Roots And Wings...

We all know that we're supposed to give our children roots and wings.
Roots to give them a foundation. Something to be a part of. Something to ground them.
Wings so that they may fly. On their own. Without us.
Since my kids are all under age seven, I can go for long periods of time just focusing on the roots. I tell myself that the wings part will come later, and I can sometimes go for weeks actually believing that. But then there are times, like this week, when I am reminded that the wings part, to some extent, takes place now, too. I think, That's right, this is part of my job, too. And then I think how over-rated wings are.

It's counter intuitive, really.
Holding them close, and then pushing them away.
And yet, if we don't, we're only doing half of our job.

Earlier this week, B had his third swim class. This time, I had been asked to stay outside of the pool area, and watch through the one way glass. I promised him we'd get a cheeseburger for lunch if he did a good job. So I stood on the other side of the door, watching, as he laid on the concrete on the side of the pool and cried.
No, that's not really true. He didn't cry.
He sobbed.

Of course my initial reaction was to go in and tell him that I would sit right there and watch. But I had been asked not to, so I didn't. Instead, I waited, and just watched him. As he sobbed.

I thought of going into the pool area despite being asked not to. Then I thought of going in, grabbing him, and leaving. The instructor thought it would be a good thing for me to watch from behind the glass. But I was trying to figure out which part of this was good.

After obsessing for a few minutes, I decided that I needed to give it a chance, so that's what I did.
I stayed there and watched him sob, for the majority of the class. I came close to sobbing myself, for the majority of the class. And then, when the class was over, I went in and got him, and wrapped him in a towel. While he was still sobbing. And stating that he didn't want to learn how to swim.

 I bought him a cheeseburger anyway, in the hopes that he would remember the cheeseburger, and not the trauma of the swim class when his mother wasn't there.

Today before school, N had an audition for the school talent show. Well, she was supposed to have an audition for the talent show. She had been excited about it for weeks. I suspected that there would be some drama as it got closer. She is only six, after all, and this would involve singing, on a stage, in front of people. Part of me had even thought I should tell her she needed to wait until next year. But then I figured it was probably better to let her try, and see how it goes.

We were actually drama free the whole time leading up to the audition. But then we got to the audition. And she saw that there were actually people there. And she started sobbing. She calmed down for a while, until it was her turn. Then she sobbed some more. 

Ultimately, there was no audition. Which was just fine with me. But apparently, the only thing that made N sob more than the thought of an audition was the thought of not doing an audition. She declared that she wanted to go home with me instead of going to school. I actually thought about it, and looking at her tear streaked face, it was hard to tell her no. But I did.


She asked me to walk her to her class, which is highly frowned upon. I decided I didn't care, and walked her to class anyway.


Tonight in our house, no one was sobbing. Or even crying. It might have something to do with my new philosophy:

Screw you, wings.
I'm going back to my roots.

At least for now.

Taking the Plunge...

It may or may not surprise you to know that I have mommy guilt. Actually, I have a lot of mommy guilt. It's usually about, well, whatever area that I feel I'm failing in on that particular day, and whichever child I feel has been short changed at that particular moment. That usually means I'm feeling guilty about several areas of life and at least two children on any given day.

Lately, B has been the focus of much of my mommy guilt. When N was small, she had me all to herself for three years. We went to play groups. We went to baby sign language classes. We went to a kids gym. We went to mommy and me swim classes. We went to mommy and me dance classes (if dancing to the Wiggles really counts as dancing). We went to mommy and me gymnastics classes at our Rec Center. (Fortunately, my role in this class was quite limited, as was our time in the class. Apparently, almost head butting the instructors daughter is highly frowned upon. I know-- almost only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades, right? That's what I thought. But apparently, it counts in gymnastics, too. And no, in case you're wondering, I was not the one who almost head butted her).

Eventually, N went to preschool, and the mommies were no longer welcome in the activities she did. (Of course, I'm still more than welcome to drive her there, and pay for it, and chase two boys around while she participates, but for some reason, once she turned three, my participation was no longer encouraged. But I'm not bitter. Anymore. Most of the time).

