Busy Busy BUSY

I'm coming off a deadline at work.  Yeah for transitions!

I did a service project with some women from my church.  We made 6 DOZEN dresses for children in Haiti.  It was an awesome experience.

I'm doing this whole get healthy thing.  It's working out well.

My girls got sick.  Real sick by our standards.  They managed to do it at the same time which was very courteous of them.  Recovery is happening and I look forward to achieving our normal by the end of the week.

Last week I finished up a seminar on dealing with clutter in a kinder and more soulful way.  I've got a lot of food for thought and, I think, some coping mechanisms.

Inspiration struck and I've begun researching how to make a quilt for Inchie and imagining what it might look like.  As my second born she gets so few of my firsts.  I want this one to be just for her.

And I want to write about all of it, but I haven't.  Life is wonderful and complicated and full to the brim these days.  I oscillate between reacting and interacting.  I need to interact a little more.  I enjoy the moments I spend hands-on doing projects and shaping my day.  Maybe that is why I've gotten so much more engaged with my sewing.  I've also been planning my days a bit more before they happen.  No plan is 100%, but I like operating with a plan better than in one's absence.

This morning when I sat and read a mom's post about transitioning from working to staying at home with her kids, I paused.  Would I want to stay at home?  Yes.  I could do so much if nine hours of each day did not belong to the company for which I work.  Sewing.  Crafting.  Reading.  Volunteer Work.  Writing.  I would never be idle.  Would I want to care for my children full-time?  Hrm.  I love my girls.  But I'm not sure I want to be home with them everyday.  Someday I hope I can form a different relationship with my work and my time.  But I'm happy with my relationship with my kids and the balance we've achieved there.

Do you take time on busy days to day dream about other ways?

I am Mom Enough

My three year old doesn't like to go to bed.  I've had an exceptionally hard time dealing with this.  I work hard to keep our lives running smoothly.  Having a little strong-headed Bean making a wreak out of my schedule on a daily...  sometimes hourly... basis...  *sigh*  I don't always handle it well.  It's humbling and frustrating and embarrassing.

It all started when Bean was about to turn two.  I was 8 months pregnant with Inchie and needed to clear out the Nursery.  Ray and I made a beautiful room for our little girl.  She got new paint and original artwork.  Her great granddad's bed was reconditioned.  I even found my old Mickey Mouse lamp to watch over her at night.  Anything to make up for all the change we were heaping on her life.

The first night in her new room, she climbed on her mattress and slept peacefully.  She was proud to be sleeping in her big girl bed.  She loved the new special space we'd made for her.  We'd succeeded.

That night marked the last peaceful night sleep she got for months.  At first I thought it was a phase.  I could wait it out.  But as the nights passed I grew weary.  Putting a 30 pound child back in bed 30 times a night was wearing on my already over-extended (literally) body.  I began to search for answers.  I read books.  I sat with my husband in the dark devising strategies.  I emailed friends begging to know how they did it.  I called my mom.  I prayed.  I began to doubt every choice I'd ever made as a mother.  Few solutions were offered and those that were sounded like criticisms.

Four weeks went by like this.  Inchie was days away from being welcomed into the work.  I was exhausted.  I second guessed every action I took.  I criticized my husband's actions.  My world was coming apart at the seams.  Something had to change.  With tears in my eyes and a heavy heart, I gave up.  We borrowed a second crib to set up in Bean's new room.  I had to do what was best for me and my family.  In one month, we had gone from happy-loving-laughing to sullen-sniping-yelling.  I felt as thought I failed my little girl.  I'd told her the wonders of being a big girl and then I'd demoted her to a cage when I couldn't handle it.

The crib stayed in her room for four months.  They were not peaceful months.  Bean still fought bed time and fought the cage we called a crib.  The damage had been done.  That crib bought us enough time to welcome Inchie into the world and get her sleeping through the night.  I settled back into work.  Life began to resemble something I could handle.  Then Bean climbed out of the crib.  It had outlived its usefulness.

Nothing helped me deal with this reality.   No book or piece of advice or blog post or restraint system showed me the magical formula to get my girl to sleep at night.  To this day I don't know how we manage it.  But we do manage it.  More often than not she sleeps.  Quite often we don't.  But over the past year and a half I have gained something.

There is a peace inside me I didn't have when this all started.  An assurance that I will grow and stretch myself to any length to raise these girls.  I will take risks and make awful decisions along the road all in hopes of raising these girls in a safe, loving, healthy environment.  I will reevaluate and modify my beliefs if necessary.  I will not give up on them.  I must not give up on me.  There exists no woman in any world who loves my girls to the extent that I do.  I am the first and best mother they will ever have.  I am Mom Enough.

