Thoughts on Being a "Good" Mom

Recently, a friend of mine asked a favor. She had a friend who is pregnant with her first child and starting to get anxious about adjusting to being a mom. She wanted to know if I had any words of advice to offer about the adjustment to being a mom and learning to not be hard on yourself. Well, apparently, being succinct is not my strong point. But, having taken the efforts to put my thoughts on this on paper, I thought I would share them here on my blog:

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Sorry it has taken me a few days to get back to you. I can only share my own experience about adjusting to becoming a mom. I was a straight-A student, was very successful in my job and pretty much took it upon myself to do my best to be "successful" at everything I tried. I had my first child halfway through my masters program. I rushed to finish my graduate piano recital before the baby came and then had only a few classes left to finish to graduate.

Mothering was (and still is) something that I took very seriously. I decided that if I was going to be a stay-at-home mom then I would simply be the very best stay-at-home mom that I could: I would excel at mothering just like I had excelled in so many other areas in my life. Unfortunately, this turned out to be a fantastic recipe for disaster and depression.

To start with, I assumed that being a mother wasn't going to be that difficult to figure out. After all, I was getting a masters degree and had tons of experience taking care of kids (being the oldest girl of 6 children and a popular babysitter as a teenager). I was blown out of the water to find that mothering (despite society's depiction of it as brainless, menial labor) was by far the most physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually challenging work I had ever experienced. Aside from the obvious challenges (like being on call 24/7, rarely getting breaks and getting woken up in the middle of the night) there are deeper challenges like being calm and emotionally stable when you are dealing with a screaming child, finding that what works at some times may not work at others and dealing with the constant struggle to find the balance between being supporting/loving and setting/enforcing firm limits.

But by far the hardest part for me of being a mom is that there is no easy way to evaluate whether you are "excelling" at it. Being a bright person, I just decided to come up with my own measurement of "success." What I created was a composite of my own mother, my mother-in-law and every other woman that I admired: a Frankenstein-Super-Mother, if you will. I just decided that I would embody the best traits of all of them. I would have my mother's ability to connect and talk with her kids along with my mother-in-law's tremendous capacity to serve others combined with my friend's dedication to exercise, so-and-so's talent for cooking healthy meals, what's-her-name's incredibly clean house and someone else's kids that were always well-dressed and well-behaved. I set myself up with the perfect recipe for severe post-partum depression.

Sure enough, when I began staying home with my first child I felt tremendous, overwhelming feelings of inadequacy and loss. I felt inadequacy because of my inability to "perfectly" meet the needs of this beautiful child that I loved. The inadequacy deepened with my inability to keep up our house or a schedule in the way that I felt a good mother "should." You added to this the loss of the clear-cut affirmation, the accolades and tidy definitions of success that I had experienced in school and I was a complete mess. I was working my rear end off-- harder than I ever had before, both day and night-- but it seemed I could hardly manage to feed the baby, change him and grab some unhealthy ready-made thing to eat before he pooped all over his sleeper or it all needed to be done again. My husband came home at the end of the day and I felt like I had nothing to show for my efforts. It felt like things were no better-- or actually much worse-- than when he left. I was in total despair. What had become of me? I was once a self-sufficient, successful, organized and "together" woman and I had turned into a non-functional, sloppy, dependent mess who couldn't even get showered without help.

It took me a combination of time, experience, therapy, medication and lots of conversations with other women to come to a better way of looking at it. I am by no means a perfect mother, but (at least on most days) I can look at my imperfect efforts with satisfaction and see the good things that I am doing. (As just one example, I am writing this in my pajamas at 10:00 am while my two youngest watch Curious George-- and I'm okay with that.) Some things that have been helpful to me:

• Recognize that mothering is difficult and demanding work. It is important work that should demand respect from both you and others. I felt like mothering was some easy, invisible thing that should just "happen" while I got other things done and kept my house perfectly clean. Especially when you have a tiny infant, taking care of your child-- just keeping him/her alive, fed, and diapered-- is pretty much a full-time proposition. Any thing else you do is frosting on the cake.
• Allow your body lots of time to heal after labor and delivery. After you have a baby, a mother should have at least the functionality of someone who has been in a major car accident and hospitalized. Seriously, I look back at my post labor expectations for my first baby and think "What on earth was I thinking?" I expected to pop back to normal within a few days after being in hard (pitocin-induced) labor for over 12 hours, pushing for 2 1/2 hours and having an almost 1-inch episiotomy to deliver a nearly 10-pound baby. I pretty much felt like I had been run over by a truck. My body needed several weeks to physically recover and feel semi-normal again. That said, some people do feel pretty good again more quickly than that. If this is you, don't feel bad about that or feel like that means you need to jump back in to everything again. I would still get lots of rest, spend time with your baby and rebuild your emotional energy.
• Accept and ask for help. Don't try to do it all yourself. People want to help you. Please let them.
• Sleep whenever you can. Lots of people have said this, but it's still true. I figure it takes 2-3 years to catch up on the sleep you lose after having a newborn. Don't feel guilty about sleeping in or napping whenever you get the chance.
• Your child's actions/personality do not automatically indicate your success/failure as a parent. Obviously, the way that you parent will have a huge impact on your child and should be taken seriously. But every action of your child is not an indication of your success or failure as a mother. For instance, if your child is fussy or always wants to be held, they may be hungry or sick... or they may just be fussy and want to be held. If you have a child (like several of mine) who is extremely strong-willed (they will scream about the juice box for two hours straight and they WON'T forget what they are mad about), it doesn't prove your failure as a mother. It shows that they are strong-willed. Your eight-year-old's lack of desire to comb her hair doesn't mean that you are a failure at teaching hygiene. Yes, we need to take our responsibility to parent seriously, but, no, we don't need to take every single action of our child upon ourselves as a source of pride or guilt.
• Don't stress out about schedules or getting milestones "right." "Schedules" work for some people and don't for others. Having my kids on a schedule was about as feasible as teaching a dog to use the toilet, flush and wash its paws. There are some people that schedules work for, but if it's not you, don't stress out about it. Your kids will be fine. Don't stress about milestones either. If your child walks at 15 months instead of 9 months, it doesn't mean they are going to be athletically challenged. It usually doesn't make any difference.
• Involve your husband in parenting. I felt bad asking my husband for help because it was "my job" to take care of the baby and he had to "work" each day. I felt like if I needed help from him that showed my inadequacy-- that I wasn't doing a good enough job. What I did by this was essentially devalue what I was doing -- I didn't consider my work to be as important as what my husband was doing-- and limit his relationship with our child. The truth was that we both had challenging jobs each day and that when he was home, we could (and should) share the responsibility for parenting our child. Expecting your husband to be actively involved as a parent benefits you, the baby and your husband. It helps him to have a stronger connection and relationship with his child. You will be happier and less stressed out and more available for your relationship with your husband. Sharing responsibility can harder to do if you are nursing, but there are ways to divvy things up (i.e. you nurse, he changes diapers). 
• Real parenting is imperfect parenting. Do your best. If you mess up (which you will), don't beat yourself up. Make a mental note and try to do it a little bit better the next time. Don't be afraid to say, "I'm sorry," to your kids. It sets a good example to them of how it's done.
  
