I live for my kids. I do. When Will was born, I say I made a decision to stay home, but it wasn't even that logical. It wasn't a choice. It was a need. A must. The first day I spent with him, I knew I was never going back. The day before he was born, I had the daycare all picked out. The day after, I knew. It wasn't happening. That was almost seven years ago.
Don't get me wrong. I love my kids, and not just in a "they are yours so you have to" kind of way, but a lay down and die for them, take a bullet for them, beware if you hurt them because you'll feel my wrath kind of way. But, I find myself sitting at my desk today tracking responses to Will's birthday party invitations, organizing my VBS stuff, scheduling my next Cub Scout pack meeting, and remembering that PTO elections are tomorrow, and I wonder.... where is my joy? I may be in a slump, or it may be just that this time of year is over scheduled and emotionally hard.... but I have lost my joy and I can't seem to find it.
My calendar is packed. My days are full. Its not that I am wandering around lonely or with nothing to do... but there are days that I sit back and wonder... what do I want to do? Do I do this because I want to, or because I made the choice to be a stay home mom and this comes with the territory. Is this a life of want or necessity? Should I be taking joy in it? Does everyone have joy or is that too much to expect? Am I overlooking all of my blessings?
Mother's Day was a prime example. I don't know what I was expecting, but maybe a sense of feeling like "this is it." This is why I do what I do. They appreciate it, we have joy as a family. But, my expectations were too high and the day was like any given Sunday. Church, lunch, chores, dinner, bedtime. The gifts were nice, but just the little things I mentioned to make it easy to buy stuff. Its not like I was waiting for a BMW to magi-ppear in my driveway with a big red bow, but I guess I needed that feeling of "yes, this is worth it." It doesn't even have to come in a gift bag. It can be as small as a Jack cuddle or a Will hug (which is actually anything but little). Something to make me know that I am doing a good job. I would get joy from that, I think.
I think I am just in a slump, and as Dr. Seuss so elegantly puts it, "unslumping yourself is not easily done." I'm trying to get there. I'm trying to look at the day with the eyes of someone who takes joy from the little things...from living the life that I chose. But, as I look at my agenda of garage sale prep and laundry.... I'm not sure I have the rose colored glasses I need for that right now.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
The Reality of Their Childhood
I was in high school when the Oklahoma City bombing happened. I remember being in keyboarding class with the very German named Mrs. Schottenstraussenburg or something like that, and she was so upset. I remember hearing about it and learning it was Timothy McVeigh, and I remember a trial and a conviction. But, I don't remember being affected. He was on death row and it wouldn't happen again.
I was in college when Columbine happened. I watched the news horrified, but I didn't internalize it. I didn't fear that it would happen again. They were dead and it was over.
I was a working adult when 9/11 happened. I was terrified. I was affected. I internalized. I knew it could happen again. I knew it wasn't over.
Now, as I watch the coverage of what happened in Boston yesterday, I am realizing something. My kids will never grow up the way I did. I don't just mean a world without cell phones and Kimye, I mean a world without terrorism. Tabbi was only two when 9/11 happened. She will never live in a world where you don't go through airport security barefoot. Will, 6, knows about Sandy Hook. He will always attend school where the drills are not just fire and tornado, but stranger in the building, too. And Jack, yesterday, learned what a bomb is. Not just something on a video game, but a real thing that is not just limited to war zones, but can be on our streets. That's the reality of their childhood.
That makes me angry. I am angry that my kids know the depths of evil that people are capable of. I am angry that people, foreign and domestic, think that killing innocent people somehow proves whatever point they are trying to make, and that my kids could grow up more aware of Al-Qaeda or James Holmes than Ghandi and Nelson Mandela.
I am angry at those who make my kids lose a little bit of their youthful innocence every time this happens. And, I am angry that the evil cowards who choose these actions don't realize the things that I have learned....
You aren't a martyr, but you create them. You martyr the innocent 8 year old boy that you killed yesterday. The boy who was waiting for his daddy at the finish line. Christina Taylor Green, the 9 year old girl who died in the attack on Gabby Giffords, will never be forgotten. But, the man who shot her? I don't know your name. You're nothing.
