The Mommies' Diaries…Parenting, One Blog at a Time.

Sorry I am a bit late, guys. I got stuck in traffic. There was 2 accidents coming up from the south. The hubs and I went to go check out a music festival and we were supposed to be back by 12. The hubs has a groomsmen fitting that he was already late to.

Late. It’s the story of my life. What I am going through sitting here each day, waiting for my “real period.” Thank God for Kaiser’s online message center, I shot my doctor an email this week. I wanted to know what was going on with my 3 day periods and if these were normal. He told me that I should stick with it one more month and then try. Sounds pretty good to me…BUT…I checked my calendar, and omigosh! I am late taking my progesterones! I was supposed to take the combo (estradiols and progesterones) day 16-25, which was on Monday! ARGH! Why is this always happening to me? Last time, I was supposed to take a week break after day 25. Will I ever get it right?

I told my husband 2 days ago when I finally remembered and he just gave me that look. I don’t know what is going on? Is God telling me that it isn’t my time? Why do I keep messing things up? What I used to do when I was on the pill, and I know it’s bad, is that I’d double or even triple dosages. I don’t plan on doing it this time. I will just have to do without the progesterones Monday-Wednesday, and continue from Thursday to Sunday. Let’s cross our fingers that my period comes.

My last blog I talked about trying to dodge that questions, ” when are you guys having kids?” Well, week after week, the same question or topic comes up. Just last weekend, we were at a bridal shower and some of the gals brought their babies. The same questions, how are you and the hubs, what’s new, house the house, when are you having kids. The same night, I went to a bachelorette party. We talked about life, the food, and then THAT QUESTION!! ARGH! Again, I was at my dad’s house just last night and my mom and dad asked the same thing! I guess I am just going to have to get used to it, but it does get annoying and brings me back to the pain. I am trying to so hard to get over it and just not worry or think about it, but its not me, its everyone else around me. I know that my hubs and God is with me and that God never gives me anything that I can’t handle. I will keep the story of Hannah in my head and not lose faith. This will all help me to go stronger.

Remembering.  Everybody knows what it is.  The fact is you have remembered what remembering is.  It sounds simple enough.  We do it for work.  We remember what tasks we need to accomplish for the day, for the week, for the month.  We remember what time it is each year that we start praying for that pay increase.  At home, we remember when to eat, when to shower, when to clean the house.  Well, we remember we need to clean, but we don’t always get it done on time…

And so it seems that something we do every day on a routine and non-routine basis should be simple enough to do when it comes to our children.  So why do we find it so easy to forget what it was like to be them?  What it was like to be told to clean our rooms and as we are putting away those toys we played with two weeks ago, we begin to play with them again – only to be yelled at to ‘stop playing’ around.

If there’s one thing I know about high school, it’s that I’ve heard so many teens tell me they wish their lives could be simple again.  Like when they were kids.

The pressures of high school are nothing like they were when we went to school.  The game is different and played with much higher stakes.  And every year, those stakes keep rising.  The pressures to take drugs and drink alcohol are kids play compared to the pressures to join gangs, to perform absurd sexual acts you can’t imagine, and even to commit acts of violent crime to ‘prove your worthy’.  Some of these are actions you can never come back from without years of therapy.

Each year, everything seems to just keep escalating.  Reality television and teen programming just continues to push the limits and it seems nothing is really sacred anymore.  My teens are aware of everything going on around them.  They have given in to some and asserted themselves against some of them.  And they have all said to me at one time or another that they wish their lives could be simple again.

Getting away together - camping at Memorial Park.

There are a lot of things you can do to slow the escalation down.  I had a talk with my daughters when they were younger that they could play with Barbies for as long as they wanted to – even if it was in the privacy of their own bedroom.  I had a talk with my son about the value of respect when it came to dating and that he didn’t have to control his girlfriend just because the other guys were doing it.

Megan licks frosting while her bestie Barney looks on.

All you have to do is reach back into your memory banks and remember.  Remember what it was like for you when you were a child.  Remember those things that you cherished doing, even to this day.  Allow your children to get dirty, to mimic the things that you do, to share what makes them happy with you.  Sit down and play with them.  They’ll never forget it and neither will you.

And maybe, just maybe, we can put the brakes on the escalation that exists in our culture today.  It’s not too late and you just may enjoy being a kid again with them.  You just have to remember – it’s the simple things.

My cleaning lady comes today.  Every other Wednesday evening I pick up the random clutter that a family of five creates and make sure there are clean sheets to put on the beds.  I look forward to coming home every other Thursday to the smell of Pinesol, vacuum cleaner lines and empty wastebaskets.  And yet, the day is always a little bit awkward.

