy!

  

Practicing his soon-to-destruct mode whereupon everything on the table will vanish lest someone remove him from the scene.

  

Sneaky boy.

 

Every once in awhile we like to get a little yokel.

Leave a reply

What is yokel, you ask? And rightly so. I didn’t know what it meant until two minutes ago when I googled synonyms for redneck. These days, redneck is offensive and derogatory. I get it. So yokel, or white trash, provincial, hillbilly. Whatever.

Occasionally—well, maybe more than that, but less than frequently—we find that one of us is ready to leave the house in a hurry, with or without kids, but the car we need to use is parked in by the car that we don’t need to use. This has much to do with car seat availability, as one car is equipped with seats for all three kids, and one can hold only two. And also grown-up availability. Like I said, one of us usually needs to leave ten minutes ago, and the other, is running around inside the house like a chicken with its head cut off.

Typically, in a predicament such as this, one responsible party would go move the second car in the driveway so the first car in the driveway could easily back out and go on its way. However, as we have neither good sense, nor responsible parties in this house, we sometimes practice hillbilly-ish-ness (I’m fairly certain this is a word. Go look it up).

This hillbilly-ish-ness looks like this: driver of the first car getting into the car (again, with or without kids), and then—while the second car in the driveway remains in its place—proceeding to drive right down the hill of the lawn, in between the two large shade trees and onto the street.

This kids get such a kick out of this when they are in the car. After giggling a few moments, they say, “Look at us, mommy! Isn’t this so silly! We’re driving down the hill on the grass.” And then, more giggles.

Silly indeed. What the neighbors must think of this when they happen to see us, I’ve no idea. I’m hoping it makes them chuckle and shake their heads. Not call the police, our landlord, or Child Protective Services.

DSC_0531

Husband getting ready to go to work. He was late, and so couldn’t move the other car. I was hustling kids around, so I couldn’t do it either.


DSC_0532

The solution? Drive down the hill, of course!


DSC_0534

The end result. One car parked abnormally far back in the driveway.

Kids and their dreams.

Leave a reply

A few weeks ago Nora expressed some concern about going to sleep. She told me that she doesn’t like going to bed because she just lies in bed thinking bad thoughts before she is able to fall asleep. She also admitted to having bad dreams.

Saddened, I asked her why she hadn’t said anything to me before that point about the trouble she’d been having. I told her that she needed to talk to her dad or to me when she was worried about things like this. I also told her to think about good, happy thoughts before she fell asleep.

“I can’t, mommy,” she said. “My body just won’t let me.” (insert sad face here)

This from a kid who has twirled her hair, gently picked at her lips, and/or rubbed her eyebrows anxiously as she’s fallen asleep, since she was a toddler. This from a kid who appears to be both contemplating the world’s problems as well as coming up with ways to solve them, all before 8:00 p.m. each night. Our ever-thinking, always-wondering child. A product of her mother, for sure.

I asked Nora to talk a little bit about some of the bad thoughts and dreams that she had been having. This is what she told me:

“I have two bad dreams, mommy. The first one is…well…I can’t really explain it. Something eats me. It’s like a deer or something, and it just eats me. And the second one is, I get runned over by a car. And I just lay there in the road and there’s no one to help me.”

It was extremely hard for me to not bust out laughing after her first admission. Eaten by a deer? She’s kidding, right? But I felt so sad for her after she revealed the scary contents of her second dream. I wondered: Where does this come from? From talking to my niece and nephew? (They are sometimes a concerning source of content much-too-mature for my four-year-old). I mean, I do talk from time to time about why we need to have green and red lights on the road as well as wear seat belts, so that we can be safe, but don’t get into much more detail than that.

Hmmm….There was a day earlier this summer a colleague/friend came to the house to pick up some cloth diapers we can’t use anymore. She had a cast on her arm so we explained truthfully that the friend had been hit by a car, but that she was going to be OK. Maybe that’s where?

I did a little reading online about bad dreams and nightmares. It seems very normal and age-appropriate for Nora to be dealing with this now. Apparently, once little ones realize that there are real world dangers out there—eaten by a deer, maybe, not so much—they start to dream about potential hazards. Life changes can also trigger these imagined fears (me going back to work, Nora starting school again—all things we’d been recently talking about).

We spent a good deal of time talking about how dreams aren’t real although they can seem to be, and can be very scary. I told her that we were going to start saying prayers again at night, something we used to do, but had forgotten to do for some time. I’ve found that this is also a really good way to get Nora to be reflective about the day as well as teach empathy.