When B was a baby, we took one mommy and me swim class. N did not appreciate that she had to play in the shallow end while B and I played "Humpty Dumpty Sat on the Wall" (Huh. Not so fun to be left out, is it?). After six weeks of trying to be attentive to the baby I was holding and the four-year- old who was calling me from the other end of the pool, I gave up. Then we had O, and logistically and financially, our options became even more limited.

I looked into activities for B last year, and some of the classes N had taken just weren't available. They don't offer mommy and me gymnastics at the Rec Center anymore. Coincidence? I think not. Dancing to the Wiggles wasn't even an option.  I took B and O to the library for a while, until it was becoming obvious that B was well over a year past the age cut off for the babies group. When the other parents started giving me dirty looks when he not only took their kids' toys, but rather articulately told them he wasn't giving them back, I thought we should probably stop going before we were kicked out. I mean, I've accepted that, at some point, he will be kicked out of something. But why rush it? I'm sure there will lots of other opportunities for that.

I thought he would start preschool last fall, but that whole "I'm wearing diapers until I'm thirty-five" attitude got in the way of that. A few months ago, I decided to try a free class at the kids' gym N had gone to. I told him that morning that we were going to play. It was going to be so much fun. There were all kinds of kids there. N even went there when she was little. As I excitedly looked at him and said "Doesn't that sound like fun?" He looked at me and said, quite clearly, "No."

I ignored the voice that told me this was not a good idea (Never ignore the voice), and he eventually got in the car, but only after he had gone back in the house to get a hat. The gym is only ten minutes away. Half an hour later, we finally walked through the door. Me, O, and B.  B had finally agreed to get out of the car only if he could wear the hat. Which was actually Jimmy's adult sized ten-year-old baseball cap that said John Deere on it, and it looked every minute of its ten years.

After more coaxing, he agreed to leave the lobby and go into the gym. Where he stood behind me for most of the next thirty minutes. He wouldn't talk. He wouldn't look at anyone. He had zero interest in the other kids, none of whom were wearing a cool, if way too big and disgustingly dirty, John Deere hat like his. At one point, he expressed vague interest in the ball pit, but when the instructor told him it was circle time and not ball pit time, he looked at me and said it was time to go. I thought he probably had a point.

Recently I started feeling guilty again that B has not been involved in nearly as many structured activities as N was at his age. And, since he will be starting preschool in the fall--diapers or no diapers-- he needs to get used to listening to someone besides me (not that you should take that to mean that he listens to me). So, today, I did something very brave, and took him to swim class. This was not a mommy and me swim class. This was all three-year-olds.  I wasn't sure how it would go, but I knew that it was time we tried. I also knew that there was a large sign on the door to the pool that said "NO Parents on deck" which I thought might be a good thing, once he got past the initial adjustment to me not being there.

When B was still clinging to the door and stating "I am NOT going in that pool" five minutes after the class was supposed to start, they asked me to come sit on the deck. Apparently, they made an exception for us. I always knew we were exceptional.

So I sat on the side of the pool, in my sweats, getting soaked, and attempting to hold onto O, who unlike his brother, wanted nothing more than to get in that pool. B, meanwhile, just watched us from the deck before eventually agreeing to get his feet wet. Fortunately, no one else showed up for the class today, which allowed the instructor to spend the entire class focused on B. Good thing, since he would have had to do that anyway.

B eventually warmed up a little and went in up to his knees when the instructor, Mr. Cory, threw water toys to him. In fact, B quite eagerly threw them back. At Mr Cory's head. Repeatedly. I suggested to Mr. Cory that he may want to wear a helmet to their next class. Mr. Cory was a good sport, and encouraged B to walk into the pool to get the toys back. B looked at the toys, looked at Mr. Cory, smiled, and said "No, thanks. You can get them". They repeated this exchange several times, as O tried harder to alternately jump, wiggle, and swim out of my arms and into the pool.

I was beginning to wonder if there would be a point to us coming back next week, or if Mr Cory might suggest that we try something different--like sedatives--when, at the end of the class, B surprised all of us by walking right into the pool, all the way up to his waist.

It just took O throwing his shoes in the pool.

If only I'd known that sooner.

I would have brought a few extra pairs.

I Quit!

