Tomorrow Is Another Day

Posted on October 22, 2013 by Amy

I didn’t sleep well last night. I got too hot, which never bodes well for Mama’s sleep. Then I woke up at 4am when a light from the girls’ bathroom shone into my bedroom. I thought Miss had just gotten up to go. No big deal. But the light was on forever. I kept waiting for her to get finished, turn it off, and go back to bed. Then I heard this little voice talking/playing. I got up to investigate and found, not Miss, but Lass, on the floor outside the bathroom, playing with chapstick.

At 4:15 am.

She happily went back to bed after I helped her smear some chapstick on her lips and sent her on her way. Then at about 4:30, precisely 2 minutes after I fell back to sleep, Miss did wake up and go to the bathroom, waking me up again (I just can’t help but hear when they get up).

Needless to say, I didn’t get up at 6 this morning for my early morning workout and coffee time. I woke up when Sis did at around 7:15. Now that I’ve gotten used to getting up earlier than the girls, it seems like mornings never quite start out well when I don’t.

This morning didn’t start out so well. This morning, I learned the hard way that Sis can and will reach things on the counter.

She was behind the gate in the family room as I was getting breakfast ready. I heard a strange spilling/dripping sound and looked over to see her, with my coffee cup, pouring it out all over herself and the family room floor. I had set it on our counter in the family room (we have a dumb wet bar in there). It had been almost full. I hadn’t drunk nearly enough of it.

Revenge for the gate? Probably.

The day went downhill from there: Almost nonexistent napping from all 3 girls, an aioli that broke when I was trying to make dinner, and potatoes that would not. get. cooked.

As always happens, the evening worked out just fine. Dinner was good (once I fixed my broken mayo and the potatoes softened), Veggie Tales smoothed everything over, and the girls went to sleep almost instantly they were so tired.

It’s late and at least the laundry is folded. I have a glass of wine and a good book to dive into. Or maybe just a comfy bed at this point. To quote one of my faves, “After all, tomorrow is another day.”

Why Do I Blog? Three Reasons.

Posted on October 16, 2013 by Amy

I have been thinking about the evolution of this little blog of mine. It’s funny for me to think of how and why I got started doing this, and how and why I have continued.

Oh wait. You don’t know how I started?

Well, let me tell you all about it.

On September 11, 2009 I published my first post. Miss was about 7 months old. I was using Blogger back then. I didn’t know how to upload photos. I didn’t know what the heck to write about. But I took the plunge and started anyway.

The reason I started? Well, if you read my first post, it says that I began blogging as a way to keep family informed about what was going on with us (meaning Miss).

That was true, but it’s not the whole story. I actually started blogging because I wanted to participate in a cloth diaper swap. Ha! It makes me laugh to remember. How strange that I started this whole thing for that reason. When I first started using cloth diapers on Miss I was kind of obsessed with buying cute “fluff” (that’s cloth-diapering speak for, well, cloth diapers). I tried all different kinds. I wrote blog posts about diapers. I really wanted to participate in that swap, but the hostess wouldn’t let me without a blog. Having the participants blog about what they got was pretty much the point of the whole thing. A friend of mine, who used to blog herself, suggested that I just start up a blog, and then if I didn’t want to keep at it I could stop whenever. So, I did. Start a blog, I mean.

In September 2009 we were at the Farm for a visit. I remember messing around on the Blogger site, trying to figure out how to start. Obviously I needed a name for my blog, so I thought for a few minutes, the name popped into my head, I liked it, and off I went. I didn’t really spend much time planning the blog because I didn’t even know if I’d continue it after the diaper swap.

And yet, here I am. Why did I continue blogging? There are three main reasons.

1. As I mentioned in my first post, to share my girls with family who don’t get to see them very often. My Mom reads this blog. My Dad, my Auntie, my Mother-in-law, my aunt in Florida, my Grandma, and many other aunts and uncles and cousins too. It’s wonderful to go to a family gathering and have people comment to me about the things they know about my girls, or talk to my kids like they know them, much more than they would otherwise, I think. A few times people have said to me things like, “I follow your blog, I hope that’s not weird/creepy/stalker-ish.” To which I reply “No! That’s not weird. That’s why I write it!” We don’t live near any family members. So I love that my family and friends feel as though they know my kids pretty well even though they don’t see them often (or often enough).

2. The second reason is that I just love writing. I enjoy the process of having ideas for posts and putting them into words. It’s a creative and intellectual outlet for me. I like the way Jen at Conversion Diary puts it in this post. Reading that kind of felt like she had crawled inside my head.

3. Finally, I think about how amazing it will be for my girls to be able to read all of this some day. To see all the things that they did. The funny things they said. The people we know. The places we went.

I know that when I was young I loved looking at my baby book (such as it was) and the few photos there were of me as a baby and little girl (oh how I do appreciate digital photography). I liked hearing stories about myself as a little girl. When I became a mom I wanted to know all about how I was as a baby and little girl. I want my girls to have all of this information to enjoy. And I want to be able to remember it too.

I hope that my girls will love reading this material someday. They already enjoy looking at the photos. And so I keep taking photos, and writing, and posting.

Motherhood in a Pumpkin Patch

Posted on October 10, 2013October 10, 2013 by Amy

Recently, I’ve read a few articles about moms dealing with rambunctious and tantrumming kids in public and getting not-so-kind reactions from non-parents in response (this one and this one, specifically). The articles are good reading, but the comments? Whoa. Almost 70 comments on the first one and over 11,000 comments on the second one. Apparently everyone has an opinion about how kids should act and how parents should react in public.

