Posts Tagged ‘mommyhood’

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Monday, February 15th, 2010

I don’t know about the other mommy-types out there, or even just the other female-types, but I feel like as soon as I get caught up in one area, I’m falling more behind in another. Take the blogging versus house cleaning arena around here: I was doing so well at consistently making time in my evenings to write something up for the next day, but my house has been steadily declining. For at least three weeks straight there have been dirty dishes piled in my sink. I kept them from overflowing and spreading to the counters (most days), but never completely vanquished them even for a moment. And Emma’s room was staying at a steady “disorganized” level, as was the living room.

Until the last few days. We had friends over Thursday night (which ended in a massive meltdown that sapped me of all desire to write, so I figured I would get to it on Friday), and then another friend over Friday afternoon. And I got a little caught up since Emma was being entertained by someone other than me, but then I cooked again, and suddenly on Sunday I was standing in a home I hardly recognized, feeling overwhelmed by the mess and disappointed in myself for not doing any writing, but feeling pretty good about all the time I spent with people over the weekend.

I can’t imagine I’m the only one who faces this challenge, but many times it sure seems like it. There’s such an unstated pressure on wives or mothers to have it all together; for the home to be presentable, the meals to be wholesome, and everyone to be happy. And I am boldly saying I am not one of those women. I don’t have the balance down yet. I get distracted by the television, the internet, and all sorts of time-wasters. And then I get down on myself that I haven’t cleaned my kitchen, or I’ve broken my writing streak, or I haven’t exercised, and I inevitably run to the cupboard for solace, feeling plenty guilty and undoing any of the good I’ve done.

So here’s what I’m going to try, and I’d like to encourage you to as well (if you suffer from the same dilemma). Accept what I was able to do, and take value in the things that have no outward reward. By this I mean that every little bit counts. No, it’s not awesome that I didn’t clean every single dish, but I did clean some, which is progress. And yes, I spent a large chunk of my weekend spending time with people and not cleaning, and that is something that I have nothing physical to show for. BUT . . . I recharged a little. I wasn’t around the mess as much, and I was able to feel like a person functioning in society, and not just as a housekeeper.

So when I got up today it was back to just us and the house, but I was ready for it. And guess what? My kitchen was clean today. It only lasted for about a half an hour before I moved on to dinner, but I caught up. And Emma’s room, which had escalated to full out war-zone disaster, was cleaned back down to its usual disorganized state (and yes, she did help, as did Tinker Bell). The living room carpet was revealed again, and vacuumed of crumbs, and I even found my dining table after clearing out all the Valentine project mess. And the silly thing is, I still found myself being disappointed that I didn’t blog today.

There is so much accomplished in every day. So much that goes unnoticed. So much that we don’t give ourselves credit for. For me, it’s difficult to take value out of the hours I spend preparing and feeding food to my children, and while I don’t expect to ever feel great significance in that simple act, that doesn’t make it insignificant. Emma could probably fend on her own for a little while, and could maybe manage to feed her brother some cereal, but in all reality, without me they would starve. I am keeping two human beings alive. And I am going to try to recognize the value in that on a daily basis.

And I think, I think, that perhaps in having a positive attitude toward what is getting accomplished, that more will in turn be accomplished. Instead of turning a blind eye to the clean kitchen and only seeing the dirty toilet, and thus, feeling those dreaded claws of failure, I think stopping to recognize the clean kitchen would instead motivate. I can see this working in many husband/wife relationships. If Husband surprises Wife while she is out by cleaning up the kitchen, she responds with joy and surprise and praise, which makes him want to elicit that response again. If she responds by asking why he didn’t get to the living room too, you can bet he doesn’t ever want to do her a favor again. So women, start treating yourselves like you would treat someone else for the work you do! (And husbands, feel free to praise your wives for all they accomplish. Actually, I’m pretty sure praising someone would work in a roommate situation, too, or even just in a visiting friend situation. Really, compliments are good for anyone!)

And the hardest part in all this—for myself included—is to accept the praise. Even coming from yourself. Some days are going to be productive enough that you do move two steps forward, but on the days where it seems you’ve only made backwards progress it’s still valuable to take joy in the small things. And, of course, to remember that tomorrow’s another day. :D

And in order to make this something I remember to do, look for a new post on Sundays, called “Encourage-me Sundays.” Anyone who would like to join in is more than welcome to share something you’re proud of from the week. Encouraging ourselves is great, but it’s also wonderful to be able to share it!

