Momspiration

When We Need to Parent Ourselves

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“I know you’re upset. It’s frustrating when things don’t go as planned, but that’s a part of life. You can feel frustrated but it’s not ok to take it out on those around you.” A talk I have had countless times with my kids. Anyone with a child knows all too well that playdates have about a 50/50 shot of going as planned, especially during cold and flu season or during the early years when fever viruses run rampant. The lesson of adapting to plan changes is a recurrent one.

Though I can parent my children through disappointment and guide them toward seeing the positive, toward accepting that some things are not meant to be, I am far less graceful at ushering myself through similar upheaval. Today I had hoped to volunteer at my daughter’s school. I was excited at the prospect, as a snow storm had cancelled my last volunteer date. Then, life took ahold and changed my plans for me. I would not be volunteering today.

The frustration brewed within me, overflowing in unseemly ways. Lowered patience and a short fuse gave rise to bad mommy moments. What would normally solicit a verbal reminder now quickly escalated to timeout. I was acting like an overgrown grade schooler. Thank goodness I’m not on reality TV!

A few too many minutes in, I realized I needed to parent myself, that I need the lecture. “I know you’re upset. It’s frustrating when things don’t go as planned, but that’s a part of life. You can feel frustrated but it’s not ok to take it out on those around you.” Man, that speech is so much less annoying when it’s directed at someone else! Still, it’s no less correct.

Deep breath. Return to center. Remember that there’s a reason that some things fall apart and other things come together. Smile.

All worked out as it should. I accepted and moved on. I just had to parent myself to get through it.

Sometimes we parents need timeout too.

When You Realize You’re Making a Difference

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Some days — if not most days — parenting is a pattern of cleaning, dressing, feeding, refereeing, playing, disciplining, and surviving. Often you wonder if your voice fizzles into nothingness as soon as it escapes your mouth. No matter your tone, your volume, or your phrasing, your offspring refuse to acknowledge your utterances. Then, there are the moments when you witness the impact of your efforts. You have undeniable proof that you are making a difference. That your hard work is worth it.

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Yesterday was one of those days for me. After school, I headed to the nail salon with my kindergartener for a surprise mother-daughter pedicure. We were overdue for one-on-one time and my toes needed some TLC. Perfect, right? Until we approached the intersection just before our destination.

Emergency vehicles swarmed in the center of the 4-way stop. Cars were being detoured. There had clearly been a significant vehicle accident. This is when people’s true colors shine through.

Those who understand the gravity of the scenario, let others in front of them in traffic, increase their politeness, and decrease their sense of urgency. Others try to take advantage of the situation and try to creep ahead of fellow travelers or, worse yet, become rude and abrasive toward those around them. Some think “us” while others think “me.”

Two cars back, a driver laid on the horn. “He shouldn’t be honking,” my daughter said, “those people just got in an accident. They could be hurt and he’s being grumpy to other drivers. He needs to be nicer right now.” The girl was spot-on. Shifting priorities, empathy, perspective… all of those talks had gotten through!

We arrived at the nail salon. The parking lot was unexpectedly packed. I’d never seen it so full. We entered the busy salon and my daughter went to pick out a nail polish color as I signed the guest book. “Do you have an appointment?” Asked one of the nail technicians, holding her client’s lotioned foot in her hand. “No, we don’t.” I replied. “Sorry, we’re busy. You come back another day.” I looked at my daughter, expecting to see tears and reddened cheeks. Instead, my 5-year-old calmly stepped away from the nail polishes, walked back to me, and grabbed my hand. She wasn’t upset. She wasn’t resentful. She was completely accepting of the plan change. All of our discussions about the value of being amenable, of accepting that life doesn’t always go as planned stuck!

We exited the nail salon and I knelt on the sidewalk. “I’m so proud of you,” I told my daughter, looking into her blue eyes, “you didn’t complain one bit about not being able to get a pedicure. I’m sorry I didn’t think to make an appointment. Thank you for being so flexible!” My daughter smiled and said, “You didn’t know it’d be busy, Mommy. It’s ok. We can just go do something else together. Maybe we can get doughnuts and I can bring some home for my brothers and Daddy.” I encircled her in a deep hug. She’s learning… it’s getting through!

