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

This is what happens when my husband takes my kids to the movies on the weekend and I have two hours alone in my house.

I think to myself that I will just do the dishes and clean up the kitchen, then I’ll sit and read my book.   It’s going to be so relaxing.  It’s takes me longer than I thought to clean up because I notice all the food my kids have dropped on the floor and I have to unload the clean dishes from the dishwasher before I can load it again. Before I sit down, I throw a load of laundry in the dryer.  When I get my book and sit on the couch, the three baskets of clean laundry are taunting me.  I have to fold it before I can relax.

After I fold the laundry, I decide to pour myself a Diet Pepsi before I sit down to read. While in the kitchen I notice the trash needs to be taken out.  On my way to the garage, I decide to clean out all the trash out of my car as well.  I find an empty yogurt container, several lollypop wrappers, about 500 pencils, some rocks and dead flowers, a tiny stuffed hippo in a tutu we’ve been looking for since Christmas 2005 and a few dried up wipes among other treasures.

When I go back inside to put a new bag in the trash, my eye catches my daughters Spellathon sponsor sheets.  I realize I need to send an e-mail to everyone that sponsored her so they can collect the donations.  I scan the tests and save them as jpeg files, and craft a thank you e-mail. After I send that e-mail I open a message from another mom from my other daughter’s class.  I collected all the class dues and hold all the money. She needs to be reimbursed for something.  I realize she sent this message several days ago and I never responded.  I type a quick response, check my bank balance online quickly and go on a hunt for the checkbook.

When I go to put the check in my purse so I won’t forget to bring it to school, I notice what a mess the shoe baskets we keep in the front hall are becoming.  I empty them out, get rid of shoes that no longer fit the kids and sort them into the correct baskets.

I suddenly remember that I was planning on making chicken marsala for dinner and I need to take some chicken breasts out of the freezer.   While in the kitchen I glance at the recipe and realize we have no vegetable to serve on the side and I am all out of marsala wine.   We are also almost out of milk.  I make a quick list and run out to the grocery store.  I get home, unload the groceries and pick up my book, my Diet Pepsi and make myself comfortable on the couch.  Five minutes later my husband and the kids come home.

Here’s what happens if I take the kids to the movies on the weekend and my husband has two hours to himself in the house.

He waves good-bye to us and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water.  He notices the lunch dishes still need to be done.  He considers washing them, but notices that the dishwasher needs to be unloaded before he can put anything else in and decides to just leave them. He checks his e-mail and spends a few minutes on The BRO. He steps over the massive clean laundry pile and makes his way to his favorite spot on the couch.

He realizes there are at least three sporting events on TV.  He mulls over which one to record on the DVR for later and which one to watch now. Then he dozes off for a while and wakes up when we walk in the door. He asks what’s for dinner.

This is Sejal.

She likes reading, singing and fashion.  She picks out her outfits the night before school and then changes her mind several times the next day.  She doesn’t like to be alone and always like to know where I am, even at eight years old.  She has lots of friends and often writes them little notes covered in stickers.  She has an endless capacity for hugs and sometimes squeezes so hard she nearly knocks me over.  You can’t help but love her as soon as you meet her.

This is Jayne.

She like soccer, knitting and writing.  She picks out her outfits five minutes before we leave for school.  She thinks her hair is too puffy and she loves to tell jokes.  When I drop her off at soccer or ballet or school she barely looks back after getting out of the car.  Whether on the soccer field or doing homework, she has her father’s perfectionism.  She is going to do amazing things someday.

This is Raj.

Everyone loves Raj.  He loves karate, race cars and playing golf in the backyard with his dad.  There are very few things that he won’t do for a piece of candy.  He is small, but mighty and doesn’t keeps up with his older sisters just fine thankyouverymuch.  Every night before he goes to bed he tells me I’m his lucky charm.   I can never get enough of him and his infectious smile.

My kids are amazing.  But throw them all together and look out.  My sweet, peaceful children turn on what I like to call their mob mentality.

Each morning Raj wakes up first and comes into my room.  “Am I first?” he asks.  Usually he is and all is right with the world.  But if one of the girls has happened to wake up before him, it’s not pretty.  Then Raj starts yelling at whichever sister woke up first, then she starts yelling at him, then the other sister wakes up and starts yelling at me that all the yelling woke her up.  Then I want to go hide in a closet because that is no way to start the day.

The car ride home from school is often not our most shining moment of the day.  Raj wants to tell me about what happened at recess.  Jayne and Sejal start comparing notes on what they did in class that day.  Then Raj starts talking louder because his sisters are talking louder.  Soon enough Sejal wants to tell me about her part in the school musical and Jayne wants to know what we are doing today after school.  Each child gets progressively louder in order to talk over their siblings and it’s all I can do just to steer the car home.