Don’t worry though. This post isn’t about how kids should act or how parents should respond.

I’ve been thinking since reading the above-linked posts about some of the hostile comments, both from parents and non-parents alike. There were lots of ugly ones ranging from some variation of: 1. “Spank them!” to 2. “Don’t bring your kids in public. Ever. And by they way, definitely don’t take them on an airplane until they’re at least five, you inconsiderate jerks with kids!” to 3. “If your kid has a fit and gets loud in public, take them home right away. Who cares if you have a cart full of groceries you’ve just spent an hour accumulating and no food in your house? If you don’t take them out of the store immediately when they’re loud, you are a bad parent,” and everything in between.

Another general theme of the comments that stuck with me was this: “Just because someone doesn’t have children doesn’t mean they don’t know about children and how to deal with them.”

I agree with this statement. I know lots of people who don’t have children but are really great with kids. I was a psychologist, so I know plenty of people with extensive knowledge about behavioral principles, discipline, and child development who don’t happen to have children of their own. There are lots of great teachers and other people who work with kids and do a great job of it even though they don’t have kids.

But that’s not quite what this post is about either.

The comments that stayed with me went beyond simply stating that people who don’t have kids can be knowledgeable about them. They added assertions that people without children know what it’s like to deal with a difficult child, have better ideas how to handle them, and should not have to “tolerate” bad behavior from others’ children/”brats.” There was plenty of resentment that parents are overly “permissive” or “spoiling” their kids when they “let” them act up in public. Some of the comments were quite hateful (i.e. “because YOU decided to breed, does not mean the rest of us should have to suffer your obnoxious children”). One even compared children to chimpanzees!

For the purposes of this post, I’m going to gloss over the fact that there certainly are some parents out there who do not correct the misbehavior of their children and can be frustrating both to people with kids and without.

Because that’s not what this post is about either.

I’ll get to my point (finally).

My gut reaction to the ugly comments about non-parents knowing about children and what it takes to discipline them was this:

Yes, absolutely, non-parents can be very knowledgeable about children.

BUT, no matter how much you know about human development, reinforcement contingencies, and/or various strategies of disciplining kids, you cannot know what it is like to be a mom in the moment your child is acting out in public until you are a mom in that moment.

I have certainly had to learn myself that having all kinds of knowledge about kids/development/psychology didn’t qualify me to judge parents in the trenches or even to be a mom myself. Knowing about something is very different from living it in the most highly invested way possible.

Unless you are a parent, you can’t know how humiliating it can be to have your child throwing a totally unforeseen fit in public.

You can’t know how frustrating (or panic inducing) it is when sometimes in the heat of the moment your mind goes blank and you can’t think what to do to calm your child down, or when you know that all the things that are coming to mind are not the most effective strategies.

You can’t know what it’s like to look back on a teachable moment and realize that you totally screwed it up.

You can’t know the thoughts, fears, and insecurities that run through a mom’s mind when her child is acting inappropriately.

You can’t know what it feels like to fear that your kid is going to grow up to be a jerk if you don’t handle this particular situation perfectly. Every. time. (Even though you know this is not realistic, the fear is still there, deep down).

It’s more than just dealing with a kid throwing a fit or otherwise acting in an undesirable way. It’s dealing with a kid doing these things who is also your flesh and blood and one of the most important beings in your universe, and, oh yeah, it’s all up to you to make sure this child grows up to be a productive and responsible adult. No pressure.

(Please note, this is in no way intended to insult or otherwise devalue people who don’t have kids. I love my non-parent friends, who are awesome with my kids, BTW.)

I’ll use a small example from this past weekend to illustrate a little bit what it can be like inside a parent’s head (at least in mine) when a kid is acting not so nicely in a public place. My kids generally don’t have tantrums in public. I can only remember this happening once, when Lass didn’t want to put her coat on right-side-up when we were leaving the grocery store last winter. But they definitely do sometimes act in ways that I don’t love when we are in a public place.

We went to a pumpkin patch last Friday. It was sunny and hot. We were all tired from a long trip and lack of sleep the night before.

We went out to the patch. Lass picked her pumpkin pretty quickly.

Baby Sis even picked a pumpkin with no problem.

Miss on the other hand, was a bit more, um, picky. Not only did she reject all of the pumpkins that were enthusiastically pointed out to her, she pouted and whined about not finding one like her sister’s. She couldn’t find one just the right color. Or size. Or shape.

We were wandering around (and around) the pumpkin patch with my Mom and two of my friends from graduate school. Did I mention it was hot?

I was sweaty and tired and uncomfortable.

I was feeling guilty that my friends and mom were roasting in the heat.

I admit, I felt mortified when Miss repeatedly dropped pumpkins on the ground and said petulantly, “That’s ugly” or “I hate it,” or stood and pouted without even looking for a pumpkin, because she wanted the one Lass had chosen.

She didn’t actually have a fit, but clearly she wasn’t acting very nicely either.

I had a small tug of war in my head that went something like this, “I love that she is so particular about things! She’s not going to settle for something that isn’t up to her standards and that’s good!” vs. “She is acting. like. a. brat! She’s never going to pick a pumpkin. And she’s just being difficult about it.”