You aren't seen as a hero. Osama Bin Laden ran into caves and compounds and hid from the world like a scared weak mouse. But the heroes, they ran into those engulfed buildings and they tried to get people out. Heroes aren't hiding behind the bombings yesterday praying they don't get caught. Heroes carried the wounded out of the chaos. Heroes held the hand of a total stranger whose legs were gone. Heroes are providing medical care, and hunting you down. You're not a hero, but man... you created a lot of them.
You didn't break us. I can't remember a time where I've seen more American flags and a stronger united country than I did on September 12th, 2001. And, it kept going for quite awhile. But, politics and opinions and elections get in the way, and suddenly we find ourselves divided again. And so you strike. You strike at a country who isn't unified under a single goal, but were you the last straw that cracks us apart forever? No. You're glue. You unified a country again, and awoke a sleeping beast. There is nothing stronger than this country's desire to protect and fight for our own. Instead of breaking us, you walked right into the eye of the storm. You volunteered to be the common enemy that we will hunt down like a rabid dog. It may take awhile, and you may think you're safe. But, you're not. We will find you, and when we do, the wrath of a unified country strong in its conviction and dedicated to these martyrs and heroes will come down on you the likes of which you cannot imagine.
My kids may live in a world where terrorism exists, but it comes with a world of real life super heroes. When we talk about it, we will talk about the heroes more than the villains. The bad people will choose to do what they do, and the good... they will do what they do, too. They will be the teachers hiding their students in the closet and keeping them quiet and safe. They will be the firemen running full speed into the burning buildings. They are our military men and women battling the roots of evil and defending our way of life. They are the every day strangers using the shirts off their backs to stem the bleeding. Like Mr. Rogers says, "When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” So, if you're going to make my kids live in a world where these things exist, I can't stop it. But, they'll know the helpers and heroes are here, too.
I was in college when Columbine happened. I watched the news horrified, but I didn't internalize it. I didn't fear that it would happen again. They were dead and it was over.
I was a working adult when 9/11 happened. I was terrified. I was affected. I internalized. I knew it could happen again. I knew it wasn't over.
Now, as I watch the coverage of what happened in Boston yesterday, I am realizing something. My kids will never grow up the way I did. I don't just mean a world without cell phones and Kimye, I mean a world without terrorism. Tabbi was only two when 9/11 happened. She will never live in a world where you don't go through airport security barefoot. Will, 6, knows about Sandy Hook. He will always attend school where the drills are not just fire and tornado, but stranger in the building, too. And Jack, yesterday, learned what a bomb is. Not just something on a video game, but a real thing that is not just limited to war zones, but can be on our streets. That's the reality of their childhood.
That makes me angry. I am angry that my kids know the depths of evil that people are capable of. I am angry that people, foreign and domestic, think that killing innocent people somehow proves whatever point they are trying to make, and that my kids could grow up more aware of Al-Qaeda or James Holmes than Ghandi and Nelson Mandela.
I am angry at those who make my kids lose a little bit of their youthful innocence every time this happens. And, I am angry that the evil cowards who choose these actions don't realize the things that I have learned....
You aren't a martyr, but you create them. You martyr the innocent 8 year old boy that you killed yesterday. The boy who was waiting for his daddy at the finish line. Christina Taylor Green, the 9 year old girl who died in the attack on Gabby Giffords, will never be forgotten. But, the man who shot her? I don't know your name. You're nothing.
You aren't seen as a hero. Osama Bin Laden ran into caves and compounds and hid from the world like a scared weak mouse. But the heroes, they ran into those engulfed buildings and they tried to get people out. Heroes aren't hiding behind the bombings yesterday praying they don't get caught. Heroes carried the wounded out of the chaos. Heroes held the hand of a total stranger whose legs were gone. Heroes are providing medical care, and hunting you down. You're not a hero, but man... you created a lot of them.
