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.

An Act of Courage

Today, I made a choice to do something that I thought was very brave. I decided to take N and B to K-Mart. What's so brave about that, you say? You didn't even have all three! True, as Jimmy had come home for lunch and offered to stay with O, who was already half asleep. As it turns out, this was probably a really good thing. However, I didn't just take N and B to K-Mart. I took them to K-Mart when B hadn't had a nap, and it was way past nap time. I knew this would require a great deal of strength on my part. In fact, there was a little voice telling me, "This is NOT a good idea. You just get this whole K-Mart idea right out of your head, put that child down for his nap, and go later". But I didn't listen. Instead, I ignored the voice. I thought I was doing something very brave, but it turned out I was just doing something really, really stupid.  Never, ever ignore the voice.

The reason for my obsession with going to K-Mart? Coffee. Our coffee maker has been broken for a couple of weeks. A couple of weeks! I don't know how I have survived that long, but I have. Since I am the only coffee drinker in our house, it's only impacted me, and coffee runs to Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks, and Caca's (no, not like WaWa's...she's my sister) have gotten me through. I've even started drinking tea in the morning, but today when I was contemplating a third cup of tea to help me wake up, I finally accepted that it was time for a new coffee maker.

 On the way to the coffee maker aisle (no, I know it's not called the coffee maker aisle, but in my mind, that was the single most important thing in that aisle, so that's what I'm calling it), B decided he wanted to be a mannequin. Just like the ones in the store. Well, except that he wanted to keep his head. He did, however, want to be up on the little stage that they're on. So that's where he went. Several times. He did a perfect mannequin imitation. Several times. Not that hard, you say? It involves standing completely still. And this is B. Need I say more? Eventually, he agreed to come with us to the coffee maker aisle, but only after he had waved good -bye to the mannequins, and eventually accepted that they weren't going to wave back.

I had no idea there were so many different kinds of coffee makers. I am amazed by all the choices. I wonder if I should go cheap and simple or get something a little more expensive that will brew individual cups on a timer. I imagine coming downstairs in the morning and having a fresh hot cup of coffee waiting for me. Then, the fireman's daughter in me thinks that can't possibly be safe, and I decide a timer is not a good idea. But maybe the individual cups are. I am contemplating all this as N and B are behind me...somewhere. I look to see N curled up on a lower shelf. B is telling her to push over. N says "Hey mom! Didn't you get left in a store once when you did this?" I tell her no, that was Caca...or Uncle Pat. Who can remember. I wasn't even born yet. I just know it wasn't me.

I know I should tell N to get down, but she is usually so set in her role as responsible older sister that part of me is happy to see her laying on a shelf in K-Mart, and I decide to let her stay there. Besides, it looks sturdy, and it's keeping them relatively quiet. I go back to looking at coffee makers, and start thinking that maybe timers are a good idea after all. I discover that the prices go up to a hundred bucks, and I wonder if one of the more expensive ones will make me a single cup of coffee on a timer, add cream and sugar, and bring it to me in bed. N is off the shelf and standing behind me talking about...something. B has taken N's spot on the shelf, and I realize that N is talking about martial arts. I briefly wonder why she is talking about ninjas, but realize I will hear the whole story again on the way home anyway, so I don't focus too much on what she's saying until I hear these magic words..."Look! It makes frozen drinks!"

A machine that makes coffee AND frozen drinks? Why didn't I think of that?! Whichever one it is, I am getting it. What a perfect combination! I turn around to see her standing in front of a large blender looking thing. "Look mom! It's a Ninja! I've seen it before. It makes frozen drinks and salsa!" I have a crappy mommy moment when  I realize that my daughter must have seen this on an infomercial, and yet I have never seen it, or heard of it. And aren't those infomercials on at 3 am? I make a mental note to check the parental controls on our TV. And then I get back to the Ninja. It does not make coffee, but it does make frozen drinks and salsa. The box has the most beautiful picture I have ever seen--of a frozen strawberry something-or-other, and it is talking to me. "Buy me! You won't regret it!". Never ignore the voice! I decide that a cheap coffee maker and a Ninja is as good as a two for one deal, and put them both in my cart.

B had been very quiet during this time, but at this point, he decided he was done. He was so done, in fact, that when I said it was time to go, he just laid on the floor. And stayed there. No tantruming. No screaming. Just kicked back. Arms under his head. In the middle of the ninja aisle. N and I walked an aisle over and came back to find him in the same spot. Twice. He was not budging. Someone made an announcement over the loud speaker, and I told him, "Didn't you hear, B? She said that little boy needs to get up off the floor". Believe it or not, this has worked for similar situations in the past. Not this time. This time, he just looked at me and said, "No. I don't think so. I didn't hear her say my name". We tried walking away again. He didn't budge. Finally, I went back and said  "Bye, B. We love you. We hope you enjoy your stay here. We'll come back to see you on alternate Wednesdays." A staff person walked by and then came back and waited to make sure I wasn't really leaving him there. Whatever.

