Tag: motherhood

Bringing it down to the Basics

It was 2011. I was newly divorced, in school full time, working as many hours as I could get, and raising 3 kids. Looking back, it’s almost comical that I thought I could have an organized house as well. 

“What do you need?” My friend Kris asked me. She had come over with the intention to clean/organize/help. I was drowning in my life and I desperately needed someone to throw me a lifesaver. 

“I don’t know. I mean. I guess the toys. I can’t think because there is so much everywhere. The toys go there. Top drawer is dolls. Second is dress up. Bottom draws is everything else. I don’t know. They’re all mixed up.” I told her showing her my organizer. “And art stuff goes here. Paper in this drawer, crayons and markers in this one, and the other stuff in that one.”

“No. That’s too much. You need to simplify it. How about toys here, and art stuff here.”

“But. Everything has a place. I just…”

“What a your goal? What do you want in here?”

“I want the toys off the floor. I want to walk through my house without stepping on stuff.”

“Beth. The girls can help. They need to. You can’t do it all, so we need to find a way that is simple. So the kids can do it.”

I had to let go of some control. Here’s the thing, (for those who don’t know how it is to function with ADHD) I have to be that uptight about things. Chaos around me gives anxiety. I forget things. I lose things. Everything has a place, because otherwise, nothing has a place. 

So I changed the rules. Instead if having such strong stipulations on where the kids put the toys, I just made sure they were put away. It worked. The kids didn’t feel overwhelmed with helping. So I started simplifying other aspects of my life. 

Sorting socks? Nope. I don’t have time. My goal is to have clean socks when we need them. Boom. New rule, sock basket. All the clean socks in the house are in there. Find your own. While thes things were not ideal for my house, I found the amount of stress that was lifted was definitely worth letting go. 

Sometimes, when I feel overwhelmed, I like to bring it down the the basics. Not forever, just for long enough to gain some perspective. Not just with household chores, but with friendships, parenting, work, and everything else. 

Parenting. What is the goal? I’m sure your response would be something about love, or God, or kindness, or being strong or something like that. No. Those are not the goals. Those are the personal details you have set for what are actually the goals. 

There are 2 things your kid needs from you. Two. Taking it to The basics. These 2 things are the backbone of why you make any and all decisions regarding your kids. And if they’re not, you need to reevaluate your motives in parenting.

The first, let them keep their innocence as long as possible. We protect them from the horrors of the world so that they can develop into who they are truly meant to be. Life has a way of hardening us. Our children need to keep the tenderness, and awe for life and the world as long as possible.

The second, produce functional adults. Our children need to be able live and function in society someday. We cannot shelter them forever. They need to be able to socialize. They need to be able to work a job. They need to be able to keep themselves safe when you’re not there. They need to be able to think and make choices. 
These goals sound contradictory. You can see why teenage years are so tough. Constantly trying to balance protecting our teen while at the same time knowing in a few short years they need to be able to function in the world. 

Now, what is your definition of innocence? What do you consider a functioning adult? This is where our parenting styles come into play. We make choices every day with these in mind. “No, sorry, Sally isn’t allowed to sleep over until she’s older.” Or “Rinse your bowl.” Or “Sure, Jimmy can definitely go out with his friends after the game.” Based on our childhoods, usually, we decide what we will or will not do with our kids. 

If you are an overwhelmed parent, bring it to the basics. Ask yourself, is this helping them keep their innocence or helping them develop into a functioning adult? If it doesn’t fit one of those 2 things, quit fretting about it. Quit being angry about it. Quit wearing yourself down over it. 

Someday I will sort socks again. And you know what? The toys in my house are now sorted. The art stuff all has a place. It took 7 years, but I got it back slowly. Just because it’s not ideal, doesn’t mean it’s bad. My house is a disaster. Why? Because I want the kids to help clean. And honestly, they don’t do a great job. My kids need a mom who helps show them. Not a mom who yells and shames them. 

You know what your kids need. You know what type of adult you hope they become (or possibly one you don’t want them to become). Have a little faith in yourself. Take a deep breathe, and let go. 

Honestly, I Didn’t Really Want This Gift

I’m pregnant. Seventeen weeks at this time. This will be kid #4. That is a lot of kids. This pregnancy was completely unexpected, and honestly, not wanted. I waited to blog about this. I wanted to wait until the shock and complete life meltdown had calmed.

Well. It didn’t calm. As I sat in that doctors office at my 12 week appointment, I saw my baby on the ultrasound screen, I waited to feel something. Anything but anxiety. Nothing. No tears were shed. No happy emotion was felt. I was blank. Then I was angry. I was really counting on seeing the baby to snap me into excitement. I know I cannot be the only person out there to feel this way. So I tried a different approach to help myself become excited. Fake it until you make it, right? There is so much faking it while you’re pregnant. I am regularly on social media, and post cute belly shots, funny pregnancy memes, and keep a very positive attitude about it. Here’s a secret, those are for me, not my Facebook friends. I am really wanting to be excited about a baby. I just can’t seem to get there.