My husband has been traveling quite a bit lately, so that means I have been parenting solo.  Last night after dinner I was doing the dishes and Jayne and Sejal were finishing their homework and Raj was playing on my laptop.  Sounds like a normal, relatively peaceful family evening.  Wrong.  Sejal is asking for help with her homework.  I take my gloves off and help her solve a problem.  As soon as I put them back on, she asks for help.  Meanwhile, Jayne is singing a song while alphabetizing her spelling words.  This is bothering Raj who must move to a different room in order to get away from her, but only after yelling at her to be quiet and slamming my lap top shut.  Next he wants to get back on the computer and can’t find PBS.org.  I take my gloves off again to help him.  Then Jayne wants to read me her spelling spelling sentences, really loudly.  But no, wait!  Sejal did not get enough to eat at dinner and I will please cut up an apple for her rightthisveryminute.  And oh crap I am never going to finish the dishes.

I start to curse my husband in my head for not being here to deflect some of these requests because I know it will continue  until they are all safely tucked in bed.  I lost count of how many times I said, “there is only one of me and three of you!!”

Yes, individually my kids are amazing and calm.   If anyone has any crowd control tricks, please send them my way.

I like to cook. I don’t consider myself an exceptional gourmet chef or anything, but I can hold my own in a kitchen and I enjoy it. While I was still a young, working girl I had all these visions of the fantastic meals I would cook every day when I was a stay at home mom and had so much more time to cook. Ha! I wish I could go back in time and tell that girl to cook the fantastic meals before her freezer was full of frozen waffles and chicken nuggets and dinner better be ready by the time Arthur is over or there’s going to be a lot of whining.

But even though I don’t have two free hours before dinner time to cook elaborate meals, I still enjoy it. I have definite ideas about how I feed my family and how food fits into our lives. My family food philosophy is not the point of this post though.

As much as I like to cook, deciding what we will eat for 21 meals a week can drive me insane sometimes. It’s just too much pressure to decide what the four other people in my little family will eat for each meal.  Cereal and popcorn are apparently frowned upon as dinner choices for elementary aged children.  I have tried planning ahead for the week, but somehow that just never works for me.   There is a reason our mothers had Meatloaf Monday, Taco Tuesday and Fish Stick Friday.

Most of the time, my husband is no help. I can’t imagine why, but when I call him at 7:30am wondering what he wants for dinner it seems to be the last thing on his mind.  I don’t mind preparing the meal, I just want someone else to decide what the meal will consist of.  But I need to know at 7:30am so I can plan a trip to the grocery store if need be.

So I decided to enlist the help of my kids and I’m happy to report it has been a great success so far. I let each of them choose what we would have for dinner one night a week. Their choices surprised and delighted me.   They loved looking through my cookbooks picking something out and helping me cook on their night.  One of my daughters chose tortilla chip coated chicken with spicy cole slaw, the other chose roasted tomato soup and grilled cheese and my son chose Vietnamese noodle soup.

Despite our success, I’m not sure if I will be doing this every week though since I asked my son what he felt like for dinner tonight and he answered root beer floats and plums.  How do you plan meals?  Are you a weekly meal planner or an open the pantry and see what we can find kind of cook?

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.

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.

(For those of you who chomp at the bit each Monday waiting to hear about New Mommie’s latest shenanigans – I am so sorry to have missed last week.  Our cable company cut our service a few days too early, and I was operating on too little brain power to execute an alternate method of posting).

We’re in!  Today mark’s DJ’s 10 month birthday, along with our fifth day of being in our new home.  I wish I could say it’s been all cupcakes and sunshine – but we all know that moving brings out the worst in people!  If you’re reading this, honey, sorry for airing our dirty laundry.

As you know, I have moved far too many times for being just 32 years old.  What did I say in my last blog?  Fourteen times now?  UGH.  It still amazes me every time that no matter how organized I am, and how well I’ve thought out my “plan,” things always take longer, feel heavier, and seem bigger than I thought!  (Having a child who is determined to walk also puts a delightful little twist on things).

These past five days have been an odd dichotomy between appreciation and stress.  We are so grateful to have found this little gem, and yet, the higher rent and fancy appliances mean a greater financial burden.  It is times like these when I, as a stay-at-home mom, feel the most conflict about the decision that we made to raise our daughter outside of daycare.  It’s hard not to be contributing in a monetary way.

