9 posts tagged “motherhood”

In this post, I am participating in a Book Club sponsored by the New Jersey Moms Blog.  Participants read “Writing Motherhood” by Lisa Garrigues and responded to a writing prompt.  Below, I respond in 250 words (exactly!) to the invitation to write about my most outrageous or inexcusable bad mothering moment.  (I took the liberty of changing that to “questionable” mothering moment – I can’t bring myself to write something wholly negative!)  Anyway, here it goes:

My most questionable mothering moment happened when I failed to take care of myself.   When my daughter Petunia was three, I attended graduate school full-time, commuting from NJ to NYC for evening classes after caring for her all day. I felt I was The Poster Mom for Having It All, though it was exhausting; at 29, I didn’t know my limits.  Taking an overload of classes, I’d sacrifice sleep for my homework so that I could be there for Petunia during the daytime.

Then one day, Petunia and I picked up her babysitter, and I needed to run an errand before dropping them off and heading to class.  As I nosed into a parking spot, I hit a parked car.  As I sat there aghast, a box truck hit the front of my car – also my fault. as I was not parked legally.

A lot of realizations unfolded from that accident, including the firing of our babysitter, who gave a fake name (“Maureen Amaureen”) to the police!  Sitting on the curb and calling my husband, I cried because I knew that I shouldn’t have been driving while I was over-tired, especially not with my daughter in the car.  I thanked God that I only hit a parked car and not a person or a pole.  My harsh awakening involved realizing that by not taking care of myself, real danger could result.  Now, when I’m “Maureen Amaureen tired,” I don’t take any chances, and I’m a better mom for it.

To read other responses to our Book Club writing invitation, please click here for the New Jersey Moms Blog.  If you are interested in reading Writing Motherhood, which I do recommend, you can borrow it from me if you’re local, or you can order it here.

... to my own mother, currently vacationing in Singapore.
... to my mother-in-law in Brooklyn.
... to my grandmother in West Virginia.
... to my aunt, currently serving the Department of Justice in Afghanistan.
... to Petunia's godmother in Michigan.
... to Dash's godmother, currently vacationing in Norway.
... to my kids' friends' moms, who mother my children alongside me.
... to my fellow Mommy Bloggers, my virtual sisterhood.
... and to my extended family, friends who are moms, friends who are not yet moms...
... and to me.

My little gifts today:

Dash, at McDonald's with daddy: "Mama looks at this table and says GERMS GERMS GERMS."

Mama, to Dash at naptime: "Dash, do you know how much I love you?"  Dash: "To the moon."  Mama: "That's right."  Dash: "And Mama?  I love you to the closet."

Petunia, playing Wii with me: "Mama, I'm going to stomp you and squash you and defeat you right now.  But tomorrow, it's Mother's Day, so I'll have to let you win."  [And, by the way, she ALWAYS beats me at Wii Play's "Find Mii" -- so she will have to let me win.]

For some reason, I can't get in the mood for Mother's Day this year.

Petunia is very, very excited about it.  Like her father, she can't keep a secret to save her life, and she's been dropping hints like "we'll wake you up with a soy latte but you won't know from where!" all week.  [Note to the Guv: If the kids wake me up on Mother's Day, that will be very uncool.  And Starbucks has the only soy latte around here that's worth drinking.  Thanks.]  I'm glad that Petunia's excited, and bringing me soy lattes, and taking me out for a gluten-free dinner...

But. 

I've hemmed and hawed about why I can't get into Mother's Day this year when I have two amazing, beautiful children, a wildly adventurous mom, an unobtrusive mother-in-law and a grandma who still has pep in her step.  Maybe it's because Dash's ear surgery is on the 15th, and I can't wait to get it over with.  Maybe it's because the school board seat that had my name on it was just vacated, and no fewer than a dozen people have come up to me to say "too bad you're not going to be here" -- plus, maybe it's having to start over and build that kind of credibility someplace else.  Maybe it's because of the stress of selling our home without having a new place waiting on the other coast.  Maybe it's because of an e-mail I just received from a classmate who's baby may not reach his third birthday because of a rare disease.  That's just not right, and not fair, and not okay, and not understandable.  Maybe I feel guilty, because Dash has been sick almost all of his life, but his illnesses like chronic ear infections and possible gluten sensitivity are controllable, endable, endurable, answerable.

