Reasonable Expectations.

I wanted to build readership so I took a couple months off from posting. That's cool, right? 

I have three children. Each one was a different story, a different experience for me. I found each new being to be wonderful and lovely and just plain amazing. But then reality hit and I realized my role in this world was forever altered. Heavy shit, I tell you.

Each experience of mothering my children was different. My first was born to two inexperienced souls, my husband and me. She was born underwater and I spent my days dressing her in the many outfits people gifted her and posting on a parenting bulletin board with other mamas having babies in that same time frame. I was home with her and would head to work at around 3pm, where I would stay for a few hours helping students at an after school program. We were fairly isolated where we lived, and if I wanted to pursue social activities I'd pile my daughter and me in our Subaru and drive 30-45 minutes to the nearest "city". It was an otherwise easy situation, enjoyable and full of sweet memories. It essentially made me cocky as hell and tricked me into thinking having another baby was a GREAT IDEA. 

So, my husband and I made a baby. 

And this time it was all different. It was hard. It was exhausting. It required me to dig deep and push hard. I HAD NO CLUE. Yes, he was a different baby with a completely different personality. But what really made it hard were my expectations. THEY WERE FUCKING UNREASONABLE, I TELL YOU. 

I expected, I expected, I expected… 

I expected he would have the personality of my daughter. WRONG. 

I expected he would be sweet and smile a lot and let others hold him. WRONG AGAIN. 

I expected I would breeze through infancy with him as I had with my daughter. WRONG, ASSHOLE!

My confidence dwindled. I had no idea how to manage my children. They were both such babies, two under two. The days after my son was born, I expected my daughter to do more, be more. I expected my son to not cry too much and to be soothed by his father more. I expected to be a mom that had daily activities planned for my toddler while juggling the demands of my infant. I expected to clean, cook, mother, and do all the other tedious shit one must do while running a house. 

I expected that of myself because I didn't know how to LET. IT. GO. I have always expected myself to do more and be more. And it's gotten me into emotional trouble in the past, when I wasn't able to understand how to LET. IT. GO. 

I didn't want to make that same mistake. 

So I found support. I made friends. I saw a therapist. I found work that fulfilled me. I tapped into the resources around me that helped me feel better, be better. 

Things were good, and my husband and I decided to go ahead and see about baby making. It worked. I got pregnant. 

And my whole world flipped upside down and I started to get a better grasp on what I needed. I also changed up the expectations of myself, my family, this new baby and my experiences. 

I expected not that it would be easy, but that I would cope with the loving support of the people around me. I expected that my new baby would have different needs and that I would try my hardest to respond and react to those needs. I expected my older children would help guide our family through the transition of having a new baby in the house. I expected to take each day as it came and to accept and let go. 

This is not to say that my experience was picturesque. No, it wasn't. I had hard times and stress, and I still had to adjust my expectations here and there. But it was all-around great and memorable, and I'd be happy to do it all again, which is NOT how I felt about mothering two little ones five years ago. 

And while I'd be happy to "do it all again", I think we're done making babies. Instead, I'm going to keep my expectations in check, drink a cuppa and keep on keepin' on. 

Summer Vacation 101.

Summer vacation? Kids out of school? On an academic schedule and finished until fall? 

Welcome to Mama Amy Bee: Summer Vacation 101. 

Here's how to have a kick-ass summer. Have fun in the sun. Get laid in the shade. Or some other bullshit you write in each other's yearbook. 

• Make a plan... Brainstorm with the family, your partner or on your own! Explore your community, take a road trip or dream up a big, fancy fly-me-to-the-moon holiday. But figure out how you'd like to spend your summer break and write that shit down. Otherwise you'll wander around, not doing anything remotely vacation-y and you'll hate yourself come September. If you have kids that can't write (well) then have them draw pictures, cut out photos from magazines or dictate what they want to do. If anything, it's pretty entertaining to hear what adventures they want to have! And it may be surprisingly pretty simple: walk in the park, stomp in puddles, make lemonade. Little did you know you can make your kids happy with the simple joys in life. Who needs Disney?!  Plus, when your kids (or you) claim boredom, you just have to whip out that list and voila! It not only works for kids but for you, too! It helps break up the odd jobs around the house and reminds you to take advantage of the fabulous energy of summer. 
• ...but remain flexible. Yes, make a plan. Brainstorm lots of great activities, but don't feel locked into what you think summer should entail. Flexibility lets you have a wider variety of experiences. Check in with your friends and family to see what they do during the summer months. Explore a different part of the country that you have yet to visit. Order a different flavor of ice cream or search out activities that are new to you. Crazy, right?
• Embrace summer-y foods. Visit your farmers' market and plan your meals around what's available. Fire up that grill and plan meals that don't require you to heat up the oven. Make a big bowl of pasta salad to keep in the refrigerator for an easy meal. Want some hot meals? Use the crockpot to cook up a batch of soup and compliment it with a loaf of crusty bread. And head to those wineries and breweries you've been wanting to visit. 
• Love and MOVE your body! Head to the beach and lounge seaside. Cannonball into the pool! Play that game of volleyball at the next picnic, even if you are awful. Play frisbee and softball and ride that bicycle. Your body is what it is. You can either move it and make healthy choices or you can feed it garbage and keep it stagnant. But love it and move it and take advantage of the summer fun that is not available come September (or October or November...). 
• Create a tradition. Decide what tradition you want to start and keep it going (for as long as it works for you or your family). It may be vacationing with family or friends, heading off with your family to a special location or taking time away on your own. Whatever it is, it's fun to have something to look forward to every summer. 