You didn't break us. I can't remember a time where I've seen more American flags and a stronger united country than I did on September 12th, 2001. And, it kept going for quite awhile. But, politics and opinions and elections get in the way, and suddenly we find ourselves divided again. And so you strike. You strike at a country who isn't unified under a single goal, but were you the last straw that cracks us apart forever? No. You're glue. You unified a country again, and awoke a sleeping beast. There is nothing stronger than this country's desire to protect and fight for our own. Instead of breaking us, you walked right into the eye of the storm. You volunteered to be the common enemy that we will hunt down like a rabid dog. It may take awhile, and you may think you're safe. But, you're not. We will find you, and when we do, the wrath of a unified country strong in its conviction and dedicated to these martyrs and heroes will come down on you the likes of which you cannot imagine.
My kids may live in a world where terrorism exists, but it comes with a world of real life super heroes. When we talk about it, we will talk about the heroes more than the villains. The bad people will choose to do what they do, and the good... they will do what they do, too. They will be the teachers hiding their students in the closet and keeping them quiet and safe. They will be the firemen running full speed into the burning buildings. They are our military men and women battling the roots of evil and defending our way of life. They are the every day strangers using the shirts off their backs to stem the bleeding. Like Mr. Rogers says, "When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” So, if you're going to make my kids live in a world where these things exist, I can't stop it. But, they'll know the helpers and heroes are here, too.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Confessions of a Crappy Mom...
I was just on Facebook getting some work done (also known as procrastinating) and I saw this cheesy "love your kids" post. It was one of those Facebook equivalents of the chain letter where you have to share or your cat will die, your mom will get Shingles, God will hate you and your head explodes. This one was about daughters. If you love your daughter and will give your life for her and will die for her and will save every hair that clogs your shower drain because you have to be near her that bad, blah blah pukety blah...
Rather than sharing it, instead it made me wonder. Am I the only one who gets freaking annoyed by the clogs in the drain? And this isn't just daughters, I mean all children. Based on the majority of my Facebook friends, either I am the worst mom in the world, they have way better kids than mine, or... they are big, fat liars. Because while I love my children and would give my life for them... sometimes, I want to duct tape their mouths shut and lock them in a closet. Is that wrong?
Here's some more evidence...
I got annoyed at my six year old this weekend, because he has a stomach bug that keeps coming and going. He'd be fine, then he'd puke all over my floor. Rather than coddle and clean like I know a good mother would, I would heave a hefty sigh of irritation and just stare at it and him for awhile.
I volunteered to run to the grocery store Wednesday night at 7:30 and though I only had 4 things on my list, I put in my ear buds and listened to Pandora while I wandered Kroger aimlessly so I didn't have to come home.
I skipped Will's before school reading program on Friday because I didn't want to get out of bed and take him.
Both my boys tend to do dangerous and stupid things, and I usually pause to take a picture of it before telling them to stop.
Sometimes when any two of the three are fighting, I pretend to not hear it and assume it is Darwinian "survival of the fittest" if the fight continues.
Sometimes when I am driving and the girl is in the car doing her make up and I'm annoyed that she was super late to leave and still not ready, I'll hit the brakes to make her lip gloss smear.
....And those are just the ones I thought of off the top of my head.
Rather than sharing it, instead it made me wonder. Am I the only one who gets freaking annoyed by the clogs in the drain? And this isn't just daughters, I mean all children. Based on the majority of my Facebook friends, either I am the worst mom in the world, they have way better kids than mine, or... they are big, fat liars. Because while I love my children and would give my life for them... sometimes, I want to duct tape their mouths shut and lock them in a closet. Is that wrong?
Here's some more evidence...
I got annoyed at my six year old this weekend, because he has a stomach bug that keeps coming and going. He'd be fine, then he'd puke all over my floor. Rather than coddle and clean like I know a good mother would, I would heave a hefty sigh of irritation and just stare at it and him for awhile.
I volunteered to run to the grocery store Wednesday night at 7:30 and though I only had 4 things on my list, I put in my ear buds and listened to Pandora while I wandered Kroger aimlessly so I didn't have to come home.
I skipped Will's before school reading program on Friday because I didn't want to get out of bed and take him.
Both my boys tend to do dangerous and stupid things, and I usually pause to take a picture of it before telling them to stop.