So Mother's Day, sure, I'll enjoy my soy latte, and I'll place my phone calls, and I'll pretend to love whatever my family has in store for me.  I'll rally, and I'll smile, and maybe I'll be lucky and it'll even be sunny enough to take another hour-long trike/bike ride with Petunia and Dash.   Sometimes, I am filled with the wonder of this world, usually revealed to me through my children.  Other times, things happen that make me question my abilities as a parent, my faith, my decisions... The good news is that soon, we'll be in a new place, and most of this uncertainty will be cast aside.  It's going to be a long road to get there, but at least we will get there all together and finally have a life that we live all together as a family more days than not.  And that's a good enough mother's day present for me.

When I put Dash down for his nap each afternoon, we take a FiFi (soy milk in a sippy cup) upstairs, change into his pajamas (because his clothes are always dirt-covered) and read a story or two.  This week, we've been reading and re-reading "Percy's Chocolate Crunch" -- a Thomas the Tank Engine story about a water shortage forcing the engines only to get one wash-down each day, and Percy, who hates to get dirty, doesn't like the new "usefuless before cleanliness" policy.  [Insert any number of jokes about the Guv authoring this policy as it reflects his constant attempts to avoid bathing kids more than he deems necessary, which, of course, is 'round 'bout never.] 

In any event, I have started looking forward to this naptime ritual immensely for a few reasons.  It starts with the pajama change, for which Dash sticks his little arms high up in the air -- as in "Stick 'em up!" -- for both the removal of his old shirt and the putting on of the new one.  His little arms in the air help a great deal with getting his shirt off, but not so much with putting the new one on -- yet he insists on dressing this way, and he will remain in that "hands high" position for as long as it takes me to get him dressed.  Once, he waited several minutes as I retrieved the forgotten FiFi and found clean PJs.  His arms must've been tired, but he was frozen in position.  My enjoyment of this is twofold: One, it's just funny, as he's so skinny and little, and he looks like he's being robbed -- especially the solemn face with these perfectly-still toothpick arms held straight up.  Two, he is perfectly still as he waits in this position.  This may be the only time in the day when he is perfectly still.  He doesn't sleep still, doesn't eat still, doesn't watch TV still, doesn't try to use the potty still (so potty training is going to be taking a looooong time).

Then, there's the Percy story.  No one warned me that having a boy meant having dirt around everywhere, all of the time.  I don't mean sand falling out of his shoes -- I mean real, actual, dirt that he's dug out of the yard, placed in a dump truck and brought in to add some realism to his train table.  (That's one of many examples.)  So there is no story that this boy likes more than the story of a train who gets covered in coal dust, cinders, and, ultimately chocolate.  As he squeals with delight and asks if Percy has to have a bath, he looks sad when I tell him that yes, Percy finally gets to have a washdown, despite the water shortage.  Of course, Dash would rather not wash off all of that delicious dirt-infused chocolate; he'd rather scrape it off, put it in a dump truck, mix in some rocks, and dump it on my kitchen floor, probably test-licking some until he's caught and the mess is cleaned up. 

Here, I bought the book because I thought "water shortage" education might come in useful for our California move, and it seemed timely with Earth Day and all... and the boy takes away a lesson about good, dirty fun and the sad, bad bath that follows.  And I couldn't be happier, because this is the joy of having a boy -- and when he's entertained, happy, dirty, and especially nap-bound, life is good and peaceful, for an hour or so at least.  Sometimes I even fall asleep too, overwhelmed with the wonder of it all.

The Guv has returned from his annual golf vacation, rested and (finally) victorious, cradling the trophy for the year.  He has many funny stories to tell, and tonight, I will enjoy hearing them.  That's right, I will enjoy -- a word that hasn't been seen in my last few blog posts! 