• Have reasonable expectations for yourself, then lower them a little (okay, a lot). Life is about trade-offs. Nobody does it all perfectly. (If you aren't like this, congratulations on being superhuman. Don't tell your friends because they'll hate you.) ;) Just do what you can and let the rest go. There are times I have made home-cooked meals, but then my house is a mess and my kids aren't in any activities. If my kids are in outside activities, then we eat out more or buy frozen meals. I keep my house pretty clean these days, but that's because I pay for house-cleaners to come. If I get lots done, my kids watch lots of TV. If my kids aren't watching TV, I don't get very much done....
• Moms have needs too. Make sure to take care of yourself. Do things to make you happy, that help you enjoy your life. It will help you be a better mom if you are happy and well-cared for, but beyond that, you are someone's child, too, and you deserve to be happy and cared for, just as much as your child does. By caring for yourself, you are also setting a good example for your kids. (i.e. It's okay to take care of my needs, to take a break or a time-out to read. It's okay for grownups to take a break to have fun or to spend time with friends. It's okay to spend money on things for mom, too. Life will go on if the world doesn't always revolve around them.)
• Enjoy what you can but don't feel like you have to "love" everything. Enjoy all of the great moments, but don't feel like you have to "love" every last minute of being mom. Nobody likes cleaning up vomit or diarrhea. Most people aren't fans of a two-year-old tantrum in the grocery store. It's okay to not enjoy those moments. They will pass.
• Connect with other moms. You will quickly find out that you are not the only one. Most moms feel exactly like you do and struggle with very similar things. This can be a huge support and help just to know that what you are experiencing is normal.

Sorry, I guess your request for some thoughts turned into a full-fledged five-page essay. By the way, I still struggle with all of these things-- it's still an ongoing process for me. But I am getting better at recognizing what I do well and acknowledging it.

Karen

Just Another Day

Today was a fairly happy, peaceful day. And I'm not being sarcastic as I write that. It was a nice, laid-back, fairly normal day. There are lots of lovely, happy and interesting things that happen to me-- things like reading a good book, searching for great choral music and eating delicious cupcakes-- I just don't choose to write about them on my blog. Instead I write about poop. If I ever become a freelance writer and write a book, it will probably be called "Flush: Close Encounters with Poop" or maybe just "A Narrative History of Poop and Diapering." Haven't you always wondered how people dealt with diapers in the 1800's? If you lived in a one-room cabin and it was freezing cold outside, how on earth did you dry your laundry? The answer is you probably didn't wash it in the first place. But what if you had diapers? They would have to be washed. How would you dry them? On a clothesline in the cabin? What if they froze first? Would you duck under the clothesline to set the table? But now I digress. Back to my happy day.

Addy had playgroup today. It was at a house in our neighborhood, so I walked her over. Jackson and I came back just in time for me to rehearse with someone I am accompanying for a musical number. Toward the end of the rehearsal my phone rang, but I ignored it-- I was in a rehearsal and trying to concentrate. Then my cell phone rang. I ignored it too. My phone rang again; my cell phone rang again. After several rounds of this, I decided whoever it was really wanted to talk to me, so I picked up the phone. It was the mom from playgroup. Addy was really fussy and pulling at her ear. So I ended my rehearsal, went to pick Addy up and took her to the doctor.

Sure enough, Addy had an ear infection. The doctor wrote a prescription for an antibiotic and I went to Target to get it filled. I drove through Taco Bell to get Jackson and Addy lunch, made a list in the Target parking lot while they ate it, and felt quite pleased with myself and my high level of organization.

We went to Target, procured the necessary items (as well as several more, as typically happens at Target) and started to make our way toward the checkout. Jackson was looking at some Legos and started to dance around a bit.I should have made him stop and taken him to the bathroom right then and there, but we only had one item left (night-time diapers, ironically enough). We went to get the last item and I got distracted looking at shirts for Addy. At this point Jackson realized he needed to go and told me he needed to use the potty. So we made a beeline to the front of the store to the bathrooms.

Jackson insisted he could go potty by himself and wanted me to stay outside. I'm all for fostering independence, but for the sake of safety went into the bathroom with him and let him go in the stall by himself. A minute later peeked under the door to see how he was doing. There was a puddle in front of the toilet and a teeny bit of poop on the floor that he was about to step in. I opened the door and saw poop smeared on the potty, in his underwear, on his pants, on the floor and even on the bottom of his shoes. He still didn't want me to help, but that wasn't an option at this point. So I spent the next 20 minutes cleaning up poop and pee from his shoes and the bathroom stall.