Before I became a parent I remember having dinner with another young married couple and they mentioned that their cleaning person had been at their house that morning.  I had never considered hiring someone else to clean my house, it seemed so decadent.  I would spend a couple hours every weekend cleaning our tiny two bedroom apartment and folding laundry and that was that.

Fast forward a few years and I was a new mother of twins in a new house who barely had time to change my underwear, never mind scrubbing the showers and sinks.  I told my husband I chose to brush my teeth or eat a meal with my free time rather than scrub toilets.  He agreed that maybe hiring some help with the housework would be a good idea.  So I hired the woman who cleaned house for my neighbor and felt like it was money well spent.  It was such a relief not to have the sticky floors and unfolded laundry hanging over my head each day.

But the relationship felt a little awkward to me.  I would always try to leave the house and run some errands while she was there.  It just felt strange to be hanging around while someone else mopped my floors.  My husband would ask me to tell her to make sure the vacuum cord didn’t scratch the baseboards or to be sure to clean the oven.  I couldn’t bring myself to tell her any of these things because I was so grateful that someone was willing to clean my house.  I would have paid her twice what we were paying her.  Happily.  There was always a nagging feeling of guilt.  After all, it was mostly just fate that meant that she had to leave her teenage daughter and son in El Salvador in order to come to the US to make money to send back to them and I had enough disposable income to pay someone else to empty my Diaper Genie.

When we moved a few years later, I didn’t find another cleaning person right away.  We went a couple of years without any help.  As my husband and I had an increasing number of arguments over housework and I felt overwhelmed cleaning up an even bigger house and folding even bigger piles of laundry we decided it was time to hire some help once again.

So today I will be incredibly grateful for our sparkling kitchen and shiny bathroom counters… yet I will still have a nagging feeling of guilt that it wasn’t me who wiped up all the smeared toothpaste and cleaned all the dust off the bookshelves.

Yesterday was one of those days.  The kind of day when you wish that you could wear a shirt that says “I know my kid is acting weird, but I have this covered.  Just look away”.    I would imagine that parents who are dealing with children who are on the Autism spectrum have to do this all the time.  My tiny taste of it has proven to be not very fun.  

In a nutshell, Cubby had a little freak out at the park the other day.  It used to be a common occurrence (the freak outs, I mean).  We pretty much never took him out in public unless we were one on one with him.  This way we could manage both the behavior and the circumstances (and we can flee before things get crazy).  He has been doing so well lately that we have been taking him out with the other kids and to places that he normally doesn’t handle well.   I am not even totally sure what the trigger was (something about him wanting an apple and there wasn’t one) and he went into what we called terminator mode.  His eyes glaze over a bit, he starts to moan and make a keening sound, he thrashes and bites and punches. When he is in this mode he also is known to run away or hurt himself in his quest to get out of Dodge.  My nanny (my awesome, totally trained to work with special needs kids nanny) did what we do. She tried to make him safe.  This means we need to restrain him until his body calms down and he is able to be safe.    This can be distressing for people watching because it kind of looks like she is being too enthusiastic in her treatment. After all, how many of you have had to lay on top of YOUR 5 year old to get them to calm down?  It is pretty effective, the pressure helps them feel calm and it keeps them safe, but like I said, other parents at the park watching might disagree.  

What ended up happening was that well meaning observers called the police (well hello police, I haven’t seen you in at least a week).  This is the reason that I carry around a copy of his evaluation and list of the various agencies that treat him with me all the time.  When you are face to face with Burlingame’s Finest, using big words and having doctor’s papers goes a long way in telling your story and not just sounding like you are telling a big old lie.   I spewed all the big words, gave them all the contact info, assured them that this was not the first time this has happened, nor is it the first time we have had the police show up. Our family is an open book and we have nothing to hide and we have a working relationship with CPS.  I am sure that an investigation will follow (as it should, in theory.  The point is to keep kids safe, right?).   It isn’t my favorite part of parenting this special needs child, but it comes with the territory.  I know that these agencies are here for the benefit of the family. It is actually through one of our first experiences with CPS that we found out about respite care and got hooked up with our amazing, awesome therapist for Cubby.   The system works, even with its flaws.