There is peace in our kingdom, for daddy is home at long last.  Dash, who was beginning to take on a rather sickly appearance, decided to EAT!  in celebration of his father's triumphant return.  He munched on some of his favorite Starbucks vanilla scones, Burger King french toast sticks, cheese pizza, katsu chicken, rice... he ATE!  And, needless to say, he was pretty much instantly a different child -- an enjoyable, happy, fun little boy with whom I wanted to spend time.  We kicked rocks all the way around the cul-de-sac.  We posed dead worms.  We counted three deer, one bunny, one squirrel, one robin, one very angry bluejay and too many dandelions.  We laid on the grass and looked up at the cloudless blue sky.  This is how every day with him should be.  Instead, this is one of very few days we've had like this over the past school year.  I will remember this day next time he's refusing to eat, because I need to believe that he eventually will eat.  I also need to figure out how to convince him that eating makes him happier -- because think about it: if YOU didn't eat for four days straight, wouldn't you be miserable (and make everyone around you miserable) too?  Thank God that soon, after his ear tubes are placed and especially when we hit the Green Mountains for the summer, he will be pleasant like this more days than not.  I'll play with dead worms all he wants to if he never cries at me in anguish all day again.  Too bad he's too young to make that (gross) trade.

So tonight, the Guv put Dash to bed, I read Petunia a very scary section of the fourth Harry Potter book (the Guv should expect a middle-of-the-night visitor over that one), and I held some guinea pigs, who have been sorely neglected as I've struggled to keep my head above water over the last few days.   It's a nice way to end one of the roughest patches of my parenting career.  And end it, we have.  Guv, get the Goldschlager!  Time to celebrate.

It is Monday morning, and Petunia is off to school.  Dash is under quarantine and won't be in preschool until after his ear tubes are placed on May 15, so he's sitting beside me on the couch.  I am trying hard to teach him that he doesn't need to be held every second of the day by getting up and leaving the couch when he starts whining.  Day One of this experiment is not going very well.  I am thinking that, if he doesn't have preschool, he should have Preschool On TV at least -- and if he can't watch TV on his own, how is he ever going to potty train or sleep alone?  But I'll save those issues for another post...

Yesterday, at the culmination of a weekend alone with kids that was, at times, rather unpleasant, I decided to drive to Target to pick up some new movies.  (If it seems like I'm solving a lot of my problems by turning on TV, damn right I am, and, unless someone can suddenly figure out how to solve Dash's perpetual behavioral issues and Petunia's lashing out at me because her Dad's not home, anyone who complains will be drawn and quartered.)  While in Target, we walked past the party aisle, and I decided that we'd make movie afternoon/evening a little more fun.  We bought some noisemakers (hey, when you have this kind of headache, not much can make it worse!) and some other party supplies.  I picked up groceries to make everyone's favorite dinner (Italian meatloaf and mashed potatoes) and smores for dessert, fixed some goodie bags while it all was cooking, and we turned the weekend on its head.  Petunia watched Enchanted, Dash watched his beloved Care Bears, and Mom got a little bit of peace and quiet -- well, while the movies were on, at least.  When the movies weren't being watched, the kids were in the basement having a Veggie Tales and noisemaker dance party.  I was upstairs drinking spiked coffee.  Dash didn't bite Petunia, and Petunia didn't talk about cats.  It was a rather pleasant evening chez Rox and Roll.

What I've learned this weekend is that, without question, next time the Guv is away for his golf weekend, I'm going to call in the grandparent cavalry and go away myself.  I figure that everyone in that situation wins, because the kids will be so happy to have grandparents around (and vice versa) that they won't lash out about Daddy's absence -- and I'll be sipping umbrella drinks on a beach somewhere, hoepfully with some other golf widows.  I don't want to be miserable when the Guv has a well-deserved weekend off; I want to share in the joy.  And now that it's over, I have a whole year to plan and look forward to it.  Things are looking up around here.

On Thursday morning, the Guv left for his 8th annual boys' golf vacation, this year to Barton Creek in Texas.  This trip with the same four guys (two from NY -- one of whom flew in from Dubai one year -- and one from CA) is the highlight of his year, and I am truly happy for him that he has this special weekend.  This post is not meant to detract from that at all.  BUT...