As I finally restored Jackson to some semblance of cleanliness, I pondered my options. I had a full cart of groceries and household items I still needed to pay for sitting outside the bathroom. I had left the diaper bag in the car. Jackson's underwear and pants he had been wearing were now reasonably clean and poop-free but completely wet. Somewhere in the new mommy introduction class i took at the hospital they skipped the part when they reviewed your options for checking out of Target with a half-naked four-year-old. Should I leave him in the bathroom and go buy a pair of undies and pants so I could finish my shopping? I didn't really feel comfortable sticking 'naked boy' in the cart, but it would be a bit awkward walking around Target with a boy who was only wearing tennis shoes from the waist down. The diaper bag was in the car, so I decided my best option was to take him out and get him some clean underwear. We marched out to the car with Jackson buck naked from the waist down except for his tennis shoes. Getting to the car was a laborious process because he kept trying to hide (so people wouldn't see him naked).

We got to the car, got clean underwear but found that the diaper bag did not have a clean pair of pants. I was sorely tempted to just leave (even with an hour's worth of Target stuff in our cart back in the store), but I remembered that Addy's prescription was still in the cart and we had already opened a box of fruit snacks we were going to buy and eaten a few packs (all by me, of course-- love those fruit snacks). :) So I got a new cart, sat Jackson in the cart basket and set his jacket over his legs so people wouldn't see that he was only in his undies. We went in, took our cart through the checkout and then left. Although I never did manage to get those night-time diapers.

And I managed to stay quite calm and composed through the entire thing, with nary a curse word muttered under my breath. Acceptance, right? "There is nowhere I should be or anything I should be doing besides exactly what I'm doing right now. I am right where I need to be." Even if that is trying to figure out how to get poop off of 4T sweatpants in the Target bathroom.

Did I mention that we got a dog? At least she is housebroken-- well, mostly-- which is more than I can say for Jackson.

Toward a Peaceful Coexistence with Pee-Pee

If you read my facebook status updates, you will know that WAY too much of my life right now revolves around pee and poop. Let's just say that potty training with Jackson has been a process-- a loooong process. This has caused some worry for me regarding Jackson starting preschool. There are few entry requirements for his preschool (no, we don't go to one of those uppity preschools with an application process and letters of recommendation), but being completely potty trained is one of them. (Um, how exactly do you define "completely"?)

Jackson has been getting better and better at using the potty. He usually goes without help pretty much whenever he needs to. But he has a bad habit of waiting too long to go and then not quite making it. This results in a perpetual wet spot on the front of his pants and several changes of underwear and pants each day. He usually doesn't have "puddle on the floor" type of accidents, but I still have not been able to get him to successfully keep one pair of pants dry for a single day.

The bright side of things is that he has never had an accident at preschool. Maybe it is because he really likes preschool, but he has never peed his pants there-- although he has had a fairly big accident within minutes of coming home. I keep thinking that one of these days his "staying dry at preschool" skill will transfer over for general usage, but it hasn't happened yet.

We have tried a variety of different methods, consequences and bribes in our quest for the elusive dry pants. I tried to think of a "natural consequence" for wetting pants and the most logical was something to get clean again. Since Jackson really likes baths that didn't seem like a good option, so I went with cold showers. (This probably sounds harsh, but I was getting desperate--we've been doing this for months now). But even after days of consistently enforcing a cold shower after he wet himself, there was still no difference. So I resorted to bribery: jelly beans for staying dry between trips to the potty. He liked the jelly beans, but it still didn't increase the frequency of dryness. (Did I mention that even when he makes it to the potty he doesn't have the best of aim, so we perpetually have toilets, floors and bath rugs that are generously sprinkled with pee-pee? I'm beginning to wonder if the makers of Clorox wipes have him on their payroll....) So I finally decided that I just needed to give him time for his body to learn and in the meanwhile to work toward a peaceful coexistence with pee-pee.

(This next paragraph contains graphic descriptions that may not be appropriate for those who are not parents or have not had to potty-train....)
This morning I woke up in a less-than-great mood. I consciously chose to have a slow morning and went upstairs to get dressed about 10 minutes before Addy had to be at playgroup. I went in to my bathroom and something didn't smell right. There was a discarded pull-up and a big pile of runny poop in front of my toilet and splattered on the walls. I scrambled to clean it up, muttering thanks for the invention of paper towels and Clorox wipes, and then got dressed and went to get Jackson's clothes from his room to get him dressed. There was another discarded pull-up on his floor, along with several poop smears on the carpet. More Clorox wipes and 10 minutes later, the mess was cleaned and Jackson was dressed. But by this time Addy had pooped and needed a diaper change, but at least she'd had the courtesy to keep it in her diaper. We were 40 minutes late for playgroup and I was 15 minutes late for my appointment that was during playgroup.

After a streak of whatever plans I tried to make not working out (Childwatch at the YMCA was full, tried to read a book but kept getting interrupted), we settled into the afternoon while Addy was down for her nap. But, before long, I heard Camryn yelling, "Mom! Jackson either barfed or pooped on the floor!" Sure enough, Jackson had another bout of diarrhea and not quite making it to the potty in time. This time there was runny poop in a pile in front of the toilet, squished into the bath rug, splattered on the side of the tub and a big puddle of pee-pee to top it all off (like a cherry on top). After more paper towels, Clorox wipes and scrubbing the rug out in the toilet, I admitted defeat and succumbed to feelings of defeat and futility and an afternoon of simply existing-- and trying to forget about the existence of poop.

This is AFTER I cleaned off everything I could....

But, having shirked my responsibilities to write this blog post, Addy has now emerged from the playroom with green marker covering her arms, hands and chin. I think that's my cue to go....

Rant Invasion

Okay, I need a good rant. Today has been a downer day. There hasn't been anything terrible, it's just one of those days where you wake up feeling "off" and things never quite get into place. Sundays tend to be hard days for me (the day of rest, right?) and yesterday was no exception. Maybe I'm still trying to recover.

I didn't have to teach Sunbeams at church because we had Stake Conference, but I replaced teaching wiggly 4-year-olds with playing a Mack Wilberg arrangement on the organ for a choir number. For those of you who aren't familiar with Mack Wilberg, he is the director of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and a famous choral arranger. A good chunk of his work is originally for orchestral accompaniment (which doesn't cut down easily to only two hands)-- and if it's not, the keyboard part is really hard because he enjoys inflicting pain on accompanists. :) Which would be fine, except: A) I have enough pain inflicted on me already by potty training right now, 2) Organ requires more brain-power for me than piano (the whole playing an instrument with your feet thing...), and, Third, I have two tiny helpers who love to push "transpose" buttons and add an unwritten pedal part while I practice organ. Yay.