Sometimes when any two of the three are fighting, I pretend to not hear it and assume it is Darwinian "survival of the fittest" if the fight continues.
Sometimes when I am driving and the girl is in the car doing her make up and I'm annoyed that she was super late to leave and still not ready, I'll hit the brakes to make her lip gloss smear.
....And those are just the ones I thought of off the top of my head.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
All The Single Mamas
With this post I want to accomplish two things. One, to get Beyonce's "All the Single Ladies" stuck in your head as you read the title and two, to give a great big shout out, fist pump, and a side of kudos to all the women (and men) who raise their kids alone. Mark is currently out of town, and I have had two nights of single motherhood and I have to tell ya... I'm about done.
I would have said (and will probably say again tomorrow when Mark returns), that I do the lion's share of the work around here. However, having Mark gone has truly made me realize how much he does (or should I say "how much I have him do?"). Its just nice having a second person to help run the show.
Last night I was getting ready for the cleaning people to come today (yes, I realize how stupid that sounds) and I still had to do all the kid running that Mark usually does. That is on top of homework, cooking, eating with the kids, and cleaning up. I was also doing laundry and... get this... I even had to put it all away! Oh, the humanity! On a typical night, Mark is the laundry putter awayer and the kids' chauffer.
Today, I was my usual 7:00a to 6:00p SAHM, but then I had to do dinner alone, and clean up alone, and make the three beds that the boys either puked or peed on alone, and get them ready for bed alone and now the playroom is looking at me and is a mess and I have to clean it alone. (Now get some Celine Dion "All By Myself" going...)
The nice thing is... I know Mark is coming home. Tomorrow. 4:55pm. I will not be a single mom for much longer. But, some women are. Some women don't get to look forward to a book and a bath Friday night because they're alone then, too. Those women are now officially my heros. (Insert Mariah Carrey's "Hero" here.) Really, for all of us who play the working moms have it harder/stay home moms have it harder game, here's the truth... Single moms have it hardEST!
I would have said (and will probably say again tomorrow when Mark returns), that I do the lion's share of the work around here. However, having Mark gone has truly made me realize how much he does (or should I say "how much I have him do?"). Its just nice having a second person to help run the show.
Last night I was getting ready for the cleaning people to come today (yes, I realize how stupid that sounds) and I still had to do all the kid running that Mark usually does. That is on top of homework, cooking, eating with the kids, and cleaning up. I was also doing laundry and... get this... I even had to put it all away! Oh, the humanity! On a typical night, Mark is the laundry putter awayer and the kids' chauffer.
Today, I was my usual 7:00a to 6:00p SAHM, but then I had to do dinner alone, and clean up alone, and make the three beds that the boys either puked or peed on alone, and get them ready for bed alone and now the playroom is looking at me and is a mess and I have to clean it alone. (Now get some Celine Dion "All By Myself" going...)
The nice thing is... I know Mark is coming home. Tomorrow. 4:55pm. I will not be a single mom for much longer. But, some women are. Some women don't get to look forward to a book and a bath Friday night because they're alone then, too. Those women are now officially my heros. (Insert Mariah Carrey's "Hero" here.) Really, for all of us who play the working moms have it harder/stay home moms have it harder game, here's the truth... Single moms have it hardEST!
Monday, February 25, 2013
Aha!
Its been awhile since I've blogged, and unfortunately for the three people that read this... I'm making a comeback. I had a little "aha" moment today and I thought I'd share. I know, I know... I'm too kind.
This morning I was supposed to volunteer at the church that we attend. I was to work the front desk, and I forgot. I didn't get sick. I didn't get in a car accident or double book myself. I FORGOT! I took my kids to school in my pajamas (something I wasn't going to admit, but just did) with the full intention of spending the morning on my tush watching a movie I recorded yesterday. Yes, I was in full on lazy mode. I had committed to something, but apparently my brain had shut down and I didn't go. No, that's not my aha moment.
The first aha was half an hour after I was supposed to be done at the front desk. That's when I realized that I missed it. But, the bigger one was when I realized something... I can't do everything. Some of you may be saying duh, but I say "AHA!" True story!