Eventually he got up, and as we headed for the register, he and N decided to look at kids place mats. And then they decided to take them out. And then B decided to throw them all over the floor. Repeatedly. A woman walking by observed this, and shook her head at me as she walked by. This was not a smiling head shake. This was not an "I've been there, honey" head shake. This wasn't even a "Better you than me" head shake. No, I've seen my share of head shakes, and this was definitely a "your children are going to end up in prison" head shake. So, I did what any good mother wanting to model appropriate social skills for her children would do. I smiled and said somewhat loudly, "Yup, They're mine. Lucky, aren't I?"

We finally made it to the register, and B was holding on to the front of the cart, facing me. I've heard you're not supposed to let them do this. I've heard it's because the cart may tip over. I've heard it's because they may fall. I've never heard it's because their foot may get stuck in the bottom part of the cart, and they will be unable to move, and that, even though you are just a cart's length away from them, at the cash register, surrounded by people, they will loudly and repeatedly scream, "Mommmmmm!!!!! I'm STUCK! Get me OUT!!!!!" I've never heard that it's because it's very awkward to try to remove a foot from the underside of a shopping cart while also holding onto the child whose foot it is, to prevent him from falling face first onto the dirty K-Mart floor (that he was just laying on) once you eventually remove his foot. I've never heard that. But now you have. So don't say you didn't know.

The other thing I never heard is that, once you realize that your child is not injured, and that he's not screaming in pain, you will laugh uncontrollably as you attempt to remove his foot from the shopping cart. This really doesn't help the process. However, it does provide great entertainment to the man behind you in line, who is buying newborn size diapers and bottles, and in all likelihood has no idea that his life will, in a few short years, look very much like yours.

Fortunately, we left without having to call the fire department, but I realized that I needed to pick up my W2 at work, only a two minute drive away. I decide it couldn't be any worse than K-Mart, and I really needed to get it today. So, I ignored the little voice again and took them with me to my office. We took the elevator up to the second floor, where B was excited to see that we could look down on the lobby below. He stood at the railing and looked down, and as a man I assume is a client of a co-worker came out of my office suite and stood next to us to wait for the elevator, B announced loudly, "Mom! I'm gonna jump! I'm gonna jump!".  The man was kind enough to talk him down, and tell him that while it did look like fun, it probably wouldn't have great results. Why did I ignore the voice? Never ignore the voice!

Some days I come home fairly surprised that we are all still in one piece. Today I also came home happy that we didn't have to call the fire department to remove B's foot from the shopping cart, thankful that B only talked about jumping over the railing in my building, and glad that no one was left--voluntarily or otherwise-- at K-Mart.

I also came home thinking that, in spite of days like this, life is good. At least I have a sense of humor to get through these moments. These are the small things, and in the big picture, the only parts of them that we'll remember are the parts that made us laugh. And, if my biggest problem--today, at least-- is working around nap time (or not) to go get a coffee maker, then I am truly, incredibly fortunate.

Life is good.
Cause I have a Ninja.

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

For the Love of...Sleep

It recently occurred to me that I have turned into a freak. Not about everything. I am not a germaphobe. I don't have to have my children in my eyesight every moment of the day. Their rooms don't have to be spotless (In addition to not being a freak about this, I am also not delusional enough to think that it would ever actually happen--hey, maybe my mental health is better than I thought!).  I am a freak, however, when it comes to sleep--particularly nap time. I admire those parents who are OK with having a child with them every waking moment. I, however, am not one of them. I need some child free time in my day, however brief. This is not optional. It is required. For three reasons:

1) As it is, most days I manage only to repeatedly clean the kitchen, hopefully pick up the living room, run the dishwasher, get dirty laundry out of rooms, continually run the washer and dryer, and possibly fold, but rarely actually put away, laundry. When I try to do these things when my children are awake, I have lots of help. More, in fact, than I ever need. The dishwasher gets filled more quickly, but not run, because I have to remove the assorted cars, trucks, trains, and Little People that O has so helpfully placed in there before I can run it. I'm not sure what would happen if I left them there. Maybe I'll try that next time, but I would hate to have to buy a new dishwasher because, in a moment of weakness, I went along with O's plan to turn the dishwasher into a car wash for Hot Wheels. Meanwhile, B is taking all the toys that I just put in the play room back into the living room. If I attempt to do laundry while they are awake, they start grabbing random clothing items from wherever they happen to find them--including drawers and closets--and throwing them down to me. If I try to make dinner while they are awake, they are cracking eggs for me, even when no eggs are necessary. I'm lucky to have such helpful children. But it doesn't really help with productivity.

