It's been one of those awful weeks, the kind when I thought to myself at least 27 times a day: "How the $%&@ am I going to take care of two kids and stay sane?" Yesterday I had a little meltdown and drove myself to Briana's in tears, where Jack played nicely in the back yard with Kateri and Briana made me coffee and assured me I wasn't crazy, at least not any kind of crazy that every single mother who's ever had a two year-old and/or pregnancy hormones hasn't experienced at some time or other. The other day my long-suffering husband came home from work to find the kitchen table denuded of its chairs.
"Um, where are all the chairs?"
"In the garage."
"Uh...how come?"
"I threw them there."
"Did any of them break."
"I don't know."
That's what kind of day it was. Now, that's not the kind of thing I normally do. I usually have a very positive attitude when it comes to frustration, and most of the time I'm pretty resilient and don't have a hard time bouncing back from life's little setbacks. Not lately. Lately I have been a basket-case, a weepy, needy, hormonal mess my former(usual) self neither recognizes nor approves of. The day that I threw all my chairs into the garage it seemed that every little thing that happened was the final straw, the very last thing I could stand, but I felt like that from the moment I woke up. Now, it seems to me that the qualities necessary for successful, meaningful, effective motherhood are things like patience, understanding, kindness, cheerfulness, maturity, etc. So why is it that two year-old boys and hormones make those qualities so $%&@ing difficult to cultivate?
It has occurred to me that the problem might be spiritual in nature and that I need to strive to be holier, but I quickly realized that daily Mass will not take the wiggles out of my two year-old or keep him from unloading the dirty dishwasher, nor will it cure my heartburn or keep me from crying for no rational reason. Not the mention the purely practical obstacle of getting to Mass in the first place, which would require that I be at least semi-clean and wearing something other than pajamas. Early in this pregnancy I promised that I wouldn't let myself go, that I would paint my toenails and wear cute maternity outfits and keep my house clean but I have been deeply humbled. I have seen the error of my ways and meekly accept that at this point in my life I need to recognize what my limits are and save my energies for important things. To that end, I have resolved to avoid anything which has the potential to frustrate either myself or Jack and concentrate on a few priorities and a few priorities ONLY. I will not try to do the dishes or clean the toilet while Jack is awake. I will not take him grocery shopping before a nap. I will not cook things which require long periods of standing guard at the stove, trying to distract Jack from "helping." Someday there will be a time in my life when I am thin, well-rested, well-dressed and every room in my house is neat and tidy. That day is not today, nor is just around the corner. More than likely it will not come along for quite some time, and I'm okay with that. In the meantime I will only be friends with people who are okay with my messy house, who have children themselves and understand that sometimes kids have diapers that leak poop on important personal belongings, and who can enjoy a good cup of coffee and a good cry amidst all the chaos.
Today was actually a really nice day thanks to Anna, who made me a delicious lunch and had cozy knitting/tea time with me on her couch while Jack and Talia played in the backyard. Jack fell asleep in the car on the way home so after I put him into bed I made myself a deal: if I unloaded the dishwasher I could spend the rest of Jack's nap time drinking coffee and writing in my journal. As I sat on my comfy couch enjoying my latte and personal reflection time I thought about my blog and the things I put on it. Everything I've posted about enjoying marriage and motherhood is absolutely true but it seems like a lie to leave out things like throwing my chairs in the garage and having emotional breakdowns over nothing. I think that a lot of moms(myself included) are reluctant to admit to the enormity of the challenges of motherhood because of the disdain society has for our vocation, but I don't think we're doing ourselves any favors by keeping quiet. Before I got married, a very wise woman I know told me: "It will be hard, but remember that just because it's hard doesn't mean it can't be beautiful." The inverse is also true, and just because motherhood is beautiful doesn't mean it isn't really, really hard.
So I would like to declare that I will henceforth be sharing the hard stuff; the failures, the struggles, the mood swings, the tantrums(meaning mine, not Jack's), the stretch marks, the fatigue, and all the other wonderful shortcomings that come with doing the most important job in the world. I give myself permission not to feel pressured to perform for people who don't understand me, my lifestyle, or my life choices. I give myself permission not to want 12 kids just because I'm Catholic. I give myself permission to consider myself a faithful, practicing Catholic even though I don't attend Mass daily or wear long flowery skirts on a regular basis. Or ever, actually. I give myself permission to share inappropriate information on my blog because it fulfills my need for catharsis and my resolve to be an integrated, authentic person. If you choose to visit here be forewarned: it may get ugly, but it will always be true. If you want something light and fluffy, go read a Nancy Drew book. If you want way too much information about my personal life, sit down and stay a while. Sometimes I get a little crazy, but I always have a good story and hot coffee to share.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
With a Lot of Help From My Friends
It's been one of those awful weeks, the kind when I thought to myself at least 27 times a day: "How the $%&@ am I going to take care of two kids and stay sane?" Yesterday I had a little meltdown and drove myself to Briana's in tears, where Jack played nicely in the back yard with Kateri and Briana made me coffee and assured me I wasn't crazy, at least not any kind of crazy that every single mother who's ever had a two year-old and/or pregnancy hormones hasn't experienced at some time or other. The other day my long-suffering husband came home from work to find the kitchen table denuded of its chairs.