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The Snow Princess

Wednesday, February 10th, 2010

Most days lately all I want to do is give my children away. I question why it is I ever desired to be a mother, and I fantasize about going to a job every day and being able to make money and feel like a member of society. But one day last week I was reminded why I do want to be a mother, and why it really wouldn’t be that awesome to have to go to work for the Man (despite the fact that I could fund my shopping addiction).

It snowed. A beautiful, glorious, slow-falling, chunky snow. It wasn’t windy, and it wasn’t so cold that you felt yourself freeze down to your bones. And along with the miracle of the day, III actually fell asleep for a nap, so Emma and I got all bundled up and headed out to make some tracks in the untampered snow of the back yard. We made some nice stompy footprints and then decided to make a snow man.

But as Emma was stomping around with her pink princess umbrella, she thought it would be much cooler if we could make a Princess Aurora out of snow, just like the Aurora on the handle of her umbrella. I laughed at first, thinking it was impossible, but then I remembered she’s just a kid. Nothing is impossible. Why not have a snow princess? I knew it wasn’t likely to be pretty or perfect, but it might be fun to try. And that’s what we did. Emma helped me roll the snow around the yard to make a nice big ball and then I attempted to shape it into a more skirt-like figure.

Then we made her upper body, a neck, and a head. When it came time for arms and hair, though, I was stumped. I tried to make some arms and ended up knocking her head off in the process, and I was completely clueless as to how to fashion long princess hair. So we stopped there. Emma created a crown, which we placed on top, and she was perfectly satisfied (and honestly, I think I had lost her attention by this point anyway). We stuck some purple Sweet Tarts on for eyes, a carrot for a nose (may not be very princess-like, but ever since we bought the carrots Emma

was begging to make a snow man in order to give it a carrot nose), and some strawberry Laffy Taffy for the mouth. We wrapped a scarf around her and she was ready to go!

Some days it’s hard to be a parent, and some days there are rewards that really are better than a fat paycheck. Instead of having to sit in an office somewhere, I got to play in the snow. I didn’t have to do it alone, and while I felt like a bit of a dork trying to build a snow princess, I was a pretty cool mom in Emma’s eyes. And then I got to teach her how to make snow angels! I can’t ever be a kid again; I can’t ever know what it is to not have concern for what I’m going to make for dinner, or where the money’s coming from that pays for dinner, but I can feel a glimpse of that first joy and the excitement of discovery through my kids. I don’t have to completely grow up.

And I’m going to have these kids with me for a while, but not forever. So I’m trying to slow it down and take the time to be silly and get cold and messy. And when Emma is in hysterics over something ridiculous, or III is awake at 4 in the morning, I’m really going to try to accept the bad with the good. Because one day they’ll both be too cool for me; they won’t want to make snow sculptures in the back yard with me, or give me big, slobbery kisses.

Now, if someone could just tell me how to accept the bad without losin’ it . . .

Aurora in progress. (Notice the umbrella in the left corner)

Emma and Aurora

My *angel*

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Before Kids…

Tuesday, January 26th, 2010

…I got to pop my own bubble wrap.

…Mealtime didn’t take two hours.

…”Accidents” meant something like a car crash, or a slip on the ice. (And I realize this could be taken two ways!)

…I only had to brush my own teeth.

…Bathtime was relaxing.

…I remembered to brush my hair every day.

…I didn’t try to align my shower time with Dragon Tales.

…I laughed at the words “This plastic bag is not a toy.”

…My shirts stayed snot-free.

Before kids, I thought mine would never be naughty. And I’m sure when they’re teenagers they’ll never talk back to me!


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Sunday Best

Monday, January 18th, 2010

I know there’s a bit of a standard in many churches that Sunday mornings require one’s “Sunday best,” meaning you must participate in the unspoken rule of wearing a suit and tie if you’re male, or a dress if you’re female. This is clearly not at all churches—many have a very laid-back, come-as-you-are attitude that is very sincere. And then there are some very staunchly traditional churches that may give you the cold shoulder if you’re wearing even dress pants (I’m talking females here). Anyway, I’m not writing this to get into some semi-political/theological discussion on proper church attire, and how your clothing either brings honor or shame to God—I honestly don’t care to get into such an argument, as it would probably only end in frustration.