Grumbling aside, the number went fine and it was even a teensy bit fun to get a chance to blare loud organ music in the middle of a church meeting. So after I finished playing, I sat down with the fam and prepared to *enjoy* the rest of a two-hour church meeting sitting on the 4th row with four kids (something akin to *enjoying* a triple marathon with no water in the summer in Arizona). Within five minutes of this, the nice lady sitting in front of us (with her teenager-- so she must have some acquaintance with kids in her distant past...) turns around to Jackson (aged 3) and says to him, "Can you please be quiet so I can hear?" Um, okay? For starters, Jackson was being quiet and good- at least for him. He was not being completely silent, but he was being fairly quiet for a three-year-old. And maybe she could have addressed me instead of my partially verbal toddler?

The rest of the meeting was peppered with dirty looks from the lady sitting in front of us, even though we took the two younger kids out whenever they were being truly noisy. I suppose in certain circumstances or situations this would be understandable, but for goodness sake, we were not in a concert, we were in a Mormon church meeting! We are a church where big families are common and it is customary --and expected-- for you to bring your kids with you to the service.

Anyway, I was stressed out from having played the organ and not in any mood to tender indignant looks from the lady in front of me. I really wanted to just go home. It's hard enough to get a family of four dressed in Sunday clothes and to church in the morning. I didn't feel the need to be made to feel completely unwelcome (even though I was playing a difficult organ piece as a free service) because I accidentally forgot to gag my children before I came. I (barely) managed to make it through the rest of the meeting. Yes, I know. I had a very uplifting meeting. I couldn't focus on the talks. Between taking Jackson out to the potty and trying to silence any happy peep out of him and Addy (who is the world's loudest happy baby), I was a bit preoccupied. Every time one of my kids made a sound I winced and waited for the dirty look.

As we got up to leave at the end, the lady sitting behind me tapped me on the shoulder and said, "I just had a feeling that I needed to tell you that it really does get better. I had five kids myself and I know how hard it can be. You have a beautiful family and your kids were just fine." I (who do not cry) almost burst into tears. After spending the whole meeting thinking, "Why are we even here? We are just bothering other people. I'm not getting anything out of it, the kids aren't getting anything out of it. What's the point? We should just go home.", it was nice to know that there are people out there capable of having some empathy. It's not like I don't know that my kids can be bothersome or annoying in a meeting (or on an airplane or whatever other public place we happen to be in). But for goodness sake, they are children. They really are trying and so am I, so please try to have some compassion and patience.  

As for today's trials.... Jackson peeing his pants. And pooping his underwear (after weeks of no poop accidents). Not making it to the YMCA to exercise. Feeling fat. Jared absolutely going ballistic because I couldn't understand that he was TOTALLY JUSTIFIED and didn't make Jackson upset ("But mom... it wasn't my fault that our friend didn't bring another ball for our game on the bouncer and that Jackson only likes games where everyone has a ball...") and so forth. Round up the usual suspects....

Ten Years Ago Last Week: A Jared Album

I was planning to do this post for a while but -- in typical form-- am getting around to posting it a week late. Sigh, mommy-hood brings out the promptness in all of us.

Last Wednesday marked the 10-year anniversary of when I became a mother. Yes, my oldest child turned 10. Here is a photo tribute to my oldest child, Jared. Jared, I love you and I am proud to be your mother!

Gotta love the cinder block walls in married student housing!

About Last Thursday (or It Could Always Be Worse)

In the intervening week-and-a-little-bit since my last post I have been meaning to fill in with a post about the rest of my day. Thanks to a google search and some tinkering I was able to re-attach the vacuum belt and clean up the cracker mess.

After my adventures in vacuum repairing, I piled the kids in the car to run some errands and then took the car into the shop to get it checked. (It had been making a groaning, screeching sort of sound when I braked and sometimes a bit of a thunk-thunk-thunk throbbing noise. Probably not good signs....) Sure enough, our tires needed to be replaced (which I already knew-- what I didn't know is that they were almost worn down to the core) and our brakes needed new rotors. Dave was out of town in California which seriously limited my alternate transportation options. The good news was that they said they could for sure do all of the work that day by the time they closed. The bad news is that I would be stuck with three kids without a car for three hours.

I decided this would make picking up Jared and his friend who was going to come over to play after scout camp a bit difficult. So I got on my phone and canceled the play date and got someone else to get Jared after camp. Now I was only left with three kids and two or three hours to burn. I loaded the younger kids in the stroller and headed for the park which-- thankfully-- was within walking distance of the shop. I found myself grateful for the dismal cloudy day that was not too warm and didn't require sunblock.

We had a lovely time playing until Jackson needed to go potty and I realized there were no bathroom facilities at this park. After quickly scouting my lack of options, I found a way to resolve the issue which may or may not have involved having Jackson pee on a tree. We went back to our lovely afternoon of playing in the park. Jackson and Addy rode in the swings and threw tanbark at each other while Camryn happily played with them. All was well... until Jackson had to go to the potty again. Except this time he had to go poop. I loaded the double stroller with the urgency of a captain loading lifeboats and we charged off at hyper-speed to the nearest store with a restroom. We made it into the Target parking lot when Jackson suddenly jumped out of his stroller seat and announced, "Mom! I need new pants!" So close and yet so far.... Did I mention Addy had a poopy diaper too?

We headed to the family bathroom at Target where I surveyed the damage. Luckily I had a pull-up, diaper and wipes in the basket of the stroller (I had accidentally left the diaper bag in the car). I'll spare  you the details of that delightful 15 minutes spent in the removal of poop from Jackson's posterior (and legs, and shoes-- getting off soiled underwear isn't a tidy proposition). I admit I just threw the underwear in the garbage and didn't even feel guilty. After I got Addy's diaper changed and I had my fill of poop to last me for the next century, we grabbed some snacks and a couple of slurpees and headed off in the stroller again. (I had actually been to Target enough in the past few days that I didn't have anything left to buy. Now THAT is scary.)

