Mother's DAY?!

Yesterday I celebrated Mother's Day with my children and husband. And I have to admit, while I received some extra kisses and a fabulous gift, I didn't necessarily feel like it was much different than any other day. 

What?! 

The whole notion that on this one day, moms gets to sleep in, eat breakfast in bed, leave the dishes to someone else, is whack. 

One day?! That's it?! 

Not for me, thank you very much. I'm past the feelings of guilt and shame that I'm not the cheery homemaker. My partner has always been involved in our daily must-do list. Grocery shopping, laundry, dishes, bill-paying, he does it all. When he's not directly involved in caring for our children or animals, he's managing our home and providing for our  needs. My mother has commented how lucky I am at how hands-on my husband is with our children and in our home. 

Lucky?! 

No, ma'am. I'm not lucky. I just knew that I was not meant to live a life caring for another person in a way that left me feeling empty, drained and burdened. 

This is not to say I don't take pride in caring for my husband, our children, our home. I do enjoy the work I do in our home and with our family. It's just that the household tasks don't rest SOLELY on my shoulders. 

I'm regularly the one to organize and sort our clothes at each change of size or season. I'm the one that deep cleans the kids' room and rotates their toys, books, and crafts. I tend to handle our social calendar, planning activities and outings. This is not to say my partner wouldn't DO these things, but we've worked out this balance that feels doable, at least during these years of parenting little ones. 

I used to cook more, clean more, do more around the home. And then we had a baby. And then another. And then another. So my time is focused more on their basic needs and their wants. And that's okay. It's okay that I've shifted my time away from cooking dinner and washing dishes because I'm doing what I can with what I have. I'm feeding my baby. I'm volunteering in my older son's classroom. I'm remembering it's Teacher Appreciation Week and making cards for their teachers with them. 

So when Mother's Day rolled around, I felt slightly annoyed that apparently it's the one day of the year that mothers have permission to NOT DO everything they're expected to do.

If my partner communicated to me that he needed me to to DO MORE on a daily basis, then we'd have a conversation how I could support his request. But if he were to come to me and demand that I BE MORE, I'd really have to press pause and figure out what and why and how that request developed. Was it because I really wasn't contributing to our family's well-being? Was I neglecting my share of the work that needs to happen just to keep our family and home functioning? Was my partner needing something from me so he could focus on his own personal needs and wants? 

There's no right or wrong in any of that, and sometimes we need to step up and BE MORE and DO MORE because we love that other person and we WANT to BE BETTER and DO BETTER. But I also believe we have to really consider whether we're somehow sacrificing a part of what we believe and what feels innately right when we're living this life that just doesn't meet our own needs. 

Yes, I'm blessed to have my partner and children, and Mother's Day was a fabulous day for me. I can't imagine my life without my created family, and I will always take great pride in them and our lives. 

And I will always celebrate my role as mother every. single. day. 

Cover up.

At a visit to a walk-in clinic today, I disrobed to show the doctor some bumps on my skin. She held up the gown and told me to cover up. Or some bullshit like that.

My body has birthed three children, is soft and round and is still in the process of change. I already felt vulnerable, standing in the room in the robe and my socks, all the while holding, nursing, and interacting with my younger son. The nurse had instructed me to put the robe on so it opened in back, but how in fuck's sake do I feed my baby with the opening in back? So I wore it, open in front but eventually put it back on, so it opened in back.

The doctor walked in and she was stand-offish. She didn't shake my hand. I get it; I was there for some skin issues. She probably didn't want to catch some weird disease from some walk-in patient. That's cool.

And then she asked me about my bumps, so I took off the robe and showed her these bumps that itch like crazy and flare up when I scratch. And that's when she held up the robe, open in back, and ushered me into it.

Fuck. That.

But I'm a good girl so I did as was asked. I started to move the gown aside again and she placed it back on my body, telling me she was just going to look at one spot at a time. Which she did. While the rest of me remained covered.

And that's how it went. I went to breastfeed my son and I swear she didn't make eye contact and diverted her eyes.

Really? Is this really happening?

Fuck. That.

Speaking up has never been my strong suit, but I swear to you, my resolution is to SPEAK. THE. FUCK. UP.

I had never been in a medical situation before where I had felt so frustrated with my care. AND I paid walk-in clinic fees (after hours charges, I'm sure) so I basically paid someone to make me feel like shit. Great. Awesome.