What I KNOW is that as parents and caregivers we do the best we can.  We work to make the world safe for our kids AND other peoples kids.  Sometimes, our kids do stuff that is hard to comprehend when viewed through the eyes of parenting typical kids.  I don’t get embarrassed by my kids very often, and when I do I feel guilty.  I was embarrassed of the ruckus we caused. I am sad that my other kids were traumatized by all of it.  I also am really sad that Cubby had to feel scared enough to the have a freak out.  No one came out ahead on that one.  I wanted to just stop time and explain to the other moms that were rolling their eyes at my kid and whispering behind their hands about us that I am a good mom.  This is a good kid, he was just scared.  I am sometimes jealous of other moms and their children who are playing quietly in the sandbox and have probably never caused a 911 worthy tantrum.  Usually I am just thankful for my little chickens and the new people they bring into my life (even if those people are policemen) and the new skills I get to learn by being their mamma (even if those skills are Kung Fu and Public Relations).  

Anyone else ever had an embarrassing situation in public? Am I the ONLY one?

It’s all about me this week.  I need some attention.  I need some love.  Truth be told, I need some reassurance.  We all need that some days right?  My journey through motherhood hasn’t been all easy (is it ever?).  There have been many bumps along the road.  It has taken me 5 years to realize that I am good enough.  It is OK that I want to go back to work…it doesn’t make me any less of a mom.  In fact, it makes me a better mom.  It has been a LONG process to figure this all out but I am getting there……

I am outspoken.  I tend to say exactly what I think.  I can be passive/aggressive.  I often say things without truly thinking about them.  I can be your best friend and your worst enemy…frienemy if you will.

While reading Gina’s post yesterday, I had to check the by-line to make sure that I hadn’t written it.  I know exactly how she is feeling.  I know, because I feel that way most every day.  The problem with this is that I am 5 years into this gig while she is still a rookie (said only in love because seriously Gina is amazing and some days I want to be her!).  After reading her post, I wanted to make sure she knew that it is OK if being a mom isn’t enough for her.  After I posted my comment, I realized I was really writing to myself.

Sure, I want everyone to know that it is OK if being a mommy isn’t enough for you.  It really is OK to put your kids in daycare or hire a nanny or whatever works best for you.  I now have a theory that I am a much better mom after LG gets some time at school or the gym daycare.  I admit that LG LOVES it.  She would actually rather be in school than with me because she can paint! Play with friends! Be crazy all day!

I have become insecure since becoming a mom.  I used to be confident.  I knew who I was and I was proud of it.  Now?  I let my insecurities rule my world. There really is no reason to be insecure.  I am a professional blogger.  I get paid to write!  I am part of some amazing groups that allow me to do things that people only dream of.  I am awesome dammit!  Haha.

I am trying really hard to work on my insecurities.  I am trying to not put my wrath on others because even though it is meant with love, it doesn’t always come across that way.  Not only that, I am trying remember how awesome I am :=)

It’s been a rough weekend at our household.  My husband and I have been at each other’s throats, and I was committed to the notion that everything was his fault.  My index finger was getting sore for pointing out the blame, and I was getting exhausted from arguing in circles (and right about now, my husband is regretting that he ever encouraged me to publically blog!)

And then, it hit me like a ton of bricks – I was the problem.  My attitude was the trouble.  I had grown increasingly bitter and resentful, and rather than recognizing and addressing it, I just kept feeding it.  I began to develop a very ugly self-righteous attitude.  I had become a martyr.  Everything was “Poor me,” and “You have no idea what I do all day.”  My husband was growing tired of the relentless comparisons, and felt as though he was entering a war zone each night as he opened our front door – not knowing how I would attack him because of my harboring anger.

I had lost my joy.  I had lost sight of the incredible privilege it was to be a stay-at-home-mom.  My perspective had changed….my eyes had left my daughter, and had fixed upon all that I had “sacrificially” given up.  I had stopped feeling like it was an honor to care for my family, and had started feeling like it was a chore.  I had started to secretly demand recognition, and had crafted laundry lists of my daily achievements should anyone believe that I was just playing at the park all day.

Then I remembered.  My good friend had sent me a link to sketch on YouTube about what it’s like to feel invisible in the role of home-maker.  She had sent it to me weeks ago, but I hadn’t made time to watch it.  I finally watched it, and with tears streaming down my face, there was a significant adjustment made to my attitude.

In this sketch, this mom talks about feeling invisible.  She talks about no one listening to her, no one taking her seriously – her kids ignoring her, her husband tuning her out, and feeling inferior around her career-oriented friends.  She was speaking my language, and I couldn’t help but nod in agreement.  She then talks about a gift she had received.  It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe, and it was inscribed, “With admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.”  That’s when the cleansing tears poured out, and I finally got it.