We run through all the “God bless” everybodies. Lately, it’s gone from mentions of specific, individual names to “God Bless every human on the earth.” Girlfriend already figured out the benefit of shortcuts.

Then we say special prayers. Things like, “God help Grandma’s knee feel better, and Titi’s burns to heal, and Grandpa’s sickness to go away.”

Next, we mention all the things for which we are grateful.

Then, mommy likes to add a plug for good behavior. “God help Nora and Frances to be kind to one another, and to be helpful, and to make good choices.” Lord knows, we need all the help we can get!

Finally, we ask for sweet and silly and funny dreams. “And, if we should happen to have bad dreams, may they pass quickly, and may we be reminded that they’re not real, and we only need to cuddle up with mommy or daddy to make them go away.”

We’ve been going on a couple of weeks now with no bad dreams. The power of prayer! Or positive suggestion. Or good energy. Or a combination of all three. Whatever it is, it’s nice to be participating in a nightly ritual once again where we are able to think outside of ourselves and our own needs.

Then, this weekend, there was this:

“Mom! I had a funny dream last night. Want to hear it?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Well, you and daddy were in it. And your friends. And we were all outside. You and daddy were on the back patio. And your friends were on their back patio, across the yard.”

Then she glanced toward the window, beyond which our back patio stood. Then she looked across to where our older, white-haired neighbors live—Mr. Larry and Mrs. Betty—and a confused look came across her face as she was trying to recall the exact details of the dream.

“Wait a minute. Was that your friends in the dream, or Mr. Larry? No, not Mr. Larry. It was friends. There was a mom and a dad friend. And the mom had hair like…it was short and blond. She looked like Tella’s Aunt Amy. Wait, was that Aunt Amy? I mean, Baby Lila’s mommy?”

I jumped in then to confirm, “Baby Lila’s mom is Aunt Amy.”

“Oh. Yeah. Aunt Amy then. Yeah, your friends, the mom one, looked just like her.” 

“That’s it?” I said, after a long pause and expectant look from Nora. “That was the end of the dream?”

“Yep.”

Just like that, bad dreams be gone (at least for now). And weird-ass nonsensical ones take their place. Sounds about right to me!

Farewell to Candace…but not really. Because we just can’t bear to say goodbye. And because she’ll be back again to visit in a week, and then again monthly, we hope.

1 Reply

Two years ago, around this very time, I was looking for a caregiver for the girls. I was due back to work after being home with Frances for a few months. Our sitter from the year before had gotten into small-scale farming, and wanted to be able to volunteer in her boys’ classrooms. And our sitter from the year before that—when I returned to work after having Nora—had moved away to Virginia.

I had found these two women—Nora’s first sitters—on Craigslist (sketchy, I know, but it worked out great). So, in an attempt to score yet another great, third sitter, I tried Craigslist again. However, after scanning many, many ads, I found only potential caregivers who used incorrect grammar and couldn’t be bothered to capitalize the appropriate letters in their ads. Surely these people would be getting nowhere near my children.

Next, I decided to reach out to our newly established neighborhood E-mail network. Through this, we found Candace, the woman who watched the girls for the past two years.

I can remember meeting her for the first time. She walked to our house with her daughter, Tella, and we chatted for awhile. It didn’t take long for me to approve. She mentioned early on in our conversation that she too, co-slept with her daughter (at that time the same age as Nora—two) and was still doing extended breastfeeding.

After hearing just those two tidbits of information, it took everything in me to not be like—You’re hired! When can you start? 

I kept myself in check, called all her references, and then said, “You’re hired! When can you start?!”

She spent two years with our kiddos, watching Frances from four months until this past March, and Nora from age two to four, a significant time for both girls developmentally. 

She was a fount of knowledge for me on topics such as tandem nursing, baby led weaning, the Fertility Awareness Method, and much more—namely, how to maintain one’s sanity while raising children.

Beyond all this, we shared similar notions about kiddie nutrition, limited exposure to technology, and the importance of spending time outside. She brought craftiness, music, and dancing into our home and was known to scrub out the microwave on occasion, just because. 

Also, Frances sometimes forgets that Candace is in fact, not her mom, and that I am instead.

It was such a comfort to have her looking after the girls and minding our  house while we were at work. Not to mention the convenience of having someone come to us. The kids could often just stay in their jammies and the breastmilk remain in the freezer.