Before I was a mom, I was sure that I was NOT going to have over-scheduled kids. While I wanted them to do things they enjoyed, I was not going to spend my life running them all over the place, to the detriment of my own sanity. Not to mention, kids need down time. They need time to just hang out with their families. Family time is incredibly important, in that it teaches valuable life skills, like how to sneak into your sister's room and steal her fairies without being caught, or how to pinch your brother and make your mom believe that he was the one who attacked you, while you were innocently sitting there, minding your own business. Having time together as family teaches kids how to get along with people they often dislike, but still have to live with. And in some cases, family time teaches some really specific skills, like the importance of a good left hook.

Several years ago, though, something happened that changed my line of thinking about having over-scheduled kids. I had kids.

Like so many other things where parenting is concerned, the reality was a little different than what I had anticipated. This year, N really wanted to do a gymnastics class. It was just for a couple months, but I wasn't sure she'd like it, so I didn't want her to quit dance, which she really likes. (There was also the fact that her incredibly coordinated mother could never do so much as a cartwheel, so anything that was likely to help even a little in the coordination arena was probably not a bad idea, from my stand point). Of course, N was also in Girl Scouts, but that was only once a month. And the chorus thing she wanted to do was only once a week for a few months, so it would be fine. While she also had CCD,  that was just on Sunday mornings, when we should all be going to Church anyway. N was quite content with this schedule. I, however, was in a near constant state of stress, because we almost always had to be somewhere. I also discovered a few things:

Nothing is really just once a month.
Nothing is really just an hour a week.
Even if something is just an hour a week, an hour a week can feel like a lot when you have so many other hours of the week already accounted for.
We parents sometimes lose our minds when it comes to our kids and their activities.

After those few months, only dance and Girl Scouts remained. And yet, the reality is, I still often feel on the verge of a panic attack. Because dance and Girl Scouts sometimes fall back-to-back on the same day. Because its "recital time" when missing dance is highly frowned upon. Because "cookie sales" in Girl Scouts can be like having a part time job. Because I have two younger, very active boys who come with us pretty much everywhere, and yet can't be left to their own devices anywhere. Because about a year-and-a-half ago, when I had a newborn and was, in retrospect, in some hormonal haze, I said being a Girl Scout co-leader sounded like a great idea, and sure I could make it to all of those monthly meetings. (A bit of advice: if you have given birth within the past six years months, do not volunteer for anything. You are operating from a delusional, hormonal state in which you believe you are Superwoman, because after all, you not only grew a baby and gave birth, but are quite possibly feeding said baby from your very own body, all on little to no sleep. In reality, you are not at all equipped to make the decision to lead something like a Girl Scout Troop. In fact, until you are sleeping through the night again, you should probably refrain from leading anything, other than maybe rounds of Row, Row, Row, Your Boat. Remember-- the baby ate your brain cells during pregnancy. Just say no. By the way, I can only say this because I am a woman. If you are a man, do not even think about saying any of this to a woman. Don't say I didn't warn you).

I initially thought that maybe feeling overwhelmed was just an "adjustment issue", since I was new to having a child in school who was involved with activities. Surely when she got a little older I would have a handle on this, and not feel so stressed out. But then I was talking to a friend who has four older kids in school, and she happened to mention that incredibly stressed out feeling that she feels pretty much anytime she has to take anyone anywhere--which, in her case, is, well, always. With four kids in several different activities, and several volunteer commitments of her own, she is always rushing to get somewhere. And yet, to her, the idea that she was going to feel incredibly stressed out for a good part of every day was just a part of life.

I was recently talking to another friend, who finally went to the doctor after feeling that something just wasn't quite right. She just felt "off" and was concerned that something was seriously wrong. Like most of us, she tries to squeeze too much into her days. She works full-time and spends evenings in a whirlwind of homework and activities, before doing it all again the next day. Her diagnosis? Fortunately, nothing more than dehydration. Apparently five cups of coffee to one cup of water is not an acceptable daily ratio. Huh. Who knew? Of course she knows she needs to drink more water, but it's just one.more.thing. And who doesn't need several cups of coffee? But really, now we're not even taking time to drink water? We make sure our kids drink water. We make sure our dogs have water. We even make sure our plants have water. But we, somehow, don't manage to drink enough water.