I think what made me feel like shit was the fact that she came in with this power. I asked her some questions about the safety of the treatment she suggested with lactation, and she basically said, I'm a family doctor. I do this all the time. 

This was such a change from a visit I had had earlier in the day when I brought my younger son in to be seen for what I suspected was an ear infection. We went in to an after-hours office to see a pediatrician in the practice, and I was feeling stressed out by his congestion and cough. His name was called and I started to lift up my bags and carry his carseat, when the nurse came over and helped me. She carried my bags, while I carried my sleeping son in his seat.

We entered the exam room and she asked me the typical questions. One asked about medications and I admitted I hadn't given him his whole round of antibiotics that he had been prescribed a few weeks prior.

She looked at me, and she told me that she could tell I felt guilty about not finishing the round of antibiotics.

I nodded.

She told me I was a good mother and that I was caring for my son's needs.

I nodded.

And I wanted to hug her. And tell her thank you. Thank you for going above and beyond in making me feel safe. And comfortable. And supported.

Tonight I will be thankful for people like the nurse that cared and listened and supported. And I'll try to let go of the frustration I felt from the other woman that didn't seem to care. Or listen. Or support. And most importantly, I'll try to grow my voice, so that I may be more capable of advocating, for myself and for my children.

All I Want

I look at my children, and I want them to feel happy and satisfied. I want them to feel loved and supported and fulfilled. I want those great smiles and belly laughs to carry them through their days. I want them to have friends, and I want these friends to encourage my children in all the "right" ways. I want my children to find love and feel love and be loved.

 I want my children to eat well and stay strong in their bodies. I want their bodies to be healthy and whole. I want my children to care for their world, and I want them to reuse, reduce and recycle.

I want my children to use their voices to share good news and sing and talk late into the night with their best friend. I want my children to include me in their lives, and I want them to write me letters, call me, think of me. I want to get along with my children and please them. I want all of this and more for my children.

What more could I want for my children?

I want them to feel angry and pissed off. I want them to feel dissatisfied in their life and be pushed to be better, be more, or just plain be. I want my children to cry hard and low, getting out not only tears but all the anguish they've ever felt. I want my children to figure out friendships and relationships, even if it gets messy and painful and hard.

I want my children to be mad and scream and rant. I want them to separate from me, when they're ready, so they learn more about themselves and their world. I want them to find their own passion, even if I don't understand or want to understand. I want my children to screw up and make mistakes and be fucking normal. I want them to go deep in themselves, figuring out their own shit and learning from it.

I want my children to move halfway across the world, even if they're unsure what or where or why. I want my children to have their own adventures, creating memories and stories they'll hold forever in their hearts.

I want my children to speak other languages and play musical instruments and climb mountains. I want my children to find a small town in the middle of nowhere and settle down. I want them to explore big cities and wear fancy clothes and dirty jeans and go barefoot on the beach. I want them to memorize constellations, and I want them to wake to see the sun rising over the horizon.

I want my children to grow old and gray, and I want them to be wise and strong.

I want, I want, I want...

I have a home.

I have a home. I have a husband. I have children.

I'm a fucking grown-up and I can't believe it.

I am in my early thirties, and I still can't get over the fact that I have created my own family. I have literally created my own unit. I met a man that I wanted to marry. We had sex and created a baby. Then we did this two more times (the baby-making part) and now we have enough people to have our own basketball team. It's fucking unreal.

I get to stay up late and watch R-rated movies and drink orange juice out of the carton. I can eat popcorn for dinner if I wanted, and I do sometimes. Eat popcorn. For dinner.

I have to remember to buy toilet paper. I have a gazillion baskets of laundry waiting to be folded. I have to vacuum the dog hair littering our floor or else one would think we have carpeting.

If I wanted to rack up credit card debt buying a shitload of stuff I want, I could. I could apply for credit cards, and proceed to spend it. On just about anything. That's actually kind of exciting even if I don't take advantage of my grown-up-ness and buy shit I don't really need.

I can call my friend up at night and invite her over to watch Girls and drink beer and swear.

I haven't seen my dentist in almost two years, and I'm kind of afraid I have a cavity. I have copays and I have to fill out the forms when I visit a doctor's office. I have no fucking clue what members of my family had what disease so I sort of guess and hope I'm right.

I think college freshmen are young kids, and why the hell are they living on their own?! How the hell is 18 old enough to move away from home?!

I look back at pictures from high school and wonder how the hell it feels so dated. How were the 90's so long ago?!

I look at pictures of celebrities in their thirties and wonder why I look nothing like them. Nothing.

