Must Remember

The night before Dominic's birthday party I was up way, way too late putting the finishing touches on his cake, cupcakes, etc. It was well past midnight and I was still in the kitchen, feverishly mixing the frosting to the right shade of neon green for the dinosaur cake. To those of you left reading this blog with no children (if I haven't scared you away yet) 12:45 may not seem that late. But it is. It is, when your now two-year old bebe arises between 6 and 6:30 am ready to rumble. This is after he has awoken you multiple times during the night, asking for contraband MAWK or to be taken to the kitchen for a yay-durt  snack (yogurt snack) or informs you that he has pooooooop in his diaper or he needs water.

Um anyways so back to my story. So there I am, sitting in the kitchen frosting dairy-free cupcakes for the multitudes of dairy-free friends we have acquired, and I'm feeling pretty motherly. It's easy to feel motherly the night before your child's birthday party because you are sacrificing FOR THEM, frosting the cake, cleaning the house, setting out the perfectly selected plastic-ware, all while the little darlings are fast asleep. I love my children deeply and fiercely. Sometimes I love them even more when they are sleeping. I finish my work, and it is good. Very good.

I think I am supposed to say I found the ideas for both the cake and cupcakes on Pinterest??

I crawled into bed a little past one o'clock, the cake encased in aluminum foil, the cupcakes stored in airtight containers, the balloons drifting gently on the living room rug. As I lay in bed, I mentally run through my check-list.....must remember: Trader Joe's--more eggs, jelly, yogurt, kefir....BAGELS, half and half, cream cheese.....prep coffee in am, must vacuum rugs, make beds, wipe down bathroom, sweep floors.....

I felt that I had just drifted into a deep, deep sleep when I was rudely awakened. It was Brad.
"Sorry....but Gianna is awake and I think she doesn't feel good and she only wants you."
Hmph. I look at the clock. It's barely past 2 am. All feelings of motherliness are long, long gone. I trudge down the hallway. Attempt to communicate in the dark (never, never works out) and finally bring Gianna into the kitchen, where she asks for some yogurt. I move to lay on the couch but she insists I sit right next to her at the counter. Sigh. Fiiiiine. Fine. Fine.

As she eats her snack, she revives as bit and looks around. She  notices the cake and cupcakes and balloons. In her sweet, slightly-too-loud nighttime voice (she doesn't wear her speech processors at night and thus cannot hear how loud she is talking) Gianna asks me,
"Is everything ready for Dominic's party?? Did you do that when I was sleeping?"
Well yes, my daughter, I did. She is in awe. She smiles widely at me. Then she says, "We are having special time right now! Just you and me in the kitchen! Daddy is sleeping, Dommie is sleeping, Aunt Monica is sleeping, Uncle Richard is sleeping, baby Thomas is sleeping! But not us!!"

She is so thrilled by this notion that I smile...genuinely, this time. It might be easy to feel like a fantastic mother when I pretend I am being asked to give much of myself as I frost a cake in the peace and quiet of my kitchen late at night. It might be more difficult to embrace my vocation when it's not on my terms, but ultimately...this is what matters. Cakes and balloons are nice, but my kids want me. I realized that they desire a quiet conversation and stolen snuggles in the middle of the night, more than they want the perfect birthday cake. I think I knew this, but lately, I forgot. They are growing into incredibly unique and funny little people, but I'm going to miss it if I get distracted by all the things that don't really matter.

The party was a success, I think adults and children alike enjoyed a fun day of delicious foods and NFL playoffs and adult conversation while the kids entertained themselves. My thoughts about mothering and my children's true needs were still fresh in my mind when around 4 pm the birthday boy, having partied hard all day, climbed into my lap, snuggled up, asked pitifully, "Mawky?" and promptly passed out in my arms. I held him and I was thankful; thankful for the opportunity to hold my baby Dominic who is not really a baby anymore, thankful for the daunting task of mothering this little soul, thankful for moments of clarity amidst the joyful chaos. Must remember the purpose of what I am doing. Must. Remember.

Sharing Can Be Hard (But Only Sometimes)

I was watching Gianna struggle with a friend over some sort of hideous princess/baby doll/transformer/grocery cart thing when I first ventured out with the line, "Sharing can be hard." At the time, I didn't quite believe it myself. In fact, it sounded a little lame. Until I thought about it from her perspective. Sharing is hard sometimes. Adults have a hard time sharing. Look at The Israel/Palestine Sitch. I don't like to share my food with Brad, because he will eat it all. When we go to a restaraunt and I order a chocolate milkshake, before I go the restroom I have to leave explicit instructions that I am not done with my milkshake, I will be finishing my milkshake, don't drink my milkshake, I will be v. angry if you drink my milkshake, if you want a milkshake, you should order your own. Sharing can be hard.