I am not a good say no-er. I say no to people that I know I can say no to and have them still love me.... but I am not good at saying no to people who need something. I should have "sucker" or "dum dum" or both tattooed to my forehead because I agree to almost anything. Case in point, this weekend at Will's Blue and Gold Brunch, they put out a call for a new pack secretary. Even though I help Mark in his den leading duties, I sat there and pondered volunteering just because there was a need. I don't want to do it. But, I am in the presence of a needer and I'm a doer. Its a sickness. However, in the moment that I realized that after our hectic weekend of basketball, boy scouts and birthdays, my brain had shut down.... Maybe I agree to too many things. Instead of doing a few things and doing them well, I am committing to everything and doing them half assed (or no assed like I did today).
So, after my epiphany, instead of falling all over myself to apologize for my horrible behavior and then saying "see you next Monday," I fell all over myself apologizing and said, "and take me off the schedule." Between our winter of disease and my other commitments (including the one to give myself a morning off every now and then), I just need to let this go. I can't do it all... and in trying to, I'm really doing nothing at all. Aha!
This morning I was supposed to volunteer at the church that we attend. I was to work the front desk, and I forgot. I didn't get sick. I didn't get in a car accident or double book myself. I FORGOT! I took my kids to school in my pajamas (something I wasn't going to admit, but just did) with the full intention of spending the morning on my tush watching a movie I recorded yesterday. Yes, I was in full on lazy mode. I had committed to something, but apparently my brain had shut down and I didn't go. No, that's not my aha moment.
The first aha was half an hour after I was supposed to be done at the front desk. That's when I realized that I missed it. But, the bigger one was when I realized something... I can't do everything. Some of you may be saying duh, but I say "AHA!" True story!
I am not a good say no-er. I say no to people that I know I can say no to and have them still love me.... but I am not good at saying no to people who need something. I should have "sucker" or "dum dum" or both tattooed to my forehead because I agree to almost anything. Case in point, this weekend at Will's Blue and Gold Brunch, they put out a call for a new pack secretary. Even though I help Mark in his den leading duties, I sat there and pondered volunteering just because there was a need. I don't want to do it. But, I am in the presence of a needer and I'm a doer. Its a sickness. However, in the moment that I realized that after our hectic weekend of basketball, boy scouts and birthdays, my brain had shut down.... Maybe I agree to too many things. Instead of doing a few things and doing them well, I am committing to everything and doing them half assed (or no assed like I did today).
So, after my epiphany, instead of falling all over myself to apologize for my horrible behavior and then saying "see you next Monday," I fell all over myself apologizing and said, "and take me off the schedule." Between our winter of disease and my other commitments (including the one to give myself a morning off every now and then), I just need to let this go. I can't do it all... and in trying to, I'm really doing nothing at all. Aha!
Monday, September 24, 2012
I'm Jealous of a Cow
Yesterday I saw the most amazing thing. While visiting Fair Oaks Dairy Farm (a must do activity for anyone in Indiana), we went into the birthing barn (yes, on purpose) and watched as a giant mommy milk cow gave birth to her little baby girl. Here's the mommy and baby just minutes after the birth...
Watching this process was amazing. It was so natural. The mama would just adjust her position, push and let nature take its course. Eventually, a human birthing tech came in and helped with the delivery, and even that, the mommy cow just kept her stoic "this is what I do" attitude and let it happen. It was amazing. Then I realized something.... It is entirely possible that other women who have had two children would not be so mesmerized by this calf's birth. Why? Because they've done it. However, I haven't.. not like that.... and I was amazed and a little jealous.
Don't get me wrong... I do not want a life of getting milked and birthing babies like this dairy cow. But, even though I've had two children.... it wasn't this natural and God given miracle that I saw yesterday. Mine were cut out. By surgeons, of course.
I was in labor with Will for 29 hours, my water broken for as long, and only dilated to 4 centimeters. The finding was that he was not descending down the birth canal at all, and it becomes dangerous to have your water broken for that long without progressing... bacteria and whatnot. Plus, American Idol was over (Taylor Hicks had just won), so why not get the show on the road? C-section it was. With Jack, they decided upon conception that if Will couldn't descend, Jack wouldn't either.... so c-section number two.