This past spring, Candace’s husband got accepted into pharmacy school in Erie. They moved two weeks ago. Nora seems to be handling things OK for the moment, though she’s gotten a little wild in the afternoons now that her favorite playmate is gone. Frances is somewhat confused. She doesn’t understand that when we walk past Candace’s house (really, the house of her in-laws), Candace no longer lives there, and lives instead somewhere else we can’t see or visit. 

It’s been hardest on me, I think, losing a neighborhood friend and advisor, a trustworthy childcare provider and—perhaps most importantly—someone to whom I can bitch and moan when I need to, or rescue me by taking the girls for a few hours at a time.

Even though the time has come to move on, I know we will remain friends (more like family) forever. And hopefully still have monthly visitation, due to in-laws living right down the street from us.

So who will watch the kids now? Interestingly enough, we have come full circle in the childcare evolution. The woman who watched Nora when Nora was Rowan’s age, recently moved back to the area, and has agreed to watch all three kiddos. We are beyond relieved, and so, so grateful to once again have someone we know and love and trust be with the kids when we can’t be. Pretty wonderful how things are working out. And before they did I only had to read and dismiss a handful of really terrible Craigslist ads, with such stellar one-liners as:

we wont watch too much tv, but i will work on reading, righting, and maths with the kids.

Now we just have to get the baby taking a bottle sometime in the next week and two days. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? 

#shouldaintroduceditsooner

To be a stay-at-home mom, or not to be a stay-at-home mom. That is the question.

Leave a reply

It’s almost that time of year. Back to school. I’ve ridden the roller coaster that is maternity leave for four long months. In less than two weeks’ time I must show up to work. On time. At 8:00. In the morning.

How I’m going to manage this as well as packing up the kids when I’ve been: 

1) Sleeping in until 7:28 every morning (Liam graciously gets up with the kids and lets me sleep in until the last possible minute—he leaves at 7:30);

on top of 

2) Nursing not one, but TWO children throughout the night (I’ve been meaning to wean the older. Really, I have. But I just get so lazy. And, instead of pumping to help reduce my supply—which is SO inconvenient—I just keep nursing and nursing and nursing);

I just can’t fathom.

But it will get done. Somehow, it will get done.

It’s funny. I used to think I wanted to be a SAHM (stay-at-home mom). I thought I’d be great at it. With my love of all things craftsy and my education background, I thought I could homeschool the hell out of my kids and enjoy every moment of it. I mean, who better to be with them than me, right?

But each time one of the kids was born, I was floored at how challenging it all felt. Wasn’t motherhood supposed to come easy to me? To fit so well? What was with all the impatience? The anger and rage I sometimes felt? And the noise?!? When the hell was I going to get some quiet? A break? Hmmm…perhaps I am not the best person for the job.

I know, I know. I’m too hard on myself. It’s one of my not-best qualities. I am mindful of the fact that the spring birthdays of the kiddos coincided with the busiest time of year for Liam and his job. I’ve often told him I think I could be a great SAHM, but only until 5:30 or 6:00 in the evening, the time most partners get home from work. After that, all bets are off.

To be with kids all day, every day, (or at least five out of seven days) and be responsible for all meals, entertaining and enriching, baths, tooth brushing and bedtime, never mind nursing, without any break or down time, is pretty rough. Even for a patient and unanxious person—unlike me—I imagine. I’ve had my fair share of breakdowns. I give mad props to people who have several kids and do this year round, as well as to single parents. I feel ya.

That’s not to say that there haven’t been moments tender and hilarious too. I’ve enjoyed being around this spring and summer for my kids. Going to the park, the pool, and the library. Taking walks and bike rides around the neighborhood. Staying in pajamas all day. Having breakfast for dinner (more times than I’d like to admit). Painting rocks. Painting on paper. Playing house. Watching make-believe dance recitals and Frozen concerts. 

I like to think that I’d enjoy being a SAHM once all the kids are in school full time. Ha!

Where the routine might look like: get up with the kids in the morning, prepare breakfast, and then see them off to school. Then, a short while later, sit at a table ALONE while drinking coffee, maybe go for a walk and do yoga, or a crossword puzzle. Knit. You know, all the things I dream of fitting into my life someday. 

Like writing for a few hours, uninterrupted. Getting a great dinner started. Cutting fresh flowers from the garden. Preserving tomatoes or pickles. Then, after all that, welcoming the kids home from school with a fresh baked, nutritious snack. Helping them with their schoolwork. This is the kind of SAHM routine I could get behind.