I just want to say that I still dress up, and I’d like to explain why, without ever bringing God into it. (Although the mere fact that I’m talking about my attire while going to worship God technically is still centered around Him, but just bear with me here.) As a mother of two small children, and particularly now as a mother who could go for weeks without ever seeing another human being if I chose, I set all my own standards of living. I don’t have a hungry husband coming home at 6 that I need to have dinner prepared for. I don’t have to go to any fancy work parties for my husband’s office. I don’t ever need to be seen with anyone other than my children.

And this state of living is nice, but it is making me more lazy than usual. If my kids stay up way too late and then the baby wakes up and cries for hours in the middle of the night, leaving him exhausted enough to sleep until noon, why should I get up before then? Nobody will know the difference. No one’s coming home at lunch to make me feel guilty for being such a slouch while the “rest of the world” has been productive for 4 hours of the day so far. Does it really matter if I’m still in my pajamas at 2 in the afternoon?

I haven’t started watching soap operas yet, or making grilled cheese with an iron, so I haven’t quite sunk to Mr. Mom levels of stay-at-home parenting, but this lifestyle is why I still dress up on Sundays. Sunday is the one day of the week where I set an alarm. It is the one day that I force myself to care a little more than usual, and by doing so, I am rewarded. Staying in one’s pajamas all day sounds like fun, but in the end, I find myself more drained and feeling gross. Not to mention I seem to way too ready to have a “good” reason for eating massive doses of chocolate, or whatever form of sugar I happen to find.

When I dress up on a Sunday it’s not just throwing on jeans and a t-shirt to make myself presentable to run errands in; it’s taking a little bit of pride in how I look. And I don’t mean pride like, “Oh, everyone look how pretty I am. You all just wish you could look as hot as me!” I mean the type of pride that one gets when dressing for a job, or even a job interview. Perhaps it’s more of just a feeling of self-worth. I get to feel like a person, not just a mommy (which seems to be synonymous with maid, short-order cook, and babysitter, all at once). Once again, I am not saying that a mommy is an unworthy job, only that it can leave said mommy very drained, and I think it’s important that mothers get a chance to feel good about themselves, and to get out of the house looking and feeling confident and happy at least one day a week.

So as long as I’m still dressing up on Sundays, all is not lost; and while I’m semi-shooting for being a productive person with a before-noon schedule for every day of the week, my mediocre goal is to just hang on to Sundays. And I’m pretty confident I will succeed.

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Should I Stay or Should I Go?

Wednesday, December 16th, 2009

The last few weeks have been wrought with indecision and change. To update every time the plan shifted would have meant an endless stream of indefinite finality, making everyone else feel as thrown about as I do. And no one wants that. Some things are now set, though. Lloyd will go to California in January. I will not. I will either remain where I am, or go back to Nebraska. It’s been a lot of tough decision-making, and we don’t make this choice lightly. Friday our ultimate decision will be made known, so I thought before that deadline, I’d take a moment to say all the things I want to say to all the friends from both my homes.

First, it’s been a tough choice for me; the should I stay or should I go dilemma has endlessly perplexed me. I always liked the image of the man in a boat, caught in the middle of a storm, praying for God to save him. There’s an Everybodyduck song that says, “God will save you like He said, but you’ve still got to use your head. If you’ve got time to row to shore, don’t drop the oars.” So I kind of feel like that man in the storm, and rather than just sitting still and crying for help, we’re doing something. Knowing that I cannot move unless someone else takes over our house here in Texas, we put it up for rent, asking enough to cover our costs, plus a little extra in case of an increase in taxes. This is us rowing. Now we’re just waiting to see where God takes us. If by Friday we have someone ready to sign a lease, then I will leave. If no one is interested, then I will stay.

No matter what happens, someone will be unhappy. But I’d like you all to put yourselves in my shoes for just a second, and realize that you being unhappy does not help me at all. Moving to Texas in the first place made a lot of people unhappy, and moving back will make those same people happy. The opposite is true for those in Texas. And there are friends in many locations that have different opinions and different feelings, and I’m just asking all of you to chill.

