Okay, so I need to come clean with something. I've been grappling with this for awhile now. It makes it difficult for me to fall asleep at night. And left wondering...what is this world coming to?
There is a mom at the Cabana where I take the girls. Let's call her "I Want to Kill You When No One is Looking". Oh wait. That's not really very nice, is it? Well, she is the one that represents the severity of the situation I am referring to.
Allow me to break it down for you.
Glorious 85 degree day at the Cabana Club. Big girls playing Marco Polo. Swollen prego mama putting her feet up for a moment. Cosette floating in an inflatable tube, having the time of her life.
And then it happens. The unthinkable.
This mom comes over to my Cozy, and says she needs the tube back for her son. Okay, I get that, IF Cosette had the tube for longer than, let's say, 60 seconds. So of course, Cozy gives back the tube happily, and the mom proceeds to hold onto it. Like it's a nugget of gold.
Does the son even float on it? NO. Is he really even interested in having his tube back to PLAY with it? NO. He wanted his tube back because my daughter HAD it. And his mom doesn't want to deal with the fit he will pitch if he doesn't get it back NOW.
Therein, lies the problem. I see the above as a "teachable moment". All kids, including mine, have a hard time when someone else wants something that belongs to "them". But this is where WE come in. To teach them to share. To teach them, that this is what friends do. To teach them, that we will help them learn this process so they become better people.
Call me crazy, but this is how I would have handled it, if Cozy was freaking out.
Cozy: NOOOOO! That's MY tube.
Me: Well, friends share. So he's going to have a turn on your tube. And in five minutes, you can have a turn.
Cozy: NOOOOOO! It's MINE.
Me: Here are your choices: share your tube, or get out of the pool. What are you choosing?
I'm not making this shit up. Ask anyone of my friends and they will tell you, "Yes, that's exactly how Meanie Mommy Michelle would handle that." What I don't get, is why it appears to be F'ing Rocket Science to some other folks.
After that mom took the tube from Cozy, I made it impossible for her to not feel me staring at her. I was mad-dogging her. I was angry. But I also decided, for the best interest of all concerned, that I had to let it go.
Then it happened AGAIN...on Cosette's birthday. Not only did she take her tube away from Cosette. During adult swim, as I floated on 2 noodles that the girls had found lying around, the son pitched the fit of all time. You wanna know why? I had one of his noodles.
The mom looked at me. I glared right back. She had to make a decision...take on big 'ol prego, or listen to her kid whine. She chose the later.
So now I have a strategy. The next time, she decides to bring toys to the pool that she doesn't want to share, I will float in all of them. Every last one. Let's see how she handles that.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
And That's the Truth, Ruth
There are a few "Universal Truths" floating around out there that I would like to address. In my humble existence on this planet, we call Earth, I have found out one really significant thing. NEVER believe what ANYONE tells you because they are LYING.
Lie Number 1: Marriage is Easy.
Do I really need to expand here? I mean, I don't want to pop the bubbles of those out there who are engaged, or newly wed...but I'm going to. Marriage is A LOT of work. If you want to LIKE your spouse and continue to stay married to them, that is. No one ever told me that. At least if they did, I was like, "whatever".
Remember that blessed event known as your wedding day? The day that was solely devoted to YOU and your spouse? Where family and friends gathered to support and love you? Not to mention, score a free meal, and drink like fish from the open bar, all at your expense?
I've discovered the days of having it be all about me, are long gone. When kids enter the mix, it only makes your marriage, how shall we say, more interesting. Like anything, marriage can become monotonous. Marriage can lead you into this fantasy of living happily ever after, only to discover, that you and your spouse have begun taking each other for granted. Exhibit A:
Courtship Conversation:
Her: Hey baby, I can't wait to see you tonight.
Him: I know. Me either. I'm counting down the minutes.
Her: Oh Snookums, I'm going to attack you with my love.
Him: Not if I attack you first.
Marriage Conversation:
Her: What time do you think you'll be home tonight? (Implication: so I can hand off the kids and get a break?)