Some days you end the day as a human petri dish with a sore throat from yelling, a headache from frustration, an aching back from wrangling tantrums, and a full bladder from being unable to stop to pee. Then there are those rare moments when you glimpse the success of your toils. They’re the parental trophies. Proof of our efforts.

You’re making a difference, even on your hardest days.

Next Year will be Entirely Different

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“This year will be tough,” I thought to myself, anticipating the summer beach trips at my mom’s beloved but entirely toddler-unfriendly beach house, “but next year… just wait until next year!” The glass-topped tables, the readily accessible stairs, the breakable lamps attached to tuggable cords, the vulnerable trinkets, the vertical blinds, the unlatched cabinets, the massive canvas painting hung within swatting distance above the sofa, the media console with an array of enticing buttons… so much to safeguard from my bumbling tike. But being at the beach makes it all worthwhile.

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Summer 2016

I envisioned my long, memory-filled, sand-dusted, sun-soaked days wrangling my kindergartener and preschooler while simultaneously chasing my toddler on the beach, at the pool, on the playground, and then at the beach house. I recounted the strain of having no childproofed place I can safely place my littlest so that I can cook dinner, pack the beach cooler, make snacks, go to the bathroom, or just sit for a beat. I remembered how I woke up every day at 6AM on vacation and popped him — wailing — into the pack-and-play so that I could wearily pump, set out breakfasts, and pack for the day’s beach excursion before the rest of the house awoke. I remembered the sinking dread I felt at the prediction of a rainstorm that would keep us trapped inside.

This year, I’ll have to wean from pumping before we take our trips and I’ll have to wear him whenever we’re in the house, because a pack-and-play will no longer stand as an impeding obstacle to my athletic tot. I will be on duty from wake-up to bedtime. I will enjoy it. I will treasure it. I will end the season with a multitude of photos and a plethora of cherished memories. I will be exhausted in the best and most depleting way. “Just push through this year,” I reassured myself, “next year will be entirely different.”

Then it struck me: next year will be entirely different. It will be easier, but next year they’ll all be older. My herd will be 7, 5, and 3. 7… 7-years old! The better part of a decade? And my middle son a burgeoning kindergartener?? No more baby? No more toddler? Tears welled. My throat grew tight. They’re growing too fast! Make it stop!

Sure, life will still be loud and chaotic, because that is our familial heartbeat. Vacations will still be life relocated. I will still fight the descent into anarchy by planning and packing, scheduling and routine. My “vacation” will happen each night during the two hours between the kids’ bedtime and my own. I will, no doubt, still referee and soothe, corral and amuse, but I won’t be needed in that primal way. That exhausting, rewarding, wholly taxing manner that both fills the soul and drains all mental capacity.

And with that I stopped coaching myself to “just push through this year” but, instead, to savor it. Because next year will be entirely different.

Mermaids and Princesses for the Birthday Boy

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We walked the entire toy store three times, my middle son and I. He held my hand as he carefully perused each aisle. “That’s for babies.” He said, shaking his head as he passed walkers and exersaucers. “That’s too scary!” He shuddered, shrinking away from a wall of action villain toys and play weapons. “I like that.” He gasped, walking closer until his nose nearly met the clear plastic front of the princess doll’s packaging. His glacier blue eyes grew wide, his thick black eyelashes unmoving as he soaked in the beauty before him. “I want that!” He said, his mouth remaining slack-jawed.

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Birthday loot

We had slowly strolled the action figures, the trains, the drawing utensils, the wooden toys, the dollhouses, the bikes, the bedding, the building blocks, the sand toys. Nothing sparked interest. Not until we hit the brightly lit, pink-and-purple hued aisles of the doll and princess section. My boy was home!