Years ago, I worked at Starbucks. A regular customer came in, noticeably upset. She had just found out she was pregnant. I couldn’t understand why she was so upset. She was married, in her 30s, and a great 8 year old son. Why wasn’t she thrilled about this? I now understand. She was done. Her life was on a different path. Her entire life was going to change. Everything.

I get corrected a lot when I’m honest about it. It’s frustrating. I’m allowed to be upset, even devastated about this. It is life changing. “But you’re such a great mom!” Yes. And I will be a great mom that loves this kid as well. Still upsetting. “Babies are a blessing!” Well. I didn’t want this blessing right now. I was enjoying and content with the blessing of having self sufficient children. “You’re so strong! You got this!” While I know that is supposed to be encouraging, maybe I don’t want to be strong. Maybe just once I was happy to not have to sacrifice every single part of who I am for another person. Even if that person is my kid.

See, as a parent, it’s hard to be honest about the shitty parts of parenting. The assumption is that if you don’t love every part, or find those hardships as cute little roadblocks, you’re less of a parent. This is such a fucking lie. Every parent out there has times they hate it. I love my kids more than anything. But being a parent really does suck sometimes. Especially for a single parent. I am now expected to sacrifice my body for over a year, my hobbies, my social life, and I have to do it alone. No one to tell me I’m pretty. No one to run out and get me craving food. No one to lay holding my tummy, trying to feel kicks. No one to ease my anxiety about having another child. No one to be excited when I’m having days where I feel like I can’t do it. Alone.

I know I chose to keep this baby. I know I will be so happy and joyful watching this amazing kid grow. I know that someday I will read back on this and be glad I’m past it. I also know that right now, carrying this child is a burden. It makes me feel isolated and alone. It makes me angry at the dad. It makes me angry at god. It makes me angry at myself. It makes me bitter and jealous of all those people who’s biggest problem is deciding on the nursery theme. It makes me feel selfish. I have to tell myself no about so much, and this means even more no’s.

So all you out there reading this that have supported me, thank you for the positive words. I really do appreciate it. I really am trying to be happy about it. Please continue the support. It is a wonderful distraction to the reality of the situation.

For those who are feeling the same, it’s ok, I know how much it sucks to have to fake it. To feel like your missing out on all those happy pregnancy moments, because you’re not happy. This doesn’t mean you’re a bad person or going to be a bad mom. It means you’re human.

Now, I will go back to my positive social media posts, and move forward. I know it will all click at some point. I’ll get there eventually, and I am working on not beating myself up to badly on it taking so long. I’m a pretty impatient person.

How to Treat a Wound. Mother Style.

What happens when you accidentally stab yourself with a screwdriver in the finger? For most ppl, it would be, put pressure on it, gently clean, treat an antibiotic ointment and a band aid.

But when you’re a mom, it’s not nearly as simple. First, you track blood in from one room to another, looking for the roll of paper towel. You know it’s somewhere, but can’t remember which room had the most recent spill. Then you find it with the barbies. One is sitting on top, while another is sleeping cozy under a “double quilted” bedspread. You very rudely wake Barbie up from her slumber to stop the bleeding. Now the bleeding is contained and you can carry on to the next task. The bandaid.

At this point the kids notice and keep asking what happened. Now, the pain is pretty extreme. So out of fear of only profanity escaping your mouth, you mumble out a very eloquent “mmffnnppff” Your significant other now arrives, “Are you OK??” He asks. And you blurt out, “NO I’M NOT!” The guilt of yelling at your love hits you briefly, but then becomes overcome by the pain. So he backs off and leaves you to your chaos. Mental note, apologize for that later.

Keeping calm, you hold your now wrapped finger above your head. And start the search for bandaid. In a house with three children, this task is more impossible than finding the holy grail or the fountain of youth. On your quest, you notice that hairbrush you was looking for, about 14 hair ties, your daughters sandle that was lost, the cat’s toy mouse, and every other lost thing you’ve been looking for. You mental note where those things are, and carry on with your search, knowing that mental note will most likely be erased in the near future.

As a last resort, you just pull everything from the back of the cupboard forward. Forgetting you sliced your finger, you go to grab some random objects, and start the bleeding process over again. You contemplate releasing your hulk self, and ripping out the entire cupboard, but contain yourself. Then. Victory. There it is. A 1/2 opened red crayon bandaid, stuck to the bottom of the shelf. You snatch it up, and do a one handed open. As you try to fasten it it the tip of your finger, it catches on itself, leaving one side unsticky and bunched. Refusing defeat, you just pull the other side even tighter over the crinkled side. You did it! Sweet satisfaction in your victorious adventure is interrupted the moment you realize you forgot the antibiotic ointment. You look at the frazzled looking red crayon, sloppily wrapped around your finger and wonder if you can stick the tip of the ointment in without disturbing your attempt at attaching this lone bandaid. Throwing caution to the wind, you say eff it!  And breathe.

