Forgiving Myself for Not Finding a Happy Medium

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.

Using Our Words

Have you met my narrator?

Yes, I live with my very own personal life-narrator.  As I go about my daily business, her little voice punctuates each activity with helpful comments like, "Mama, you cleaning up cat throw up," and (as I'm climbing into the shower), "You naked, Mommy.  You got a booty."  I do my best to reply affirmatively to each of these conclusive announcements.

Not only does she narrate my each and every movement, but she has also found herself to be a very worthy subject..  My two-year-old likes to give us up-to-the-minute reports about her state of being.  In keeping with the style of a proper narrator, she keeps it all in the third person.  "Lili needs chocolate milk," she might broadcast or, "Lili doesn't WANT to take a shower!!"

Earlier this week, I found her struggling to get out of a pair of footed pajamas in her bedroom.  She was easy to find as I simply followed the sound of her passionate screeching, "Get OFF Lili's legs, Lili's JAMMIES!!"  When I entered the room, she looked up at me, her face full of rage, and exclaimed, "Lili's jammies NOT WORKING!!"

(This is a very artistic photograph with a balloon in case you were wondering.)

A growing vocabulary and the ability to express her feelings should reduce the frequency of temper tantrums, right?  I am not, however, exactly sure that this is the case.  Sometimes when things don't go her way, words fail her, and the only sounds she can manage are grizzly bear-like growls.  Often she is not impressed with the way I have expressed my feelings as her caregiver, and she reverts to her two most favorite and treasured words: NO and MINE.  The narrator is still a two year old.

I have thus far made mention of everyday words and angry words, but I have saved the best kind of words for last.  Lilianna also has wonderfully loving words tucked up in her brain now.  I cannot explain how extremely loved I feel when this little person whom I spend a great deal of energy taking care of asks ever so gently, "You okay, Mama?" anytime I utter an "ouch."   It goes without saying that her sincere "I love you's" make the grizzly bear moments far more bearable, and the occasional unsolicited "thank you" causes my heart to skip a beat.

Sometimes she even accidentally utters prize-worthy phrases in the midst of all of the mayhem that goes on at our house.  Last night, while I was trying to organize my two older kids and get them into bed, I realized that I had an over-tired two year old on my hands.  She even announced (in the first person), "I'm TIRED, Mama!" as she rolled around on the floor.  A couple of minutes later, she pulled me away from what I was doing, climbed onto my lap and  declared, "I want more mama."  Can you guess what happened?  I dropped everything , and gave her more of me.  I do so like to reward well-chosen words, particularly the sweet ones (even when they are unintentionally sweet.)

"Words are also actions, and actions are a kind of words."

~Ralph Waldo Emerson 

I Got Nothin'

I am feeling terribly uninspired lately.  We are continuing to adjust to life on a schedule.  We really embraced summer time this year.  Early mornings and routines have not been embraced with great zeal so far.  I have also been spending a LOT of my energy trying to prevent this person from doing THIS in the middle of the day...

Sure, it looks lovely, BUT if Lili sleeps at all during the day, she doesn't want to go to bed until 10 or 11 o'clock at night.  Not cool.  So chances are, you might find me playing "Hide Seek," hostessing a bubble bath/ tea party, or singing the Elmo's World theme song repeatedly at about 5 pm each evening.  Things could certainly be worse.

Sweet Dreams, Friends.

Routines, Quality Time and Cool Scars (or the lack thereof)

Boy, my head is spinning a little.  We have not exactly eased gracefully into the new school year.  None of us seem to have latched on to the concept of, "Early to be, early to rise..."  In fact on Monday morning, after she had fallen asleep in her cornflakes three times, I simply sent Sophia back to bed and took her in to school an hour late.  I decided it was more important that she be conscious than on time.  Call me crazy.

I am enjoying the one on one time that I have with Lili now that those other people are off at school all day.  Having me all to herself means that Lil has plenty of time to declare her appreciation for different parts of my body.  This is particularly apparent when she climbs into the shower with me, pats me on the bum and chirps, "I like ya booty, Mama."  We've also played countless games of "Hide Seek."  When the excitement level gets too high, sometimes Lili forgets which part she is playing.  She has been known to jump out from her hiding spot and shout, "I FOUND ME!!" on more than one occasion.  Additionally she has sweetly nurtured me back to health a couple of times when I have stubbed a toe or gotten a paper cut. "Oh!  Owweee!" she sympathizes, "You okay, Mama?"  I'm not the only one who wants to just eat her up, right?

Yesterday I also had a rare bit of  scheduled 'alone time' with my eldest daughter.  We recently noticed an abnormal mole on her hip and followed our pediatrician's recommendation to have it removed.

Sophia was in school; Lili was at her best buddy Mae's house, and I was at good ole Dr. Phenninger's office with a somewhat nervous Emma.  As she sipped a complimentary mini can of Dr. Pepper in the waiting area, my attention was focused solely on her, and I realized that that doesn't happen nearly enough.  Logically, to ease her fears as well as to annoy everyone else sitting in the waiting room, we played "Club Fist," which took me back in time about thirty years.  (Having the "crows peck it off" was one of the ways my Papa Blackburn expressed his love for me.)  Club Fist didn't entertain us for too long, and the conversation topics eventually drifted toward the field of medicine and politics.  Talking politics with a nine-year-old is a wonderful thing.  A nine-year-old simply cannot understand why grown-up politicians cannot get their acts together, speak kindly to and about each other, and compromise occasionally.  She even learned a new vocabulary word: intransigence.  People shouldn't be so intransigent if they're going to be leaders, Emma thinks.