Him: Ummmm, it just depends. I might have to work late. (Implication: so I can skip bath and bed time help with the kids, because I'm wiped out).
Her: Oh, okay. (Implication: you will not be having sex for the next 24 months).
Him: (In his head, "I am SO getting some tonight.")
You know, Tom and I have only been married for 12 years, but most days it feels like 120. One thing is for certain though: our love has grown deeper with the passage of time. Because let's be honest, that courtship fantasy phase ends the minute you get married...and realize...you will be...with this person...for the rest...of your life.
If I have learned anything about marriage, it's this: we turn OFF the TV and actually TALK to each other every night. Do I want to do that all the time? No. But, I want to stay married, and I realize that communication is key. And having fun with each other. And great intimacy...I'll stop talking now.
Lie Number 2: Raising Kids is Easy
Please see my previous blogs regarding this subject.
Lie Number 3: I Can't Lose Weight Because "Fill In the Blank Here."
I'm hypoglycemic. I'm hyperglycemia. I'm in menopause. I'm not in menopause. My great-grandfather came over on the Mayflower, and we have this condition that makes it really hard to lose weight.
Here's the reason why folks like this continue to struggle with their weight: they are "stuck". This is truly what they believe. And until they TURN OFF that internal BS, and tune into the POSITIVE THINKING channel, they are doomed. Because really, it's not about (gasp) the food we ingest. The food, just happens to be the drug of our choice. And oh, what a sweet choice it is. I finally learned, as I would reach for a 2 pound box of See's candy, to ask myself, "What am I really hungry for?" Is it See's? Or is it validation? Or maybe stress release? If I came back to See's, then I gave myself permission to have a piece.
Here are some tips I have learned from losing and maintaining my weight: tracking my food is helpful for awareness. Moving my ass is imperative to my sanity. And not depriving myself is key. I mean, we all have our weakness: I had to give up drinking during the week. Now, I just binge drink on the weekend. But you guys know what I'm trying to say here.
Let's love and honor ourselves on this journey, shall we? Right where we are. Flaws, imperfections and all. Let's realize when we make a mistake, and learn from it vs. beating ourselves up. Cause if we keep following others and what they do and say, we lose sight of ourselves. And our voice. And our choices.
Yay for self-discovery.
Lie Number 1: Marriage is Easy.
Do I really need to expand here? I mean, I don't want to pop the bubbles of those out there who are engaged, or newly wed...but I'm going to. Marriage is A LOT of work. If you want to LIKE your spouse and continue to stay married to them, that is. No one ever told me that. At least if they did, I was like, "whatever".
Remember that blessed event known as your wedding day? The day that was solely devoted to YOU and your spouse? Where family and friends gathered to support and love you? Not to mention, score a free meal, and drink like fish from the open bar, all at your expense?
I've discovered the days of having it be all about me, are long gone. When kids enter the mix, it only makes your marriage, how shall we say, more interesting. Like anything, marriage can become monotonous. Marriage can lead you into this fantasy of living happily ever after, only to discover, that you and your spouse have begun taking each other for granted. Exhibit A:
Courtship Conversation:
Her: Hey baby, I can't wait to see you tonight.
Him: I know. Me either. I'm counting down the minutes.
Her: Oh Snookums, I'm going to attack you with my love.
Him: Not if I attack you first.
Marriage Conversation:
Her: What time do you think you'll be home tonight? (Implication: so I can hand off the kids and get a break?)
Him: Ummmm, it just depends. I might have to work late. (Implication: so I can skip bath and bed time help with the kids, because I'm wiped out).
Her: Oh, okay. (Implication: you will not be having sex for the next 24 months).
Him: (In his head, "I am SO getting some tonight.")
You know, Tom and I have only been married for 12 years, but most days it feels like 120. One thing is for certain though: our love has grown deeper with the passage of time. Because let's be honest, that courtship fantasy phase ends the minute you get married...and realize...you will be...with this person...for the rest...of your life.
If I have learned anything about marriage, it's this: we turn OFF the TV and actually TALK to each other every night. Do I want to do that all the time? No. But, I want to stay married, and I realize that communication is key. And having fun with each other. And great intimacy...I'll stop talking now.