Seriously, though, this is the end of day three with no daddy around, when daddy is ALWAYS around on the weekend (just ask Dash, who reminds me of that fact every five minutes), and I'm losing my freakin' mind.  Speaking of Dash, he has been nothing short of horrible.  True, he doesn't feel well, with his umpteenth ear infection.  But I don't feel bad enough for him to condone his biting his sister repeatedly.  He was never a biter until two weeks ago, and now he bites and, if that doesn't make the bitee yield to his will, hits.  If this was behavior that came with sickness, he'd have been doing it for a much longer time.  He's just being rotten because he can -- because people are always doing his bidding.  Case in point, we're having leftovers for dinner tonight, and Dash requested chicken.  (BTW, chicken was not a leftover.)  I made the chicken.  He didn't want the chicken; he wanted rice.  I made rice.  (BTW, rice also was not a leftover option.)  He didn't want the rice.  He wanted Dora Yogurt.  I had one left.  He didn't want Dora Yogurt.  I strapped him into his high chair -- thank you, inventor of the five-point harness! -- and informed him that he would not get up until the Dora Yogurt was gone.  His response?

"Mama, you're punished," said with some serious power behind it.

Oh yes, Dash, I am punished.  I am punished every day, because that is the nature of being a mother -- but I am also rewarded more than I am punished, and that is why I let you live on days like today.  Days when I'm thinking Thank God the au pair works tomorrow so that I can take Grace to church, because I need to get out of this house (!!!) and I need some church to remind me of what a sage friend once said: "When you ask God for patience, he doesn't give it to you; he gives you opportunities to learn it."  And man, am I getting schooled right now!

Usually, I could say "At least Petunia is behaving," but even she is under my skin today.  It started with a comment in the car about how she and Dash both want a cat (let me make this clear: I DO NOT LIKE CATS), and how it sucks that people in our family are allergic to cats... and how, when they're all dead, we can have cats!  Oh. My. God.  Is that my dear, sweet princess talking, or was that the horror film child with the spinning head?  I am quite sure that Petunia understands the error of her statement now, and I'm quite sure that I know the talk SHE'D BETTER be having with God in church tomorrow...

And the day is not done, nor is this long weekend.  Because of a business commitment tacked on to the end of this trip, the Guv is gone until Monday night.  Thank God he said "no" to going to California to look at a house that I really like on Tuesday, because I'd surely be over the edge by that time.

These children, I love them dearly, so much it hurts.  Sometimes that's a good hurt, and sometimes, that's a bad hurt, like today, when I am punished.  I've lost my temper, forced a kid to eat by strapping him down (note, though, that it did work), and made another feel pretty bad about her very nature after wishing people dead so that she could have a cat.  (Clearly that's not exactly how she meant it, but I promise you that she will never have a cat in her life now.)  I'm pretty far from a perfect mother, but the Guv tells me often that "the perfect is the enemy of the very good."  And I think I've done "very good," because I've given them hugs all day when, on a couple of occasions, a good spanking would've done more good.  But I don't believe in that, so hugs it is. 

Hopefully, on Monday eve, the Guv and I can polish a golf trophy together, and I can hear about his trip and think about how nice a four-day escape would be.  One of these years, maybe they'll find a way to golf near Canyon Ranch, take the mothers of their children, and call in the grandparent cavalry to wrangle kids for the weekend.  Then, everybody wins!  Do you think it's okay to pray for that in church tomorrow?

This morning, as Petunia was dressing for tap dance, she came into my room in tears.  I asked what was wrong, and she yelled, "Mama!  It's so embarassing!" with her arms crossed over her chest.  When I coaxed her into unfolding her arms and talking to me, the problem became apparent.  She had put her leotard on backward, and it threatened to reveal her boobs (her term for them, not mine!).  

Now, this is funny to me because yesterday, she almost left for school with an entire dress on backward.  Clearly, the child is having an issue with putting her clothes on properly.  So, I declared tomorrow to be backward day and suggested that we all wear our clothes backward.  The idea didn't fly -- she just gave me a deadpan look and said, "Mama, that would be SO embarassing."  Oh well.