***

This post was inspired by the reactions I've read to the cover of this week's TIME magazine.  A mother stands on the cover breastfeeding her 3 year old son in a non-conventional pose.  The title is "Are you Mom enough?"  My reaction, like so many others, to those 4 words is visceral.  There are as many ways to parent as there are children being parented.  I share my story to illustrate one daily struggle which defines me as a mother.  With experience, I am Mom Enough to answer that question without doubt.  However, there are moms out there whose hearts and minds are filled with doubt.  This Mother's Day we need to appreciate them for all that they do.  And support them however they choose to accomplish it.

A Healthy Dose of Sunshine

Today was perfect.

Normally perfect is a word I avoid.  There's too much pressure there, but today...  Today really was perfect.  I want to remember today.

Day Care was closed today.  As my husband covered Good Friday, I got approval to be home today.  I can't say I was happy about it.  I don't always (some might say often) handle schedule disruptions with grace.  This was no exception.  But stay home I did.

This morning I woke up with the girls.  We wished Ray a happy work day and then set off to figure out our own plans.  Breakfast.  T-ball in the back yard.  Clean up the swing set.  Run a few errands.  Lunch at Chick-fil-A. Visit the library.  Run just one more errand.  Go to the park.  Nothing spectacular happened.  We went from thing to thing.  There was bickering and coercing.  I even drew attention at the library when I yelped after Inchie BIT me.  Apparently, they don't hear grown women yelp all that often.

The funny thing about nothing spectacular happening?  We had a genuinely great day.  It snuck up on me.  I was sitting in the park eating snack with the girls.  The sun was warm on my neck, but I'd even remembered to bring and apply the sun screen.  Milk was being consumed through chocolate straws.  On this beautiful day, we sat together on a park bench without another soul around.

While this was my favorite moment, it took the whole day for me to appreciate it.  Time with the girls, doing things they love to do, together.  For about 45 minutes, I was completely at peace.

Parenting is hard.

Yesterday Mommy put herself in timeout.  This is not the first time and I'm willing to bet it will not be the last time I spend 3 minutes in timeout.  Shortly before removing myself from the situation, I heard this shrill yelling, almost threatening, voice in my daughters room.  There was a little 3 year old girl on the floor rolling around with her underwear.  She was experiencing dressing amnesia.  It is a sickness often seen in young children once dressing themselves has stopped being a novelty and turned into a routine expectation.  It is particularly acute when parents are distracted by younger siblings or running late for an appointment.

After observing the 3 year old in her natural habitat.  I continued looking for the source of the awful noise.  There was no one else is the room.  No one that is except me.  I realized, as I shrilly threatened "Put your clothes on NOW or you WILL sit in timeout for THREE minutes", that I had yet again lost it.  I was sounding ridiculous.  I was giving into the frustration of parenting a toddler.  She was winning this battle because I was standing there yelling.  And worst of all?  The grin on her face showed me that she knew it.  I left the room to go sit in my room for a timeout.

Moments like that make me wonder if I made the wrong choice in my life.  I don't always love being a parent.  There are many sides to me and more than a couple of them see this whole parenting gig as not worth the effort.  So many people talk about being in the moment and treasuring your kids.  I constantly hear moms talk about how blessed they are and what a joy it is to stay home with their kids all the time.  They don't want the time to end.  They home school to keep the good times rolling.   I wonder what I'm doing wrong.

There are also moms on the other side of the fence.  And THANKFULLY some of them share their frustration.  I need that more than the air I breath at times.  Hearing that it isn't all rainbows and sunshine.  During my 3 minute timeout I pray for strength to keep my temper and a little detachment to not take her rebellion quite so personally.  As I cool off, I notice that my little 3 year old has recovered from her bout of amnesia and is now fully dressed.  It's magical.  She wonders where Mommy went.  I determine my timeout is over.

I scoop her up and tell her I'm sorry for yelling.  I also slip in a notice of how well she dressed herself. She tells she forgives me and she loves me.  I hope she knows I love her too.

Little Monster.

I'm in so much trouble.  When I decided I wanted to be a Mom, I imagined these independent, clever children.  They would play on their own whiling away the hours until they needed a hug from Mom just to reinforce their awesomeness.  That magical hug would happen and they would joyfully go on with whatever pursuit they had imagined for themselves.

I know.  Dreams.  *sigh*

Somewhere along the way I also took it for granted that they would somehow understand feelings and be empathetic little creatures.  I can't even claim to have dreamt that one up.  It's too far fetched for even my dream state.  I tend to stick to dreams of waking up to a quiet house on Saturday morning or a million dollars being given to me by a long lost but very rich uncle.

Lately Bean has been carrying my lunch box into the house.  She likes that is purple and she loves 'helping' mommy.  Yesterday I got her out of the car, handed her my lunch box and went around to get Inchie.  I took it for granted that the lunch box would make it into the house unscathed.

Moments later the lunch box is getting kicked down the stair and around the driveway.  I'm pretty sure I growled calmly asked Bean to pick it up and carry it into the house.  I might have tacked a NOW onto the end of my request.  Somewhere in there threats of staying home while Inchie went trick or treating might have come out of my mouth.  In the moments after day care pickup, can Mom really be held accountable for all that she says?

