After 4 years of blogging, I am finally getting my act together (ok, not really) and created an official Facebook page for this blog. If you are a frequent reader, definitely visit www.facebook.com/modernmommymadness and “like” it.
Then you can kick back and let the waves of craziness wash over you. Happy Thursday!
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| Totally unrelated. |
Today I did something different and interesting that had nothing to do with my children.
And all the people said … AMEN. Finally, something else to discuss. I agree that it has been far, far too long.
I visited Nicholls State University, where my friend Laure teaches a class called “Information Technologies for Mass Communication.” She teaches other classes too, and freelances, and mothers two small boys, and volunteers her time, and always looks amazing. Don’t ask me how she does it, because hell if I know. Some kind of voodoo that I haven’t mastered yet.
She asked me to come visit her classroom to talk to her students about blogging. And I thought, really? when I got the text because I was wearing stained yoga pants and had to wipe baby slobber off my phone just so I could type out a reply. I’m a mess and I have nothing to offer anyone outside of this house. That is what I thought to myself as I quizzed her about why on Earth she would want ME OF ALL PEOPLE to come talk to her students.
And my thoughts were partially true, I really am a mess. But the not true part was that I have nothing to offer.
I do have something to offer.
Thankfully for everyone involved, I managed to pull myself together and look like a normal person before I showed up this morning. My brain power was at about 50 percent, but there’s nothing I can do about that until I start getting more sleep in like 5 years.
All I managed to prepare the day before were seven very simple tips, because my children wanted to make sure I didn’t do too great of a job. Then I might get excited about being around other adults and think I need to do it more often, and that would mean I would have less time to clean pee off the floor. But really they have nothing to worry about, because chronic lack of sleep means that I blank out in the middle of thoughts a lot.
I just stop talking, or trail off …
… what was I saying? Anyway. Today I felt more like myself than I have in a really long time.
Also, college students now call me “Ma’am,” and nothing in the Junior section fits me anymore. These two things do not mean I’m old. I’m so deep in denial about being old enough for someone to call me “Ma’am” … you just don’t even know. I kept giggling and looking over my shoulder, thinking surely they weren’t referring to ME.
I know. Bless my heart.
There are plenty of people out there who are much more knowledgeable, talented, and interesting than I, so I’m grateful that I got the chance to share my thoughts with young minds today. I don’t claim to know the ins and outs of being a “blogger,” but I do know that sitting down at this computer after an evening like I just had (read: curtains were literally climbed. Husband will have to repair the damage with a drill.) centers me. I write what I know, and what I know is absolute insanity.
Right now I feel like the only mom in America willing to admit that the 4 snow days we have had in the past week were 4 snow days too many.
That is all I have the capacity to write right now. I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine.
Sometimes I think moms get dismissed for various reasons — because they “don’t work” or they’re “just moms” or because they start to fade into the background as soon as their babies are born.
They stop wearing heels. Their shape changes. Their priorities change, they don’t want their picture taken, and sometimes, sadly, they lose themselves.
One thing that’s nice about going to an all-ladies gym is that when I go in the mornings, it’s mostly older women who are finished with child-rearing. Almost every time I go, one of them says something encouraging like “You have THREE kids?! And you’re at the gym?! Good for you, honey!” And sometimes they pat me. On certain days, it’s all I can do not to bury my face in a velour-jumpsuited shoulder and cry.
I don’t actually go to the gym because I want to work out. I go because I need a break from my children and housework. When I share this with one of the older ladies, they laugh and start telling me that they remember how hard it was but I will get through it, because she did and look! She’s still alive.
Yesterday I was chatting with the sweet lady sitting next to me in yoga class and she said, “If you can turn out kids that grow into decent adults … then you’ve really DONE something.” And I thought, YES. Yes I will have! Thank you so much, random stranger, for saying that out loud. Also, I’ve been up since 4:30 with a demanding toddler and my nerves are raw and all I want in this world is a pedicure, a mojito, and to be left alone for like 12 hours straight.
Encouraging words are like manna to exhausted young mothers. It feels like I’m running a race and I’m at the part where I think it’s never going to end and I might die, and then someone hands me a cup of water and yells something inspiring.
I keep going because that is what mamas do. We press on, tired and faded as we are, with the knowledge that we are really doing something. And that is why I get so irritated when moms are asked, “What do you DO all day?” I’ll tell you what I do.
Everything.
The other day I took all three kids to the grocery store because I’m an idiot or because I’m brave, I don’t know which. Luckily, there was a huge shopping cart made for multiple kids sitting in the parking lot, and I parked right next to it thinking to myself that I TOTALLY HAVE THIS.
Here is the picture that I posted on social media, because I totally had this. Normally people don’t post pictures of themselves NOT HAVING IT, right?
Right.
