Mom Guilt

One night a few weeks ago, I had all three boys lined up in the bathtub. It was the tail end of the day and I was tired. The three year old had been tough on his momma the majority of the day. The baby had been fussing and crying for 2 hours and had been suffering from all the symptoms that come along with teething. The two oldest had been bickering, screaming, and fighting since we picked Emmett up from school at 3:00p and Patrick had been out of town for a few days. I finally said to them, "I'm over this day."

To which Emmett replied, "but mom, you don't know what tomorrow will be like".

Cue the tears, and the mom-guilt, and the shame because he was absolutely right. That day had the privilege of being able to take care of three healthy, relatively happy children with all of the resources necessary to do so. We don't live extravagantly but they have shoes, clothes, food, a comfortable house, and more than enough toys, books, and puzzles.

I know mothers and fathers who have lost children to cancer, accident and acute and chronic injury. I would wager a guess that many of those families didn't think to themselves, "tomorrow, life as we know it will never be the same."

It is as true as it it cliche, every tomorrow we get offers new experiences, good and bad. Experiences that change us.

We don't know what tomorrow will bring and so I will do my best not to wish away the days. I want to be present with my family. I practice yoga each day and part of the yogic philosophy is to just BE. Be present in the moment, be yourself, on and off the mat. It is certainly a practice but isn't it interesting how children are so naturally good at this. Emmett intuitively knew that we should appreciate today because after it is done, you can't get it back. You can't go back to the person you were yesterday morning and hopefully you wouldn't want to. A perfect reminder.

So, I took three centering breaths and I told him he was, most certainly, correct. I made a decision to let go of the guilt and the shame and enjoy the last moments of that day with the three of them. Mothering is far from easy and never the picture-perfect way one may imagine but there are so many possible moments of joy and delight mixed in with the chaos. My hope is that my boys can look back on their childhood with happy, content memories and learn to enjoy the present moment. Oh, and cook one really good meal and scrub a bathroom with the best of them, but I digress...

Namaste

Getting out the door - sort of

Before I had children I was rarely late. I would take my coat out of the closet, put on my shoes that were neatly by the back door, grab my bag from the hook and step out, carefully locking the door behind me. I would get in my car, put on my seat belt, turn the key in the ignition and I was on my way. I had all of my belongings, 5-10 minutes to spare, and was ensconced in a quiet, peaceful drive to wherever I was going.

Leap ahead to today.

Leaving home with three young boys is similar to an act of Congress (and takes about as long). I start the process about 30 minutes before we need to be out the door. I still don't like to be late but it seems to be inevitable at times. Who can relate?

The first task is to make sure that everyone is suitably dressed for the temperature. We live in Connecticut and although it has been pretty mild, it is still winter. Baby J is almost never in pants at home in order to allow him to scoot around on the wood floors without face planting. I carry him up to his room to put pants on him. Next, my middle guy (M) detests all articles of clothing with any sort of coverage. Jeans result in the inability for him to bend his knees which of course means he amazingly loses the ability to walk temporarily, zippers must be just at the right level of up/down, long sleeves are absolutely not acceptable, socks "hurt", and just recently has he agreed to a sweatshirt. Putting these items on with him is about a 10 minute process, down from the WWF-like 40 minute take downs 6 months ago. (Has anyone ever steer-wrestled? Same difference.) He is three and because he doesn't want to wear them, doesn't put them on himself. I set down the 12 month old to wrestle M into his pants and the next thing I know, J has dumped out the dog's water dish. I grab J, sop up the water that is spreading across the kitchen floor and run up to change his wet clothes. Meanwhile, M is crying loudly because his jeans are too "over his feet" and they are covering his knees so he can't walk. I get J changed, run back downstairs, put the empty water dish on the counter, put the baby on the floor, and finish dressing with the three year old. The entire time, coaxing him to try and help, crazily thinking that if he learns how to do it, this whole process might be easier? He, of course, objects loudly, and wails that "I can not do it!" I end up dressing him because now we have 8 minutes before we have to be out the door.

Next monumental task - shoes and socks. As if donning three little pairs of shoes and socks weren't enough, first we have to find them. Of course, they are all in 12 different places, because why would you put socks and shoes together. Wait, even crazier, why would both socks be in the same room? Now, one would think that finding said shoes and socks shouldn't take much time at all. A true statement, unless you are 12 months, 3 years, and/or 6 years old. All things suddenly become interesting, including the dust bunnies under the couch, the spoon that fell on the floor at breakfast, and the hot wheel that was thought to be lost but discovered under the fridge. I have decided to change the text alert tone on my phone to the word, "FOCUS" in hopes that every time it goes off it will be a reminder to my boys. 12 minutes later we have collected all items. The big boys are sitting on the floor putting on their socks and shoes. E (6 year old) needs his socks "fixed" because the heel is "wrong" and as soon as I set J down to make the necessary adjustments, he makes a beeline for the back stairs. I jump up to body block the door. Catastrophe averted. M gets his socks and shoes on but is screaming and crying because "they don't feel good". I adjust the socks, tongues, and velcro and then I do it 2.75 more times before he deems them wearable, maybe. All this while the baby is trying to Kamikaze over me in order to play on the top landing of the stairs to the back door.

