So what's a little storm?

Those of you that have followed me for any significant time, either via blog or Facebook, know that I have this “thing” about being grateful. Sure, I gripe as well as the next person. And no, I don’t spend every minute of my life chirping happily during moments of frustration. 

I do, however, strive to be more grateful. I strive to take less for granted, and to find the inner peace to shrug more off with less effort. I’ve seen enough misfortune, both my own and through others, to know that I have it good. 

We are having a hurricane today. No, not the drink… sadly! The storm. Rain, winds… drip, drip, dripping in places where drips are certainly not welcome. Fun times. 

I watched a neighbor’s kids this morning. She and her husband had to work. My kids and their kids were both off school, due to weather. So there I was with 4 kids for the morning. My neighbors’ kids are a few years older, the oldest in first grade. She was a great helper.

I had four helpers when I made the kids eggs for breakfast and I had a “big girl helper” when we turned the kitchen table into the art center. All four kids cuddled happily on the couch to watch Mickey Mouse when things got too hectic. My friend joined us for lunch when she came to pick them up and my husband got sent home early from work. What fun!

Early evening, my husband was hanging with the kids while I conquered the Mt. Everest of laundry in our room. While I was putting kid clothing away, I took a few seconds to make my daughter’s bed. She is an active sleeper so her bed requires a straightening before bed so that her blanket will lie properly and she can snuggle. 

And I’m not sure why that particular action felt so symbolic, but it did. I was hit with gratitude. For the safety of my family. Ok, so we have a few drips and we may well lose our power. Inconvenient, sure… but not the end of the world. And if we end up with extended power loss or water invasion, I’m bound to gripe a little because it stinks. But making that warm, dry, clean little bed reminded me. Soft sheets, fuzzy comforter, lots of cute and stuffed toys to snuggle with. His bed is the same, a true haven of safety. 

We just had a party so we have a ton of leftovers and a big freezer that is full of food. We have a generator and enough gas on hand to fuel it for a few days. Enough to use the microwave and fridge/freezer. Oh, and we’ve got WINE for after the kids are in bed. Lots of chocolate too. Yum. 

I think we’ll make it after all. 

There are people out there who are homeless, or whose homes aren’t safe, way beyond the logistics of a storm. There are people who never have a warm comfy bed, who sleep hungry or don’t have power because they can’t pay the bill. There are millions of reasons out there that people live their whole lives feeling unsafe and compromised.  

I’ll remind myself of that when I desperately crave a hot shower. Embrace the spirit of Thanksgiving early.

Let's flex those brain muscles!

I think I’m going to start learning Korean this spring. I know. Cool, huh? 

Why Korean, you ask? I’m so glad you asked.

About 5 years ago, I began teaching at a local community college. Somewhat by accident, I found myself happily entrenched in the ESL department. ESL, for those of you that don’t know, is English as a Second Language. You know, teaching English to foreigners. And like many other language programs, this program organizes their students by their level of English, not by language of origin. As a result, most classes contain a healthy diversity of native language, hopefully forcing the students to communicate on the classroom language (English) and not depend on translation for learning. The fact that I was a student under similar conditions when I studied overseas made it truly ideal for me, in the role of instructor. 

The college is close to my house and, for whatever reason; there is a huge Korean population in that town. Huge. To the point that we have significant numbers of Korean grocery stores and services, despite not having other ethnicities represented to the same extent. 

These numbers were obvious in the classroom as well, with large numbers of Korean students in many of my classes. Some older, some younger. Some men, some women. Some here in the U.S. for a long time, some recently arrived. While the fact that all them were students gave them a certain connection and level of similarity, a certain level of diversity also existed. Watching their social interactions always fascinated me and I became positively intrigued by the culture.  As a language geek, I believe that you can’t truly understand a culture until you understand their language. So many nuances are lost in translation. 

And then there’s the fact that Korean in no way resembles any language I have ever studied. I feel pretty confident with the romance languages, having studied both French and Spanish extensively. I can’t speak any of the other romance languages but I can read it very basically (i.e. menus, etc) and I sometimes understand it when someone else speaks slowly enough. But Korean… Nope. I can’t do anything with it. So, while I wouldn’t have the benefit of previous knowledge, I also wont’ have to deal with confusion either. As it is, I already speak a bizarre mix of French and Spanish when I try to speak under the influence of an exhausted brain. 

