Love lasts for the long haul

My 4 year old is seemingly incapable in speaking in a tone other than "indignant whine". She also can't be more than 18 inches away from me for longer than a single Peppa Pig episode (that's 9 minutes). She sits, leaning on me, and saying, in a plaintive cry "Momma. Momma. I neeeed yoou!"

I can be the household calendar manager, shoe and bill finder and remember-er of if the dogs have eaten. I answer the big questions kids ask about growing up, life, and love. The requests for finding lost toys, shoes, towels, on-and-on are never ending. The requests for snacks, but not that snack, activities, but not right now, and more and more are never ending. The requests for time and presence and ME feel never ending. 

And I end up feeling taken advantage of, invisible, disposable and unappreciated. Oh, and pissed.

Because, I believe and think to myself: "My experience in this world is my responsibility. I deem how others may and may not treat me. I decide how to engage and how to not engage with the challenges and triumphs of your life." And, sometimes I don't like how I'm treated by those I love the most. So I conclude that maybe it's my fault because I allow it to happen.

Parenting is one of those long-term endeavors. In which the immediate feedback is likely to be negative, negative, negative. In which the presence of negative feedback probably means I'm doing my job well. Or at least hopefully not fully f*cking it up. And, like all parents, I sometimes get feedback or information from peers, news articles, even family and friends, that tells me I'm not doing this right.

I don't set the right boundaries, I'm not this enough, or too that, or permit too much or too little of that. And it pisses me off.

Because there are those days. Those days. When the demands are incessant. The requests never-ending. The to-do list a gargantuan, herculean feat, impossible to complete.

The demands of work, even work I love, on me leave so much less to offer to the demands of home and family, and myself. I find myself at the end of my proverbial rope, dangling on snapped words, exasperated sighs and irritated grumbles.

I find myself desperate for a moment to myself, to breathe and rest, but also dreading the cost of that time off the hamster-wheel. For stepping off the hamster-wheel, indulging in that essential self-care, feels like it just jams up the conveyor belt of life that much more.

I find myself over the constant touching, needing, asking, pushing. I find myself over the need to set the boundaries, police screen time, vegetable and sugar consumption, bed times, wake up times, the never ending reminders to wipe-flush-and-wash. I find myself at a loss for patience and kindness. I find myself finding the many ways I am falling short. Shorter and shorter and shorter of the elusive goal of being a "good mom", however that is defined these days.

And so. Those feelings of being disposable, ineffective, taken advantage of, invisible are a confused mash-up of feeling judged, overworked, guilty, and yet responsible for allowing it all to happen in the first place.

But I also know a bad day, does not a bad life. I know that a few days of crankiness doesn't erase the efforts of silliness, love, engagement, support, joy, exploration. This is family. Every moment won't meet the litmus test of how we're "supposed" to live. It won't always meet our expectations. But if we're lucky, and I am, the cuddles outlast the cranky, and love always lasts for the long haul.

If you like, please share!

Color me embarrassed...

I attended a birthday party with my kids recently. It was a children's party with water balloons, sprinklers, and lots of perfect raucous fun. 

Toward the end of the party, One Philly Son was speaking to a girl he'd been chummy with and her mother. His own birthday party was the next day, and he seemed to get along well with this girl, so he was telling her that she "had" to come to his party. We'd never met this girl before, so it was clear that wasn't going to happen, but us grown-ups were dancing that awkward dance of social nicety around our kids' blissful ignorances to it. "Oh, I'm sure she has other plans!" and "Thank you so much for the invitation!"

Then he said, all playful and mock-drama, "you know what happens if you can't come?  - this!" And he bounced a beach ball off my face.

Insert instant mortification here.

In an instant, I feared my persona had changed to the Mom who didn't set boundaries, the Mom who lets her son be a jerk, the Mom who was going to raise criminals and probably defend their deviant actions to the judge. I don't know the other Mom's true reaction, but this is how it felt to me.

It only feels like petty excuse-making to inform you that One Philly Daughter had been clinging to me for hours, that I'd just come off  2 business trips in 2 weeks, that I'd put in nearly 20 hours of overtime in those 2 weeks, that One Philly Daddy and I were hustling like crazy to coordinate the next day's party, that time lately had felt like a mad-dash and it felt like we were still falling woefully short.

In essence, I had nothing more to offer in that moment than a weak, "Ok, then."

Sure, I've observed the odd parent who would explode, "how dare you!" and grab him by the arm, and drag him out to the car, bellowing all the way about respect and behavior and "never coming back here again!". And sometimes I feel like that's the expectation that is expected. In my opinion though, that reaction is more about releasing the emotional pressure valve.