Lie Number 2: Raising Kids is Easy
Please see my previous blogs regarding this subject.
Lie Number 3: I Can't Lose Weight Because "Fill In the Blank Here."
I'm hypoglycemic. I'm hyperglycemia. I'm in menopause. I'm not in menopause. My great-grandfather came over on the Mayflower, and we have this condition that makes it really hard to lose weight.
Here's the reason why folks like this continue to struggle with their weight: they are "stuck". This is truly what they believe. And until they TURN OFF that internal BS, and tune into the POSITIVE THINKING channel, they are doomed. Because really, it's not about (gasp) the food we ingest. The food, just happens to be the drug of our choice. And oh, what a sweet choice it is. I finally learned, as I would reach for a 2 pound box of See's candy, to ask myself, "What am I really hungry for?" Is it See's? Or is it validation? Or maybe stress release? If I came back to See's, then I gave myself permission to have a piece.
Here are some tips I have learned from losing and maintaining my weight: tracking my food is helpful for awareness. Moving my ass is imperative to my sanity. And not depriving myself is key. I mean, we all have our weakness: I had to give up drinking during the week. Now, I just binge drink on the weekend. But you guys know what I'm trying to say here.
Let's love and honor ourselves on this journey, shall we? Right where we are. Flaws, imperfections and all. Let's realize when we make a mistake, and learn from it vs. beating ourselves up. Cause if we keep following others and what they do and say, we lose sight of ourselves. And our voice. And our choices.
Yay for self-discovery.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Survival of the Fittest
I don't know how women have babies "naturally". Seriously. I'm not kidding. At all.
Like if the epidural didn't exist, and we HAD to give birth in the fields naturally (ie: screaming obscenities, and writhing with pain induced seizures), and then head back out to the field to bury the placenta, and shuck some more corn for dinner, I'm sorry. If it was up to me, there would be no human population left.
My hat is OFF to women who push out an 8 pound baby without the body numbing help of modern medicine. Personally, I have always been so damn scared of how painful labor could become, I never get the hospital past like 4 cm...legitimate enough to be in "active" labor, but early enough to call the Anesthesiologist at the first inkling of real pain. I like to trick myself into believing that I could handle it...all 10 cm, you know, my body opening into a crevasse the size of a begal, so I could birth someone's HEAD, followed by their entire BODY. But who am I kidding? Poor Tom. I don't even want to see his reaction if I had no meds. Oh my stars.
So as far as survival of the fittest is concerned, I would totally lose this match.
We used to have 3 rabbits, now we have 2. What happened, you ask? Well, Henry was a biter. And I don't use that term lightly. Before having him neutered, he would mount the other male bunny, and just ride him...well...sort of like an inmate. We thought for sure, having his manhood removed, would chill him out. No can do. Henry continued to bite...everyone, and everything. And I'm not talking about little nips here. I'm talking, flesh hanging from the palm of your hand type injuries. When going out to feed the bunnies, the girls had resorted to donning Ugg boots that reached thigh level, to shield them from an attack. The last straw came the day, I heard Cosette screaming from the backyard...we didn't have any Uggs in her size.
That's it! I thought. This bunny is gonna meet his maker. "Girls," I calmly, but assuredly stated, "Henry is going to be let free today. I'm sure he will find a nice home, amongst other savage animals in the wild." And so Tom loaded up the girls, and drove to a hill with a creek near our home. "If Henry is strong enough, he will survive just fine out here," Tom explained to the girls. Secretly, I hoped, that as soon as our truck had driven out of sight, a huge HAWK would swoop down, and... a girl can dream, can't she?
Playing on any organized team these days is a trip. I hear that everyone gets a trophy. First place or last place. WTH is up with all of this "warm and fuzzy" stuff? Trophies go to the best. Losers don't get shit. Welcome to the rest of your life, kids.