But that’s not the entire story. There’s another element, another factor that must be addressed. You know… the stay at home mom factor. 

Since my kids were born, almost 4 years ago, I have been primarily a mom. And I feel very lucky to be a mom, THEIR mom… but it’s not enough. Most of the time, I have maintained a part time job, teaching. This has been my rock, my center. It provided me with an opportunity to wear unstained clothing and a little bit of makeup. To have a complete adult conversation that had nothing to do with pooping and nap time.

This year, working was not possible. Despite my maintained confidence in the reason for not working, it still feels incomplete to me. I miss wearing my work clothing. I miss the adult conversations. And I miss the stimulation of the life provided outside of home and home responsibilities. I can practically feel my brain getting mushy, my memory losing edge. My capacity to engage in non kid related conversations decreasing at a regular pace.  My poor husband, on very long days with the kids. He’s come home to air so thick that it could be cut with a knife, poor guy. “They’re your kids too. YOU deal with it” is not what he dreamt about hearing as he entered the house, after a long day at the office. 

So here’s my plan. I’ll take up a new language, one that I have significant motivation to master. One that will truly stress my brain. In the best possible way. You know… language learning boot camp. And I’m ready for the sore muscles. Bring it on, baby! I can do it.

I’m gonna tone my brain!                                                                                          

Rants from a real mom on a long day...

Parenting articles are all over the place. Some of them are “how to” focused, with topics varying from “how to make a dinner your kids will eat”, “how to talk to your child about death”, or “how to potty train your kid in 1 weekend”. And everything in between. There are millions of articles about discipline, with the advice varying, depending on the perspective of the author or publication. 

The area of parenting articles that receives so little attention, however, is the area that allows for the venting of frustration. Sure, discipline based articles will include some neutral statement like “while this behavior may be frustrating for the parents/caretakers, it is developmentally normal.” And I have to tell you; the fact that such statements are technically correct does not alter the fact that they fill me with the desire to smack the author on particularly difficult days. Clearly, he/she does not have kids. Or maybe they simply don’t have the responsibility of dealing with said child during the event in question. Or the children they handle are not their own, so they get to go home and reboot their system before the next day. 

He/she was NOT the one who spent 10 minutes unsuccessfully trying to convince/force the hypothetical child to sit in their car seat and buckle their seat belt, so that they wouldn’t be late for wherever they were headed. (Not like they got to go to the next location anyway, with the kid(s) in that mood…) He/she was NOT the one who had to haul a 36 pound toddler/preschooler around a mall (with a strained back) because they didn’t feel like walking. And he/she was REALLY NOT the one who has to deal with a hungry child, after following the advice of the professional who decided that “take it or leave it” should be the motto of meal time for a difficult eater. 

I’m sure that professional could advise away about the right way to handle the above situations, could articulately discuss the need to stay calm, despite other yearnings. To be consistent and not give in. But that’s just talk. It’s theory. And while it may be intellectually on target, it ignores one essential component of the equation. 

Mom is not an impartial observer to the process. He/she is the lifelong parent of the child and inherently emotionally involved. At least I hope they are. And taking care of that child is not their only job. A stay at home mom doesn’t just take care of the kids all day. She has to do the laundry, and make the meals, and clean up the kitchen after meals are done. She has to entertain the kids and food shop. And make doctors appointments. And be available at home for deliveries. And clean the house. And change the sheets. And interrupt shopping trips to take kids potty, rushing because “they REALLY need to go”. And organize the “life/home” calendar. And drive kids to their activities. And help kids with homework. 

A “working” mom has the same list of responsibilities, except her days are not spent attempting to accomplish said tasks, as she is at her “real job”. So, she either has to squeeze them into the remaining hours of the day, or enlist the help of others in the house.

And somewhere in that mix, she’s supposed to be taking care of herself? Right… It’s like Cinderella being able to go to the Ball if she finishes all her chores and has something to wear. Uh huh… 

I recently saw an article online that was entitled “I love my children, but…” and real women filled in the rest of the statement, venting about how their children drive them insane. I laughed so hard, it was embarrassing. Not because it was actually funny, but because it was just such a relief to hear other women say what was in my head. 