2) The stories I write about are, believe it or not, generally from the good days, when they have slept. You don't read about what happens on the days when they haven't slept, because I am licking tequila off the floor nearly asleep by eight o'clock those nights, and have no energy left to write about the day's adventures. Not to mention, I don't want to relive them.

3) If I don't have an hour or two of relative silence during the day, I will lose my mind even sooner than predicted.

So, yes, I have turned into a freak about nap times.

Unfortunately, B and O are not quite on the same page as I am. Recently, in spite of my best efforts, they have started staying awake during nap times. If they stayed in their room playing and talking quietly, I would probably be OK with this, as they would hopefully be getting some rest. As it happens, though, they stay in their room laughing, screaming, yelling, throwing things, and taking O's crib apart. Not exactly restful. For any of us. I have tried to remedy this several different ways. Separate rooms--they just scream louder. Separate nap times-someone gets over tired (usually me), which defeats the whole purpose. Separate houses--the neighbors were unhappy when they found a strange child in their house. Whatever.

This is my long winded way of explaining that, when my children do go to sleep, I will do whatever I can to keep it that way. This has the potential, however, to impact my behavior in other areas of my life. I am not proud of this. I wish I could just go with the flow, like I can with so many other things in life. But, my children need me. They need me to be sane. And if that is to happen, they need to take naps.

In general, if people come to our home, I try to be welcoming. We like having company, and that's what we're supposed to do, right? Mi casa es su casa. If you can find a spot that's not covered in trains, fairies, yogurt, or dog hair, by all means, please make yourself at home. I'll even try to find something besides cheerios to feed you. If you stay long enough, I will beg you to drink with me and offer you a couch to sleep on, and then I will make you drink more so you don't notice that it's the one covered in yogurt and dog hair. Jimmy is even more welcoming than I am. He goes right to the part where he offers you beer.

If you come during nap time, however, it's a little different. If I know you're coming, I will meet you at the door and we will quietly go talk outside. You may wonder why I'm taking you outside when it's 30 degrees. It's because they are sleeping. If you don't like the cold, come back in the spring. Or at least when nap time is over. If you unexpectedly come to my door during nap time, all bets are off, but here's what will likely happen from your perspective:

You knock. I don't answer. You are vaguely aware that a dog is barking inside. You knock again. You are vaguely aware of a crying baby. You probably think some warm fuzzy thought about babies and dogs as you wonder why we aren't answering since we're obviously home. You knock again. This time, I answer the door, baby on my hip, dog at my side, three-year-old running in circles behind me, and you briefly wonder about my crazed expression, but you're happy that your mission--whatever reason you have for knocking on my door--is one step closer to being accomplished.

Here's what happens from my end: You knock. I cringe and silently curse, awaiting the barking dog that I know will awaken the sleeping children that it just took an hour and a half to convince to go to sleep. I ignore you, hoping you will go away (unless, of course, it's something important, like you are are locked out of your house, your car has broken down, you haven't eaten in two days, or you have brought me tequila). Nothing personal. I probably don't even know who you are at that point. But did you just see the part about it taking an hour and a half to get those children to sleep? But you don't go away. You knock again. If the dog didn't hear you the first time, she does now, and she is barking. My cursing is no longer silent. I hope she won't bark long enough or loudly enough to wake sleeping children, but she does, and now we have a barking dog and a crying toddler. A minute later, we have a barking dog, a crying toddler, and a three-year-old old repeatedly asking "Mommy, who's here? Mommy, who's here? Mommy, who's here?"

I know, of course, that these children will not go back to sleep, and that even if they do, I will have to wake them as soon as they fall asleep to go pick up their sister at school. I also know that they will be grumpy and whiny, if not outright combative, by dinner, which will likely consist of something frozen and barely edible, since I will have tried to get dinner together while also attempting to do the three loads of laundry that I didn't get to do while they should have been sleeping. This is why, when I answer the door, I may look like a crazed woman on the verge of tears. It's not that I'm not happy to see you. It's just that, you know, it's nap time.

I've been thinking though, that it's just not right for me to be so unwelcoming. After all, mi casa es su casa, even if you do come to my casa during nap time. So, from now on, I'm going to be more welcoming. I'm going to tell whoever it is to please, by all means, come in. After all , it must be important if you came in person. During nap time. Without calling first. Please, sit down. Don't mind the yogurt on the couch. Just push those toys over. Make yourself at home. Stay a while. Can I get you some cheerios? Or maybe something different--like cornflakes? I'm so glad you're here. Will you hold O for a minute? I'm just going to pop out to get the mail. No, B can stay with you. I'll be back in a flash. Oh no, I always take my car keys to the mailbox. In fact, I like to drive there, so don't worry if you see the car leaving the driveway. Why don't you try to get the kids to lie down? They love that.
I'll be right back.

Just as soon as you get them to sleep.
And don't worry. I'll knock.

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