So let me tell you what happened right before this picture was taken … and you will know the truth: I so did not have this.
I put Asher in the big yellow cart first and lodged him safely behind the van. I would have wedged the cart between the van and the car next to me, but there wasn’t room and he has been known to reach over and pull on the side view mirrors of stranger’s vehicles when my back is turned.
I walked over to the baby’s side and started unbuckling her. I chatted with Maverick and gave him a cheese stick, because I was so on top of this situation that I even remembered to bring snacks. Just as I was lifting Pepper out of her carseat, Maverick walked around the back of the van and started yelling, “Asher’s rolling away! Asher’s rolling away!”
Yep.
Just like that, my fantasy of being on top of this situation came crumbling down. There he was, about 5 or 6 parking spaces down from us, gaining speed as he rolled across the parking lot.
The next few moments are a little hazy, but I know I was running with a baby which is a terrible idea. The kind patrons of Albertson’s were throwing their cars in park and jumping out to try and stop him, and one lady finally caught him and brought him back to me and I remember her telling me “I have three kids too, but they’re all grown now … can I help you with the baby?” And she stood right there the whole time I buckled Pepper into that yellow monstrosity and I really think she wanted to escort us into the grocery store herself. I was eerily calm and she probably thought I was on something.
I kind of wish she was right.
At this point, I think I’ve used up my entire reserve of panic mode. Now when things happen, I remain freakishly calm and it understandably confuses and upsets people — like, What is wrong with this girl?! Why is she so calm?! Well, it’s because I feel like I’ve almost seen it all in a very short amount of time. It’s like I’m shell-shocked.
After I had time to process it, it kind of cracked me up that all these people out there in social media world were under the impression that I took 3 kids to the store in a big yellow cart and it was totally awesome because I am just that kind of mom.
Nope.
Occasionally, not often enough, I snap out of The Blur and realize how incredibly blessed I am.
I really have everything I have ever wanted in life. None of it is perfect or how I imagined it would be, but it’s all there. Every single thing, in its odd imperfection. I never asked for an easy life; I wanted a happy one. And that’s what I got: an exhausting, imperfectly happy life.
I read something last night that said if we would just look at our children through a different lens — to think of them as a gift to us — our parenting experience would be totally different. And OF COURSE I believe my children are wonderful, gift-like little blessings, but it’s easy to forget that in the chaos of ear-piercing shrieks and thrown toys. You see, I am very easily blinded by messes and tantrums.
Something I have to be intentional about is waking up and being conciously grateful for my gifts. This all sounds very Pollyanna, I know. I’m sure if you stopped by my house between the hours of 4-7 p.m. I would not seem like someone who is basking in the glow of motherhood. But I openly share the weird and not-great things that happen here, so it’s only right that I share the good things with you too.
Today I have the clarity to see my life for what it is: very simple, and full of life and happiness. I don’t know what I did to deserve what I have, but maybe instead of asking for more XYZ, I need to be asking for the lucidity to appreciate what’s right in front of me.
It has come to my attention that I have a hard heart. I knew it was probably a few sizes too small, but I was thinking that having children had maybe softened me some.
It hasn’t.
In fact, I think the act of pushing a child out of my vagina on three separate occasions has actually hardened me more, like some kind of prairie-living, butter-churning, cow hand’s wife from the 1800’s. They were tough people. Maybe that’s when I should have been born — in prairie times. Although, if that was the case, I would be the town’s token blind lady. If I don’t have my contacts in, someone literally has to take me by the hand and lead me from room to room.
I would not enjoy being the town’s token blind lady; I’m much too vain for that. I guess it’s for the best that I was born in 1979 instead of 1879, but I bet I could churn the hell out of some butter.
Anyway, because of my hard heart, when someone has a scrape or a hangover or the wrong flavor of Pop Tarts, I expect them to suck it up because, you see, I PUSHED THREE BABIES OUT OF MY VAGINA. Clearly you are not in that much pain, which means you are not near death, which means there is no need to panic.
After a few separate occurrences happened in a short span of time which brought my hard heart front and center, I started wondering what on Earth could have caused me to be so unfeeling when it comes to certain things. I have girlfriends who cry over pictures of animals. Why don’t I cry over pictures of animals?! When I see pictures of animals, I actually shudder a little.
When my husband is sick, I put him in a room by himself and shut the door. My eldest child has had regular allergy shots for months and months. I don’t understand why he still cries and throws a fit. It’s been months. You know you’re not going to die. I don’t understand. Clearly, I would make a TERRIBLE NURSE.
I started thinking about what might have hardened me at a young age, and all I could come up with was the time when I was about 4 or 5 years old and a goose started chasing me when I was outside with my dad. I don’t think he meant to, but my daddy reached out and slapped that goose dead. Kilt it dead right in front of me.