So as I repeatedly went through the cycle of rising frustration and then talking myself off the ledge, my behavior toward her alternated between, “How about this one Honey? This one has a cool color. Let’s keep looking. We’ll find one that’s just right” and “Don’t just stand there and pout! If you’re not even going to look for a pumpkin, I’ll just find one for you.”

Of course, she did eventually find the. perfect. pumpkin. And she was thrilled with it.

And I was left looking back at my internal dialog and external reactions to her and feeling a bit embarrassed that I was at times impatient and kind of jerky towards her while she was trying to find her pumpkin, knowing that she was tired and hot just like I was. Because although she was acting in a way I didn’t like, and it was seemingly taking forever for her to find a dang pumpkin, my impatience and frustration with her was not the response that was helping the situation. And in that moment, I really struggled to produce the response that would.

And although I don’t really believe that my Mom and my friends were judging me because of her behavior, I still had this teeny tiny little nagging feeling that they would think I was letting my kid act like a brat or that I don’t teach her manners or something else like that. And then I had a teeny tiny little nagging feeling that they would think, “Geez, she’s kind of a Jerk-Mom. The poor kid’s just trying to find a pumpkin.”

As a psychologist, I would call these “automatic (irrational) thoughts.” As a mom I have to combat these all. the. time.

I can just imagine if there had been strangers about glaring at me or my daughter or making nasty comments about her behavior or my reaction to it.

My kids are not brats, in spite of how they may sometimes behave, both in private and public. They are sweet, loving, delightful little girls. Most kids are delightful most of the time. A glimpse of a child acting “bratty” doesn’t define that child or that child’s parents.

There are lots of ways parents can react when their kids are unpleasant in public. And what is going on inside a parent’s head may or may not reflect what she is actually doing. I don’t think it really ever helps anyone when people make ugly comments or otherwise show obvious disdain in response to a child’s behavior or a parent’s response, whether those people have kids themselves or not.

My point is that you never know what a mom is thinking when her kid is acting not-so-nicely in public.

She might be embarrassed. She might be scared. She might be angry. She might be all of those and more, or none of them.

If you don’t have kids (or even if you do), please don’t assume that knowledge about children gives you an understanding of what a mom is going through when trying to manage her child’s behavior or that you could do it better yourself.

You just can’t know what it’s like until you’re a parent in that moment.

And though I don’t expect people without children, or anyone really, to give me some sort of special treatment when one of my kids acts less than perfectly in a public place, it sure is amazing when someone unexpectedly offers help. Like the nice woman who got a high chair for me when we stopped at Wendy’s during our drive down last week and in response to my “Thank you so much,” said, “I hope someday someone will help me out too when I have kids.” It’s such a boost when someone offers kind words of support, like my friend’s sister who said to me while my kids were running and playing in the rain, “You’re a good mom.”

Our day at the pumpkin patch turned out just fine.

My girls had a great time overall, and so did I.

Even in the moments when I’m not doing such a bang up job of mothering my kids, I’m doing the best I can and am always trying to improve.

Most parents are, and that’s what matters.

The Mom Comparison Game

Posted on August 22, 2013 by Amy

A few weeks ago I went to a play date at another mom’s home. Let’s call her Fancy Friend. She’s a lovely mom, and we’d had quite a few play dates before our trip to her house: a few at neutral places and one at my house.

When Fancy Friend and her sweet littles came to my house, I made lunch for the kids. It was just mac-n-cheese (ahem, from scratch), because that’s really all my kids want whenever I allow them to have it, and it’s easy so I can make it without sacrificing visiting time with my friend. I think I had some intention of throwing together a salad for us moms to eat, but I didn’t quite get to it that day, so Fancy and I ate some mac-n-cheese too. We had a fun play date. It was good.

Everything was good.

Until I went for a play date at her house. Um, can I just say that she went all out with three different things for the kids to eat for lunch, plus a separate lunch for us moms, which she prepared with my preference for paleo food in mind, plus she baked stuff!!!! Some yummy fluffy pastry things and an almond torte or something like that. I mean, it was fancy. What the heck?

Ugh. So now I’m kind of mad at Fancy, because I just felt like such. a. loser. the whole time I was at her house. I mean, she fed us awesome, delicious food with our dietary preferences in mind and used her OVEN in the process. Who does that?

Just kidding. I’m not at all mad at Fancy Friend. Because that would be ridiculous. But. I did feel like a loser while at her house. I was kicking myself the entire time. “Geez, why didn’t I bake something when they came over? I should have served fresh fruit on the side with the mac-n-cheese. Look at how freaking domestic she is!”

Anyway, after that play date, I started thinking about how I sometimes compare myself to other moms. It’s not a game of “I’m-better-than-her.” Oh no. When I get into the Mom Comparison Game, I tend to find myself lacking. I get this vague sort of guilty/not-good-enough feeling that sucks and is totally stupid.

It is totally stupid. But I do it anyway.

So, after my fun play date at Fancy’s house I started wondering why in the heck I do that comparison thing.

And here’s what I figured out:

I am surrounded by amazing moms.

It’s true. Friends, family, acquaintances… So many wonderful mothers cross my path or go through my mind on a daily basis. So I can’t help it.

I sometimes look at my friends who are mothering little ones right along with me, and I think that they seem to have it together so much more than I do.

I see FB updates from acquaintances, and I think they just seem to be awesome at doing the Mom Thing.

Heck, sometimes I see total strangers and think, “Gosh, that mom is really with it. Why don’t I ever….”