"Um, where are all the chairs?"
"In the garage."
"Uh...how come?"
"I threw them there."
"Did any of them break."
"I don't know."
That's what kind of day it was. Now, that's not the kind of thing I normally do. I usually have a very positive attitude when it comes to frustration, and most of the time I'm pretty resilient and don't have a hard time bouncing back from life's little setbacks. Not lately. Lately I have been a basket-case, a weepy, needy, hormonal mess my former(usual) self neither recognizes nor approves of. The day that I threw all my chairs into the garage it seemed that every little thing that happened was the final straw, the very last thing I could stand, but I felt like that from the moment I woke up. Now, it seems to me that the qualities necessary for successful, meaningful, effective motherhood are things like patience, understanding, kindness, cheerfulness, maturity, etc. So why is it that two year-old boys and hormones make those qualities so $%&@ing difficult to cultivate?
It has occurred to me that the problem might be spiritual in nature and that I need to strive to be holier, but I quickly realized that daily Mass will not take the wiggles out of my two year-old or keep him from unloading the dirty dishwasher, nor will it cure my heartburn or keep me from crying for no rational reason. Not the mention the purely practical obstacle of getting to Mass in the first place, which would require that I be at least semi-clean and wearing something other than pajamas. Early in this pregnancy I promised that I wouldn't let myself go, that I would paint my toenails and wear cute maternity outfits and keep my house clean but I have been deeply humbled. I have seen the error of my ways and meekly accept that at this point in my life I need to recognize what my limits are and save my energies for important things. To that end, I have resolved to avoid anything which has the potential to frustrate either myself or Jack and concentrate on a few priorities and a few priorities ONLY. I will not try to do the dishes or clean the toilet while Jack is awake. I will not take him grocery shopping before a nap. I will not cook things which require long periods of standing guard at the stove, trying to distract Jack from "helping." Someday there will be a time in my life when I am thin, well-rested, well-dressed and every room in my house is neat and tidy. That day is not today, nor is just around the corner. More than likely it will not come along for quite some time, and I'm okay with that. In the meantime I will only be friends with people who are okay with my messy house, who have children themselves and understand that sometimes kids have diapers that leak poop on important personal belongings, and who can enjoy a good cup of coffee and a good cry amidst all the chaos.
Today was actually a really nice day thanks to Anna, who made me a delicious lunch and had cozy knitting/tea time with me on her couch while Jack and Talia played in the backyard. Jack fell asleep in the car on the way home so after I put him into bed I made myself a deal: if I unloaded the dishwasher I could spend the rest of Jack's nap time drinking coffee and writing in my journal. As I sat on my comfy couch enjoying my latte and personal reflection time I thought about my blog and the things I put on it. Everything I've posted about enjoying marriage and motherhood is absolutely true but it seems like a lie to leave out things like throwing my chairs in the garage and having emotional breakdowns over nothing. I think that a lot of moms(myself included) are reluctant to admit to the enormity of the challenges of motherhood because of the disdain society has for our vocation, but I don't think we're doing ourselves any favors by keeping quiet. Before I got married, a very wise woman I know told me: "It will be hard, but remember that just because it's hard doesn't mean it can't be beautiful." The inverse is also true, and just because motherhood is beautiful doesn't mean it isn't really, really hard.