And what's up with everyone making the team?! NO! If you get cut, it means you suck. The coach is doing you a favor because you won't be riding pine all season long. If you really want to make the team, go home, practice for 52 weeks so you don't suck, and we'll see you at try-outs next year. If you can't eat that sort of humble pie, become a stat person, towel boy, or costume donning mascot for the team.
Playing sports my entire life, molded me in so many different ways. I learned how to use everyone's strengths to work as a team. I learned discipline through running liners when I, or one of my teammates missed a free throw in practice. I learned that getting benched after I screwed up in a game, didn't feel good. But how would I ever dig deeper, and become a better player if I was kept in?
I don't know. Maybe I'm just living in a different universe here. I try to teach the girls that everyone has different gifts. But that we all have struggles too. The important thing is to work on our weaknesses, without beating ourselves up, while remembering to celebrate our strengths!
Just don't ask me to have a home birth in my bathtub supervised by a doula for this baby, so Cosette can cut the cord...ain't gonna happen. Not my strength. But you know, I'm okay with it.
Like if the epidural didn't exist, and we HAD to give birth in the fields naturally (ie: screaming obscenities, and writhing with pain induced seizures), and then head back out to the field to bury the placenta, and shuck some more corn for dinner, I'm sorry. If it was up to me, there would be no human population left.
My hat is OFF to women who push out an 8 pound baby without the body numbing help of modern medicine. Personally, I have always been so damn scared of how painful labor could become, I never get the hospital past like 4 cm...legitimate enough to be in "active" labor, but early enough to call the Anesthesiologist at the first inkling of real pain. I like to trick myself into believing that I could handle it...all 10 cm, you know, my body opening into a crevasse the size of a begal, so I could birth someone's HEAD, followed by their entire BODY. But who am I kidding? Poor Tom. I don't even want to see his reaction if I had no meds. Oh my stars.
So as far as survival of the fittest is concerned, I would totally lose this match.
We used to have 3 rabbits, now we have 2. What happened, you ask? Well, Henry was a biter. And I don't use that term lightly. Before having him neutered, he would mount the other male bunny, and just ride him...well...sort of like an inmate. We thought for sure, having his manhood removed, would chill him out. No can do. Henry continued to bite...everyone, and everything. And I'm not talking about little nips here. I'm talking, flesh hanging from the palm of your hand type injuries. When going out to feed the bunnies, the girls had resorted to donning Ugg boots that reached thigh level, to shield them from an attack. The last straw came the day, I heard Cosette screaming from the backyard...we didn't have any Uggs in her size.
That's it! I thought. This bunny is gonna meet his maker. "Girls," I calmly, but assuredly stated, "Henry is going to be let free today. I'm sure he will find a nice home, amongst other savage animals in the wild." And so Tom loaded up the girls, and drove to a hill with a creek near our home. "If Henry is strong enough, he will survive just fine out here," Tom explained to the girls. Secretly, I hoped, that as soon as our truck had driven out of sight, a huge HAWK would swoop down, and... a girl can dream, can't she?
Playing on any organized team these days is a trip. I hear that everyone gets a trophy. First place or last place. WTH is up with all of this "warm and fuzzy" stuff? Trophies go to the best. Losers don't get shit. Welcome to the rest of your life, kids.
And what's up with everyone making the team?! NO! If you get cut, it means you suck. The coach is doing you a favor because you won't be riding pine all season long. If you really want to make the team, go home, practice for 52 weeks so you don't suck, and we'll see you at try-outs next year. If you can't eat that sort of humble pie, become a stat person, towel boy, or costume donning mascot for the team.
Playing sports my entire life, molded me in so many different ways. I learned how to use everyone's strengths to work as a team. I learned discipline through running liners when I, or one of my teammates missed a free throw in practice. I learned that getting benched after I screwed up in a game, didn't feel good. But how would I ever dig deeper, and become a better player if I was kept in?
I don't know. Maybe I'm just living in a different universe here. I try to teach the girls that everyone has different gifts. But that we all have struggles too. The important thing is to work on our weaknesses, without beating ourselves up, while remembering to celebrate our strengths!