Now, I love my boys and my baby having days are over (though I do want to pursue a career as a cow birther after watching yesterday), but I sat there last night and thought... I wish I had what that cow had. Not an unlimited supply of hay, but that miracle. My body didn't do what God built a woman's body to do. I didn't get the pushing and that elation of the baby sliding out and seeing it for the first time. I had a curtain blocking the view of my innards.... and the baby wasn't immediately set upon my chest all gooey and slimy, but lovely... Mine were taken to the incubator, and cleaned while my doctors put me back together and sewed me up. Several people saw my boys and held them, before I did.
I didn't know it at the time, and maybe it took watching this miracle happen to realize that while my boys are blessings (most of the time), I missed a little something. There's a little part of the awe and wonder that I didn't experience. So even though I don't want another baby, I wish I could redo the birth and do it right... just one time.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Dear 1st Grade Teacher...
Dear Mrs. B,
I've written letters like this before. I wrote to Will's preschool teacher here, and I wrote to his Kindergarten teacher here. In both cases, I was writing about a boy they didn't know, entering a world he didn't know either. In this case, its not the same.
You were Will's Kindergarten teacher from spring break on. While the transition was tough, by the end of the year, he loved you even more than his first teacher. And when he heard that you would be his teacher again, he was thrilled... though slightly nervous that he's never going to remember your new name, since you were married this summer. So, if you hear some Miss S's instead of Mrs. B's, know that it will bother him way more than it bothers you!
So, you know Will and he knows you, and I think he is a lot less nervous this year. He knows the school and the routine. Its easier this year, than any before. Easier... for him. The problem for me is that he's still my baby, and you're still a stranger who will spend more time with him today than I will. You are molding him more than I am, and though you were his sculptor last year, I still have a hard time handing over the chisel, as I'm sure you can tell.
I laid in bed last night thinking about the first day of school. Thinking about all the decisions he will make that I will not be a part of, good and bad, and that he will look to you for approval, for healing his wounds, for guidance and wisdom. He will look to you for all the things he's used to looking at me for. You have my 4'3" 75 pound baby to shape for a year.... so I am writing this letter to ask you to do it carefully. Round out his edges, don't leave anything sharp. Make sure he is detailed and beautiful, strong and hard on the outside, but still slightly soft on the inside. Shape him well for me, because though he's six, he's still my baby. And when I sneak into his room to sleep next to him at night, I want my baby to still be there... even if he's taking up a much larger part of the bed.
Thanks and enjoy him!
Me
I've written letters like this before. I wrote to Will's preschool teacher here, and I wrote to his Kindergarten teacher here. In both cases, I was writing about a boy they didn't know, entering a world he didn't know either. In this case, its not the same.
You were Will's Kindergarten teacher from spring break on. While the transition was tough, by the end of the year, he loved you even more than his first teacher. And when he heard that you would be his teacher again, he was thrilled... though slightly nervous that he's never going to remember your new name, since you were married this summer. So, if you hear some Miss S's instead of Mrs. B's, know that it will bother him way more than it bothers you!
So, you know Will and he knows you, and I think he is a lot less nervous this year. He knows the school and the routine. Its easier this year, than any before. Easier... for him. The problem for me is that he's still my baby, and you're still a stranger who will spend more time with him today than I will. You are molding him more than I am, and though you were his sculptor last year, I still have a hard time handing over the chisel, as I'm sure you can tell.I laid in bed last night thinking about the first day of school. Thinking about all the decisions he will make that I will not be a part of, good and bad, and that he will look to you for approval, for healing his wounds, for guidance and wisdom. He will look to you for all the things he's used to looking at me for. You have my 4'3" 75 pound baby to shape for a year.... so I am writing this letter to ask you to do it carefully. Round out his edges, don't leave anything sharp. Make sure he is detailed and beautiful, strong and hard on the outside, but still slightly soft on the inside. Shape him well for me, because though he's six, he's still my baby. And when I sneak into his room to sleep next to him at night, I want my baby to still be there... even if he's taking up a much larger part of the bed.
Thanks and enjoy him!
Me
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