So I would like to declare that I will henceforth be sharing the hard stuff; the failures, the struggles, the mood swings, the tantrums(meaning mine, not Jack's), the stretch marks, the fatigue, and all the other wonderful shortcomings that come with doing the most important job in the world. I give myself permission not to feel pressured to perform for people who don't understand me, my lifestyle, or my life choices. I give myself permission not to want 12 kids just because I'm Catholic. I give myself permission to consider myself a faithful, practicing Catholic even though I don't attend Mass daily or wear long flowery skirts on a regular basis. Or ever, actually. I give myself permission to share inappropriate information on my blog because it fulfills my need for catharsis and my resolve to be an integrated, authentic person. If you choose to visit here be forewarned: it may get ugly, but it will always be true. If you want something light and fluffy, go read a Nancy Drew book. If you want way too much information about my personal life, sit down and stay a while. Sometimes I get a little crazy, but I always have a good story and hot coffee to share.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Things that Grow
This is the garden that was a household effort. I started tearing up the ground underneath it in early April when it first started to warm up, but my efforts were sporadic at best. While we were on vacation in May, Ryan built the frame and filled it with dirt as my birthday present(funny what can be an exciting birthday present). When we got home, Aaron dug up some compost from the back yard and Jack and I dug out a bucket of rocks. We got a few more bags of dirt to supplement what Ryan started and then picked out some plants and seeds at Home Depot. We're growing three different kinds of tomatoes, two different kinds of carrots, three kinds of lettuce, cucumbers, and bush beans which Tristan started. Jack absolutely loves watering it, and every morning he wakes up and asks to go check on the vegetables. I can't wait to see the look on his face when the carrots are ready to pull up and he can pick ripe tomatoes. The only problem so far is that sometimes Jack takes his watering duties a little TOO seriously and I have to bribe him to water the grass so as not to drown the lettuce. I'll be sad to leave our little family garden behind when we buy a house, but we can make a new one I suppose. We looked at a house last night in Lynnwood that is definitely in the fixer-upper category, which I'm both excited and apprehensive about. I love the idea of Aaron and I working on a house together that we actually own, but six months pregnant is not the best time to begin construction projects. The back yard is huge, borders on a forest in a park and is fully fenced, so Jack would have a perfect place to play while I stripped and painted kitchen cupboards. The idea of leaving our Brier house is really sad to me, but I love the idea of owning something and being able to do whatever we want to it. Plus, Aaron in a tool belt is one of my favorite things ever.
Aaron bought me these flowers yesterday; there are things in this bouquet that I've never even seen before. I love that he picks non-conventional flowers. Roses are beautiful and I love them, but they feel a little formal for frequent flower-giving.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Scrapbook Fever
I decided to try finishing at least Jack's first year's worth of scrapbooking before this baby is born, so I've been going through a lot of old pictures. I forgot how chubby Jack was, and impressive feat considering he once weighed in at a mere 5 pounds. I'd also forgotten how bald he was, and, well, downright funny-looking, but of course at the time we thought he was beautiful. And he was, which is the beauty of parenthood. It's been really fun going over his tiny baby pictures and thinking about having another one that small; Jack already seems huge to me, and after the baby's born he's going to seem gigantic. The other day he was tugging on my leg about something so I reached down to pat his head and it suddenly struck me that I don't have to bend down to touch the top of his head: it reaches the top of my hip. I'm glad he's growing into such a big boy; I feel like he had his turn being the baby and now he's ready to share Mom and Dad with a little brother. He likes putting his hand on my belly and feeling the baby kick him, which the baby usually does in response to Jack putting his hand on my belly. I think it'll be really fun to have a pair of boys; I feel like we'll be an official family once we have two kids. One certainly kept me busy, but we didn't feel big enough to really constitute a family. That's not a slam on families with only one baby, just a reflection of what I'm used to. Of the married siblings in my family I have so far contributed the least amount of grandchildren. I'm okay with that and don't feel any particular need to compete; I like taking things one baby at a time.
Banana Pancakes
I could only resist Jack Johnson's subliminal messages for so long, plus we had a lot of bananas and Jack has been obsessed with pancakes lately. We found a recipe that called for sour cream in the batter, and I knew it was going to be good. Jack helped out with the stirring and the tasting of the dry ingredients, but accidentally tasted too much baking soda. I gave him water to rinse out his mouth, and he had some interesting burps.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Uncle Damien's Happy To You
Friday the 27th was Damien's 27th birthday, so we had a small dinner party at my house. I made chicken with pears and hazelnuts and cheesecake. Jack was so excited about Damien's candles that he couldn't restrain himself and blew the candles out before we were even done singing, so we lit them again to let Damien have a turn.
Artistic Expression
Last week Jack's friend Lani came up to visit and we had some quality art time. We stripped the kids down to their diapers after dinner and turned the kitchen floor into a finger-painting circus. Lani was more interested in eating the paint and applying it to her body rather than the paper, and Jack wanted to free-style everything with little regard for the finished product. We compromised and made a few pretty pictures and the rest I let him just smear the paint to his heart's content; I think he enjoyed the feel of the paint on his fingers more than he made a visual connection with it on paper. Still, I think we have a pretty cute little gallery on our kitchen wall now. We made a choo-choo train together which Jack added some personal touches to; he let me guide his fingers really carefully the whole time, then he decided to streak the paint on the wheels to create the illusion of steam and a sense of motion(Jack's words, not mine). Jack and Lani also thought the green bathwater was pretty cool.
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