No matter where I am, I feel guilty for making someone sad. Part of me wants to tell myself to get over it and just live my life, and part of me wants to tell my friends to just get over it. I want to not feel stressed about all the people I’m disappointing. I want to not feel pressured to be somewhere based on my friendship levels. And I don’t know how to tell people this without sounding mean or making them feel guilty. So read on.

All of my friends are important to me, but obviously I can’t live physically near to every one of them (but I’m starting to understand a part of why Heaven is going to be so amazing!). I can’t please all the grandparents and relatives, and trying to is starting to overwhelm me. In the end, I’m back to having to just focus on making choices as a mother–for my family. And that doesn’t mean choosing one set of friends over another; it means choosing an option that is financially sound at this point so that my family can be provided for. I would love to live with any one of you, and financially that is a wonderful option, but another factor to consider is the sanity factor. You may say you’d love to have my kids around, but after a few days, or maybe weeks, you will change your mind. The screaming that comes from my youngest is difficult, and I don’t want to burden anyone with that. On top of that, I’d spend my time feeling guilty at being a mooch, and believing that no matter how much you deny his screaming doesn’t bother you, you must be lying.

I thank you all for making me feel so wanted, but please, make me feel a little less wanted. And when the decision is made, support me, because no matter where I am, I’m going to need friends–in person or on the phone. To you it’s just a matter of where I’m living, but what’s been going through my mind is: Wow. My husband just quit his job to follow his dream out in California. That’s awesome. Except that I’m going to be a single mother. And if this business doesn’t fly, then we’re unemployed. If I stay, we’ve got a big mortgage to cover every month. If I go, then I have 2 weeks to pack up our entire life (again!) and move into a small apartment. And there’s a million other things I’m worried about. Moving is obnoxious and tedious, and I’d really like to just enjoy Christmas with my family and friends, but there’s this cloud of impending doom that keeps trying to creep in.

I am trying to stay positive. This opportunity for Lloyd is amazing. It’s just what he’s always wanted. It is something to rejoice over and be thankful for. And I know that I’m not supposed to be worrying about the little things in life, and that I will be provided for, but some days I’m better at trusting in that than others. This is just a part of our particular family progress, and I’m going to have a whole lot of new progress to get through as I adjust to having a long-distance marriage with two kids. But I know I have wonderful friends to rely on, to advise me, to listen to my insanity, and to spend time with me. And if any of you have a suggestion on how to make everyone happy, then by all means, do share!

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I thought wrong

Friday, September 11th, 2009

I thought Fridays were supposed to be wonderful–the exclamation point of the week, signaling the end of a long work week, and welcoming in the blissful weekend.

I thought children were supposed to be marvelous blessings, constantly filling my heart with joy, and giving me reason to get up each morning.

I thought when husbands got nine-to-five jobs it meant he would be home every night, ready to spend time with his sweet family. And that he would help clean up the mess of a kitchen.

I thought ice cream could make everything better.

I thought wrong.

This week Friday was just another day. Another day of one child getting up much too early after the other child stayed up much too late. Instead of Friday!, it was more of Friday…  Leaves much to be desired. Plus, it was raining again, which can be nice, but just felt dismal.

And my children do give me reason to get up…just not like I anticipated. One whines for her bowl of cereal, and the other cries for a belly full of milk. This week my heart has not been filled with joy, and I have not experienced a single moment of bliss. I feel like it’s just been one crying tantrum after another. The baby can’t stand to be put down, and I can’t stand to listen to him cry (and even Classical Baby has his limits). Instead of thinking about how much I love my children, I’ve been daydreaming about abandoning them. This isn’t how motherhood was supposed to be. I mean, isn’t this my calling in life?!

When you marry an entrepreneur, you can expect success, but nobody tells you that that success comes at a cost, and that cost is you. The 9-to-5 job gets the bills paid, so that his dream can become a reality. But to get the dream, the work must be put in, which means an additional 6-to-8 job. I don’t resent him for it; I want him to be happy in what he’s doing, and I know that when the dream is here, the past will be past…but right now it’s the present, and waiting for the future hasn’t gotten any easier.

And ice cream doesn’t really make everything better. But some days it doesn’t make things worse, and that’s all I’m looking for.

(And seriously? Getting a man to do dishes on a consistent basis? I knew that one was a fantasy. ;) )

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