In any event, as we corrected the Problem of the Backward Leotard, Petunia muttered, "I don't want to have boobs, anyway!" through her tears.  So, as much as it kills me to say "boobs" instead of "breasts", I gave her my own deadpan look and told her: "Petunia, someday, when you're a woman, your boobs will grow larger, and, one day, you'll have a baby.  And as you feed that baby milk through those boobs, you'll be very thankful that you have the power to nourish your baby.  Boobs may get in the way sometimes, but they're very important to the circle of life."

My motherly lesson was apparently riotously funny, and she spent the entire ride to tap dance asking me if I could ever picture her breastfeeding a baby and snickering.  But I couldn't help to think to myself that yes, yes I can, and isn't that the point of all of this: to raise a strong, independent woman who can give and nourish life just as I gave Petunia her life and nourished hers? 

In the midst of all of our recent sickness and chaos, sometimes I feel guilty that I wish (a little too often) that they'd grow up and take care of themselves already.  Then the guilt is supplanted by this realization that, when they do, it's because I ripped out my own heart, split it in two, stuck their little arms and legs on the halves and sent them to go forth into the world and do some good.  And when they hurt, I will hurt -- but when they are joyful, that's my joy, too.  It is my highest aspiration that their happiness and their success in life surpass my own.   So, again, yes, Petunia, I can picture you breastfeeding many babies, even though it's a little strange right now.  You'll make a great mom someday, and Dash will make a great dad someday, because the Guv and I are working hard to give you the toolkit you'll need.  In the meanwhile, let's work on figuring out how to help you dress yourself properly, so that your boobs are not a burden at age 7, and perhaps we can even avoid dressing in all pink sometimes... just a suggestion.

That's how I feel I should go around introducing myself during this ridiculous week.  Here's my schedule (above and beyond the get to/from school, prepare three square meals a day, nap, homework, bath etc. routine):

Monday eve: Take Petunia to the Girl Scout Christmas party.  Also take cookies and $20 exchange gift.  Help with craft that involves tying two pieces of fleece together to make a pillow.  Become amazed that a lot of 7 and 8 year olds can't tie a knot.  (Fortunately, Petunia could!)

Tuesday: Attend holiday jewelry party in the morning.  Pull a Guv and buy myself some earrings for Christmas.  Lunch with June Cleaver (who is so awesome, so what a nice break!).  Take Petunia to tennis at 5.  Pick up the Guv from the train at 7.

Wednesday: Go to Dash's parent-teacher conference in the morning.   Pray he's not getting kicked out of preschool.  Meet briefly with Petunia's teacher after school to discuss end-of-year party.  Print pictures for family night crafts.  Take Petunia to her school's "family night" at 7.  Help kids build gingerbread houses out of graham crackers and frosting.  Can you say g-e-r-m-s?  Somewhere in there, help Petunia to learn some of "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" for her "holiday sharing" tomorrow.

Thursday: Spiff up to attend private school parent interview with the Guv in the morning.  Lunch with his colleague/my friend.   Take kids to advent service at church at 4:30.  Attend the library board meeting (I'm a trustee, how strange is that) at 7:30.

Friday: Take Petunia to the dentist at 8 am.  Volunteer at the town library in the morning.  Volunteer at the school library in the afternoon.

Saturday: Take Petunia to tap dance in the morning.  Bake Christmas cookies and wrap gifts for the Guv's family.  Squeeze in the writing of some of our 150 (literally) cards. 

Sunday: Leave on a 7 am train to start the day with Petunia and au pair Maria at the Radio City Christmas Spectacular at 9.  Go to Brooklyn afterward for Christmas with the Guv's family.  Return to NJ for a 4:00 birthday party.

What's missing?  Tennis.  The gym.  Almost everything that I want to do (ME ME ME!).  Mailing seven packages to my family and friends.  Preparing our "sleigh" full of kids' stuff for Vermont. 

And the new Maple Clove drink some friends poured into me at their jewelry party last month.  Or two.  Or three.  Did I mention that I should really start looking for a paying, outside-the-home job, because I'm really not cut out for this?