And then I look at magazines and skip the section that is for women in their 20's because I'm no longer there. Instead I focus on the 30's and 40's. Shit, I gotta know what is ahead!

I am a grown-up and I will only get older and wiser. I will keep moving down this path, and I can't believe how quickly it feels it's passing.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

I hate my yoga class.

Alright, so maybe hate is a strong word. Maybe I should instead use these other phrases:

• My yoga class is challenging. 
• I find my yoga instructor demanding.
• Yoga is bringing up some serious shit.
• Yoga is fucking symbolic for life. 

I'm not a regular practitioner of yoga. I dabble. I'm a dabbler. I started taking classes last year before I got pregnant and then transitioned into prenatal yoga soon after. I took classes and then stopped with the excuse that I was too tired or too big or too lazy. I started back up again when my youngest was around 4 months, enrolling in classes at a local community center. I loved the environment, the varying ages, the absence of competition. After I met the requirement, I enrolled in the next level class, ready for a challenge.

Fuck that shit. 

Wait, what? My first class back was tonight and it kicked. my. ass. All I love about yoga felt absent, and I left feeling emotionally shaken and stirred. My instructor corrected my poses, talked way too quickly, and she had this condescending way of interacting with the class. 

"Right knee, right knee, right knee, other right knee." I had to slow my brain to process what the fuck she was asking of me, and I wanted to yell I'M DOING THE BEST I CAN! You know what? I kind of want to yell that every now and again to the world, to my family, to my children. I'M DOING THE BEST I CAN! She'd come over to me, adjust my hips, tell me to internally rotate rather than externally rotate my pelvis and stay engaged. I just wanted to crumple and tell her I'm still figuring this out. It's just the first day of the series. Simmer the fuck down! 

But I didn't say those things. 

I listened to her words, I did what I could to follow her instructions and when she praised me when I moved my body the way she asked, I felt proud. I felt strong. I felt like a motherfucking warrior. 

During the last part of class, the relaxation or savasana, I thought about what it is I'm looking for in this series. I'm investing my time, energy and money in this yoga class, and I deserve to walk away feeling better than when I started. I imagine if I stay in this class, my body will be stronger and more flexible. But at what cost? Is it worth it if I leave feeling belittled and frustrated? Is there any other way to approach this series so I leave feeling confident, strong and powerful? 

I think there is a way to make this series work for me, and I'm going to stick it out. Here's why:

My instructor challenges me in a way that I believe will ultimately change me for the better. I need to figure out how to handle challenging people in my life. Finding my voice, managing what power I give to other people and being stronger than I have been in the past are all attainable goals. I will grow through challenges and I will emerge more confident than before. 

My body will be made stronger through the work I do in class. I have the option to give up or switch classes or do the minimum that is asked of me, but I believe if I push my body and allow it to be moved in new and unfamiliar ways, I will ultimately grow in my yoga practice. Sometimes I'm okay with just doing the minimum because I'm not ready to push myself. But I think I'm ready now to push myself and be challenged. 

This class gives me good perspective in how to relate to others, provide encouragement and support varying needs. Ultimately I want to provide this great level of support to my family, friends and community, and being pushed to an area that challenges my comfort zone is going to make me a better support to others. Having the experience of walking away challenged in my feelings and what I think I know may help me professionally. 

Life is full of challenging situations where I wonder, how in the hell did I get here and how do I get out?! I always emerge stronger and more capable than before. I am never the same person as when I started, and my yoga class reminds me of this. I will have setbacks and times of frustration, but I will always be stronger than I was the day before, even if I may not feel it. 

How to host an amazing kids' party.

Perhaps you remember my previous post advising you how to throw a stellar party. It was full of colorful language and fun imagery. Here are some tips on throwing a kids' party!

Decide location. The location of the party dictates everything and must be decided before moving forward in the planning process. Depending on where you live and local birthday party culture, you will either have few options on location or you'll have a bazillion. Don't let adult peer pressure and the whole "keeping up with the Jones" mentality affect where your kid's party will be held. Community centers, parks, and gymnastic centers are all popular venues where we live, as they generally offer more room, may allow for the venue staff to assist in setting up, facilitating games and clean-up, and may add to the "wow" factor. But you also have to pay for use of the space, which may range from a simple reservation fee to a more costly party package. If you're looking to save money, you may want to consider hosting the party at your home.