Then there are my family members who are done with their mothering-of-small-children years. Comparing myself to these ladies is really not fair, because mostly what I’m comparing myself to in these cases are the Successful-Offspring-Outcomes these moms have as the result of many years of in-the-trenches mothering.

I compare myself to my own mom of course, all. the. time. Or to my Auntie. Or even to people whom I never actually observed directly as mothers of small children, like my Mother-in-Law, or my Grandma, or my husband’s aunt who has five awesome young-adult daughters and I totally want to be like her.

The end result for these moms is pretty darn great, so for some reason I feel the need to wonder “Why can’t I be more like them???”

Weird, right?

I know. I find it so odd that I look at these wonderful women who surround me and somehow end up feeling like I’m not quite up to snuff.

I’m not like this all the time. Most of the time I feel pretty confident that I am doing a darn good job being Mom to my sweet girls. I’m not perfect by any means, but I’m good.

Still, I have times of insecurity. The job of Mom is so darned important, and it really can be disastrous if you screw it up. My mother-in-law often quotes Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis as having said, “If you bungle raising your children, I don’t think whatever else you do well matters very much.”

So. True.

And so much freaking pressure!!

So yes, I tend to compare, and sometimes think myself lacking.

I used to get annoyed with myself about this, because it’s not productive.

But then I realized that insecurity is only bad if you let it limit your life. Almost everyone has some moments of insecurity. The important thing is recognizing these for what they are and not getting all uptight about them, right?

I mean, if I look at other moms and think about how they might be doing or have done things better than me, and then I freak out and throw a pity party and think I’m the worst mother ever and leave it at that, well then I’m letting insecurity make me miserable. And that will probably make my children miserable too.

Or if I feel insecure when looking at how good another mom is and blame that on her, as in, “OMG, I can’t believe Fancy Friend made all that delicious food! Now my kids are going to think they should get a meal like that every day. She is soooo inconsiderate. And I know she was just trying to make me feel like a loser after I only made mac-n-cheese. What a jerk. My kids are going to think she’s a better mom than me. We are never coming here again.” Well. That just wouldn’t be very beneficial to anyone.

So instead, what I learned from my little introspective journey into the Mom Comparison Game is that I should be grateful for the fact that I have so many wonderful moms around me. I learn from other moms every day, as well as from my own experiences. I have decades of mothering experience in those around me. I choose to think of it as an awesome foundation, rather than as something that makes me feel small in my short little four years of motherhood.

I think that helps me to be a good mom and to continue becoming a better mom all the time.

I’m still not likely to bake from scratch for play dates though.

P.S. My sweet Lass is turning 3 on Saturday. I am throwing my first ever birthday party at our home, with other kids and games and stuff. I’m terrified. So I will be spending the next 48 hours going totally overboard with crafting and organizing The Most-Fun-Horse-Themed-Birthday-Party-Ever-for-a-Girl-Who-Now-Wants-an-Okapi-Party. Yes, you read that right.

So I won’t be posting tomorrow. I will share the details of the party ASAP though. It’s gonna be good.

Still Dirty, Still Weird, Still Fun

Posted on August 9, 2013April 4, 2014 by Amy

Linking up with Conversion Diary again.

1. Went to the Dirty Weird Zoo yesterday. It just wouldn’t be summer without a visit to the DWZ.

When we visited last year my girls were timid about feeding the animals, and Lass just wouldn’t do it at all.

Not so this year.

We ran out of bread, but they were determined to feed grass to the cows.

Still dirty and weird. I just love that place.

2. What do you do if someone rings your doorbell at 9:30 at night, when your husband is working nights, and you know that the night before your garage door had accidentally been left open all night?

Do you assume a murderer has come for you (and politely rung your doorbell)? Turn off all the lights inside? Turn on all the lights outside? Turn on your alarm system?

Do you go to your garage door after realizing there’s no one at your front door (which you can see through) and yell, “Who is it??” “WHO IS IT?!”

Do you look around for a weapon and then grab your husband’s hunting knife and stalk around the house looking out all the windows?

No?

Yeah, me neither.

But if I did do all that stuff I would have felt kind of silly when I called my husband to double check that the garage doors were all closed when he left, and realized that my mysterious doorbell-ringer was probably one of the neighborhood kids messing around.

If I hadn’t been terrified to open my door I would have gone out there and rung those kids’ necks! I mean, if all that had actually happened, of course.

3. Okay. Obviously, #2 is an account of exactly what I did last night when my doorbell rang shortly after my husband had left for work. Since there was no one at my front door (little jerk ran away!) and I couldn’t see through the door into the garage (note to self to have peephole in new house), I was convinced that someone was lurking in my garage, waiting for me to open the door so he could murder me. I kept the hunting knife on the chair next to me for the rest of the night, even though after talking to my husband and then hearing kids getting up to some foolishness outside, I knew that our garage doors were securely closed and that said kids were responsible for my panic. Or at least for setting it in motion. I guess I can’t blame them for my craziness.

I don’t know why I automatically go into extreme-plan-to-confront-crazed-killer mode whenever there is the slightest indication of shady business going on.

Like the other day when a guy came to deliver something for my husband. I had forgotten he was coming, and he wasn’t wearing an obvious uniform. So in my mind all I saw was a strange man at my door with no business there. I quickly assessed the situation, considered how quickly I could press the panic button on my alarm panel, looked for an easily reachable weapon (a heavy vase was the closest thing I saw), thought of a few different ways I could inflict pain with my hands/knees/feet, and then cautiously opened the door a tiny crack with my foot wedged behind it to hopefully impede an attempt at forced entry. Yes. I do know this is crazy.