We headed off on a walk to the local toy store to burn some more time. I didn't realize we had so many things within walking distance of the car shop. I also realized that while I had driven that street hundreds of times in the past 5 years, I had never once walked down it. We spent a good hour at the toy store and survived with only one destroyed item in the process (maybe it was just Addy's way of getting me to buy her a book). We finished with yet another round of snacks and were heading back to the park when I had another "I need to use the potty"-- this time from Camryn. So we headed back to the toy store, used the potty and began to head out again when I finally got the call that the work on the car was done.

Being car-less wasn't as awful as I had feared. If you took out the pooping-in-the-underwear incident, it was almost downright enjoyable. Nevertheless, it was nice to have my stylin' ride back.

So if you are wondering why I haven't been blogging much this summer, this is my long and circuitous answer.

Since My Last Post

Since I clicked "Publish Post" on my last blog entry, the following has happened:

• Jackson and Addy dumped an entire box of bunny crackers on the living room carpet. 
• I made attempts to have Jackson and Camryn help clean it up
• Jackson threw a tantrum and got sent to his room
• Camryn and I finished cleaning up the crackers
• I got out the vacuum to get the rest of the crumbs
• Jackson yells from upstairs that he needs to go potty.
• The vacuum isn't sucking anything up. The rotor brush isn't moving.
• I take the vacuum apart and try to figure it out
• Jackson yells from upstairs, "I need new pants! I'm all wet!"
• It looks like there is a belt that is supposed to attach the rotor brush to the motor and it isn't connected. How do I fix this? Oh wait, no problem. I learned that in Motherhood 101 (yes, that is sarcasm). At least I have google.

Camp Crazy

This week has been like riding down the river of craziness. Jared and Camryn have had camp this week-- which should make life easier, right? Right? Right????? What it means is 7:15 drop off and 4:15 pickup for one child with 9 am drop off and 12 pm pick up (for only three days) for the other (half of them being while my husband is out of town so I don't have another parent to help).

Yesterday morning set some kind of record (exactly which one I'm still figuring out...). I drove to the church three times before 9:00 am: once to drop Jared off, another time in an unsuccessful bid to get him his lunch (which he forgot) and one last time to drop off Camryn. Both younger kids woke up drenched with wet beds. In the midst of all this, Camryn asked me (at about 8:15) if she could make breadsticks if she cleaned up the mess. It was an easy out to get one child off my back, so I said okay. But both of us forgot that she had her last day of Activity Days camp at 9:00, so her project was stopped mid-stream and the "I'll clean up the mess part" didn't exactly happen how it was supposed to. The kitchen was left looking like this:

Jackson continues his streak of remarkable talent in mess-making. His prodigious talents (just for this week) include spraying a newly-cleaned toilet and floor with pee in 30 second or less, unintentionally partially thawing the outside freezer by leaving the freezer door open, and spilling birdseed on the floor followed by accidentally watering the hardwood through the screen door (while attempting watering the plants on the deck) within 60 seconds of each other.

Dave had a one-day business trip on Monday, meaning he left at 4:00 am and got home at 9 pm. He had a meeting on Tuesday night so he didn't get home until 9:00 pm again. Wednesday morning he was off at 4 am again for a two-day business trip. We have had a diet of Taco Bell interspersed with Papa Murphy's pizza and fruit roll-ups. Despite a conscious attempt to use childwatch at the YMCA, hiring a babysitter, and even overt retail therapy at Target, I feel like I'm flying down river rapids on a log without a paddle. Perpetual peepee accidents, cold cereal and milk dumped on the floor, markers on the wall, bananas smooshed through hair, scattered toys, no matching kids shoes to be found (despite buying 4 new pairs on Tuesday), spilled birdseed, "Mom, can I use a pillowcase for a sewing project?," poop out the diaper and up the back of Addy's shirt, earrings dumped out of my jewelry drawer and scattered all over the floor, Jackson jumping from the slide to the lovesac whilst buck naked on his lower half, "Can I use Alka-seltzer to make an explosion with an old film canister?"... this is my life at present. I find myself turning to my computer keyboard for escape-- like some kind of lifeline to the outside world or grown-up version of a pacifier.

On Tuesday we had a pizza and movie night. The kids settled in to watch "The Princess and the Frog" while I succumbed to the blessed oblivion of zoning out on the internet, planning summer travel or wasting time on Facebook-- it really didn't matter as long as it didn't involve screaming children. Suddenly Jared looked up and pointed out, "Mom, you're not watching the movie!" I shrank in my chair and made some half-hearted attempts to look at the screen. "Um, sure I am. It's about a frog, right?" "No, mom. You're not watching it at all. Close your computer!" After some hemming and hawing and a few attempts to send one last email or smuggle some glances at a travel guide, Jared got visibly upset with me, so I turned off the computer, put my books away and watched the movie. It was actually really nice. Hard to do, but nice.

So for now I'm just trying to survive getting sucked into the vortex of summer.... the endless swirl of activities, messes, children and chaos. And tell myself that I will survive all of this fun. Really.

You Know It's Been a Bad Day When...

You know it's been a bad day when, you drive down the street and stop when you realize your son's shoes are still on the hood of the car where you set them five minutes earlier....

A Mommy-Son Date

A while back Dave got called out of town unexpectedly. I already had a babysitter set up for our Friday night date and wasn't looking forward to the prospect of going out by myself. I decided to see if Jared wanted to go out for a "Mommy/Son" date. He wasn't sure if he liked this idea. He was initially just hoping to just get a Slurpee as bribery for (back from when we went tubing during Spring Break) taking Jackson in his tube while I dealt with a meltdown from another child. (I'm seeing a pattern here of using Slurpees for snow-related bribery.) 

I gave him his choice and he finally decided to go with the "Night Out with Mom" option. He decided on dinner at California Pizza Kitchen, but first we grabbed two cupcakes to save for dessert at the "Sweetest Thing" cupcake stand before they closed. Jared got his favorite, Pepperoni Pizza, while I got a Pear/Gorgonzola concoction that had salad greens on the top.