Knowing I am not alone in this really doesn't make me feel any better. That just means that women running themselves into the ground--to a large extent for the sake of their kids' activities--has become so acceptable that it's now considered the norm. And of course, we're not just driving our kids around. We're also checking our messages, and making phone calls, and talking about homework, and planning what we're going to make for dinner. We are the queens of multi-tasking, and then beat ourselves up when we don't do it all perfectly.

I am thinking about all of this when we get home last night, as I try to get over my guilt that we ditched dance because there was no way we were going to make it anywhere close to on time after the Girl Scout meeting ran late. I am feeding NBO as I wait for the notary who's doing our refinance to show up. I wash the dishes, and help with homework, and give baths--OK fine-I gave one bath, to one child. The other two didn't get one. I justify this by telling myself that their faces get washed five times a day. So do their rear ends. I find a minute to go the bathroom, where I also change the bandage on my knee from when I so gracefully fell in the school parking lot the day before--while I was walking to the car, thinking of what I needed at the store, making sure the kids were all with me, and not paying attention to the huge pot hole I ultimately tripped into.

As I am doing this, O suddenly bursts into the bathroom with a book, and requests that I read it to him. I start to comply, and then realize that reading to my kids while I am, uh, in the bathroom and simultaneously changing a bandage would be taking multi-tasking to a new low. Besides, If I'm going to read in the bathroom, its not going to be Thomas the Train. Its going to be a trashy romance novel Better Homes and Gardens.

The refinance lady arrives.  I get her a glass of water. I break up a fight in the living room. We sign some forms. I break up another fight. I think the refinance lady must be wondering why our kids are so aggressive. Sign some more forms. Get someone a snack. Break up another fight. Listen to the refinance lady talk about the family she saw last night, and realize that tomorrow, she'll be telling people about these aggressive kids she saw tonight. I sign something else. I say good-bye to the refinance lady. I tuck the kids in. I check my work schedule for tomorrow. I check Jimmy's work email. I think about a glass of wine, and decide I'm too tired. I realize that if water was wine, my friend and I would both be better about drinking as much of it as we should.

This type of multi-tasking, I realize, is largely unavoidable. And this kind, I really don't mind all that much. As for the rest? Well, I've made a decision. I quit. I'm not sure what I am quitting, exactly, but I am quitting...well, something. I have two kids who aren't even really involved in activities yet. At this rate, I'll lose what's left of my mind way sooner than previously anticipated. Besides, when they all sit around the Thanksgiving table twenty years from now, I want their childhood stories to begin with something besides, "Hey, remember that time in the car, on the way to soccer practice?"

I hope NBO will all find things they like to do, and I will encourage them in that, to some extent. I'm trying to keep in mind, though, that there are a few things they need more than dance classes or soccer; more than piano lessons or Girl Scouts.

They need time with their family. They need time to just be kids. And they need a sane mommy.

Boxing gloves probably wouldn't be a bad idea, either.

Mommy Rules

When N was a baby and I was a full time stay-at-home mom beginning to feel my sanity slipping away, we joined a mom's group. It went OK for a while. We met a few moms we clicked with. We had play dates or group activities every week or so. And then, after about a year, I started to realize that there were a lot of rules. Rules, of course, can be a good thing. I'm all for rules. When you need them. But sometimes, some rules are just....a bit much. Even unnecessary, perhaps. Some people are really good at following rules. Some people are really good at enforcing rules. Yeah. I'm neither. So, eventually, because some of the rules were just incredibly dumb not really rules I could see myself following, I became a moms group drop-out. And no, in case you're wondering, I didn't leave because they wouldn't let me bring a pitcher of margaritas to meetings, though that was also an incredibly dumb a rule that I thought was probably unnecessary.

As our lives have changed, there is longer a need, or the time, to be part of a mom's group. I work part time, I have B and O, we have Jimmy's business, and N has friends from school and other activities. When possible, we get together with friends--either NBO's or mine. But mainly, because I have two children still at home all day and one in school, my days revolve around them, which often means a whirlwind of cooking, cleaning, laundry, bill paying, diaper changing, crying (them), cleaning some more, diaper changing some more, cooking some more, cleaning some more, crying (me), driving, homework, crying some more (them and me), cooking, and cleaning. OK, fine, some days there is some blogging in there...but I don't take lunch. Or dinner. Or, come to think of it, breakfast. Unless you count standing over the counter shoving whatever is for breakfast, lunch, or dinner in my mouth, as I tell everyone not to talk with food in their mouths.