Alas, the decision has been made for us. It makes financial sense for me to work. So, from 8:00-4:00 each day I’ll work a job for which I’ll get paid. And from 4:00 until 8:00 the next morning, I’ll work as a stay-at-home mom, a job for which I will not make money, but provides its share of riches and blessings all the same.

Heard around the house.

Leave a reply

Liam: (in the midst of cleaning the kitchen) “So…that was interesting place you decided to put the spinach.”

Me: (in the bedroom, confused) The spinach? That we ate during breakfast? “Huh? What are you talking about?”

Liam: “The spinach? I just found it inside the cupboard with the pots and the pans.”

Me: “What?! I didn’t put it in there.” Did I?

Liam: “You cleaned up after breakfast, didn’t you?”

Me: “I did?”

Two days later we are still confused as to who may have put the refrigerated spinach into the cupboard with the pots and the pans. Neither of us remembers doing so. Either we are both overworked and in need of a vacation, or we have a bogeyman living in the house that is fucking with us.

——————————-

In a moment of equal distraction, on the way to the lake this weekend:

Liam: (after making a left turn through a red light) “Did I just go through a red light?”

Me: (again, confused) “Huh?”

Liam: (looking back to confirm) “I did. I just went through a red light.”

Me: (not really phased) “At least you looked both ways before turning.”

Liam: (disgusted with self) “Jeez. I need to go back to bed.”

——————————-

Inside the car:

Frances: “Nora? Nora? Nora?”

Nora: (silence)

Frances: (persistently) “Nora? Nora? Mama, Nora not talking me.”

Me: (mildly annoyed) “Nora, please answer your sister when she’s talking to you.”

Nora: (calmly) “Mommy, I’m having quiet time. Can you tell Frances I’m not talking to her?”

Me: “No, you tell her, please.”

Nora: “Frances, I’m having quiet time now, so I’m not talking to you.”

Frances: (belligerent) “No! No quiet time! Nora? Nora? Nora? Nora? No fair! I be quiet time, too! I no talking anybody!”

——————————-

Somebody please, save us from ourselves.

Why I see the need for soundproof glass dividers for the family car.

1 Reply

Today’s family cars are full of features and amenities that are great for modern families. Many are equipped with amazing sound systems, air bags at every seat, no less than twenty-three cup holders, and the all-time fan favorite—the DVD player. Sadly, we don’t have one in our minivan. Even if we did, I like to think I probably wouldn’t allow the kids to use it much anyway. But for long car rides, it would be super valuable. Life saving, perhaps.

Instead, we listen to a lot of music. There’s the Silly Songs CD, and the Pandora channel favorites: Mary Poppins Original London Cast and most recently, Disney. 

We also like to play games, like ‘I spy with my little eye,’ counting to one hundred, the guaranteed-to-drive-you-apeshit ‘I’m gonna say whatever you say’ game, and my favorite fallback, ‘let’s find some farm animals.’ 

When we tire of these games, there’s another little game that I like to play. It’s called, “Be quiet people, before Mommy has a nervous breakdown and runs us off the road.” Needless to say, the girls are not a big fan of this one.

Which brings me to the point of this blog post. Why have the car engineers not yet designed a feature like the soundproof glass divider that exists in taxi cabs? It would make a GREAT addition to today’s family car!

Baby screaming his little lungs out? Time to crank up the glass! 

Middle girl counting to one hundred but getting endlessly stuck in this loop: 16, 17, 18, 19, 100! 16, 17, 18, 19, 100! 16, 17, 18, 19, 100! Fire up that shield!

Oldest whining that she doesn’t like that song, or asking how much longer til we get there, or worse even—asking you to count down the minutes until you do actually get there? Put that baby up already and drown out all the noise!

Want to have a conversation with your husband, whom you haven’t seen in a hundred days, without interruption? 

Want to listen to inappropriate content, like those Serial spinoff podcasts you can’t seem to get enough of these days? 

Want to meditate? Reflect? Just get some GD quiet time, please? 

Soundproof glass window up.

Problem solved. Now somebody go out there and design and/or market it, and/or patent it, and then give me 50/50 credit and a third of the share in profit. I would if I could, but I don’t have time.

I’m too busy trying to spy with my little eye something green that I know my two-year-old never even spied in the first place. This is gonna take awhile.