Jared looking appropriately "gourmet."

Pear and gorgonzola pizza.

After dinner, we got a chocolate to munch on at Leonidas and then strolled around the shopping center. Jared even humored me enough to let me go in Gymboree and buy a couple of things for the younger kids. We finished off the evening by browsing at Borders for a while, finally selecting a Sudoku book for Jared and a crossword puzzle book for me. Jared was super-excited to find a huge book of sudoku puzzles for only five dollars. We ate our cupcakes in the car before heading home.

Jared decided that he actually liked this concept of a night out with mom and bragged to Camryn the next day about how fun it was and how many cool things we got to do. He even suggested that Dave and I alter our Friday night date schedule to only every other week-- so we could take turns on the off weeks taking him or Camryn out for dinner instead. I told him that was a really good idea but Dad and I still needed our time together. We settled on an alternate arrangement of planning to do occasional parent/child dates.

I thought spending some one on one time would be a "good idea," but I was surprised at what good company Jared was and how much fun we had. It's really fun to observe as your kids get older and become people with opinions and interests and things to say. Maybe it's just that I'm grateful that I haven't gotten to the stage where my children are embarrassed to be seen in public with me, but I really loved having the chance to spend an evening with Jared.

Poetry for Mother's Day

Jared's Mother's Day poem: (I think he has me pegged...)

Karen
Fun, Loving, Inspiring
Mother of Jared, Camryn, Jackson, Addy
Lover of relaxation and choral music
Who feels proud every time I make a new recipe
Who needs everything to be clean and organized
Who gives love and activity
Who fears a screaming Jackson
Who would like to see her children playing nicely once together
Mom

Productivity (Addy and Jackson Style)

One of the toughest things for me as a mom is to let go of "getting things done" and my obsession with productivity and just play with the kids or watch them play. A couple of weeks ago, I was trying to "get something done" and Jackson kept bugging me to go outside. As much as I wanted to finish, it was a beautiful, sunny day in Portland (in March) so I gave in and took him and Addy outside. It was such a great afternoon. There is nothing like the happiness a three-year-old can find in his scooter or the accomplishment an 18-month-old feels by putting along with her feet Fred-Flinstone style on her trike.

Just Wanted to Share

It's always handy when someone writes your blog post for you and saves you the effort. I really resonated with this post, having had my share of crying in the closet/car/bathroom and wishing for a nanny godmother. "Life [and motherhood] is awesome and crappy at the same time." And I think it's okay to acknowledge that being a mom is awesome-- and really stinks.

My Birthday Wish: To Be an Innocent Bystander for a Day

Conference Weekend

Last weekend was General Conference. While it is always nice to have a break from teaching Sunbeams, getting the kids ready for church, getting Jackson and Addy to stay quiet during Sacrament Meeting and just generally being gone for 3 hours at church on Sunday, the weekend was a mix for us. I used to look forward to Conference weekend. What's not to like? Watch church in your PJ's on the couch while eating treats. When we lived in Utah sometimes we got to attend in person-- which was awesome. And then we had kids. I guess kids actually weren't responsible for the demise of my enjoyment of conference. I think it actually happened somewhere when I thought my kids were starting to get older and I started having expectations that they would act differently than wild goats.

Wouldn't this be enough to bribe you to be quiet?

 We started out well-- complete with real homemade Cinnamon Rolls during the Saturday Morning. My slacker conference tradition is to make Cinnamon Sugar Bread with canned biscuits so this was a big step up for me-- thanks to my attempt at no-knead refrigerator Challah dough (which was super-easy by the way... next Brioche!). But despite my sugaring up of the kids and printing out cute Conference Packets for them, it took us almost four hours to watch that first two-hour session of conference. Even though we started watching it live, between pushing pause to break up wrestling matches, rewinding to hear what that word was that was drowned out by screaming and pausing to roll out the rolls and put them in the oven, it turned into quite a marathon.

Wild goats in action.

We took a short break to eat lunch and then began the second session. Addy was down for her nap and Jackson was happily playing so I started to again entertain the unreasonable expectation that at least two of my children were capable of being in the same room as the broadcast without turning into raving hyenas. I made a valiant effort, but between Jared and Camryn teasing each other and wrestling, Jackson screeching at the top of his lungs and me feeling a sudden uncontrollable desire to bean someone, break something or scream, I thought it would be best for everyone if we adjourned conference and mom locked herself in her room to cry for a while. After a requisite period of solitude (I told the kids not to bug me unless there was blood or fire) I started getting notes under the door asking me when I was going to come out, so I piled the kids into the car to go to the park.

A really cute wild goat.

As soon as we got out of the car at the park it started to rain, so we piled everyone back into the car. Instead we drove to Michael's, where I stocked up on crafts for the kids to do during conference on Sunday. Who knew that $30 could buy me one session of relative peace and quiet?

Fun at Michael's

After a semi-harrowing stop at Baja Fresh for dinner to use a Groupon I had bought-- did I ever mention how much it bugs me when I spend $4 for a kids meal and a certain child (cough, cough, ahem, Jackson, cough, cough) drinks the juice and doesn't eat a single bite of anything else?-- we headed home. We survived Sunday conference quite well, completing our typical session-and-a-quarter before giving up again. We then turned to Animated Heroes from the Bible's "Joseph in Egypt" for our the religious educational value of the day and peace was restored.

Jared took this photo as a surprise for me.

Played Out: Why I Never Practice Piano Any More

People sometimes ask me if I "keep up" with my piano and "Do I practice anymore?" The answer is yes and no. Yes, I still play the piano. Do I "keep up" with it? I have two degrees in Piano Performance and spent 6 consecutive years of my life practicing between 4-7 hours a day on the piano (depending on what time in my schooling). So the first answer is "no," there is no way to "keep up" with that unless you a) do it for a career, b) have no life, c) have no children, or d) all of the above.

These pictures are from a different incident, but accurately represent my difficulty with piano practice at this stage of life.