Just don't ask me to have a home birth in my bathtub supervised by a doula for this baby, so Cosette can cut the cord...ain't gonna happen. Not my strength. But you know, I'm okay with it.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
The Hell If...
Call me passive aggressive. Or crabby. Or just plain unethical. It's okay. Sticks and stones...
The H if...I will pay full price for my four year old to go to the movies. When the attendant asks how many, I reply, 3 kids, 1 adult, as I push Cosette between my legs to be left unseen. If there are any follow up questions, my reply is this, "What? This one here? Oh, she's just 2 years old. Yep, she's really tall for her age."
The same stands true in any situation that I view as Redonkulous. For example, when checking in at a pool to pay with my girlfriend and her 2 kids, the sweet little 16 year old behind the counter asked, "How many families? One or two?" Please note, one family costs $25, and two families cost $50. Without a moment's hesitation, I said, "Just one. We are a lesbian couple, and this is our beautiful family," then I pointed at my swollen belly, and finished up, "Sperm donors...each and every one of them."
The H if...I will be told specifically what type of glue stick to purchase for Kindergarten. Are you kidding me?! I just spent 100 bucks for 4 kids on school supplies, and you will graciously accept what my child is bringing in....Do you know what it is like to go Back To School shopping with 4 kids? DO YOU? DO YOU? You requested Avery glue sticks, and received the Office Max brand...deal with it.
The H if...I will let someone give me shit for wearing 6 inch heels. It only took me 30 years, and thousands of dollars in therapy, to OWN my height and frame. So when a person has the balls to ask, "You're 5'11, why are you wearing stiletto's while you do your grocery shopping?" My reply is simply this: "Because I can."
The H if...I will ever let my girls conceive the notion that a 6 foot, 117 pound fashion model is normal! I would love to see one of these "women" in real life. Can we be honest here? I weigh in at a healthy 150 pounds (when not with child). So imagine, 30 pounds less on my frame...REALLY? This is desirable? Achievable? Beautiful? THE HELL IF....
The H if...a nanny should have more control over your children than YOU do. An acquaintance just recently shared with me, that she paid for a nanny to accompany their family while on vacation to Europe. Cool... I thought. Nice...a date night with hubby at the Eiffel Tower...drinking wine in Tuscany, sipping espresso while appreciating amazing artwork....all without kids. Then she said, "I had to bring the nanny because my kids just don't mind me." You would have been so proud. I didn't even reply. Just smiled and nodded.
The H if...I will pay full price for my four year old to go to the movies. When the attendant asks how many, I reply, 3 kids, 1 adult, as I push Cosette between my legs to be left unseen. If there are any follow up questions, my reply is this, "What? This one here? Oh, she's just 2 years old. Yep, she's really tall for her age."
The same stands true in any situation that I view as Redonkulous. For example, when checking in at a pool to pay with my girlfriend and her 2 kids, the sweet little 16 year old behind the counter asked, "How many families? One or two?" Please note, one family costs $25, and two families cost $50. Without a moment's hesitation, I said, "Just one. We are a lesbian couple, and this is our beautiful family," then I pointed at my swollen belly, and finished up, "Sperm donors...each and every one of them."
The H if...I will be told specifically what type of glue stick to purchase for Kindergarten. Are you kidding me?! I just spent 100 bucks for 4 kids on school supplies, and you will graciously accept what my child is bringing in....Do you know what it is like to go Back To School shopping with 4 kids? DO YOU? DO YOU? You requested Avery glue sticks, and received the Office Max brand...deal with it.
The H if...I will let someone give me shit for wearing 6 inch heels. It only took me 30 years, and thousands of dollars in therapy, to OWN my height and frame. So when a person has the balls to ask, "You're 5'11, why are you wearing stiletto's while you do your grocery shopping?" My reply is simply this: "Because I can."
The H if...I will ever let my girls conceive the notion that a 6 foot, 117 pound fashion model is normal! I would love to see one of these "women" in real life. Can we be honest here? I weigh in at a healthy 150 pounds (when not with child). So imagine, 30 pounds less on my frame...REALLY? This is desirable? Achievable? Beautiful? THE HELL IF....