And I wonder. I really wonder WHY we moms are always so resistant to admitting that while we love our children unconditionally, we don’t always like them. And we don’t always want them around. Sometimes we want them as far away from us as possible. In a safe place, mind you… surrounded by people who care for them and hug them. But far, far away. Just for a while. And then we want them back. Once we’ve had a chance to recharge a little, get a few things done. Or maybe get nothing done but sit and look at the trees while we drink a quiet cup of coffee. 

I’ll admit it. Will you? 

Are we really so hardwired to be the best mom in the world, that we forget how to be a person?

Or is it just me?

Mommy, what's your job?

My kids are curious kids, and I’m a talker. Combine those two realities and you find yourself in a highly conversational situation. We talk plenty at home, but our more focused conversations occur in the car. The reason is pretty obvious to me. We’re stuck there, and we all have a captive audience. I’m not a car DVD person unless it’s a really long drive, so our options for entertainment are somewhat limited. 

My kids ask me all sorts of questions and we discuss the world around us. We talk about the trees and how they change according to the seasons. We talk about the weather. We talk about the cars and trucks we observe. We talk about where we are going and where we have been.  We talk about what we like and don’t like. As the weather gets colder, we are starting to talk about what toys Santa should begin acquiring. It’s one big discovery lesson, in reality, and it’s normally enjoyable for all of us. 

The kids always ask if Daddy is home, when we pull into the garage. It’s ironic, really, because the answer is almost never yes. I can’t think of the last time we got home and he was already there. Normally, we’re in the house when he gets home from work. I always tell them, no. And then we talk about the fact that he drove his car to work and will be home in time for dinner.  

Today, as we were arriving home from school, my daughter looks at me and asks me, “Mommy, where do YOU work?”

Hmmmm…

As questions go, it’s not that outside of the box. Jobs are one of those topics that the kids love to revisit. We talk about grandparents’ jobs and aunts and uncles’ jobs. So, it’s not an unlikely jump to try to figure out what mommy’s job is. I was just impressed that she noticed the information gap. Where DID mommy work?

Up until recently, I would have told her that I’m a teacher when I’m not home with them. With the change in preschool, however, I had to stop working for a hiatus. It was a hard choice in some ways, because I love nurturing my professional side. The surrounding details, however, made the decision pretty easy. For the most part, I have been ok without the professional time. I would not change my decision if I had the opportunity. 

I smiled at her and said “Mommy’s job is to take care of you two, my beautiful children. My job is to teach you how to play and be safe. My job is to teach you how to go potty and clean you up when you are messy. My job is to kiss you and hug you. My job is to make you food when you are hungry. My job is to answer your questions.”

Her response? Pause. Then a slow smile. “Oh, okay!”

 I guess I answered her question to her satisfaction. I wonder if she realizes that she is a job. Probably not. Most kids don’t.  

As I was processing the conversation, though, I began to feel more and more justified in my low energy at the end of the day. My job is huge. It’s one of the jobs that doesn’t quite have a duty list, so nothing is really off limits. 

Here’s what I came up with.

On a daily basis, I…

-          Cook 3 meals a day

-          Clean my kitchen (constantly, it seems)

-          Food shop

-          Take out toys

-          Put away toys

-          Drive to and from activities

-          Schedule and drive to/from doctor’s appointments

-          Shop (i.e. obtain those items that we need to maintain our house day to day)

-          Hug happy kids

-          Hug sad kids

-          Control mad kids

-          Chase unwilling kids

-          Do laundry

-          Play referee over seemingly innocent and uninteresting toys

-          Take deep breaths when I would prefer to scream

-          Plan 10 minutes ahead (minimum) to increase the likelihood of tantrum avoidance.

-          Coax hyper kids to sleep

-          Oh, and whatever else happens to need doing at any given moment. 

On a daily basis, I DON’T …

-          Finish a sentence or sometime even a thought

-          Consistently finish phone calls having acquired all the information I needed

-          Pee when I have to

-          Get a drink when I would like one

-          Oh, meet most of my human needs on any schedule that resembles what my desires would dictate. 

And don’t get me wrong, I’m not really complaining. Ok, maybe a little, but no more than the average person gripes a bit about their reality. In actuality, it’s my choice and my wonderful husband would fully support my wanting a change at any time. 

I do, however, feel more justification for the weariness at the end of the day. Despite the fact that I can’t seem to list more than 5 things that I actually accomplished and still feel like I never stopped long enough to breathe. 

Man, it’s hard to not work.