This all happens in about 1 1/2 mins.

*you can also substitute a duct taped/scotch taped paper towel bandaid if your attempt for finding a bandaid is in vain.

I Should Get an A for Effort

Do you remember in school that combination of nervousness and excitement of conferences? Maybe not the later years, but in elementary school, it’s exciting to see your mom and dad proud of you, yet nerve racking that maybe you weren’t nearly as great as you thought. Well, for my non parent friends, I would like you to know that it’s the same feeling when your kids have conferences. I am not sure of how they are now versus 20 years ago, but my experiences is full of anxiety. Don’t get me wrong, I know that my kids are amazing, so I most likely will get to hear about how wonderful they are, but I know any negatives will most definitely be my fault. 

My oldest daughter, Audrey, is a very smart, funny, shy, contemplative child. Full of curiosity and a great comprehension of anything taught, I know that she is doing well academically. So I sit and listen to the teacher rave about her. How well she does on tests, how advanced she is in subjects, and how great it is to have her in her class. Then the pause….BUT….  I knew it was coming. One issue I needed to resolve was tardiness. Yuck. I knew this would be brought up. Why is she always late? You are the mother, and it IS your responsibility to get your children to the school on time. She does so much better when she’s here early. etc. I, of course, heard all these things and became very emotional about the subject because all I heard while she said these things was, “You’re failing motherhood! You’re not doing your job! Your child is lacking because you’re so flipping incompetent!” This teacher did not say these things, but definitely perceived her criticism as a personal attack on my ability as a mother. 

I tried to explain myself, but within a couple min of talking, I realized I sounded like the biggest excuse maker in the world. A “the dog ate my homework” excuse would have been better received than my reasons. After we addressed other issues, I left and proceeded to sit in my car having myself a good ugly cry. After thoroughly wiping the fluids from every hole in my face with some left over McDonald’s napkins, I went on my way.

Why the heck did this affect me so strongly? I’m sure there are parents in there that have to hear about what a little shit Tommy is, or how far behind academically Sally is. My child is doing awesome. I should be leaving with a sense of pride and happiness. Not snot and Alice Cooper eye makeup. 

The reason is because this is a subject I kind of feel helpless on. When people ask why we  late,are I always want to reply the same way. Which reason would you like? The time that Genevieve decided she had to poop before we left? Or maybe the time I leaned over and spilled my coffee all over the kitchen floor. Or we could go with the time that the girls decided to use one of there shoes to tie up a fort they made, so I had to spend 10 min untying knots. Or our most common occurrence, bus #12. Yes. There is actually one bus that has made us late numerous occasions. If, in the last 3 min of our drive to school we get behind this particular bus, it takes us an additional 5-10 min. And these are just normal days. I won’t even begin to give examples of what the winter months in Michigan hold for my family. Which reason is your favorite? 

Today, like a super mom, I managed to have everyone ready to go out the door EARLY. Then it happened. That moment the universe realizes it was not paying nearly enough attention, and forgot to throw some crap your way. My 4 year old was upset because she wanted to wear a very wrinkly blue and white dress. With black pants under. And she no longer liked her sparkly shoes. They were “too sparkly”. In the mean time, my 7 and 9 year old were “getting in the car”, which really means, we’re going to run around outside and hopefully find some puddles to jump in. And while we’re at it, maybe we can find a way to get a bit of dirt on various places of our body. So, I told my very upset 4 year old that the blue dress is beautiful, and pants are a great idea, and I understand that sparkly shoes were so “last week” but she’s stuck with them. And no you can’t have candy with your breakfast. Finally, which feels like an eternity, I load all the kids in the car. Ok. We wont be early, but we can still make it on time. Until about 10 min into our 35 min drive. “Oh no! I forgot my swim stuff!” My brain quickly reasons out the proper response. I really want to say, “Well, that’s unfortunate for you. I guess when you said you were ready and had everything for school, you didn’t really check. Guess you won’t be swimming today.” Then I realize that it would most definitely result in a talk with me about how I’m the parent, and thus, responsible to make sure my child has what she needs for school. I weigh out which scolding I would prefer, that, or the “late again?” one. I turn around and head back to the house to retrieve the forgotten bag. Following 2 buses, and having to wait for traffic to be guided around an accident were just the frosting on “C’mon!” cake we had this morning. My kids were 20 min late. 

So dear friends, when I say I’m sorry for being late, I am sincere. When I don’t feel the need to explain, making myself seem indifferent, I am not. Just know, that the reason for my “whatever” approach to our tardiness isn’t because I don’t care about punctuality, it’s because the reasons are usually so absurd, and happen so often, I just have to let it go.