The H if...a nanny should have more control over your children than YOU do. An acquaintance just recently shared with me, that she paid for a nanny to accompany their family while on vacation to Europe. Cool... I thought. Nice...a date night with hubby at the Eiffel Tower...drinking wine in Tuscany, sipping espresso while appreciating amazing artwork....all without kids. Then she said, "I had to bring the nanny because my kids just don't mind me." You would have been so proud. I didn't even reply. Just smiled and nodded.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Denial
Some of you may not know this about me: but I reside in a little community in my head, that goes by the name of Denial. It's nice here. Lovely, actually. Because everything is perfect. And nothing is wrong.
In Denial, I'm not 8 months pregnant. Oh no. In fact, in Denial, I have yet to purchase one piece of maternity clothing. Instead, I just squeeze my 5'11 rapidly expanding frame, into my regular clothes. This includes bathing suits and workout gear. The innocent bystanders in Denial, don't notice that I'm pregnant either. That by boobs are so high up in my sports bra, they are actually grazing the bottom of my chin, as I go on my 4 mile waddle. I will be damned to pay money for an article of material that has an expiration date. I would rather look like a fool. And I must...because a really loving friend just brought me an entire bag of maternity clothes. But then, she's not from Denial. She's from a little town called Reality.
In Denial, kids never go back to school. I don't get it when parents jump for joy when the kids enter back into the institution where square pegs are forced into round holes. Don't think for a second, that I love spending endless days of quality time with my kids. It's more that I am lazy. I hate being "on" for dreaded Homework duty, random project due dates, and extra activities like field trips, and Walk A Thon's. I would much rather go to the beach, take the girls swimming, and sleep until 8am each morning, while the twins dole out Cheerios. In Denial, the summertime schedule works to my strengths.
In Denial, my youngest child would never, ever say anything in public to humiliate me. In Denial, she would act like an angel, with a glowing halo. In Safeway, if she saw an elderly fellow slowly walking past us in the cereal aisle, she would never sing a song called, "Old Man, Old Man, you are so slow, Old Man.", leaving me to hush her. And pray that Old Man, was so hard of hearing, he didn't actually catch any of the tune written and sung solely for him. In Denial, my four year old, would never yell out things from the car window, that would make a grown man cringe. For example, while on vacation, our driveway was blocked by the neighbor's vehicle who decided to park anywhere she pleased. When the neighbor finally came out to move her car, the child yelled out, "What are you?! DRUNK?!"
In Denial, I have 2.4 kids, a white picket fence, and a husband who resembles Hugh Jackman. In Denial, rainbows and unicorns are abundant. I'm not 38, I'm 28. And I certainly, don't have garden hose pregnancy induced varicose veins. In Denial, I am still going to Chico State, riding my bike everywhere, and well, doing whatever the hell I want.
Who am I kidding? Reality is okay. But it's just that sometimes, I go to Denial for a visit. Sometimes it's a short visit. But other times, require an extended stay. You should come see me sometime. Really... there's plenty of room for visitors in Denial.
In Denial, I'm not 8 months pregnant. Oh no. In fact, in Denial, I have yet to purchase one piece of maternity clothing. Instead, I just squeeze my 5'11 rapidly expanding frame, into my regular clothes. This includes bathing suits and workout gear. The innocent bystanders in Denial, don't notice that I'm pregnant either. That by boobs are so high up in my sports bra, they are actually grazing the bottom of my chin, as I go on my 4 mile waddle. I will be damned to pay money for an article of material that has an expiration date. I would rather look like a fool. And I must...because a really loving friend just brought me an entire bag of maternity clothes. But then, she's not from Denial. She's from a little town called Reality.
In Denial, kids never go back to school. I don't get it when parents jump for joy when the kids enter back into the institution where square pegs are forced into round holes. Don't think for a second, that I love spending endless days of quality time with my kids. It's more that I am lazy. I hate being "on" for dreaded Homework duty, random project due dates, and extra activities like field trips, and Walk A Thon's. I would much rather go to the beach, take the girls swimming, and sleep until 8am each morning, while the twins dole out Cheerios. In Denial, the summertime schedule works to my strengths.