While I’ve heard it a million times, and do believe that my new job is the hardest there is – it’s so difficult to trust that it is truly valued.  In a society where importance is measured by bank account and job title, us hard working moms get little recognition for our achievements.  Let’s face it – a good day might mean that we’ve finished a load of laundry, plopped a chicken in the crock pot and managed to clean out the cat box – all while keeping our child out of harm’s way.  Such menial tasks hardly equate to great success in the eyes of the world.

I have to remind myself constantly, though, that I am not working to please the world.  I am working to please my child, my husband, my family, myself. I am working to raise a healthy, well-adjusted, considerate, inquisitive, determined and sweet child.  It is a huge sacrifice, a huge commitment, and the most selfless job in the world.  I am reminded by what a dear friend told me as she, too, entered the world of full time home-making, ”Being a mom is synonymous with being a servant.”   However, I chose to serve my family in this way – and despite the fact that I only have 79 cents in my wallet, I am far richer than any American Express Centurion cardholder could dream of being.

So, as we get settled into this new home and we adjust to a higher cost of living, along with cutting coupons for trash compactor bags, I will work diligently to find confidence in being DJ’s full time provider – an ambition that I am constantly recommitting to, and one that I pray will eventually come naturally.  I will work to remind my husband that while the weight of our finances may be falling on his shoulders, the character of our daughter will be falling on mine.

Perhaps it was the lack of the sleep, the surge of monthly hormones, or the foiled celebration of my first ever Mother’s Day that did it – but I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.  I woke up feeling deflated, under-appreciated and overworked.

Not only has DJ sprouted her first two teeth, but she has also learned how to crawl AND walk.  Though the walking is of course assisted, she still has the concept of one foot in front of the other down pat.  This means that she is cranky and active.  With these new skills, she is hell-bent on running the show.

This morning, I sought solace in my usual place – the shower.  Even though DJ sits in there, staring at me from her bouncer chair, my hands are free and I can close my eyes while the hot water melts the tension from my shoulders.  Not today, though.  DJ decided to grab onto her chair’s canopy to gain momentum while arching her back in an attempt to launch her lap out of the safety belt and touch her feet to the ground.  My haven became a cordoned off circus – overnight.

The tears were instant.  Mine, not DJ’s.  If I didn’t have my showers, what did I have?  Where could I go to be alone?  Where could I go to relax, to find peace?  Was I now going to have schedule my own shower around my husband’s schedule?  Great, a schedule within a schedule…..sounded paralyzing.

I did what any woman would do – I packed up DJ and went to the mall.  I figured that I could get out of the house and away from my barking dogs, while DJ was preoccupied with bright lights, bad music and doting strangers.  I walked into a few stores without the intention of purchasing anything, which was a good thing because I thought that everything was dreadful.  I stopped as I passed a mirror – I was dreadful.  I was so frumpy.  Why did I even leave the house?

With my damp ponytail coming loose from it’s rubber band, I made a bee-line for the Mac counter.  The makeup artist looked at me and asked, “What can I do for you?”  I said “I need help.”  Little did he know the gravity of my answer.  He then spent the next 30 minutes teaching me how to apply a “smoky look” to my eyes.  DJ started crying midway through and I looked at her and sternly said, “You can wait.”  And I meant it.  It was the first time in 8 months that I really felt like I had to put myself first.

I’m about as low maintenance as they come.  I get pedicures twice a year, never get manicures, I shave and pluck rather than wax, and I push my hair appointments to every 8 weeks.  I don’t buy designer clothes, and I rarely wear anything but my flip-flops.  However, I think I have allowed that to translate for others into me not needing to take time for myself – and that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

I am a selfless mom.  I habitually put others first – that’s my nature and for the most part, I don’t think twice about it.  But, there does come a time when I just want my moment.  Whether it’s a hot shower, cooking dinner with a glass of wine, going for a long walk or listening to some really depressing music – I need to quietly celebrate the woman that I am….by myself.

While my eyes did end up looking smokin hot, and I spent way too much money on products (Happy Mother’s Day to me!) – it was truly my soul that received the makeover.  Through those few moments of allowing the focus to be on me, I gained the patience that I will need to make it through my day (I think….it’s still pretty early).

Hi there, I’m Mia Kelly, Elementary Mommie-on-the-Run. I’m Parenting on the Peninsula’s newest blogger and I’m very excited to be a part of this blog.

I grew up all up and down the peninsula and have settled mid-way with my husband of 18 years, 14 year old daughter, and 11 year old son. We have one cat and one dog, but I’m sorry to say we ripped out our picket fence some years ago for new landscaping. Yes, we are a typical American family and I love that.