Create invitation list. The number of invitees will depend largely on party location, though you will also need to consider your child's age and personality along with how well you handle crowds of small children. If you've chosen a venue that accommodates a large number of people and offers staff to assist with the party, you may be able to invite your child's entire class or extended family members. Perhaps your child prefers smaller groups or wants to have his party at a venue where it'd be too expensive to pay for more than a few children to attend. Once decided how many to invite, send out invitations in the mail. Email and other invitation sites are also acceptable, as are hand-delivering invitations to friends and family, but if you can manage it, mail the invitations to your child's friends. Yes, it may be a pain in the ass to find out the addresses and it adds to the cost factor, but who DOESN'T enjoy receiving a piece of mail, particularly children?!

Figure out the details: food, activities, decorations. If you find it enjoyable to plan for and execute birthday parties, then go all out on planning the party deets. Pinterest will provide you with so many ideas that you'll probably want to just drink yourself into a stupor, but take a step back and ask yourself a few questions: 1) Do I even like my child? Trick question, but hopefully this brings you to a place where you can really think about why you're going through the hassle of throwing a party for ankle-biters. 2) What can I reasonably afford, facilitate and execute? If you hate crafts, don't expect that you'll suddenly sew together a quilt of old baby clothes to hang behind the cake and snacks table. If you're a busy person (who isn't?!) then don't plan on baking, cooking and crafting together a party unless it TRULY makes you happy and doesn't make you want to run away from home.  3) Accept help when it's offered and don't feel guilty taking shortcuts. A party doesn't need to rival the ones featured in magazines or on websites. More than likely these were carried out by professionals, which you are not (unless you are, then in that case, just forget what I'm saying). If your partner is asking what he can do to help, give him tasks and let him do what needs to be done without micromanaging every. little. detail. If he buys shitty-ass, juice-free sugar water to serve to your kid's little friends, so be it. If he decides he wants to serve neon orange fake cheesy puffs, oh well. Focus your efforts only on what you find absolutely necessary and let everything else go. 

Celebrate your child, and remember the true reason for the party. Jumping ahead to the day of the party, stay in the moment and enjoy the event. Hopefully you've planned a party that isn't above and beyond your abilities, and you've managed to stay clear-headed and sane. You'll probably find that your child and her friends have managed to create a party vibe without even needing you to do anything but lightly supervise to make sure there are no major injuries from the excitement of seeing each other outside of school. Maybe that means you're skipping some of the planned games or opening up gifts earlier in the party than you had expected. Roll with the changes and remember these kids are just kids.

The middle one.

My middle child had another birthday.

We celebrated and sang and reminisced.

My son was born at home after having received thoughtful, considerate care from our midwife. I birthed him in our living room and greeted him with tears of joy. The next several months were spent figuring out how to parent my two young children. It was hard, really hard. I didn't access the resources available to me. I didn't think there was any way to circumvent these challenges, and wondered doesn't everyone have it this hard? Isn't this how it's SUPPOSED to be?! 

My son was more sensitive than my daughter; he was a completely different child than my first, and I didn't have the reserves to mother him in the way he needed. Could things have been different? Hells yes! I could have accessed postpartum support, sought support from a therapist and hired childcare for my older child to help me while I was balancing my own postpartum healing and transition.

But I didn't. <sigh>

My son made me work for his smiles. He studied his surroundings, and he didn't readily sit with people other than my husband or me. He was my sensitive soul, as I referred to him, and I tried to embrace his needs with love and acceptance. But boy, did I wish he was easier. I remember feeling resentful, confused and angry all at once when he just wouldn't display this easy-going disposition. I would feel this deep love for him, and I'd talk with others about how great he was, but then the moment we were with friends and family, he'd cry relentlessly and would only be peaceful if he were nursing or if my husband were holding him. I'd think, seriously?! What the fuck? WHY ARE YOU CRYING?! 

Looking back, I can now see that I just didn't have it in me to mother him in the way he needed. I loved him, I met his needs and I cared for him. But I was not joyful in the way I cared for his needs. I felt put out and burdened. I wondered why he was so difficult and I just wanted him to STOP CRYING! It wasn't until I made some friends, took advantage of playgroups and other local resources and got a handle on mothering two young children that I finally (again!) enjoyed mothering.

I love my middle child, my older son. He brings me joy and smiles, and I can't imagine my life without him. Though he still has bouts of frustration and moments of anger, I am more than capable of holding him in my arms, telling him "I'm here for you." He's my sweet, sensitive soul and I think he's absolutely amazing.