The parenting philosophies that resonate with me involve treating even our bratty kids with respect, because that's how I believe we teach them to act respectfully. I believe in walking through the emotional turmoil with them, as a guide and mentor. So if my kids are feeling upset, emotional, distraught I'm going to dive in and try to find out why, and let them determine a way to get out, feel through it. Because I'm not in the business of either telling them their emotions are wrong, or fixing them for them. Which also means I'm not in the business of demanding a certain set of feelings or behaviors from them. I want to teach respect and thoughtfulness and mindfulness and emotional intelligence by modeling it and teaching it. Not by demanding a series of behaviors without the context of explanation or meaning or understanding.

I've heard this type of parenting denigrated as being wishy-washy. Or indulgent. Or not demanding enough respect. But sometimes what parents are looking for is blind obedience, with any other reaction being treated as insolence and contempt.

Here's the thing: I put no value in blind obedience.

In the years I was a child, there was a lot of the "Honor thy father and mother" mentality. There was a strong "don't embarrass me" element, and the ever popular "children are to be seen and not heard", "if you're going to cry, I'll give you something to cry about", and "because I'm the parent" themes.

And those themes worked, to an extent. I knew to keep quiet, and to keep my thoughts and emotions to myself. It was easy to know when I'd done something wrong, but not always what I'd done wrong, why it was wrong, or how to do it better next time.

Here's what I wish I had more practice at as an "obedient child" : How to think for myself. How to trust myself. How to gauge appropriate and inappropriate behavior in others, and how to select friends based on that information. How to set boundaries for myself. How to stand up for myself. How to communicate my needs. How to handle conflict. How to stomach uncomfortable emotions.

Here's what I had loads of practice at as an "obedient child" : How to anticipate disapproval of my actions and how to adjust myself accordingly. How to be quiet. How to put on a smile when I wanted to cry. How to answer in the "right" way.  How to not rock the boat.

So, I certainly don't want my kids to think throwing things at people's faces is EVER acceptable, but I'd like them to learn MORE than that. Like to be able to hear that they've hurt someone's feelings or embarrassed them, and know how to take responsibility, apologize, make it right, and get right back to an open and loving relationship.

If you liked this, please share.

Silence is golden. And even more rare.

I have a secret.

I love silence.

I was quite comfortable living alone and adored the sense of accomplishment I got when walking into my apartment (that I found and rented by myself), carrying groceries that I bought, with my money, that I earned at my job.

This glorious life was not without its flaws, as my life-on-my-own started in my mid-20's at the end of a 7-year-long-relationship that spanned 2 cross-country moves and was headed down the aisle. (Should anyone feel the need, you can tell that fella I hold no ill will, and am grateful for the strength it took for him to end something that wasn't serving either of us. I wish him everything we wouldn't have found together.) It included a toxic work environment followed by 5 months of unemployment and hours upon hours of soul searching and worry and fear and scrimping and saving. But also growing and learning.

Today, it is not the pain or soul stretching or sorrow or mourning that I miss. It is the silence. When I expressed to One Philly Daddy recently that I loved and missed silence, he merely shook his head in a bemused way and said something akin to "then you're in the wrong house, baby."

I love my family. I love the true honor it is to be a mother. I've loved and wanted a chance to do right by my kids like a yearning for water or air.

And yet. Sometimes I wish they'd shut the freak up. They're all high energy (kids - globally, and mine specifically) and the movement and noise and chatter can be... too much.

I would love a count of the number of times I hear the words "Mommy, can you..." in a given hour. Forget day. I'd break the counter.

This is what jumbles my nerves and hunches my shoulders and clenches my jaw and, well, you get the idea.

There is a severe lack of silence. Of the ability to hear one's self think. To finish a sentence. To get lost in a book. To allow my own voice to reach my own ears.

My children tend to narrate their lives. Every button they push in Minecraft, every minutiae of their thoughts, every. god. damn. thing. When they're not talking, they're making random chattery, clicky, humming, noises.

Don't get me wrong. I adore that they adore me and want me to see, hear, watch and do every-freakin-thing with them. The other day One Philly Daughter had a cold. And when I announced I needed to take a shower (you know, to go to work. In public.) she asked if she could come with me.  In the shower. One Philly Son has turned even video games into full contact sports involving jumping, yelling, ducking, bouncing.

Trust me, I know, remind myself often that one day, one proverbial day, I will miss this sound. I will wish for the sound of their nonsense and the noise of their toys bouncing off my furniture, their requests for (yet another) snack, their pestering of each other and the like.

And so. I do my damnedest to listen to their yammerings. I pay attention to the things that are important to them. Because they are important to me.

The silence I seek will fuel me. My blog, my work, my life, my eternal internal musings. (Its just who I am. I like to get lost in my own thoughts.) But never at the cost of my loves. For this is a time of learning and growing and soul searching too. And the frightening parts of the glorious quiet years are not lost on me. I was alone, terribly alone. And I am certain one day, I will look back on these years with great longing and nostalgia.

Despite all these awarenesses and acceptances, once in awhile, I say. With all kindness, adoration, respect and as little exasperation as I can muster :

"Will you please just stop talking for just a minute?"

If you liked, please share!