In Denial, my youngest child would never, ever say anything in public to humiliate me. In Denial, she would act like an angel, with a glowing halo. In Safeway, if she saw an elderly fellow slowly walking past us in the cereal aisle, she would never sing a song called, "Old Man, Old Man, you are so slow, Old Man.", leaving me to hush her. And pray that Old Man, was so hard of hearing, he didn't actually catch any of the tune written and sung solely for him. In Denial, my four year old, would never yell out things from the car window, that would make a grown man cringe. For example, while on vacation, our driveway was blocked by the neighbor's vehicle who decided to park anywhere she pleased. When the neighbor finally came out to move her car, the child yelled out, "What are you?! DRUNK?!"
In Denial, I have 2.4 kids, a white picket fence, and a husband who resembles Hugh Jackman. In Denial, rainbows and unicorns are abundant. I'm not 38, I'm 28. And I certainly, don't have garden hose pregnancy induced varicose veins. In Denial, I am still going to Chico State, riding my bike everywhere, and well, doing whatever the hell I want.
Who am I kidding? Reality is okay. But it's just that sometimes, I go to Denial for a visit. Sometimes it's a short visit. But other times, require an extended stay. You should come see me sometime. Really... there's plenty of room for visitors in Denial.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Checking Off "The List"
"Mama, you look tired,"Cosette observed recently, first thing in the morning. Mind you, she made this comment BEFORE I had even ingested one sip of coffee, but AFTER I had served up a stack of 72 hot and fluffy pancakes that she and her sisters devoured for breakfast. Damn right, I'm tired, sister.
Seeing the opportunity for a teachable moment, for my daughter to be truly grateful for EVERYthing I (and all Mama's) do on a daily basis, I asked openly, "Well Cosette, what things does Mama do that would make her tired?" I also thought that referring to myself in the third person, would really drive the point home.
Not a chance.
"Well, Mama, I don't know. You relax in the sun, get on the computer, and yell a lot." According to my four year old, I am living a charmed life. What the hell do I have to complain about, right? And I most certainly, should NOT be tired. Think about it: I don't really DO much.
I vividly remember having a similar conversation about eight years ago with my therapist. Before becoming an at home mom, I was the ultimate List Maker. I was accustomed to teaching 33 sixth graders, while coordinating lesson plans, field trips, report cards, and hormones, you know? I got stuff done! I had my list, and nothing made me feel better, than checking off those boxes. I equated it to a job well done.
An aspect I didn't see coming when I stayed home in the beginning, was that I did the saaaaaame thing day after day. As soon as I would stock the fridge with food (check), it was empty again. As soon as I put away washed and folded laundry (check), dirty clothing filled the basket. I would vacuum, (check) only to have the dog bring the backyard INTO the house, five minutes later.
I felt like a hamster on a wheel. No boxes to check off. Just an eternal, never ending pit of monotonous chores....with no real sign of progress.
"When does it end? I feel like I'm going slowly insane. I never get anything accomplished," I confided to my counselor, "If I have to fill up one more sippy cup, I swear...."
"Sure you are getting things accomplished," she assured me, "It's just that the list has changed, and it doesn't look like it used to, Michelle. It's not like you "seal a deal" on a daily basis. Or that you get a raise for your hard work. The list has changed. These are boxes that can no longer be simply checked off at the end of the day. You are raising your girls...it is an immeasurable task."
For the first time in a looong time, I felt validated. As Oprah would say, I was having an "A-ha" moment.
And the other thing I would soon find out was this: the chores I dreaded with their simplicity and monotony like filling sippy cups, handing out Goldfish, and going to the park, would soon be missed after my girls started school. The lovely days of naps and Elmo, were soon replaced with homework and book report due dates.
So I have learned that although the stage I am currently enduring with my kids may seem as though it will never end, it does. And it is usually followed by a mourning period, because now I understand their youth is slowly ticking away on the clock. And I can't do a damn thing to stop it.