Or the time my husband and I were in the drive through of Starbucks after church and a girl, who was probably around 20-ish and all of maybe 110 lbs, started walking along the side of our car. She was a little close for (my) comfort so I automatically scanned to be sure the car doors were locked, looked for the best way for my husband to drive the car out of the danger lane, and thought about how I would punch her in the nose and the put my knee into her face if she tried to carjack us.

I don’t mean to come up with this stuff. I’m not at all a violent person. It just happens automatically. I don’t know if it’s because I grew up just outside Detroit in the days when carjacking became a thing. Or because I read a few too many true-crime novels in my early 20s. Or because I worked in prisons for several years. Probably it’s all those things combined, plus a hyper-protective don’t-you-even-think-you’re-going-to-mess-with-my-kids Mama-Bear instinct. Plus a little bit of insanity for good measure.

It’s what I do.

4. We got the first draft of the plans for our new house yesterday. We have a few changes to make, but I’m very happy with the initial drawings.

5. I have some serious stroller envy.

Super Friend has all the good stuff. She brought this double jogger today for both of our stroller-size littles to ride in:

I’ve never had a jogging stroller, because I have had a total of zero interest in jogging since running my last marathon in 2008. But I want it.

Super Friend is also loaning us her Super Stroller again. We used it for our trip to Disney World, and though I carried sis the whole time it is capable of carrying all three girls.

She’s letting us take it on our trip to the Iowa State Fair next week. I need to get one of these:

6. I don’t think there’s any worse feeling in the world than needing to take your child to the emergency room to assess a potentially serious health threat.

I got KFC for dinner last night, because we had to eat quickly between a doctor’s appointment and our Baptism class. As dinner was just getting started I noticed that Lass had bitten off the end of her chicken drumstick and swallowed it. The remaining end was pretty jagged looking so hubby called the ER and they told us to bring her in for X-rays. If they saw the chunk of or shards of bone in her stomach they would have to do a procedure to try to get it out.

Well, I was freaking out the whole way to the hospital, knowing they were going to see this thing in her stomach, because I knew she had swallowed it and praying that it had not yet moved into her duodenum or beyond.

We got to the hospital, got the X-rays, and found…

Nothing.

(She got that ostrich toy after her X-ray.)

Nothing was visible in her stomach or further along her digestive tract. I texted my babysitter and had her look around for the piece of bone, thinking that maybe she had just spit it out.

Nothing.

The mystery was solved when we got home. Hubby picked up another piece of chicken and chomped the end off. He proceeded to chew it right up like nothing. It was super soft and broke right up in his mouth. He had me try it with yet another drumstick. Yeah, I bit right through that bone. And then proceeded to gag and spit it right out. It was disgusting, and I have a thing about textures.

Apparently my middle child doesn’t. I’m so relieved she’s okay.

7. Today Super Friend and I are driving an hour to attend a Scholastic Warehouse Sale. With only one child (her littlest). Do I need to tell you that I’m way more excited about uninterrupted Mommy Friend time than about the book sale? No. I don’t. But the book sale should be good too.

Hoping you have a great Friday and a wonderful weekend. We’re heading to the Farm today after my Mommy date.

Can I Get a Do-Over?

Posted on August 5, 2013August 4, 2013 by Amy

Yesterday was a Day. A day from somewhere not nice and not pleasant. A day I’d really like to send back to wherever it came from and maybe pretend it never happened.

It started out with being awakened at 6:30 am by Miss coming up to my bed, “Mama? I have to ask you something. I want to save my allowance for… .” I don’t even know the rest of it, because I cut her off with a semi-growl that that was not a reason to wake me up. (Someone please, please tell me this allowance thing is just a phase.) Then, because she was mad at me, she went into her room and proceeded to bang on her door. Repeatedly. Loudly.

I’m not much of a morning person. Let’s just say it wasn’t the nicest way to start the day for either of us.

Then Sis was just, um, crazy in church. I don’t know how else to describe it. Whining and climbing and pulling and climbing and twisting and climbing and screaming, making for one full hour of misery trying to keep her from coloring on the floor/climbing over the back of the pew/throwing crayons all over the floor/tearing our books to shreds/and generally disrupting the Mass for everyone within a ten row radius. After the Mass was over I felt like I had been in a sumo wrestling match. And lost.

And the day seemed to just go downhill from there. Every time I would pull myself together, tell myself to get a grip, take some deep breaths, regroup and put on my happy face, another trivial, stupid thing would send me into a fit.

Days like yesterday are the days when I have to literally bite my tongue to keep from yelling. The days when I walk away and count to ten multiple times over really silly crap. The days when I’m swallowing hard to keep from bursting into tears because I’m just not doing it right. The days when, despite these efforts, seemingly no matter how hard I try, I still get snappy and ugly and act like a total jerk with a capital B.

These are the days when I just don’t much feel like being The Mom.

Now, don’t read that wrong, please.

I have never, not for one minute, wished that I wasn’t a mom. I love my kids beyond reason. I have wanted to be a mom for my whole life, and I know how insanely blessed I am. I’m grateful for my kids and my husband and my health and I could go on and on because I’ve really got some amazing things to be thankful for here. I get that, so please don’t go all, “What a big whiner. She has so much to be thankful for and yet she’s complaining over a bad day??” on me. I know.