And so my son spent the next 30 minutes meticulously selecting precisely which toys he wanted to request for his birthday. “You won’t get everything,” I reminded him as I typed the items into the memo section of my phone, “and we won’t buy them today. But that will make your birthday even more exciting. You’ll wonder which toys you will actually receive.” He nodded knowingly and tapped the toddler princess box in front of him, “Don’t forget this!” He reminded me. “Toddler Ariel doll with hairdryer” I typed into my phone. “Don’t worry,” I said, “I didn’t forget her.”

He smiled.

Potty-training Tips

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After potty-training two of my three children — 1 boy and 1 girl — and beginning to introduce the venture to my third child, I have learned more than I thought I would ever want to know about potty-training. Through my own, as well as others’, mistakes and successes, my knowledge base has expanded. I’m no potty-training expert but I’ve certainly gleaned experience. If you want my real, raw toilet-training tips, read on.

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In throws of pantless potty-training #2

Pre-potty-training is a great first step, if you’re granted the opportunity. Begin introducing toileting during usual urination times — such as first thing in the morning, before naptime, after naptime, before baths, and before bed — on a standard toilet. (Why add an extra step to the process by having to wean off of a tiny potty? Why make public toileting dramatic? Why add “rinse feces from plastic toilet” to your to-do list? Just start on the real thing.) Next, start introducing toileting when you are using the facilities, whether at home or in public.

If the trainee produces, praise. If nothing is produced, quickly move along. No need to pressure. This is simply an introduction to potty usage. Once your trainee shows readiness to potty-train, I suggest these basic steps.

1) Go underwear shopping. Take the trainee to select his/her new underwear. (Buy 3 more packs than you think you’ll need. Trust me.) While you’re at the store, stock up on all-surface and fabric cleaner. You’re going to need it.

2) Box up the diapers. No more absorbent undergarments during waking hours (except in the case of deuce drama… more on that later.) Naps and nighttime are different. Bladder control while sleeping is an entirely separate milestone.

3) Go under house arrest. Don’t tempt fate. Keep things simple. Stay home for the first 3-5 days of potty-training, based on your child’s progress. If you can schedule potty-training to start over a long-weekend, do it! Devote the time to hydration (water, juice, ice-pops, soup), frequent toileting, excessive praise, lots of bio-hazard clean up, and laundry.

4) Hide the blankets. Dress-ups, blankets, throw-pillows, stuffed animals, doll clothes, area rugs, and unsecured fabric within your trainee’s immediate reach during waking hours must be stored away. Got a boy? Tie up those drapes! Lest you feel like memorizing all of their washing instructions. Oh, and secure the air vents if your tot has a y-chromosome. Who knew peeing down an air shaft would be so enjoyable?

5) Think like you’re pregnant. Visit the lavatory every 20 minutes and upon entry and exit of every establishment. What if you just toileted before exiting a restaurant and pop over to the craft store just five minutes down the road? Still give pottying a go. Better safe than sorry! Bladders have terrible timing, like when you’re midway through loading your groceries onto the cashier’s conveyor belt on a busy afternoon or when you’re in the midst of a PAP smear. Frequent restroom stops are the best way to avoid public bladder deluges and dicey toilet sprints.

6) Pack an entire spare outfit. You’ve probably stepped down from full-on diaper bag to “mom purse” by now. Potty-training means it’s time to dust off the big tote! When I say pack an entire ensemble, I’m talking down to the shoes. Trust me. Be sure to have wipes and a bag big enough to hold an entire soiled outfit. You don’t want to walk through the crowded mall carrying your shoe-less tot wrapped in a coat toga while lugging paper towel wrapped, urine soaked clothes. From personal experience, I’ll assure you it’s unpleasant.

7) Incontinence pads save car seats. Place an adhesive incontinence pad on the seat portion of the trainee’s car seat. It won’t shield everything, but it’s better than no protection. Removing the trainee’s pants for car rides is a bonus precaution, as changing underpants is far easier than changing the lower half of an outfit.