Being a piano major in a former life presents problems though. Everyone that finds this out exclaims, "Oh, you should play something for me!" And I should. Except that the major pieces I have memorized and under my fingers right now are "Jumbo Elephant" and "Jesus Wants Me For a Sunbeam." It's also troublesome because once you have learned how to really play and do a piece justice, it is very difficult to play in a way that is "half-baked" and doesn't really represent how the piece should or could be played (assuming that you devoted the time necessary to play it in such a manner).

Note the expression of relaxation and enjoyment on all-- well at least one-- of our faces.

I had a friend has been bugging me to audition for a local talent contest (yes, I got your email, Sarah) that even has cash prizes so I have been throwing around whether there is anything I could "pull up" for this. It then presents a dilemma: Do you try to scrounge up time to practice something and seize on an opportunity to perform again? Do you publicly play at a level that does not accurately represent your best? Or do you remember that you have children and 5 baskets of unfolded laundry upstairs and scrap the idea altogether?

Yesterday morning I had the brilliant thought that I should play the piano for a while for fun, as a form of "self-care" or "me" time. I waited until Addy and Jackson were sitting up eating breakfast and then I started to play a Mozart slow movement. Jackson immediately left his cereal to go soggy and took this perfect opportunity to climb on me and add a duet part. Recently I have been working with this er, rather, um, challenging child on being firm and sticking with boundaries, so I gently pulled him off my lap and told him that he needed to wait. He didn't like this ("But mahhhhhm, I want you!") but he was going to have to live with it. He climbed on me again and, yet again, I gently pulled him down and said he would have to wait.

The ideal way to practice....

 I pulled out the Schumann-Liszt "Widmung" and started to play through it. Jackson climbed up on the back of me and then held on to my neck and swung from there, laughing at what great fun this was. Again, I stuck to my boundaries and calmly set him down to the side and told him that he needed to wait. Finally, seeing that half-measures were not working, Jackson took a giant plastic sand shovel that I bought the other day and used it to knock my music down off the music stand and knock the piano lid closed. (Exactly how he did this I am not sure....) At that point, all calmness and boundaries flew out the window. I stopped playing and bellowed, "NO JACKSON!!!! NO! NO! DON'T DO THAT!!! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!! No toys on the piano!!!!!" After about ten seconds of bellowing "NO" and scrambling to contain myself, I calmly took him to time out as he sobbed giant tears. At this point, after liberally berating myself for losing my temper, I tried to remind myself that I am not a perfect mom and anyone has their breaking point-- especially when a giant plastic sand shovel is applied to the music rack of your piano.

I think I see simultaneously why I don't practice the piano very much anymore and why the successful Venezualan concert pianist Teresa Carreno (who had six children) reportedly kept a loaded gun on the piano. Um, yeah. That might work. I guess that explains a lot.


"I'm not a perfect person, 
there's many things I wish I didn't do. 
But I continue learning..." -Hoobastank

Do You Love Your Neighbor?

Going back to some of my deeper thoughts of the last month, I often struggle to find a healthy level of self-esteem. Maybe it ties into my hang-ups with mommy stereotypes, but I often fall into feeling like I need to be perfect or AMAZING or at least really great at something. I have a terrible habit of being really hard on myself, even if I am honestly trying my best.

I have recently pondered the scriptural admonition to "Love thy neighbor as thyself." I think I have always unconsciously twisted that scripture into "Love thy neighbor MORE THAN thyself," which-- at least at first glance-- sounds like it would be more noble and less selfish than loving yourself and neighbors equally. But loving yourself isn't always as simple as it looks.

Most of the time I think I am a reasonable "neighbor" or friend to the people I come in contact with. Let's picture a friend coming up to me and saying, "I'm having a really hard day today. I feel awful about myself because still haven't lost my baby weight. My house is a mess and I feel like a terrible mother. My kids fight and I am never on time." How would I respond? I would probably tell her, "Don't be so hard on yourself! It's totally not reasonable to expect to look like a supermodel when you have a baby and multiple other kids to take care of. Your kids will remember the time you spent with them, not how your house looked. You're a great mother! Everyone's kids fight sometimes and being late sometimes is not the end of the world!" At least I hope that I would say something like that. I know I would at least say, "You know, you are trying your best and that's all we can do. You don't need to be perfect. Just don't give up!" And I expect that most decent friends would say something along these same lines.

Let's change this up a bit now. Let's say that I am having a hard day and think to myself this same thing: "I'm having a really hard day today. I feel awful about myself because still haven't lost my baby weight. My house is a mess and I feel like a terrible mother. My kids fight and I am never on time." How do I respond to myself? I tell myself (as any *reasonable* person would): "But you ARE a terrible mother. That's why you are having such a hard time. And you are SO FAT. Your kids fight because you are such a terrible mother. Maybe if you weren't so lazy and didn't let them watch so much TV they wouldn't fight so much. And if you just got off your duff and exercised or put down that box of cookies your baby weight would have been gone months ago! And anyone can keep their house clean. It's not rocket science. Sheesh."

Because I wouldn't want to be one of those selfish, self-absorbed, self-loving people, right? And I'm just being honest with myself about my shortcomings, right? That's a *virtue*. So if I'm following the biblical injunction to "love my neighbor as thyself," does that mean that I should tell all of my friends that they are fatties, bad mothers, pathetic for not keeping their house cleaner and at fault for all of their kids' tantrums? Um, yeah.

The funny thing is that I've found that when I'm in that negative place of hating and being hard on myself I don't have much charity or goodwill left to extend to other people. And frankly, I don't think that I'm being very honest with myself in the above example either. Somehow it seems okay to equate being negative with being honest-- at least concerning yourself-- rather than really aiming for a balanced analysis. Does losing your temper occasionally or letting your kids watch TV when you need a break really make you a BAD mother? Really, Karen?