But still. Sometimes being The Mom is just hard. Sometimes I just don’t feel up to doing my job very well, and at those times I pretty much suck at it. Sometimes I’m just not feelin’ it.

For the sake of illustration, let’s return to how I made a comparison to the hummingbird in my last post.

These amazing creatures are constantly in motion, always graceful and perky, never getting tired.

I really wish I could be like that.

But on days like yesterday I’m more like a drunk hummingbird, trying hard to keep myself in the air, moving all the time but not quite in the right way, so half of the time I can’t manage to hit the center of the flower, and the rest of the time I’m flopping to the ground with only one wing working, trying in vain to get myself back into the air before finally just giving up and putting on Veggie Tales.

It doesn’t happen very often that I have a whole day like this. Mostly it’s a moment here and there: Something I could have responded to better. A tone of voice that should have been kinder. A moment I might have paid a bit more attention.

Yesterday seemed to be full of those moments, and every effort I made to change the course of the day just, well failed. Yesterday was a big fat Mommy Fail Day. I kept trying. I did. Over and over and over again, I stopped, took a deep breath, and tried to do it better. And I just didn’t get there.

But that’s okay (now that it’s over). I know I’m not a bad mom, and I know today will be better (please let it be better). Sometimes I just have days like yesterday. I don’t know if there’s a particular reason for it. Probably there are a lot of them. Not enough sleep, not enough exercise, trying to control too much, etc.

I do know that it’s not my kids’ fault.

If Miss bangs loudly on her door at 6:30 am, it’s because I was rude to her when she wanted to tell me something important to her (but Oh. My. Goodness. Puh-lease let the allowance thing go to the land of “Remember-when-she-used-to-always-say-that?-That-was-so-cute/sweet/funny” really soon).

If Lass looks at me and screams, “I am not going to do what you say!” it’s probably because I didn’t ask her very nicely (and because she’s almost 3).

If they are ornery, it’s a reflection of me most of the time.

Except Sis. She’s 16 months old and that’s all there is to that. I just have to chill when it comes to her.

I just have to chill.

Today I will find my inner Cool and Calm Mommy. I will hunt her down, and I will drag her, kicking and screaming if need be, to the forefront of my Self today. Because if I have another day like yesterday I just might lose my ever-loving mind.

Chill. Happy Place.

Today will be better.

Deep breath.

Happy Monday.

Super Friends

Posted on July 28, 2013July 28, 2013 by Amy

Super Friend and her family came over last night. The kids ran and jumped and explored and chased. We had a cookout and made s’mores. Then the kids got into jammies and watched 3 Veggie Tales movies while the grown ups sat outside around a fire. It was so nice.

I got to thinking this morning how important friends are, and how lucky I have been to have had many true friends during the various stages in my life. True friends who remain so to this day, in spite of many miles between us and different life circumstances.

I have Cousin, who was my original BFF. I have a few friends from high school with whom I’m still in touch. I have one dear friend from college, a few from graduate school, and one from internship. And of course I have stayed close with some special women from my years in North Carolina. I even have a few good online friends.

All of these friends have been so important and have brought richness to my life. They still do.

But since having my kids I have learned about the absolute necessity of having a Mom Friend. Not just friends who are moms, but at least one friend who is at a similar stage in the journey that is motherhood, and who is nearby so that we can get together regularly to share it.

Seriously. Every mom needs this.

I cherish all of my friends. But at this point in my life, I really couldn’t do without a Mom Friend. I think maybe for some people this role would be filled by a sister or other nearby family member. I don’t have those. So of course for me, the Mom Friend is Super Friend.

I do have several other good Mom Friends in town now, though I don’t get together with them as often or know them quite as well as Super Friend.

I mean, she’s Super Friend.

There is a certain comfort that comes with similarity and familiarity in a good friend.

Super Friend and I have some similarity. We both have multiple young children close in age (between us we have seven under six). We have similar values and strategies for parenting. We enjoy some of the same things, like reading a good book, visiting over coffee and/or ice cream (usually and), and watching our kids play together.

A while ago I read this article about how making Mom Friends is like dating. Basically it goes like this: First base, talking while your kids are in activities together. Second base, getting together with kids at a park (or other neutral ground) for a play date. Third base, having a play date at one of your houses. Fourth base, hanging out without the kids.

When I read the article I laughed and sent it to Super Friend. We are so beyond Fourth base.

Yes, there is something beyond Fourth base for Mom Friends. I guess it’s kind of like sisterhood, because Super Friend and I have a great familiarity too. It’s a kind of knowing that comes from being in a similar place in life and spending quality time together.

When we have play dates at each other’s houses we seamlessly work together to care for seven small children, getting lunches, soothing babies, wiping faces, cleaning spills… All while barely even needing to speak. It doesn’t matter at whose house we are or whose kid needs something. We know, so we do. (I’ve written some about this before here).

If I’ve had a crappy morning trying to get my kids out the door to get Miss to camp on time, I can glance at Super Friend during drop off, and she just gives me this look. She knows from looking at me exactly how my morning has been. And I know she knows. And that makes it just a little bit better.

We can sympathize and then laugh together about the insanity that is sometimes mothering small children (like running through a furniture store with diarrhea dripping from your two year old onto the floor and all over your clothes, while your husband runs behind cleaning up the floor and ends up using all but two of the wipes… um, one for the kid, one for the mom??). We can give advice without sounding judge-y. We help each other whenever we are able.

I wish this kind of friendship for every mom.