8) Have a Plan B. Devise a car trip potty plan. Are you cool with popping a squat on the side of the road using the car door and a windshield shade as impromptu outhouse walls? Would you prefer to use a portable potty or stash a large empty bottle in the car for bladder emergencies? Think ahead. Traffic happens. So does urine. Think ahead to poop too. Emergency Pull-up? Two bags folded over an empty sand pail? The old Boy Scout dirt latrine? Ponder your options before crap happens.

9) Don’t push poop. If your kid pees fine on the potty but is averse to dropping a deuce in the bowl, let him hide under the table and poop in a Pull-up. Seriously, ask any parent who has experienced poop withholding drama if changing a feces-smeared Pull-up once a day or 10 days of self-inflicted constipation is better. Guaranteed answer: “Give the kid a Pull-up!” Your child will not go to college with a stash of Depends, hunkering under his dorm desk to take a crap. If, for some reason, you are genuinely concerned about that possibility, consult your pediatrician. Toilet training therapists exist and do wonders for children who have a hard time letting go.

10) Accept that it’s going to be imperfect. Potty-training is not a straight-line progression. Just know that. There will be regressions and gross, embarrassing, long phases you think will never end. There will be months when you cannot have outsiders in your home because it is a pantsless, bio-hazard war zone. You will read more books on a tile floor than you ever thought you could. You will cheer for production in public facilities. You will use restrooms in which you suspect breathing will cause you to contract a venereal disease. You will lose any shred of pride you had left. You will know which venues have the best — and worst — public facilities. You will clean up pee in public. Your house will feel like a port-a-potty. You will wash entire loads of laundry almost fully comprised of miniature pants and underwear. There will be a shrewd underwear assessment scale for determining whether to toss or wash. One day your pissing, shitting, pants-averse heathen spawn will be able to wear the same underwear for a whole day without soiling it in some form or another. One day this will end. You will survive. You can do this!

 

 

Lessons of My Tantruming Toddlers

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So this was my Target run this morning with my cute little, potbellied, snot-nosed companion.

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#3 Tantrums amidst candy and beer

Gold-star parenting, taking a photo of my raging 1.5-year-old, right? Pffft… the photo was worth it.

I remember back when my first child (now a sparkle-loving, highly articulate, graceful-as-an-elephant kindergartener) would throw public tantrums. Oh how I would shrivel! My face grew red, I could feel real and perceived eyes on me. I gave SO many shits about what others thought. Granted, when my bull-headed mini-me would rage she would do so for at least 30 minutes. No amount of distraction or redirection, ignoring or punishing would calm the storm. She just needed to let loose until the tides turned. And so she did. And so I learned.

Along came my second child. My daughter, but 20-months old at the time of his birth, was still in the infancy of her tantrum season. We’d walk the aisles of a grocery store and she’d wail. We’d shop Target and she’d walk behind me losing her ever-loving mind. Her infant brother, tucked neatly into his stroller, had been prepared for these animal noises in-utero, so he was utterly unaffected by her demonic yowl-and-flail maneuvers. I’d remain outwardly calm, inwardly reminding myself to stay steady, willing myself to pale the increasing blush in my cheeks. I’d nod at the reassuring smiles from on-lookers, I’d respond to kind words with a silently mouthed “thank you.” I’d ignore unsolicited advice to “teach her a lesson” or “get out the belt.” I kept on with my errand. I preserved.

My second child came of age and would tantrum in public. He’d sit down in the middle of a busy aisle or attempt to run across the street and I’d scoop him up into the crook of my elbow so that his belly rested on my hip, his squat legs kicking the air behind me. We’d go about our errand or family walk as he flailed in my arm, securely positioned in the “carry of shame.” Often both he and his sister would simultaneously unleash their inner demons. Onlookers would reassuringly smile and I’d smile back. Passersby would offer kind words and I’d respond in jest. After a few minutes, he’d relent, his sister would eventually follow suit. He knew his sister had calloused me; he could not win.

Then my third child arrived, 2.5 years after my second. He tantrums and I giggle. He hops with anger in a store aisle and I stop to take a picture. Do onlookers sneer or even notice? I haven’t the faintest. Do people seem unsettled by the fussing of a toddler in a public space? I neither know nor care. I’m just living the fleeting humorous moment, because this too shall pass.