I wouldn't mind so much, but at the end of the day, you wouldn't know that I have cleaned the same areas of my house four times, because those same areas are trashed again by bedtime. And, you wouldn't know that I spent a large chunk of my day cooking, since at eight o'clock, when they should be in bed, someone is, without fail, telling me that they're hungry--starving, even. Before anyone accuses me of complaining, let me say, I am not complaining. I am glad I "get" to be home with them and for them. But just because I'm where I want to be doesn't mean it's a walk in the park (though, some days, we do that, too).

So, occasionally, I do think it would be nice to have a "group" to belong to...one where people understand me and what my life is like, one where we can get together on a regular basis instead of the once every month or two that other friends and I manage to work into our schedules. One where we can sit around and drink mimosas coffee as our children play at our feet. But then I think, no, a group like that would have rules, and well, we know how I do with that. I wonder if I would have done well as a 50's housewife, when all the other moms were home, too, and would stop over each other's houses for Irish coffee in the morning. Then I realize that I never could have kept my house clean enough for people to just stop by whenever they want (not to mention, it could be nap time). And besides, didn't 50's housewives all know how to sew, or quilt, or crochet? Not that I'm against any of those things, of course, but I think there's a reason God wanted me to be born in the 70's.

Recently, I started rethinking what it is, exactly, that I'm looking for. Yesterday, I did something very brave and took B and O out to lunch with a friend, and my friend, who we'll call Mary Margarita for blogging purposes, came back to the house with us. I put B and O down for naps, and my friend and I sat outside, on an unseasonably warm January day, and, without the interruption of children, actually got to have a real conversation. And then, because it was an unseasonably warm January day, and my children were sleeping, and I didn't have to pick N up for a couple hours, we decided to have a Bud Light cup of tea. And, I thought, wow, it has been such a long time since I've sat outside in the middle of the day, without my children, and actually enjoyed a Bud Light cup of tea with a friend.  No, I did not have a second Bud Light cup of tea. Just the one. But it was a really, really good Bud Light cup of tea.

After Mary Margarita left, I started thinking not about the moms group from my past, who would have highly frowned upon a Bud Light cup of tea in the middle of the day, but about the one I have now. We don't have scheduled meetings, and our get togethers are generally pretty small--often only two adults, but sometimes as many as six kids. Five or six kids easily entertain each other, which frees up the moms to chat--at least until the five or six kids all start fighting, or ask if they can jump off the deck, or become obsessed with what else their hostess might have for them to eat, or start a competition to see who can jump off the bunk beds and land on their feet.

Other times, the only kids present are mine, as some friends have older kids, and can remind me that this, too, shall pass. Some are friends without kids who help me more than many moms could, because they've known me forever. Some live far away, but when they visit it feels like they've been here all along. Others I see hardly at all, but when they say "Thank you for writing that. I feel that way, too", it's almost as if they are sitting next to me. And, of course, some aren't friends, per se, but sisters, cousins, sisters-in-law and nieces--and a few are second moms to NBO. Some of us get together more than others, and some of us may not see each other nearly as much as we'd like, but I get way more out of my moms group than I ever could have gotten from the group with all the rules.

And the best part? There are no rules.

Copyright 2012 Author of The NBO Chronicles. All Rights Reserved. No reproduction without permission.. Simple template. Template images by Ailime. Powered by Blogger.

Judgement Day

Sometimes it feels like every day is judgement day when you're a mom....

When N was three, she started taking dance. B was an infant, and, for most of the first year at least, I would take her to class and sit in the waiting room, rocking B in his carrier, drinking coffee, and talking to other moms. I remember thinking , "Well this isn't bad. I can do this". This week, as I took N to dance, B and O were with me, as they always are unless Jimmy happens to get home from work early that day. This week, as I thought back to how it was that first year that N took dance, I realized that this was one of those occasions where a previous thought comes back to bite you in the...um, arm.