I am not performing this “job” for acknowledgment, I am taking on this great responsibility so that my daughter will grow into a strong, beautiful, uniquely crafted woman who is spirited and able.  Like the architects and builders of the cathedrals, as a mom, I am just called to build – without the promise of making history books, or even receiving a “World’s Greatest Mom” badge.

Ahhhh – the weight has been lifted, and my joy has returned.  I doubt this will be the last time that I begin feeling invisible in the lives of those who I care for most, but I would also bet that this is the last time I will allow myself to truly believe that my deeds are completely unnoticed.  I am building a great cathedral, and there is no higher honor.

You do not know me but I am not a fan of labels, wait I love me some designer labels for jeans or purses.  I mean more like labels we give each other.  I guess I can deal with the labels I am given, I can accept that.  Here are a few labels that people have given me over my past….uh, 40 years on this planet; Knock-Kneed Girl, Madge, Skinny, Sorrority Girl, Weasel, DG (Drunk Girl), Slacker Mom, Working Mom, PTA Mom, Bossy, Mompreneur, and now Working Mommie.

Working Mommie? More like Entrepreneur Mom…..err Mommie, but I guess I will take on Working Mommie if I must.  Though, I don’t think anyone “Mommy” in their title can be taken seriously…..that is another post I am sure.  I am a working entrepreneur Mom…er okay a Mommy but I do not answer the phone, “I am a Mommy with a business how can I help you?”

And with that rant….um, I am your newest contributor to the Mommie Diaries, I am the (cue some music from an angst ridden 80′s movie please) your Working Mommie.  You see me as you want to see me, in the simplest term, the most convenient definition….sorry I started reciting from the End of The Breakfast Club.  I am a Mother of two children and I own my business,  I also have my own personal blog, JPD Mom.  I feel lucky to have been (blushing) asked to blog for The Mommie Diaries.   

My business and daily focus is Jamie’s Painting & Design.  I design, make and sell ceramic baby gifts to parents, grandparents all over the country.  Having run a business for almost eight years, it is not always a labor of love but a way of life.  I am a realist and it is what it is.  When I am feeling down, I am reminded of Al Pacino from the Godfather, “This is the life we have chosen”.

I thought that since this is something I’m doing a lot of lately, I would comment on how to make the experience of working with your teen more valuable.  I know what you’re thinking.  I’m just going to spend more time telling them what to do and correcting what doesn’t get done properly than I am going to get work done.

Well, I’m here to tell you, you’re absolutely right.  For awhile anyway.  For those of you who have never worked side by side with your teen before, it can be challenging because you have to monitor their work to make sure it’s getting done properly and that cuts time from what you are supposed to be doing.

But there are high points and excellent reasons why you should do this and do it often.  Here are some of my thoughts:

1. Teaching them how to change a tire, do their own oil change, and even change their brakes will save them a lot of hardship when they break down and they’re alone.  A lot of unnecessary money can be saved here as well.
2. Teaching them how to operate lawnmowers, hedge trimmers, and even chainsaws means bbq’s in nicely cared for backyards when they invite you over for dinner at their homes.
3. Operating power tools SAFELY means you won’t get calls in the middle of a game of golf about the cement that’s not curing properly, the sprinkler that burst, or the roof repair that keeps getting worse everytime they make a cut.  Or worse yet, a call from the hospital.

It’s a learning process, to be sure, for parents as well as teens.  But the value, the camraderie, and the accomplishment you feel together from a job well done is hard to beat.  They will remember the time they spent with you and the laughs you shared more than they will remember how long it took or how much it cost.

It’s important for me to make a note here.  I’ve tried to teach all of my kids the same things regardless of gender.  Sure, it’s been for them, but it’s been for me too.  Not because I wanted to push off some work on them, but rather to give myself some peace that should anything ever happen to me, I could die knowing they can take care of themselves.

Important lessons are learned like it’s important to finish projects that you start, that sometimes working as a team can produce more effective results, that preparation and safety are 75% of the work, that hard work does pay for itself, and Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

I took my three children to IKEA in EastPalo Alto last week.  Not because I needed inexpensive housewares.  Not because I needed a couch for our living room that I won’t mind too much when my kids use it as a napkin.  Not because we need a new dresser that you need to understand Swedish in order to put together in under five hours.  Not because I needed new place mats, vases, picture frames, bath rugs or pillows.  Not even because I was craving the Swedish meatballs that remind me of my childhood.  No, not for any of those reasons.

I took my three children to IKEA because I needed an hour of free child care and one dollar ice cream cones.