6 Tips for Transitioning to Stay-at-Home Motherhood

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Congratulations! You’re becoming a stay-at-home parent. Whether the transition is one rooted in choice, sheer necessity, or is simply due to life circumstances, welcome to the club! Beyond the obvious need to switch from dry-clean-only to washable attire, here are six of my personal tips for those entering upon the task of stay-at-home parenting.

My littlest and me

My littlest and me

1) Identify. Find out whether your kid(s) and you do best when at home or when out and about. Figure out the right ratio for your brood: home in the morning then out in the afternoon, out all day until dinnertime, out then in for naps then back out until dinner prep, or out just one or two days each week. Like adults, some kids are homebodies whereas others flourish when out of the house. Similarly, some parents do better out of the house rather than in. It takes some trial and error to determine the appropriate balance, but it’s there. Once you’ve found it, set your plans and schedule accordingly.

2) Prepare. Being prepared is key to the stay-at-home parent’s survival. Set out clothes at least the night before, set out coats and shoes the night before, pack lunches and snacks the day before, prepare breakfast for quick serving the night before. If “hell hour” is real and daily, aim for dinners you can prep earlier in the day so that you’re not trying to cook and comfort at the same time. Meal plan (not only does this save money and impromptu grocery trips, but it makes evenings easier), schedule activities at a minimum one day ahead, consider yourself an administrative assistant… with a warlord of a boss. The better you plan, the smoother things will go.

3) Relax. Just because you don’t get paid doesn’t mean you don’t work, and it certainly doesn’t mean you don’t need a break. Whether it’s an exercise class, coffee with a friend, a regular mind-clearing walk, a valued hobby, drinks with friends, or quiet alone time, make sure you replenish yourself. Being a stay-at-home parent is demanding and can easily lead to burnout. We cannot pour from an empty cup, so stay vigilant. Stay full.

4) Regiment. Most kids thrive on a routine. I have yet to encounter a routine-utilizing parent who finds the practice unfruitful. However, I know many routine-avoiding parents who often say they wish they had one. Find what works for you and stick to it. If naptime or quiet time is crucial (for your offspring or you), keep it sacred. If late morning starts are golden, don’t leave the house until close to lunchtime. If meltdowns are inevitable come 3:00, plan to be at home base no later than 2:59. Know your pitfalls as well as your needs and navigate accordingly.

5) Network Talk to local stay-at-home parents. Hit up story times, chat up fellow school parents, get to know neighbors, let fellow stay-at-home parents know you’re looking to expand your circle. Stay-at-home moms, in particular, more often than not love to help. From pediatricians to playdates, babysitters to preschools, swim lessons to date night spots, your network will prove invaluable. Want to know what heavy-hitter viruses are going around? Ask your network. Potty-training conundrum or seemingly unsurvivable kid phase? Hit up your network. Need a handyman or a new gynecologist? Call up your network. A network is a necessity.

6) Research  Google, fellow moms, local parenting bloggers, local activity listing sites, your county’s library webpage, your local mall and indoor playgrounds, nearby museums, community centers and nature centers… check them out for outing ideas. Hunt for free or cheap options. Do watch coupon sites as fine print and usage limitations can get tricky. Get out there and you’ll likely find your community has a slew of hidden gems.

Stay-at-home parenting is hard, under-appreciated, and unfunded. It’s 24/7. It’s unyielding. It’s gross and heavy and taxing. It’s the most rewarding, love-filled, unregrettable endeavor you can undertake. Your children have but one childhood, being there to experience it is priceless. Welcome!

Because Toddlers are Jerks

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When you are the parent of a young child, you quickly learn that all paper page children’s books should come with at least one roll of invisible tape. All pop-up books should come with a bottle of wine and a roll of clear packing tape. All board books should come with the note: “Good source of fiber.”

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Happy taping!

