The mom-ents that keep us going

I love being a mom.  I do.  I love my son more than I ever thought possible.  Still, there are definitely times...

Anyone who says they love every minute of being a mother is a) lying, or b) has a sad, sad life.  Don't get me wrong, I still love my son when I'm cleaning up vomit, walking in circles trying to calm him down, or pulling him out from behind the TV for the 78th time today, but there are definitely other things I would rather be doing.

I think it's completely normal to miss your pre-child life sometimes.  Early on Saturdays and anytime you're awake between 11pm and 6am are probably common times. 

Luckily, there are the mom-ents (haha) to remind you why you do what you do. 

I've been thinking a lot about holding on to these fleeting moments lately.  B's breastfeeding days are numbered, and though it's time to be done, I'm going to miss the closeness. When B was a baby, milk fixed everything.  He would fall asleep curled up against me, and as long as I was holding him, he was happy.  For 4 months he slept in the bassinet next to me, where I could hear him breathing and know that he was okay.  I still miss that.

The quest for independence can be frustrating for both parent and child, but I burst with pride at every little accomplishment.  I know it's silly, but the first time he clapped his hands I actually cried. 

Right now, my favorite time of day is when, after Ray gives him his bath, he comes toddling down the hall in just his diaper, slapping his thrust-out belly and laughing, and gives me a hug.  I don't want him to walk better.  I don't want him to be potty-trained.  I want him to be this sweet little boy forever.

These are the moments that make everything else worth it. 

Mommy guilt, part 1 of 1 million...

I meant to be a better mother, I really did.  The reason I wanted to stay home was so that I could provide all of these fun and educational opportunities for my son.  Day trips, crafts, games, etc. 

But the reality is that babies and toddlers don't do that well with this type of structured activity.  That, and, even on the two nap a day schedule, I often feel like I'm swimming upstream just to keep the house clean, prepare nutritious meals, and keep my little one safe and entertained.

This mommy-guilt hit me the other day as I was addressing the store-bought valentines I got for the other kids in Benjamin's music class.  The teacher sent an e-mail giving the children's names, should we wish to bring valentines but assuring us we were under no obligation to do so.  Honestly, the only reason they got the card stock boxed cards is that I was at the grocery store on the day after Valentine's Day and there was a rack of half-priced cards that jogged my memory.  So I perused the picked over candy, decided it was all inappropriate for a class of babies and toddlers, and held up the boxes of Winnie the Pooh and Snoopy valentines and bought the one that B grabbed (Winnie the Pooh).  I addressed, assembled, and remembered to take them to class.  All big accomplishments for me! I did scold myself, though, because I fully intended to be the kind of mom who made homemade valentines.

So I was feeling a little guilty, but also exhausted as usual.  I started mentally railing against all of those blogger moms who spend their days not only doing adorable crafts, but then taking pictures and posting instructions for the rest of us.  Who has time for that?  I convinced myself that their children were being neglected by their craftiness.  There is nothing like the blogosphere to induce mommy-guilt. 

Then we went to class yesterday, and all of the other children brought valentines.  Some were homemade.  All contained a treat (except ours.  Just a pathetic little piece of paper and "a sticker for you!") I did console myself that most of the treats were choking hazards (so, consoled myself by eating my son's candy.  Hey, it's all about safety).  Some parents were on top of things enough to get little bags of goldfish and teddy grahams.  Things they no longer had on the day after the holiday when I finally managed to remember to get something.

I'm going to get it together, I swear.  I am going to rock Easter.  You just wait for the photos and step-by-step instructions!  B will be almost 16 months by then, totally old enough to dye eggs, mix candy, and ice cupcakes, right?

Sick kids

Last week my little guy had his first bout of the stomach flu.

I felt so bad for him, because I know the flu is miserable.  I imagine it's worse when you have no idea what is happening to you or why.

I've also never done well with vomit.  The smell makes me gag.  And with a kid who can't aim, there are lots of places for the smell to linger until you figure out that you're able to clean them too.  Plus, when you're home alone, you need to care for the child first and leave the mess until later, when it is hopefully not TOO dried in.  Yuck.

So stomach flu isn't fun but...even though I felt bad for him, and lived in fear of the next event, it was kind of nice.  He was snuggly.  He's a 14-month old boy; he NEVER sits still in my lap.  When he let me read stories for 30 minutes straight, I knew he was definitely sick.  And the next day, I made a big pile of books next to the rocking chair and was a little disappointed when he was feeling well enough to play. 

Does this make me a horrible mother, or is it something you've experienced too?

Everybody has one

You know how the saying goes.  An opinion, that is. It seems like if people don't have one about anything else, they do have one about parenting.

I admit that I have them too.  In a quest to set a better example for my son, I've resolved to be less judge-y, and keep them to myself.  But that's a topic for another day.

I do certainly believe that there are things you can do wrong as a parent.  Not using a car seat, or using it incorrectly, comes to mind.  As I've said before, if I have a parenting style it's to follow the recommendations of the American Academy of Pediatrics.  So that's adhering to SCIENTIFIC recommendations from EXPERTS in the field.  Common sense, really.  Still, people will tell you that the AAP's recommendations are wrong. 