There. I hope you have a great summer with the tips provided. But don't blame me if it sucks ass. 

Traveling sucks.

I don't feel like going on vacation! Maybe I'll just stay home!

Ugh. 

Traveling does not bring out the best in my family. It makes us all shitty and makes me want to crawl into bed and hide. It's the packing and cleaning beforehand and the anticipating that just makes us quick to anger. 

I get into this manic mode when we head out of town, unless I'm uncomfortably pregnant or newly postpartum or in a lazy place in my life. I want to clean and organize and get our house in order before walking out the door. I don't know if it's because I'm prepping for our return or maybe I'm just afraid if we all went down what people would think of our home with its seventeen baskets of laundry and dog-hair covered floors and dirty sinks. 

My husband, bless his heart, is short on patience and complains we're bringing too much (says the man that packed a crockpot for our three-day stay at a rented house in Michigan). He takes packing the car seriously, maximizing space like no-one's business. But heaven forbid another bag appears once he thinks he's finished packing! His easy going nature turns sour for those few hours spent tackling the last-minute tasks that simply must get done before leaving the house on a so-called relaxing vacation. 

And let's not get started on the children. 

Luckily, the tension eases a bit once we're in the groove of the vacation, though there's no telling what will make one of us snap. It's actually kind of like a game: when will someone in this family lose their shit and make everyone's mood sour? We should really take bets and make some money on this life of ours. 

I give it ten minutes. No, eight.

Snooping.

When I return to my childhood home, I enjoy looking around. One may call it snooping, but I hardly call it that when I did used to live there. Surely I have some right to look in the drawers and cabinets that are no longer filled with my belongings.

Snooping, er, I mean exploring, isn't anything new for me. 

I grew up with an older brother, and I adored him. I thought he was the coolest, best brother EVER. And I just wanted to know everything about him. With more than three years between us, he didn't exactly share his feelings or happenings with me. So I needed to learn more about him through my regular wanderings through his bedroom. I found flannel shirts to borrow, music to jam out to, and yearbooks to flip through. I never found anything newsworthy, which I'm sure he'll be happy to learn, but I felt a bit closer to my only sibling. 

I explored my parents' bedroom the same way, opening drawers and seeing what was kept away from my prying eyes. Again, nothing grand, though I did get an idea what my parents valued and felt was worth keeping. I might complain about my mom never getting rid of things, but I'm now thankful she has stored things away; I find my old school papers, wallet sized photos of me in fourth grade, letters I mailed her while I was in college. Knowing she's kept these reminds me of her love for me and her interest in my life. That feels good. 

Now, as a mother and wife, I'm faced with the opportunity to explore my husband's boxes holding his letters, pictures, writings, music. I can look through my children's dresser drawers, which is where my daughter tends to store her special Valentines and drawings and birthday goody bag treats. I wonder if my children and husband ever look for mementos from my previous life, the one before I was married and had children. 

I think about how I'll handle their privacy as the years go by; I don't have any interest in snooping through my husband's collection of stuff from throughout his past, though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious what he's found important to keep around. And my children aren't so private that I really want to look around without their knowledge. But what happens if my children become highly private and secretive and they close me out? What happens if I ask to read my husband's latest writing but he tells me he's not ready to share yet? Will I find myself compulsively wanting to snoop? To learn more about them through their computer files, emails, texts? 

Ugh. I really hope not! I want to maintain the openness and trust we share now. It's easy to say I will respect my children's privacy and closed doors and hidden journals. But what if they grow older and push me away? What if I'm worried for their safety and health? What then? 

I think about my relationships with those I love, and I know I want to nourish these relationships so that I don't resort to snooping. Because love and trust and respect not only come from relationships but they also make them stronger. It's this big cycle- love and trust and respect begets love and trust and respect. Right? 

Or am I wrong? 

Damn you Aldi.

My husband shops at Aldi. And he does it well.

He brings home foods of which I approve, ones that have lists of ingredients I can pronounce. He is careful to skip over the overly processed choices, though he's not one to forgo the Mamba fruit chews. How naughty of him.

He buys enough food to feed our family on less than I'd spend at any other store. It's this love-hate relationship I have with what we consume and what we support and how we feed our family.

For me, shopping for our family's meals brings me a sense of peace and accomplishment. I enjoy driving over to the co-op and walking the aisles. I am familiar with the layout and putting the organic apples and local cheese in the cart makes me feel responsible. I like grinding my own peanut butter and scooping the bulk items into the provided bags. I feel like I could put most anything in my cart, knowing that someone has taken the steps to ensuring the items are responsibly prepared and ethically outsourced. I want to use my dollars to communicate to the world that I care about what I purchase and what I feed my family and what I put in my body.