What I CAN do is focus on being in the moment with them.
Even when I wish it would end because it's soooo hard. When one child is labeled GATE as the other is labeled ADHD. When I wonder the next time my husband and I will have the time and money to go on a date night. When I just don't have the answers. And neither does Google.
So now my list includes activities like taking the girls outside for a hike/bike ride/or swim (relaxing in the sun); or taking care of myself by venting on my blog (being on the computer); or trying to raise my girls without totally going insane (yelling a lot).
In all honesty, Cosette just answered my question the way she sees things. Her perspective is open for interpretation, that's all. I was expecting her to list all of the things I do for her, but the truth of the matter is this: it's what she and her sisters do for ME, that makes me a better Mama, wife and friend.
I'm just hoping that the next time one of my kids throws me under the bus, I will have at least had a cup of coffee.
Seeing the opportunity for a teachable moment, for my daughter to be truly grateful for EVERYthing I (and all Mama's) do on a daily basis, I asked openly, "Well Cosette, what things does Mama do that would make her tired?" I also thought that referring to myself in the third person, would really drive the point home.
Not a chance.
"Well, Mama, I don't know. You relax in the sun, get on the computer, and yell a lot." According to my four year old, I am living a charmed life. What the hell do I have to complain about, right? And I most certainly, should NOT be tired. Think about it: I don't really DO much.
I vividly remember having a similar conversation about eight years ago with my therapist. Before becoming an at home mom, I was the ultimate List Maker. I was accustomed to teaching 33 sixth graders, while coordinating lesson plans, field trips, report cards, and hormones, you know? I got stuff done! I had my list, and nothing made me feel better, than checking off those boxes. I equated it to a job well done.
An aspect I didn't see coming when I stayed home in the beginning, was that I did the saaaaaame thing day after day. As soon as I would stock the fridge with food (check), it was empty again. As soon as I put away washed and folded laundry (check), dirty clothing filled the basket. I would vacuum, (check) only to have the dog bring the backyard INTO the house, five minutes later.
I felt like a hamster on a wheel. No boxes to check off. Just an eternal, never ending pit of monotonous chores....with no real sign of progress.
"When does it end? I feel like I'm going slowly insane. I never get anything accomplished," I confided to my counselor, "If I have to fill up one more sippy cup, I swear...."
"Sure you are getting things accomplished," she assured me, "It's just that the list has changed, and it doesn't look like it used to, Michelle. It's not like you "seal a deal" on a daily basis. Or that you get a raise for your hard work. The list has changed. These are boxes that can no longer be simply checked off at the end of the day. You are raising your girls...it is an immeasurable task."
For the first time in a looong time, I felt validated. As Oprah would say, I was having an "A-ha" moment.
And the other thing I would soon find out was this: the chores I dreaded with their simplicity and monotony like filling sippy cups, handing out Goldfish, and going to the park, would soon be missed after my girls started school. The lovely days of naps and Elmo, were soon replaced with homework and book report due dates.
So I have learned that although the stage I am currently enduring with my kids may seem as though it will never end, it does. And it is usually followed by a mourning period, because now I understand their youth is slowly ticking away on the clock. And I can't do a damn thing to stop it.
What I CAN do is focus on being in the moment with them.
Even when I wish it would end because it's soooo hard. When one child is labeled GATE as the other is labeled ADHD. When I wonder the next time my husband and I will have the time and money to go on a date night. When I just don't have the answers. And neither does Google.
So now my list includes activities like taking the girls outside for a hike/bike ride/or swim (relaxing in the sun); or taking care of myself by venting on my blog (being on the computer); or trying to raise my girls without totally going insane (yelling a lot).
In all honesty, Cosette just answered my question the way she sees things. Her perspective is open for interpretation, that's all. I was expecting her to list all of the things I do for her, but the truth of the matter is this: it's what she and her sisters do for ME, that makes me a better Mama, wife and friend.
I'm just hoping that the next time one of my kids throws me under the bus, I will have at least had a cup of coffee.
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