N goes to a great dance studio, that is just a little on the small side. There's not a lot of room in the waiting area. This is sometimes difficult for B and O, because while N is doing something that she loves just in the other room, they don't really get to do the things that they love. For example, jumping from chair to chair is not encouraged. Standing at the door watching the dancers and doing your own dance while screaming "Hi N!!" is not encouraged. Running and screaming in the waiting room-- not encouraged. Continually filling up and pouring out cups of water from the water cooler--also not encouraged. All of this is, of course, completely understandable, but as you can see, some of B and O's favorite activities are highly frowned upon. That does not, however, prevent them from participating in them anyway. Usually, though, we manage to keep the disruption to a minimum. This week, for some reason, we did not. B was restless. O was restless. I was tired from spending much of the previous day cleaning up syrup and peanut butter. Although I read to them, distracted them with toys, and took frequent breaks to the bar next door to let them run around outside, it was clearly not enough.

When we came in from outside toward the end of the class, B decided he was fascinated with the long vertical blinds in the picture window. I asked him nicely not to touch. He ignored me. I told him firmly not to touch. He ignored me. I did the best mean mommy voice I could, considering we were in a small waiting room surrounded by other people. He ignored me. Instead, he gave the blinds a yank. I didn't see or hear anything fall, though it's possible that something did fall and I missed it because, after all, I was also chasing O during this time. After a moment, when we had moved on to other things, an older woman who was there with her grand-daughter came over, started fidgeting with the blinds, and said, "Oh here, let me help you fix that".  Help me fix that? Hmmmm. While I appreciated the, um, helpfulness, I had to wonder... are you sure the word for this is helpful? Cause it just didn't feel all that helpful from my end. It felt like...something other than helpfulness. Several thoughts went through my mind, but I decided that maybe, like beauty, helpfulness is in the eye of the beholder, and I put a smile on my face that clearly said, "Whatever".

B eventually settled down and even shared his cars from home with another little boy. As N's class ended, I asked B to nicely ask for his car back since we were leaving soon. He did--very nicely- and the little boy looked at him and said ,"NO". B came back to me to report. "Mom, he said he's not giving it back.". "It's OK, B, " I told him. "Just ask him again nicely", I said a little louder this time, just in case his mom had missed the first exchange. And B walked calmly back to him, and said in his loudest three-year-old tough guy voice, "HEY! YOU GIVE ME MY CAR BACK RIGHT NOW!". "B, not like that". I told him. The little boy's mom glared at me. Maybe I'm supposed to make B apologize, I thought. That might be the right thing to do. But he did ask nicely the first time. I no longer knew what the right thing to do was. What I did know was that it was hot, crowded, my kids were out of control, we were all getting hungry, and I wanted to leave. More than anything. I also knew that trying to make B apologize for yelling at someone who just refused to give him back his own toy was not going to end well. So I just smiled. Whatever.

We finally escaped left with some shred of our dignity in tact, though I'm quite sure we were the talk of several dinner tables that night. I was feeling somewhat defeated as I took NBO to the grocery store to pick up a few things. O started grabbing everything out of the cart and throwing it. I put it in. He took it out. I told him to put it back. He ignored me and threw it. N would pick it up, unless B got it first, in which case it turned into a game of catch in the frozen food aisle. I would then tell B to put it back in the cart. He would ignore me. You get the picture.

We had been playing this game for fifteen minutes or so and I knew it was time to get out of there, when O threw a pint of Ben and Jerrys frozen broccoli onto the floor, and B grabbed it before N could. B ran to the opposite end of the aisle, and threw that ice cream broccoli back to us as hard as he could. Wow. What a great arm that child has. He's clearly picked something up from watching football with daddy.

I don't think the couple that turned the corner at that exact moment appreciated what a great arm B has, though. No, the ice cream broccoli didn't hit them. However, their disdain was pretty apparent. It was quite obvious that they were appalled by the scene they had stumbled upon: a toddler emptying the contents of our cart onto the floor, his three-year-old brother using the frozen food aisle as his personal football field, and their sister and now nearly deranged mother watching, laughing, and doing absolutely nothing about it.

OK--maybe it wasn't entirely appropriate for me to give B a high five and tell him what a great throw that was. Whatever.

Copyright 2012 Author of The NBO Chronicles. All Rights Reserved. No reproduction without permission.. Simple template. Template images by Ailime. Powered by Blogger.