When I was a new mom, I had some good friends (still have them), but no one living near enough to me to be The Mom Friend. So I know how it is to be a new mom without a friend like this.

Super Friend has been a huge blessing in my life.

And even more than having the great fortune of having my own treasured friend, I am thrilled that my girls have made some truly special friends in her kids.

Because like all moms I want my girls to have good friendships with good kids.

Whether or not our kids remain close (and I hope they do!), I am comforted by knowing that my girls will begin learning about good friendships with Super Friend’s Super Kids.

I Want to Save My Allowance For…

Posted on July 13, 2013July 14, 2013 by Amy

My older girls get a few dollars for an allowance each week.

They have never been too bad about asking me to buy them tons of toys or other things, but since implementing weekly allowance some time back, whenever they have asked I would say, “You’ll just have to save your allowance if you want to get that…”

This has worked out very well for the most part. We count their money every week. They understand the concept of saving. They no longer ask me to buy them anything.

But.

In the past month or so they have taken to saying, about a thousand times a day, “Mama, I want to save my allowance for…”

Any time they see something in which they are even slightly interested.

“Mama, I want to save my allowance for a toy turtle.”

“Mama, I want to save my allowance for a toy big Tiana.”

“Mama, I want to save my allowance for a toy crappie.”

“A wildebeest.”

“A wart hog.”

“A cape buffalo and all the other kinds of buffalo.”

When we’re playing the “Cat in the Hat I Can Do That” game?

Miss: “I want to save my allowance for a toy fan” (one of the game pieces).

Me: “Honey, that is a toy fan!”

Miss: “No, I want to save my allowance for a real toy fan.”

Me: Blinking. Blank stare. “Okay.”

They now comment about wanting to save their allowances for things much, much more frequently than they ever used to ask me to buy them things.

“Mama, I want to save my allowance for a toy fountain.”

This one came up multiple times yesterday at the splash pad.

And this morning?

“Mama, I want to save my allowance for a toy Baby Sis.”

It’s gotten a little out of hand.

I love that they think about wanting to save for things. And I love that they have actually saved for weeks and weeks for some things that they wanted very badly that were a bit more expensive. And I love that we have started a “Giving Jar” where they put $1 of their allowance each week to give to a charity of their choosing when the jar is full.

But man.

When we went to the fireworks last week both girls talked the whole time.

“Mama! I want to save my allowance for a toy firework like that one!”

“Oooo! Mama! Mama! I want to save my allowance for a toy firework like that one!”

“A blue one!” “A red one!” “A big one that twinkles and falls down like that!”

And on, and on, and on. The. whole. time.

I get a little freaked out about this sometimes and think, “Oh no!!! My children are falling victim to our overly commercialized society! They are becoming hyper materialistic! They want EVERYTHING! I have failed as a mother!!”

Then I take a deep breath and remember, they aren’t asking me for the fancy Barbie doll they just saw on a TV commercial. They don’t even watch TV commercials.

They don’t ask me for the latest and greatest toys that all the kids are getting. They don’t have the slightest idea what the latest and greatest toys are.

They don’t throw fits (usually) when we walk past, or even down, the toy aisles at Target or any other store. They just say they want to save their allowance for it if they see something they like. **

Most of the time they’re saying,

“I want to save my allowance for a toy butterfly” when they see one outside.

Or,

“I want to save my allowance for a toy chicken nugget” when I make them for dinner.

When we read books they constantly interrupt me to tell me they want to save for something (many things) in a book.

I have had to set a limit with this one.

As a general rule, I not fond of being interrupted when I’m reading stories to them, but I usually don’t mind too much when they are asking questions about a story or pointing out something interesting that is happening. I suppress my occasional urge to say something like, “Hey. I’m reading here. I’m in character and everything. Why are you talking?”

But the allowance thing is just too much. So I made a rule that they may not interrupt a story for allowance comments. They don’t follow it. I’m working on it.

Miss has been saying that she wants to save her allowance for a tiny baby doll like Sis’s.

They have these little dolls at Target for about $3, so I told Miss the next time we went to Target she could bring her allowance and get one if she wanted.

Today we went to Target to get some storage boxes for our new art shelf (oh my gosh, I love my new art shelf!). Both older girls brought their change purses. Lass said she wanted a pony. Miss said she wanted a baby doll with long brown hair.

Lass got a My Little Pony that she could decorate with stickers and markers.

Miss got…

a My Little Pony that she could decorate with stickers and markers. She just couldn’t resist it when she saw her sister getting one.

I walked her past all of the other things she had said she wanted. The baby dolls with brown hair. The tiny baby dolls like Sis’s. The big Tiana dolls.

She stuck to her guns and bought the My Little Pony. Both girls depleted their allowance stashes.

They have been saving for many weeks, saying they wanted to buy tons of things, but not actually buying anything and not really even pushing to buy anything.

I got to thinking about this.

Then this evening while I was cooking dinner and The Daddy had the girls outside, Miss came to the door repeatedly bearing various items and saying she wanted to save her allowance for something like them.

“A hydrangea.”

“A hydrangea leaf.”

“A leaf like this one too.”

Finally it clicked. They don’t really want to save their allowance money for any of these things. Or at least that’s not the main reason they’re telling me they do.

They’re just telling me how much they like these things or how interesting they are.

Duh.

So the next time Miss came to the door with, “Mama, I want to save my allowance for a purple flower like this one,” I said, “Wow, you really like that flower don’t you?”