Finding Mom Friends

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Today I went to toddler story time at the local library.  I entered the familar space, falling quickly into the 5-years-long routine. My toddler and I sat where we usually sit. We smiled at familiar faces, clapped along to songs I could sing in my sleep, and chatted with a handful of friends. As I left, I remembered that things were not always so familiar… so comfortable.

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I remembered back to when I was a first-time-mom with a fussy baby who awoke every 45 minutes to nurse. I remembered I was working part-time with a long commute and felt like I was hopelessly failing, straddling two worlds of motherhood: stay-at-home and working. But what I remembered most of all was the loneliness.

I remembered story time days being marked on my calendar. I remembered carefully choosing my outfit and my daughter’s. I remembered telling myself that this would be the day I’d actually be brave and reach out to one of the fellow moms. I remembered hoping to find a connection. To befriend someone who shared my journey.

I remembered so often 10 minutes before we were supposed to leave, my baby would want to take an unexpected nap. I remembered feeling that sinking disappointment as my first-time-mom self watched the time tick by as I nursed my little one to sleep, imagining what I was missing. I remembered changing from jeans into well-worn yoga pants with tears in my eyes, thinking I’d never find mom friends.

I remembered, on days when the stars alligned, I attended story times. I’d see fellow moms, thinking perhaps one would be a possible friend. I remembered seeing twosomes and threesomes of moms chatting; I longed for that bond. I remembered being too shy to start a conversation, too self-conscious to bridge the gap. I remembered walking away wishing I had. If only I could be different… more outgoing, more confident.

I remembered joining mom groups to meet friends. I remembered the awkward feeling of not quite belonging. I remembered when I met one sweet friend at a group gathering and feeling light and happy in our chatter. I remembered our little ones playing happily side-by-side as new toddlers do. I remembered the sadness I felt when she moved away.

I remembered making my first story time friend. Her growing brood was just 6 months ahead of my own duo. Our herds grew up together, story time being our shared stomping ground (literally and figuratively) as our children increased in both years and numbers. I remembered that friend sharing her maternal wisdom. I remembered growing more confident in my mothering abilities and, consequently, in myself.

I remembered the old feelings of loneliness back when all I wanted was a solid night’s sleep and a mom friend. I wanted to hug my former self. I wanted to reassure that harried, anxious, self-flagellating first-time-mom me that things would get easier. That I’d not only find my way but myself… and a beautiful collection of dear friends who shared in my journey.

Now I have a cluster of treasured mom friends, all who bring their unique joys, insights, guidance, and influences to my life. Now — as a mom of a kindergartener, preschooler, and a toddler — I am confident. I am outgoing. I am unapologetically me. I am happy. It just took time, patience, a little self-confidence, and some good friends.

If you’re like the old me, know you’ll get there too. You’re not alone. Be braver than me… bridge that gap. Say, “hi”, smile, be you. Soon you’ll find your path, yourself, and your tribe.

Wracked with Mom Guilt

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The house is quiet. I desperately want to be asleep. Instead… mom guilt.

I yelled too much. I didn’t cuddle enough. They’re growing too fast. I should be more Pintrest-y. I don’t give this child enough one-on-one time. I should do more cool things with the other child. Am I teaching the youngest enough? I should make a sensory box. I should savor bedtime instead of surviving it. Should I let my littlest move forward with ridiculously early potty-training even though I really don’t want to do it right now? I’m letting the memories all slip by. I need to exercise more. Why can I not remember when my middle son first stood on his own? I feel like I failed today.

So much guilt. SO much!

So much pointless self-flagellation. If I’m going to berate myself and sacrifice much-needed sleep to do so, I might as well make it worthwhile. But how?

Tomorrow! Tomorrow is a fresh start. A new day. An opportunity to yell less, hug more, be more present and patient, be more creative and encouraging. I will do better tomorrow. At least I’ll try.

I won’t be perfect. I will slip up. I will do my best.

And that’s all we can do. We must accept our faults, learn from our mistakes, actively do better, and forgive ourselves. For what is the point of suffering guilt if not to move ourselves in a positive, remedying direction?

We are human. We are flawed. We are parents. We have tomorrow.