And then one day... Hallelujah, the six year old learns to tie his shoes. The only trouble is that it takes him 15 minutes to tie them and now that he can, the wise parenting move is to encourage him to do it himself. I'm telling you, that the patience it takes to watch that is monumental, especially since it took 12 1/2 minutes to find the damn things in the first place. "I got it mom" has been uttered 132 times. Finally, he gets them tied, but could I double knot them? Sure, why not. Meanwhile, J has tired of trying to break through my human wall and has crawled away and is pulling all items off the coffee table in the living room. I chase him down, tug his socks on, give up, and shove his shoes in my bag.

We are in the homestretch. I ask the big boys to grab their jackets.

HA!

E can't reach his, M doesn't like the one I handed him because "it bothers me" and he is now laying on the ground (his legs are trapped in his jeans). The one I grabbed for J is too small although I swear it fit yesterday. I run down and hand E his, I tell M that he can wear the one I handed him or grab a sweatshirt and I run back upstairs with J in my arms to find something that will fit him. Who needs the stair stepper at the gym? We are now 10 minutes behind schedule.

I set J down in order to tie my own shoes but as soon as I set him down, he falls over and bumps his face on the floor. I scoop him up, assess the damage, calm him down and run back upstairs to grab his blankie. I finally shuffle everyone out the door grabbing my bag and sliding into a pair of shoes that do not need to be tied because putting J down to do so is risking another crisis/injury.

We get out to the van and I still have to get everyone loaded. By this time, I am tired and we are late, is it even worth leaving home? I open the van doors and E crawls in the back, takes off his coat (he can't wear the thick coat in his seat for safety reasons), and buckles his own seat belt. One child in...

I put J in his seat and before I get him buckled, he has taken off one of his socks and thrown it out the door. I pull off the other one and toss them in my bag so that at least they are together. I tuck his blanket around him and close the door. Two children in...

I run around to the passenger side and lift M into the van and into his seat. I remind him to start putting his arms in the straps like a backpack and he somehow manages to end up all twisted up, resulting in crying. Again. Remind me when the crying about everything ends?! I untangle him, remind him for the one millionth time to scoot his bum back and to the middle and show him, again, how to buckle the chest clip, hoping that eventually he will be able to help, like maybe when he is 18. Seat belt cinched up. Three children in... Victory is so close I can taste it. Or maybe that is the cold cup of coffee I left in the microwave... Oops.

I run back around to the drivers side and fall into the drivers seat. Three, two, one... "Mom! I need my pillow! M has his Baa Baa and J has his blanket but I don't have my pillow!" Too late, meanest mom ever is ready to go and the pillow is just going to have to spend a quiet morning at home... alone... sometimes I am jealous of that pillow.

As we pull away, I hear J fill up his diaper. We are only 16 minutes late, a new record.

Good thing we only have to do this two more times today.

A Tired Momma's Thoughts

 

I've come to decide that being a mom means spending an exorbitant amount of time anticipating the needs of others. If/then thoughts...

If we get stranded in the car in the snowstorm, then we will need everyone's winter boots, coats, hats, and mittens.

If we are going to travel the hour to and from Grandma's, then we need to time it so child B will sleep in the car and child A will not sleep in the car.

If I can get the first load of laundry in now, then I will not have to try to do it while balancing a baby in one arm and managing a "helpful" 3 year old under my feet.

If, during nap time, I squeeze the lemon, mince the garlic, roast the red pepper, and measure out the salt and tahini into a bowl for the hummus and put it in the fridge, then when Child B is awake I can use the food processor and all the tasks requiring two hands have already been done.

If the baby spits up on me at church, then I will need an extra shirt in order not to smell like rotten milk... again.

If it is 40 degrees and raining outside, then I will make a dinner that is a bit more labor intensive, but if it is 75 and sunny outside then I will use a default meal because Child A will want to play outside and requires supervision.

If I go to the grocery store at 7 am on Friday, then I could drop the groceries off before work and I wouldn't have to drag kids to the store on Saturday.

If we are going out of town tomorrow morning, then tonight I need to make sure to get the diaper and snack bags ready, and my pump, and any hostess gifts/food, and Child B's bottles,  and the kitchen sink. Mainly, because I can help Child A get dressed, clean up the spilled cereal, change a major diaper blow out and get the dog fed but I cannot, for some reason, pack up the car at the same time.

If I can get a snack into Child A at 2:45 pm, then he will not be so grumpy by 5:00 pm when he requires dinner 10 minutes ago.

If we are going to go out to dinner, then... forget it, that one is way too much work.

And on and on and on. It can be mentally exhausting. To try and stay ahead of the game in order to keep things running smoothly. I don't remember doing as much of that B.C. (before children). Probably because I didn't. 

I like routine. I like organization. I dislike clutter and chaos and craziness. My kids have helped me see that although planning can be helpful (someone has to do it) things just don't always go as as we thought they might. And that is okay too. These boys almost always surprise me with how resilient they are to life's obstacles. It is me, not them that gets hung up on the schedule. I hope they hang on to that as they grow. A fantastic life skill that would serve them well.