She blinked at me and nodded and then said, “Why did you ask if I really like that flower?”

I said, “Because you said you wanted to save your allowance for it. Do you really like it?”

She smiled big and nodded with a shy, “Yes, I do.”

I guess I’ll have to revisit my rule about the allowance comments during stories.

** I have to add that even if my kids did beg for fancy Barbies or other toys or throw fits in the toy aisle, that would not in any way make me a failure as a mother (nor does it make anyone else one). I recall begging and begging for a Cabbage Patch doll, and Barbies, and all sorts of other stuff I imagine. All kids do it, and I’m sure mine will too when they get old enough to know what the “hot” toys are. But my thought process is what it is. Sometimes it just doesn’t take much for me to briefly freak out about having failed my kids in some way or another. Middle finger to you, “Mom Guilt.”

Letting Them Help

Posted on June 4, 2013 by Amy

One of my shortcomings as a mom is in allowing and encouraging my kids to help around the house.

They have little chores they have to do regularly, like picking up their toys, making their beds, and putting their cups/plates away after meals.

But what they really love to do is help me with my chores and cooking.

I know how much they love to help.

I know how much they love it and how good it is for them to do it. So I have been really trying to make a point of creating opportunities for them to help and inviting them to do so.

Problem is, I tend to get caught up in just getting stuff done and done quickly. And when I get wrapped up in that I don’t invite the girls to help. I don’t pull out the kid-safe spreading knives I got for them and ask them to help me make their PB&Js; I hurry to make sandwiches so they don’t melt down from hunger. I don’t get out their special little brooms and sweep with them; I grab my super-powered cordless stick vac to get up the crumbs under the table.

I chase them with the super-powered vacuum, which they love.

But I think they love helping more.

So I’m making a point of trying to let them help more.

I got special squirt bottles for them filled with just water so they can help me clean the counters and floor. I try to think of ways they can help me with dinner ahead of time, so I don’t end up with not much for them to do when they offer, because all I have left to do involves non-kid-friendly stuff like using my sharp knife or working with raw meat or pan frying something in a hot pan.

I need to keep doing better with this. I love the looks on their faces and the pride in their voices when they help me with my work.

And though I always have plenty of chores and cooking to do, my most important job is teaching them. Teaching them to work hard. To value helping. To be self-sufficient. To feel good about themselves.

Helping me helps them with all of this and more.

Um, Awkward! Some Things You Should Just Never Say

Posted on May 10, 2013May 11, 2013 by Amy

The other day I saw my next door neighbor for the first time in over a year.

She was out in her yard, and I walked over with the girls to quickly say “Hello” and let them pet her dog. Neighbor Lady says, “It’s so good to see you!!!!!!!!!” Then she shifts her eyes rather pointedly toward my stomach, wiggles her eyebrows up and down, and excitedly says, “Are you?….” Of course the unspoken word was obviously “Pregnant?!”

I’m not.

Awkward.

So, here’s how it played out. I gave a terse shake of my head and said “No,” probably rather grumpily.

She quickly replied with, “Oh-I-was-just-asking-because-you-said-you-wanted-to-keep-going [with having more kids].”

Okay, that’s true. But… awkward.

Fortunately we were saved by my girls chattering about Neighbor Lady’s dog and how he looks like our dog who died (this might have been slightly awkward itself in a different moment, but as it was, it was quite refreshing), and about their hopes for future purchases of bicycles and stuffed hummingbirds and other random, innocent, oblivious things.

Then, Me: “Okay, gotta go!”

And as I walk away, the final parting shot, Her: “You look great!”

*sigh*

‘Kay. Here’s the deal. Yes, I do still have about 10 pounds I’d like to lose since having Baby Sis. Yes, she is 13 months old. Yes, my belly is squishier than it has ever been before.

I look okay. Not great. Okay.

But still. There are just some things you should never say. Right?

I’m someone who gains 50+ pounds when pregnant. I have tried to exercise and eat well during the three times that I have been growing another human within my body, but I gain insane amounts of weight even when I do this.

So. I have given in to just eating ice cream and becoming huge, knowing that I can lose it all after the fact.

It worked out pretty well the first two times.

This is me the day I found out I was pregnant with Miss:

About 8 months after Miss was born and shortly before I became pregnant with Lass:

Around 8 weeks pregnant with Lass:

After having Miss, I came close to regaining my pre baby body fairly quickly (of course it didn’t seem quick at the time, but now…).

After Lass I came a little less close, a little less quickly, but still got fairly near my goal.

Around 9 months after Lass was born:

About 9 weeks pregnant with Sis:

Now, 13 months after having Sis I am still nowhere near my goal weight, or even the weight I was when I got pregnant with her (which still wasn’t quite to my goal weight).

Crap, it’s a lot harder to get there this third time around! I know I can’t really complain, because I haven’t done the work to get there…

But it still feels pretty crappy to have my neighbor look at my (poofy but not that poofy) stomach and ask if I’m pregnant.

So the moral of the story? Never ask someone if she’s pregnant. Just don’t do it.

If it isn’t completely obvious, you are playing with fire.

Even if it is completely obvious, sometimes it’s not really, so you’re still playing with fire.

And truly, if someone is pregnant, and you can’t tell by looking, and she’s not talking about it, maybe she doesn’t want you to know. Just don’t do it.

I’ve hit the CrossFit workouts pretty hard the past two days. Nothing like a little motivation.

Thanks Neighbor Lady 🙂

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