This was the first week of summer vacation where we had no camps scheduled.  Heck, we didn’t even have any play dates scheduled.  It had been a while since I have had all three at home with me all day long for five days straight.  I’m a bit rusty at the mothering without a break gig, but I had a plan.  I was looking forward to a week with no commitments, no rushing to get to school or lunches to pack.  We’d get up and have a leisurely breakfast.  After breakfast I’d go for a quick run on the treadmill and shower.  Then we’d go on some kind of adventure, come home in time for an hour or so of quiet reading time.  In the late afternoon, the kids would ride bikes in the driveway or play in the yard while I cooked dinner.    Sounds great right?

It all worked out just fine for the first few days.  We went to the zoo and had a great day.  We went to the park and met up with some friends the next day.  The farmer’s market was on Wednesday, and we came home with two grocery bags full of goodies and ate fresh sourdough and five kinds of fruit for lunch.

But to be honest, by Tuesday afternoon I think the kids were tiring of playing with each other.  And those quick runs on the treadmill?  Those were actually 5 minute sprints interrupted by someone who couldn’t reach the graham crackers, or someone who was called stupid by their sister, or someone who had to know rightthisveryminute what would happen if they put their Littlest Petshop pig on the treadmill.  And the more time we spent at home, the more of a disaster my house was by the end of the day.  Oh I try to enforce the take it out, play with it, put it away rule… but I fail.  I can’t keep up with the three of them.  And I had forgotten how hard it is to just stop and think with three little kids running around, much less brush my teeth.  As much fun as we were having, I was exhausted by the end of the day.

So by Thursday morning I had broken up several sibling squabbles, given up on the treadmill and shower thing and I was ready to throw in the towel.  So we went to IKEA.  I checked them into the childcare, kissed them good bye and strolled through the housewares section with a cup of coffee.  To some this might not seem relaxing, but for me it did the trick.  All I really needed was a new spatula and some quiet.

I ended up spending about $30 on a vase, two spatulas, some  pot holders, a jar of lingonberry jam, a couple of books for the kids and new cushions for our kitchen chairs.  The kids were happy when I went to get them.  We ate lunch at the cafe for about $12 for the four of us.  And of course we got the $1 ice cream cones filled with non-fat frozen yogurt on the way out.

So thank you IKEA for saving a little piece of my sanity.  As long as there is summer break and sibling squabbles and you have free childcare and spatulas for under $2 — I will be a customer for life.  But you will never, ever see my face on the weekends. I hate crowds and lines and my husband can take them out for ice cream on the weekends.

Today my tiny dancer turns 4.  I feel like my heart is torn in two.  On one side is the fierce mamma pride for her.  She was my first official “special needs” child (and the one we made all the rookie mistakes on).  This same child just officially got kicked out of the system this week because she is all caught up.   I marvel at the child who sings and dances and teases and runs and does all the things that we spent hours in therapy working on.    She is a living advertisement for how important early intervention programs are — and how well they can work.  Not every child will end up catching up on all fronts, but I am promise that every child who gets early intervention will do better than they would have without it.  

The other side of my heart is sad today.  I know that there is another family who has very different memories of this day.  Adoption can be a tricky beast sometimes.  I am acutely aware today of how her other family might be feeling today.  In our family we have a tradition the night before a birthday.  At bedtime we tell the story of the day that they were born and joined the family.   Nori has never asked about it. Ever.  I got to see her little face as I told her about the day we found out that we were matched with her and how we got the call that she was on her way just a few days later.  I explained how she just couldn’t wait to be born and decided to come early.   I ended the story by telling her about her first family and what we know about her other mom. I was very happy to see that she had lots of questions about her mom and I was equally as happy that I could answer most of them for her (hurrah for open adoption).  I dread the day that she starts to understand the whole story.  Too soon she will have the ability to understand the sad and hard parts that come along with her story.  For today though, she is thrilled to have cake and look forward to bringing treats to her school class.  As she marched off to school I heard her call her new baby doll by her birth mom’s name.  

In four short years she has come so far and made some many changes. She went from being a preemie that didn’t engage or move.  This was a kid who spent her first two years officially diagnosed as failure to thrive.  I have half forgotten the hours I spent with her in every kind of therapy (with a newborn in tow).  Crawling, standing, walking, feeding herself, talking; all the large and small milestones that she earned.  I also marvel at the people we met because of her.  At my very first parent support meeting  I met some amazing women who have remained friends (except now we go to dinner without the kids…..).   

I am thankful for my kids. I am thankful for my life.  I am thankful for the hard choices that one special woman made to allow me to raise this daughter that we share.   Now, I am off to make a pink cake with yellow frosting and wrap some presents.   Have a great week everyone!