Members of the older generation are good at this.  Somehow the fact that anything has changed in the last 30 years is unfathomable to them.  "Aw, my kids slept face down on a pillow, ate lead paint, and didn't wear seatbelts, and they turned out just fine!"  It's more shocking to me how many of my peers seem to think Grandma knows better than the pediatrician, but they're out there too.

Aside from following the AAP's recommendations on safety issues, much of parenting is preference.  I know there are many things that I thought I would handle differently until I was in the situation, and then I had to do what worked best for us.  There are areas in which I followed others' advice and wish that I hadn't. 

I definitely sought out the advice of other moms, and I still do.  I've also tried to give mom advice.  The best advice, though, always starts with "what worked for me..."  What worked for me may not work for you.  You may have different views on rooming in/ sleep training/ family planning, etc. and that's okay.  As long as you are keeping your child safe and doing the best that you can you are not doing it "wrong" no matter what your neighbor/ mother-in-law/ lady at the grocery store tells you.

So long, JoePa

My husband said to me the other night, "You know, I never met the man, I didn't even grow up in Pennsylvania, and somehow I feel like I lost a grandparent."  I suspect that many people share his emotions about Joe Paterno.  For me, it goes deeper.  My first thought upon hearing of his death, much as it had been upon hearing of his firing, was wondering how my dad was handling it.  My 63-year-old father has been cheering for Penn State, under head coach Paterno, since he graduated from high school.  I was so concerned that on Sunday night I had an anxious dream that my dad hadn't yet heard and I had to break the news to him.  Perhaps for my dad, who lost a distant father at a relatively young age, Joe Paterno, whom he also never met, was looked up to as a father-like figure.  He certainly displayed many of the traits anyone would want in a father. 

I know that some of you will wonder why I am writing about Joe.  Isn't this blog about parenting, and as a mother of a son am I not outraged at the handling of matters at Penn State?  I have no desire to argue with you.  I will only state what I have kept thinking since the scandal broke which is that he did exactly what I would have done in the same situation, and what we teach our children to do: tell a responsible person that you trust.

So, even with only tangential connections to the Paternos and Penn State, we mourn this week.  We mourn and we aspire to be more like Joe.  We strive to teach our children to be like Joe.  To have both determination and grace.  To be loyal.  To have a generous heart.  To value education.  To be humble.  To love.

In an interview, Jay Paterno said that his dad's parenting style was always to be a father first, not a friend, even when the lessons were hard.  Joe believed that when his children were adults they would be friends, armed with the many lessons he had taught them to sustain them throughout their lives. Jay stated that for him this is true, his father has given him the armor he needs to make it through the battles of life.  Yet, you could always see the love and compassion in his interactions with his children, as with his team.  Discipline with love.  Success with honor.  As parents and as people, may we all be more like Joe.

To work or not to work #2: Stay-at-home dads

Fortune magazine recently published an article about female CEOs and their stay-at-home husbands.  The idea is basically that a family cannot be successful with two parents in high pressure jobs, so if women want to succeed, they need men who will support them at home. 

There has never been much of a decision for us, because my husband has far greater earning potential than I do.  Even if he didn't, I'm not sure he'd consider the role.  He can be completely clueless about the guilt and challenges women face regardless of their employment situation.

In fantasy, I've been thinking about how different things would be if he was the one to stay home (or work part-time) and here are some of the changes I imagine:

1. Before he could say Mama or Dada, Benjamin would say Mike (and Mike).
2. Benjamin would go to the grocery store in his pajamas.  And for walks in his pajamas.  And to Lowe's, even when we didn't particularly need anything but just for a field trip, in his pajamas.
3. The floors would be spotless, while there was an inch of dust on the furniture.
4. We would spend at least twice as much on groceries.  And we would make three times as many trips to the grocery store.
5. We would eat more red meat.  In fact, we would eat meatloaf at least once a week.
6. There would be less reading and singing, and more fort-building.
7.  Schedule schmedule.

I know there are many more... How would things be different at your house if Dad was the one at home?

Snow day

I have always loved snowy days.  There's a certain peacefulness that comes from a new blanket of white that inspires one to curl up with a favorite book, movie, or person, and just enjoy the day.  Even working I enjoyed the occasional snowy day.  While days off were rare, there was still an easing of standards on such days.  Lateness was excusable, dressing down was expected, and I might grab an extra cup of coffee and take a few extra minutes to chat with co-workers about their drives. 

So this morning I was pleased to see snow.  But try as I might, I couldn't come up with a reason why less than an inch of snow should keep me from vacuuming.  Or anything else on my to-do list.  In short, snow makes absolutely no difference to my day now.  The only thing it might do is keep me away from the distractions (playdates, errands) that get us out of the house and keep me sane. 

And I know that in years to come snow days will mean children home from school to entertain or find care for, activities to be rescheduled, and wet clothes lying around the foyer.  It may be that my love for snowy days is over.