I don't buy exclusively from our co-op. I choose where I want to spend my money and it's not entirely on co-op buys. I'd prefer to give it directly to the farmers, which we do when we make it to the Farmers' Market or subscribe to a local CSA. But I know when I do make it to the co-op, I put the money into our dairy, meat and produce.

Walking out, I know I will have spent over a hundred bones. Especially if it's a week where I've bought organic milk or locally brewed coffee or olive oil or all of the above.

I have to say, I like how I feel when I'm shopping at our co-op. I like how it smells and I like when other customers make eye contact with me and smile and I like seeing local finds.

I am not against Aldi, mind you. The products are no different than what I'd find at any other grocery store. And really, looking over the list of ingredients on the products that come into our home makes me feel okay about it.

And when I think about the life I want to lead, I think about frugality and simple living. I want to save money, enough to feel comfortable in the future. But I also want to spend those extra dollars on meat and dairy products that were produced in a humane fashion. I want to eat vegetables that don't contain chemicals. I want to support our locally owned shops that may not have the larger discounts huge chains can afford to offer.

I struggle daily with the challenge of spending and saving. I worry I have champagne tastes on a beer budget. I wonder whether the savings of today truly matter if our health is affected.

If only...

Back home again.

I'm back in the town that raised me.

The one where I wrote a report on hamsters in the fifth grade. And where I went to my first dance. And had my first kiss. And learned to drive. And...

This town only had a Piggly Wiggly and a McDonalds and maybe not much else. Its Main Street had a breakfast place and a pizza place and a bank. There were churches and gas stations and dry cleaners. But mostly it felt like a place that didn't stand out or seem exceptional.

This town has changed. It has more places to eat than I could imagine. Need furniture or home furnishings? There are lots of stores to explore, both here and in the surrounding communities. Instead of heading thirty minutes away to a larger shopping center, all you have to do is head a mile down the road and you have countless stores at your disposal.

It's frightening and awesome all at once.

Back at home I turn into a younger version of myself; my dishes are left in the sink, the bathroom counter is littered with my stuff, my clothes are spread throughout my room. I can remind myself every now and again to grow up and DO MORE but it's not easy.

It takes a lot to separate myself from who I was to who I am today. I return with my children, and yet if I could, I'd totally step back and revert to my fourteen year old ways: sleeping in, socializing with friends, talking on the phone. And yet, I'm ultimately still responsible for my kids and I can't just pass them off completely to their grandparents.

I find it interesting to head to the shopping centers with my children, and I search out for people I recognize. It's incredibly unlikely I'll see anyone I know, but I'm always wondering if I'll see someone with whom I went to school. And if I do, I'm super excited for that nostalgia.

I do have a few friends still in the area, and it's always lovely to visit with them. I imagine what life would be for me if I still lived in suburbia. I think I'd spend more, live bigger and wish for more than I currently have. I'm not sure why, other than I just think I'd be surrounded by friends that lived in bigger and nicer homes, and I'd feel compelled to have the same.

I think it helps living in a college town, as many people are in that place in life where living with less just is a necessity. I also like being in a place where my interests have found a home, specifically in birth work.

I wonder what my children will think when they return to our home once they are in their twenties, thirties and beyond. I only hope they can return with positive feelings and fond memories.

Learning as we go.

I've been thinking about parenting. 

And I've been thinking about how I'd blame my parents for all the mistakes I made, the troubles I had, the shitty emotions I'd feel. As I get older, I am starting to realize that maybe they're not totally responsible for all that. And what's brought about this change? My own children! And not my own maturity.

My parents have never parented a kid in their late-thirties before (my older sibling, not me!). This is all new to them! They have no fucking idea what they're doing. Okay, not really. So how can I possibly expect them to respond to my needs perfectly if they're still learning and I'm still learning? We're both still learning, people!

What I'm trying to figure out now is how to find peace with parenting my children in a non-perfect manner. And better yet, how I'm doing this while maintaining a positive relationship with my children. 

I'm already experiencing it; my older children look to me and seem to expect me to have the answers. They expect me to be calm, and they want me to meet their needs in a reasonable fashion. And I WANT to be that person. I want to be that person that is offering loving support and positive and peaceful. But the truth is, I CAN'T be that for my children. At least not all of the time. 

And I think the best gift I've received lately is seeing my parents as they are. They are learning and growing and figuring out their way. They are not perfect, and that's okay. That's better than okay! That's life. That's how it goes. 

I want to teach my children that there is no such thing as perfect. They just need to do what they can with what they have. As a child, we have these expectations that our parents know all and are everything and have the answers.

But they don't know all. They don't have the answers. They're figuring it out and learning and that's okay. 

I don't want to be put on a pedestal nor do I want my children to think I'm totally fucked, either. I want them to look at me and feel like they're getting the real deal. They're getting a mother that is honest and loving and accepting. I will admit when I've done wrong, but I won't be shamed or blamed. There comes a point where it stops being about my errors in motherhood and becomes their shit. 

I am learning. My kids are learning. And my parents are learning. And you know what? That's okay. In fact, it's better than okay. It's just what is needed.