Bean's brain kicks into the gear (or the threats worked, who knows) and she comes down and snatches up the lunch box.  As she head up the stairs she shouts over her shoulder, "Does this make you happy Mom?"

*sigh*

I'm getting sassed by my three year old.  Not just sassed but cut to the quick!  Time spent attempt to teach her empathy is turned back against me in a flash.  If she can do this at age three, what power will she weld at age thirteen?

Three Years.

Smooth sailing is not one of the ways I would describe my first year with Bean.  She was healthy and happy, but motherhood just didn't click for me.  The first few months were a blur as she and I recovered from pregnancy and delivery.  I read books and made baby food and kept nursing long after it began making me miserable.  I was striving to make the right decisions for her and find confidence in my abilities as her mom.  She grew more independent and I began feeling more comfortable.

The day she turned one I had to take half a day of paid leave.  Of all the milestones she passed, her first birthday was not the one I expected to knock the air out of my lungs.  I looked into her smiling eyes and loved her so much it just about broke my heart.  I dropped her off at day care that morning with  my husband.  As I headed back to the car, I sobbed.  Our relationship had changed when I wasn't looking.  I was deeply in love with that little girl.

Now she is three years old.

I love her so much it still makes me cry on occasion.  While moments of doubt and disconnect still plague me, I love being her mom.  Her interest in the world reinvents it for me everyday.  She is the single most infuriating person in the world because I see so much creativity in her defiance.  From determining common words are pronounced a new and interesting way to following instruction at the very edge of disobedience, she's fascinating.  When I'm not watching, her wit and humor still sneak up on me and take my breath away.

With Inchie's arrival on the scene, this year hasn't been easy on my three year old.  But she's hung in there and made the best of it all.  Especially getting to enjoy double toys while Inchie is still too young to fight back.  Those days are coming and part of me (the totally crazy part) is really looking forward to seeing how it all unfolds.

But for now, Bean is three.  I've loved the past three years and hope to savor what ever comes next for us.  I love you little girl.  I love you to the ends of the universe.

My Mom Guilt

While attempting to write this post, I completely diverged.  Using the phrase Mom Guilt opens a whole can of worms.  Or can of words if you will.  There is a rant on that topic to follow soon.  For this post I'm simply referring to a pang of guilt I felt looking at this little girl.

Isn't she adorable?

This is Inchie.  She is my second born.  My baby.  I look in her face and see humor and mischief and love.  I also see her sister.  My Mom Guilt gong sounds.

This little girl doesn't know what life is like without an older sister.  She has drawers full of not-so-lightly worn clothes.  Her board books come pre-chewed.  Inchie's mom was Bean's mom first.  Inchie will spend her life changing that.  Try as I might my expectations are being established every day.  I have fight to see this little girl as herself and not her sister.  And she will never get the undivided attention her sister experienced in her first 2 years of life.

All these worries came to a head last weekend.  I bought the girls new hair barrettes.  Bean picked out two matching bows.  Inchie received two clippies as well, one matched Bean's and the other is a very cute little cupcake.  I gave them to the girls and went about my day.

Over the course of the next week, Bean did everything within her power to control Inchie's new clippies.  They appeared in Bean's hair.  Then I found them in her basket of hair ties.  Later she got them out and put them in her sister's hair.  That wouldn't have caused as great an issue had she not promptly pulled them back out.  Each time Bean was corrected she adjusted her actions to include her sister more.  And each time I got angrier until I heard myself screaming "Can't you just let her have this one thing!?!"  At a three year old.  Over a pair of hair clips.  I sent myself to timeout.

Yeah.  It's ridiculous.  I know.  That fact has not escaped me.  And my mom guilt has to be addressed.  But really?!?!?  When did I turn into a glass-half-empty kind of person?  What's up with the tale of woe over my baby?  I gotta snap out of this.  Inchie has at least one thing that Bean will never have, an older sister!  I'm not sure that all my younger sisters would agree, but I'm pretty sure an older sister is about the most awesome thing in the world to have.  Bean will also never be THE baby again.  We can't go back and I wouldn't want to.

But I can still look for ways to spoil my baby girl on occassion...  You know, just to alleviate the mom guilt.

Wow.  I encountered this video on Defining Motherhood and just about started sobbing at work.  Some days are harder than others and I'm been attempting to ignore how hard mine have been feeling lately.

It's awesome to have a wonderful life.  It's amazing when everything you've worked hard for comes to fruition.  It's also terrifying.  I read a book a few weeks back where the character was taught to dream big and be sure your dreams last until the final days of your life.  I wonder if that is where I stumble right now.  So many of my dreams have come true that I'm running low on direction these days.

But returning to the video...  What would I go back and tell myself?

Your babies know you love them.
You will find the strength.
Trust yourself.
Trust your partner.
Ask for help when you need it.
This too shall pass. All too soon.