All was going well until we got into the procedure room and were left alone after the nurse gave Emma a once over.  Then I watched my nine-year-old transform into a very frightened five-year-old right before my eyes.  She was full of questions and apprehension.  While we waited, a call to my mom (Emma's Mimi) helped to ease her fears and distract her a bit, but when the doctor entered the room, Emma tensed up like a turkey at Thanksgiving.  Luckily Dr. Phenninger was an expert in dealing with terrified nine-year-olds.  The conversation went something like this:

Dr. P: "What's wrong?!"
Emma: "I'm scared."
Dr. P: "Why?!"
Emma: "Because I've never done this before."
Dr. P (with eyes as wide as saucers and a perfect quivering voice): "Neither have I!!"
Emma: Laughs
Dr. P: "Well, I've never done it ON YOU before.  That's true.  What are you worried about?"
Emma: "I just really don't want it to hurt."
Dr. P: "Listen, Emma, the chainsaw is really loud, but it doesn't hurt very much."

At this point he had completely won her over.  Wonderful Dr. Phenninger talked Emma through everything that was happening, and I'll be a monkey's uncle if she didn't prop up on her elbow and watch every bloody moment of the procedure.  Before it was over, she was, in fact, offering her expert suggestions to the doctor regarding how he might better "get it all off."  Thanks, Emma.  You're very smart.  Now, shut up.

Later on in the evening, I told Emma, "I know that what we did this afternoon wasn't particularly fun, but I really enjoyed spending time with you." 

She replied,  "It was really cool watching the doctor cut that thing off my skin, but I'm really annoyed that I'm not going to have a cool scar."   I choose to believe that this meant that she really enjoyed spending time with me as well.

  Welcome back to the craziness of the school year, y'all!

It's a Wonderful Life!

Why don't I have any time?  Why is having three children so much more demanding that having two?  How much harder could it be, right? 

I think I have solved the mystery this weekend.  Here goes...  Lili wakes up at around 6 am.  Sometimes I can convince her to catnap off an on in our bed until about 7:30.  Then for the rest of the day, she is my constant companion.  She showers with me, accompanies me on all of my errands and climbs onto the open door of the dishwasher and stomps her little feet as I load and unload it.  She begs for bites of my breakfast, lunch and dinner and chats to me while I'm in the bathroom.  If there is ever a moment when she is not by my side, it can be counted on that she is up to something naughty.  She enjoys removing lights and ornaments from the Christmas tree, "cleaning" the toilet and filling it with tissue AND she also likes to empty all of the drawers in my bedroom.  If she takes a nap, it usually happens en route to wherever we happen to be going on any given day.  She will also occasionally nap in the baby backpack while I do the grocery shopping.  All of this is wonderful and exhausting, but there are also two other little people that live in this house...

Emma and Sophia are superstars about getting up and getting dressed completely on their own in the morning.  I know what a lucky mom I am in this regard.  Sophie usually comes and wakes ME up at around 7:15 am at which point I roll out of bed (with Lili) and make something exceptionally wonderful for breakfast (like toast with jam or oatmeal with fruit).  I help the big girls into their coats, snow pants and boots, send them out the door with lovingly packed lunch boxes, and watch from the warmth of the living room as they wait for their school bus at the end of the driveway in the frigid Michigan early morning.  And then I proceed with the sorting of the mountain of laundry in my closet.  Lili helps by throwing everything out of the basket and rolling in it or playing peek a boo with it.  Eventually a basket of white towels and one rogue red sock makes its way into the wash, and then we continue our day with the remaining activities listed in paragraph one.

Later in the afternoon, the big yellow bus rolls back down the street and I am greeted by two chatty and ravenous little ladies.  I make snacks.  Check that.  I make "Dinner Number One".  Two hot dogs or a large plate of pasta is not a snack.  Then we are off to swimming, gymnastics or church.  Lili gets to ride along and I get to entertain her while the big girls practice their activities.  The entertainment of Lili often involves a little box of raisins and a cup of juice followed by a game of "You Come Back Here; I'm Going to Get You, You Little Monster".  Then we return home for dinner number two, homework, baths and quality time.  Quality time involves me being asked questions like, "Hey mom, so like do you think you're a pretty good mom?  I'm just asking."  or "If I were a badger living in a land called Pillow World, what do you think my favorite hobbies would be?"

At some point I will shuffle Lili off to bed (her own bed, Glory Hallelujah!),  and then I begin the bedtime rituals for the other two girls.  (There is usually a wonderful Dad around who helps with this routine, but our kids are experts at stretching out the bedtime hour.)  By the time it is all said and done, I am usually finishing reading and chatting with Emma by 9:30 or 10.  I love reading with my kids and am a huge fan of children's literature, so I am not complaining, but WOW there isn't much "Me Time" happening here these days.  No wonder I often stay up past midnight reading or emailing or simply dish-washing without my tap dancing little pally.

I sincerely hope that none of this sounds like I am grumbling.  I really love my busy life, but until I sat still for a moment (a rare occurrence) and thought about a typical day in my life, I really couldn't figure out why it is now so much harder to find time to bake, or hang those pictures that have been collecting dust behind the couch for months, to play board games with my older kids or to blog about how fabulous we all are.  I also used to love to entertain guests, but now the thought of it gives me hives.  Here is a photos of something that does NOT give me hives...

 

These three little girls, ages 8, 6 and 1 do keep me extremely busy.  My house never looks perfect.  There is always laundry to be done, a dirty dish or seven in the sink, and something unidentified and sticky somewhere on the kitchen counter.  There is toothpaste on the bathroom mirror, a little girl's sock in between the sofa cushions and a handful of crushed cheerios on the kitchen floor.  But there is also love and a lot of laughter, and we wouldn't have it any other way.  It truly is a wonderful, hectic, busy, meaningful life, and those little girls won't be little forever.  Merry Christmas!  Love, Meredith