I worked for a while after our daughter was born but decided that it didn’t make sense to pay for day care when our son came along, so I’ve been home with them ever since. To make ends meet I have tried a lot of odd jobs that I could work in around my kids lives. I’ve babysat other people’s kids, worked as a consultant for a home sales business, and even worked in a little boutique for a short time. I finally realized that the best thing for me was a complete career overhaul. I went back to school when my son was in kindergarten and although it took forever, I finally have a career path that feeds my creative side, I can freelance from home, and still be there for my kids.

My husband is a great hands-on dad. He changed diapers before I did, drives for field trips, helps with baseball and will fold the laundry. He works his butt off when he is home on the house, but his work takes him away from home for days at a time and we miss him when he’s away. Our kids have grown up with his schedule and it works out fine, but that leaves me to have a better understanding of what you single moms have to go through!

I, like all the other moms I know, run around like mad every day making sure the kids are where they need to be (cheerleading, tutors, baseball, basketball, volleyball, meetings), that the family has clean clothes (and to help them find them), food in the house (and cook it), that school projects and homework are done, school paperwork is filled out and turned in, the dog/cat is walked/trained/fed/paid attention to, everyone’s social calendar is managed (including gifts)…. it goes on and on! Oh yeah, and work.

If you are a new mom I hope I don’t frighten you but I do hope that I can help prepare you for a time in your life that is so crazy, but so fun. We moms run around like this because we love our kids and want them to have a successful and happy childhood. If you too are in my shoes, then we have a lot to talk about! So grab your iphone/blackberry/laptop and let’s spend five minutes sharing our stories as we sit in the parking lot waiting for our kids to get out of school…soccer…piano…tutor…

It was 7:00 am, and there were already dirty dishes in the sink.  This is always such a mystery to me since I make a habit of washing our dishes each night before I go to bed.  It was one of those mornings when I felt like scrubbing one more bottle might just flick me over the edge.  7:00 am and I had already changed DJ’s diaper, fed her, packed my husband’s lunch and made the bed.  I was putting too much pressure on myself, and knew I was slowing coming unraveled.

As I came out of the kitchen, I noticed that our miniature Chihuahua, Lady, had missed her piddle pad yet AGAIN.  Now mind you, this dog is over 5 years old – she knows better.  I can admit it, I became momentarily possessed.  I started using profanities that would have made a sailor look modest.  I even looked at Lady and began lecturing her, and reasoning with her.  “Your name is LADY, so do me a favor and ACT LIKE ONE!”

I snapped for my husband to get down our Bissell carpet cleaner, and gave him a whole speech about how stupid the dogs were (two dogs, plus two cats, plus an almost-eight-month-old would leave anyone bordering on insanity, right?). He just listened, and asked “What can I do, babe?”  “NOTHING.”  So, I started spraying, brushing and suctioning my way into a major pity party.  There I was, in my mismatched pajamas (now wet with carpet cleaner), snarled hair, unbrushed teeth, mascara smudged down to my cheek bones – with tears welling up in my eyes.

My husband braved a return trip over to where I was breaking down.  Without even looking up at him, I ran through a laundry list of ideas to get these “accidents” under control.  In mid-sentence, I stopped.  I laid the Bissell down, sat on the damp carpet and cried.  I looked up at my husband and asked, “What have I become?”

In previous days, 7:00 am would have meant pairing my high-heeled shoes with a trendy outfit that I had chosen for the day.  It would have meant quickly pouring a thermos full of tea for my drive to work.  It would have meant hopping on 280 South to Silicon Valley.  In previous days, I would’ve been too busy to notice a spot on the carpet.  In previous days, I might not have cared so much.

Things are different now.  Not only do I have a baby learning to crawl, provoking within in me an irrational fear of germs – but, our home is now my domain.  This IS my full time job.   This is where I spend my time, and I want – wait, I NEED, some order here.  I need to be able to control at least a few things in a world where there are no agendas and no manageable task lists.

My husband interrupted my floundering and asked me to stand up.  “Why you can’t come down to me?” I barked.  “Because I want to give you a hug.  Please stand up.”  So, I stood, and as I stood and melted into my husband’s arms – the weight of my angst thawed from my cold shoulders.  In perfect timing, DJ started laughing and jumping happily in her Jumparoo.  Life was good.  I had been heard.  I had been met in my moment of anguish by a loving husband and a joyful baby girl.  I was living in the moments that I had once only dreamed of while sitting at my corporate desk.

So, what had I become?  Blessed beyond measure.