Routines are good for children. This seemed a logical fact when I had my first baby ten years ago. That first baby was not a textbook/easy/sleepy baby, so logic and all of my parenting books told me that what she required was a stricter, more serious routine. Surely that would sort her out. I remember holding her in my arms in her dark nursery, swaying back and forth while counting the number of times I lovingly stroked her back. When I reached 150, it was time to lay her down in her crib and leave the room whether she was ready or not. That was the routine. I was 25 years old, had no idea what I was doing, and I was certain she was judging me harshly through her tear-filled eyes. I clung to my routines for at least six months because I was sure that they were all that was holding us together. At some point I figured out that all of my routines were robbing me of the joys of motherhood, so I went in a different direction.
In fact sometime between then and now my parenting style has swung to the complete opposite extreme. My youngest daughter has never had a set bedtime or consistent meal times. Now that my older kids are able to ride the bus to school, she wakes up whenever she wants each morning. Sometimes we have commitments that require our timely arrival, but most of the time, we do what we want when we want. We might crawl back into bed and read stories for a whole hour in the middle of the day. Putting together a giant floor puzzle may prompt our realization that the carpet needs to be Hoovered. So my two year old and I pull our vacuum cleaners out of the closet and get busy, forgetting that we had planned to tackle the pile of laundry in the bathroom next. Basically our day plays out much like the mouse who was inadvertently given a cookie in that children's book that I've read aloud at least four hundred times. Nobody is the boss of us.
Except for the fact that last week, somebody was the boss of us! I signed on to teach fourth grade VBS at church and my three kids were enrolled too. Last week we all had to be up, dressed, fed and watered, and out the door by 8:30 am. This was a shock to my two year old's system. At some point every afternoon all of her bones would apparently turn to jelly and she would collapse into an inconsolable, snotty invertebrate creature on the floor. One afternoon I managed to get her into the car where she fell asleep before it got really over-the-top ugly, but on that particular day, I forgot to feed her any lunch.
In other words last week made me once again realize and acknowledge how literally awesome working mothers are. Working Mamas, I do not know how you do it! Of course not everyone is cut out for being a stay-at-home mama either. Perhaps I am one of those people since I'm pretty sure I should spend more time perfecting the art of folding a fitted sheet and less time pretending to be a Scattercat with my two-year-old while Jessica Fletcher in her velour tracksuit jogs across my television solving mysteries in the background. (Secret, dirty confession: my two-year-old can recognize and identify the theme music from Murder, She Wrote with alarming quickness.) But being a stay-at-home Mama really makes me happy, and I feel so lucky that I do not have to get up and go out in the world to a "real job" every day.
I used to be a person who had a real job and adhered to a sensible routine (on workdays at least), but left to my own devices for the last ten years, I have become very comfortable with the absence of routine. Last week also made me realize that this kind of lifestyle isn't preparing my kids for life in the real world. I'm sure there must be some sort of happy medium, but it doesn't appear that I am going to achieve it while I am the boss of me.
What's the point?
As a mother I fail in many ways. I model imperfection rather perfectly. I am ever so hopeful that someone else will teach my children how to be organized managers of their time and space. I am not throwing in the towel. I still struggle to stay on top of housework. I can bark like the best of the hockey moms when we all need to get out the door at a certain time in the morning. I will organize the laundry room one day. But I know that these are not my natural gifts.
When my children are at home with me, I will allow them to enjoy life unstructured. I have decided that it's okay. I will continue to marvel at the Mamas who appear to have everything organized and under control. I will continue to steal your ideas and try to duplicate your perfectly arranged spice cupboard, but I will also forgive myself for not being just like you. My kids may grow up and remember that I could never find my shoes, keys, sunglasses, etc. when I needed them, but they will also remember that I let them stay up past their bedtime reading stories in my bed. They will remember that their mom sang moose songs and made themed desserts when she certainly should have been doing something more sensible. I hope that they will remember that I loved them, that I spent time sharing books, music and quirky conversation, and that I was genuinely interested in their thoughts and feelings. A girl can dream.
And now I am off to enjoy the first day of summer with my kids... as soon as I find my sunglasses.
In fact sometime between then and now my parenting style has swung to the complete opposite extreme. My youngest daughter has never had a set bedtime or consistent meal times. Now that my older kids are able to ride the bus to school, she wakes up whenever she wants each morning. Sometimes we have commitments that require our timely arrival, but most of the time, we do what we want when we want. We might crawl back into bed and read stories for a whole hour in the middle of the day. Putting together a giant floor puzzle may prompt our realization that the carpet needs to be Hoovered. So my two year old and I pull our vacuum cleaners out of the closet and get busy, forgetting that we had planned to tackle the pile of laundry in the bathroom next. Basically our day plays out much like the mouse who was inadvertently given a cookie in that children's book that I've read aloud at least four hundred times. Nobody is the boss of us.
Except for the fact that last week, somebody was the boss of us! I signed on to teach fourth grade VBS at church and my three kids were enrolled too. Last week we all had to be up, dressed, fed and watered, and out the door by 8:30 am. This was a shock to my two year old's system. At some point every afternoon all of her bones would apparently turn to jelly and she would collapse into an inconsolable, snotty invertebrate creature on the floor. One afternoon I managed to get her into the car where she fell asleep before it got really over-the-top ugly, but on that particular day, I forgot to feed her any lunch.
In other words last week made me once again realize and acknowledge how literally awesome working mothers are. Working Mamas, I do not know how you do it! Of course not everyone is cut out for being a stay-at-home mama either. Perhaps I am one of those people since I'm pretty sure I should spend more time perfecting the art of folding a fitted sheet and less time pretending to be a Scattercat with my two-year-old while Jessica Fletcher in her velour tracksuit jogs across my television solving mysteries in the background. (Secret, dirty confession: my two-year-old can recognize and identify the theme music from Murder, She Wrote with alarming quickness.) But being a stay-at-home Mama really makes me happy, and I feel so lucky that I do not have to get up and go out in the world to a "real job" every day.
I used to be a person who had a real job and adhered to a sensible routine (on workdays at least), but left to my own devices for the last ten years, I have become very comfortable with the absence of routine. Last week also made me realize that this kind of lifestyle isn't preparing my kids for life in the real world. I'm sure there must be some sort of happy medium, but it doesn't appear that I am going to achieve it while I am the boss of me.
What's the point?
As a mother I fail in many ways. I model imperfection rather perfectly. I am ever so hopeful that someone else will teach my children how to be organized managers of their time and space. I am not throwing in the towel. I still struggle to stay on top of housework. I can bark like the best of the hockey moms when we all need to get out the door at a certain time in the morning. I will organize the laundry room one day. But I know that these are not my natural gifts.
When my children are at home with me, I will allow them to enjoy life unstructured. I have decided that it's okay. I will continue to marvel at the Mamas who appear to have everything organized and under control. I will continue to steal your ideas and try to duplicate your perfectly arranged spice cupboard, but I will also forgive myself for not being just like you. My kids may grow up and remember that I could never find my shoes, keys, sunglasses, etc. when I needed them, but they will also remember that I let them stay up past their bedtime reading stories in my bed. They will remember that their mom sang moose songs and made themed desserts when she certainly should have been doing something more sensible. I hope that they will remember that I loved them, that I spent time sharing books, music and quirky conversation, and that I was genuinely interested in their thoughts and feelings. A girl can dream.
And now I am off to enjoy the first day of summer with my kids... as soon as I find my sunglasses.
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