So how do you "love" yourself without becoming selfish or self-absorbed? Maybe the answer comes from that scripture: loving myself as I love my neighbor. Seeing myself as just another person, no more or less important than any others, no more or less perfect than any other bumbling human being trying to make their way through life as best they can. So the next time I have that bad day and start to rag on myself because it's noon and I haven't showered, my kids are watching TV and I'm writing a blog post instead of doing my dishes (I plead the fifth-- although I am dressed and the TV is off-- at least for the moment), I'm going to respond differently: "You're just having a hard day, Karen. You may not look like a supermodel (who does?) but you look really good-- especially for having had four kids. You totally wiped the counters today-- that counts doesn't it? You sanitize your bathrooms at least every other month. (Germs are good for kids' immune systems, right?)  And a kid like Jackson could put any person in the loony bin!" (Hmmmm, I may need some practice at this....)

Let's try this again: "Karen, you are a good mom. You are not a perfect mom and probably never will be, but you are good enough. You love your kids, spend time with them and do your best. You look just fine. Your house is just fine. It isn't perfectly clean but it is clean enough. You are doing what matters -- not perfectly-- but well enough. So give yourself a break. You know, you are trying your best and that's all we can do. You don't need to be perfect. Just don't give up!"

What's Your Mommy Stereotype?

Recently I have had a lot on my mind, not much of which has made it to my blog. My blog has been mostly relegated to "travel catch-up" and hasn't really been a sounding board for my thoughts recently.

For a while now, I have been mentally wrestling with the idea of what it means to be a good person, specifically what it means to be a good mother. It's easy to feel pressure to conform to some of the mommy stereotypes out there, regardless of which school of thought you subscribe to, and believe me, there are lots to choose from:

• Susie Homemaker (An oldie but goodie--"Do YOU make your own bread?")
• Working Mom Who Has and Does it All (Another classic)
• Completely-Organized-and-Together-and-Always-Prompt-With-a-Perfectly-Clean-House Mom ("I'm SO embarrassed that you dropped by and there's a single toy in my entryway!")
• Super-Involved Soccer-Mom/School Room-Mother who Volunteers for Every School Event
• Baby-Wearing Attachment-Parenting Creative Home-Schooling Mommy ("I-wear-my-child-in-a-sling-on-my-hip-until-they-are-three-so-they-will-grow-up-to-be-more-well-adjusted-than-yours")
• Spiritual Mommy (The one whose seven children sit completely reverently with perfectly combed hair and arms quietly folded at church each Sunday-- whose children LOVE their daily family devotional/scripture time.)
• Urban Hip Mommy (Looks effortlessly cool as she pushes her designer stroller, sips her Starbucks skinny steamer and fiddles with her iphone while her kids--dressed to the nines in Baby Gap--play at the Children's Museum.)
• The Hot Momma (A perfect size 4 with flat abs that look like they've never been acquainted with maternity clothes. Wakes up with her make-up done and hair styled. LOVES the gym.)
• Pillar of the Community Mom (Makes dinner for anyone who has a baby, president of the women's organization at church, serves on the school board or PTA, first to sign up on any service project volunteer list)
• Mary Poppins Nanny Mother ("Takes them on outings, gives them treats, sings songs, brings sweets. Never is cross or cruel, never gives them castor oil or gruel...")
• Achievement/Extra-Curricular-Oriented Super-Mommy with AMAZING Children ("Ryder has been so busy preparing again for the engineering competition that he won last year that he hardly has any time left for his cello practice!")
• Enviro-Conscious Diapers-with-Cloth While Preparing Locavore Meals with Organic Produce Delivered from the Local CSA Mom (Okay, maybe that one is unique to Portland)

I am not saying that any or all of these stereotypes are bad. Most- if not all- of them have some worthy elements to them. But most of the "good mother" stereotypes have one thing in common: they are all equally unattainable for a normal woman who has normal children. I frequently fall prey to feeling like I have to fit one of these stereotypes-- perfectly, no less-- in order to be a "good" mother. Heck, if I'm being completely honest, I think I have at least wanted to be every single one of these stereotypes ALL AT ONCE (some are more out of reach for me than others...).

So back to the question at hand... what makes a good mother? Is it how smart or talented your kids are? How much you volunteer? How clean your house is? I often get stuck on these things. How do you know when "good" is "good enough"? I'm still working on the answers to all of this and when I figure it out I will let you all know-- heck, I'll publish a best-selling book and use the proceeds to hire a personal chef, get daily housecleaning, force my way onto "What Not to Wear" for a wardrobe makeover and spend a couple of months traveling to "discover myself".

But for now I've realized one thing that-- at least for me-- is true. I've been trying to "do" a good mother rather than "be" a good mother. As if somehow doing enough things or fitting a certain stereotype will suddenly make me feel like I have arrived. Motherhood is all about uncertainty. You are raising real people: they have their own free will and make their own choices. There's no way to know if you are doing the right thing or if you responded the right way or were too mean or too lenient or just right. There's no validation fairy that jumps in and says, "Great job! You were really firm in that situation and that's going to make all the difference in your child's life even though now he thinks you're the worst mom ever." Furthermore, you can't control your children or predict what life will throw at you or at them. You can only love them, teach them and do your best. And right now "doing my best" is about being: being loving, being kind, being firm, being "mean" (at least sometimes), being available, and just being there. Being a mother.

Ode to an Empty House (My Mom's Response to My Poem)

My mom wrote the following response to my poem, "Ode to My Messy House." After raising 6 kids who are now all grown and on their own, here is her perspective.

Ode to an Empty House       by Laurel (Karen's mom)

 

It’s amazing to see a whole house stay so clean

When not one single child all month it has seen.

The dishes are few and the spills don’t exist.

There are many less cleaning chores down on my list.

 

The bathrooms are tidy, the laundry stays done.

I find I am forced to make messes for fun.

The carpets stay fluffy, the floors keep their shine.

There’s barely a clean-up whenever we dine.

 

I have so many more hours of free time to spend.

Those years of hard work suddenly came to an end.

The house stays so quiet, each room is so still.

There are so many hours of time I must fill.

 

And though I am grateful for this stage of ease

And I have to admit that life now is a breeze,

I find that I miss all that chaos and mess

Between lonely and chaos, I like lonely less!

 

And so I accept the life changes that come.

After thirty plus years my parenting’s done.

But I would gladly take back all the stress and the clutter

Just to have one child ask me for bread and some butter.