I don’t talk about my dad much on social media because my parents are very private and I think the idea of the internet freaks them out big time, but I have to say … my daddy slapping a goose dead when it was after me taught me something very important: if you hit right, you’ll only have to hit once.
So, while I don’t have to churn butter or chop the heads off chickens before sunrise, I do have to tone down my demeanor so I can at least feign concern for these softies … I GUESS.
It’s been entirely too long since I did a Things That Make Me Happy post. I think I’m slipping into an obnoxious mode where all I do is take pictures of my kids, talk about my kids, think about my kids, worry about my kids … you get the picture. Not that my kids aren’t cute and important, but EW. Let’s get over them for awhile.
I bought these plastic place mats at Target for $1.99 each yesterday. They’re fun and can be wiped clean, and that makes me very, very happy.
I have a very nice landlord who, after my recent oven fire, brought over a gift. Too bad it was about four days too late.
It’s screwed to the kitchen cabinet as you can see, right in plain sight should there ever be another fire. He said, “Where can I put this so that you’ll remember to use it if there is another fire? But not somewhere where it could fall on one of the kid’s heads, because I know you all are accident-prone …”
Yes. He said that. Then he made me practice yanking it off the wall and verified I knew how to use it properly, which was a trip and left me laughing inappropriately the way I tend to do when MY SANITY IS CRACKING.
I was really hoping to get a new oven out of the deal, but it turned out that the heating element just needed to be replaced. And now that’s done, and I’m left with a mess. I really just want to shut the door and never look in there again … in fact, I might do just that. The whole oven fire ordeal really took a lot out of me, and the thought of getting down on the floor and cleaning this thing is too much for me to handle. We all have limits.
Yeah, no.
But … next time … I’ll be ready. Here’s a selfie of me with my new bestie.
Yesterday, a terrible thing happened.
Let me preface this by saying that I am struggling to adjust to summer break. Struggling. Like … it’s good? But also horrible? Can something be good and horrible all at once? Because I’m pretty sure that is exactly what parenthood is.
Making the transition from having all three kids in school for 6+ hours per day (and working during those hours), to having them home all the time and trying to get my work done in addition to mothering in a loving fashion, is not going great. As I have already established in multiple blog posts from previous years, summer is effing relentless.
Pepper is obsessed with two things: outlets and babies. Here she is showing her baby doll the outlet in her bedroom. #multitasking
Thankfully, this year is somewhat easier than previous years simply because my children are getting older and more independent. Pepper will be 3 next week, so I think we’re finally on the upswing after a very dark time in the Valley of Motherhood.
Yesterday afternoon, we got home from playing at the park. The boys jumped out of the van, heard some kids next door playing, and asked if they could go over to play. I granted them permission and took Pepper inside. Her clothes were filthy — covered in layers of peanut butter and dirt — so I stripped her down to a diaper.
I ran to the bathroom with her trailing behind me, always my little shadow. And then, my mom called. She’s not feeling well and I can barely hear her on the phone. I was straining to understand what she was saying — did she just say she needed to go to the hospital?! — and naturally, my toddler got really loud at exactly that moment. As her shouting drowned out my mother, my stress level started to rise.
I went to my bedroom and closed the door. My daughter cried from the hall, and when she stopped, I was thankful. When I emerged only a few minutes later, the house was quiet. A panicky feeling started to rise in my chest, and then it felt like my heart stopped.
Just.
Stopped.
Beating.
Our back door was standing wide open.
Screaming her name, I ran outside. She was gone. Or hiding. Or missing.
I heard a woman’s voice — our across the street neighbor — yelling at me that she just saw a little girl cut through the fences in the backyard.
“She went that way, sweetheart! I was standing here watching her!”
I was barefoot and it did not matter. I ran. I ran until I found her. I couldn’t feel my feet. I couldn’t feel my body. All I could hear was my own voice screaming her name, and my heartbeat deafening my ears. That is what blind panic feels like.
My 2-year-old was wandering one street over from ours, wearing nothing but her diaper. She was holding a toy pet carrier with a little stuffed dog inside. I will never forget the way her face looked when she saw the horror on mine.
“NEVER AGAIN,” I said to her.
“Not with my dog?” she said.
“NEVER, EVER. Do not ever leave this house without a grown up,” I said, as I wiped away my tears.
I’m sharing this story to demonstrate how quickly children can disappear. How many times have I heard stories of toddlers wandering the streets and thought to myself, WHERE WAS THE MOTHER?
That mother is me. I was right there. It happened anyway.
I’m a damn good mom. I am capable. I am aware. I am not negligent. But children are fast. And sometimes quiet. And things happen. So today I’m hugging my babies tight, grateful for their safety, knowing that sometimes other mamas aren’t so lucky.
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Modern Mommy Madness 