Sharing is hard when it means your actual body is housing someone else for 9 months at a time. It's hard when you just want to take a shower, alone, for 20 minutes, but the newborn is a non-stop nursing phene. It's hard when you want to stay in bed for a little bit longer, but the kids are ready to rock. A momma has to do a lot of sharing, day in and day out, and often the people she's sharing with aren't so good at saying, "Thanks."

It's easy to get focused on all the almost-mandatory sharing I have to do of myself around here and forget about one of the reasons I was most excited to have a bunch of kids rolling around: I wanted to share stuff with them. I couldn't wait to share with them the exhilaration of flying down a snowy hill on a sled, or the cozy feeling of snuggling up with a great book. I wanted to take them to the zoo so they could share in the wonder of God's creation. I wanted them to hear beautiful music.

While we've done some of those things, for awhile my dreams of the things I was ready to share seemed to get buried underneath all the things I was forced to share: my body, my time, my life. I know that since becoming a parent I've had to become less selfish and that has been a good thing for me, but it hasn't been without its struggles. However, as Gianna gets older, we move away from such physical sharing of my very body to being able to share the intangibles that I so looked forward to.

This past weekend my mom and I took Gianna to see Cincinnati Ballet's The Nutcracker for the second year in a row, and it was fantastic. I've seen a lot of Nutcrackers, and for about a six year stretch I performed in it every Christmas, but none of that was as exciting as it was watching Gianna experience the beauty and the magic of ballet. This is one thing I don't mind sharing. May mothers everywhere remember in the difficult moments that sharing ourselves can be hard, but only sometimes.

I Just Wanna Be By You

The other day, I was getting ready to go....somewhere...and Brad happened to be home and able to distract the kids while I made preparations. I snuck into the bathroom, alone, to brush my teeth and put in my contacts, and have a little vacay because, as my fellow mamas know, going to the bathroom, alone, for any reason, is against the commandments of motherhood.

Predictably, a nanosecond later Dominic came barreling in with his bouncy ball. He was followed by G, who immediately began peppering me with questions..."Where are we going? Is Daddy coming with us? Is Aunt Monica coming tomorrow? Who gave Dommie that ball? When can I have a car?" The happy duo was trailed by Brad, who came in and just kinda stood there. Our bathroom is very tiny. Picture four people and one bouncy ball in a space that's just barely larger than those creepy airplane lavatories. There was lots of jostling around as I tried to finish my toileting, a sudden potty trip, and a search for the aforementioned bouncy ball.

I moved to the kitchen, to finish snack prep, and they followed me. I went to the basement to get clean diapers from the dryer, and they followed me. I went back upstairs and into our walk-in closet to get dressed, and they followed me. I chose my wardrobe amidst squawks for "Mawk!!! Mawk!!!" and left the bedroom. I moved to the living room to put on my shoes.....and they all followed me.

Later that day, exhausted from wherever it was we went (I really can't remember. I think we had fun. We all lived, I know that much), I decided to take the kids into G's room and close the door. I dumped a bunch of toys out and encouraged them to "Play, play!" and crawled blissfully onto Dominic's IKEA bed. As my head hit the pillow and my eyes closed I heard the sounds of two small people scrambling up onto the bed. Dominic flopped down next to me demanding, "MAWK PEEEEEEEEEEEEEESE" every 2 minutes,  while G parked herself next to my head. She dropped a stack of books on top of my hip and announced, "I am just going to read these books right here."  Yah. Of course you are. There's this whole big room, and you have to sit practically on top of me. To say that my sigh was audible is an understatement.

As I lay there, contemplating my state in life, it occurred to me that some days I do a lot of escaping. I'm trying to escape the laundry (impossible) and escape the kids (also impossible, and, illegal in most states) and escape cleaning the kitchen (actually not impossible. just gross.) There are times when my life as a stay-at-home-mama is, let's be honest....less than glamorous. Not politically relevant. Economically questionable. Dangerously repetitive. Lacking in intellectual stimulation. But is it?

Politically, I'm managing a lot of relationships. I'm charged with guiding these small minds to be critical thinkers, to be souls who are strong and compassionate and principled. Economically, I am managing a household, buying our food, seeking out the sales, studiously choosing one product over another for the benefit of my family, a local farm, the watershed, the planet, the coffee bean grower half-way across the world. Repetitive? Perhaps, but the fun stuff is worth repeating. I'll dance like a fool interminably if it allows me to hear the melody of my children's laughter. Intellectually, I might be doing all my reading while I'm nursing a baby to sleep or introducing my preschooler to Frog and Toad, but I've never before read so widely....child psychology, nutrition, discipline, theology, children's literature, anthropology, education, biology, sociology....each day I encounter more questions and have more answers to seek.

 And glamor??? It may have been awhile since I had a mani/pedi or at least a shower that lasted longer than five minutes, but I've got a fan club of people who can't get enough of me. In a moment of frustration, I commented to Brad about the propensity for everyone else in the family to constantly follow me around, and he responded, quite simply, "We just wanna be by you." That's glamor, baby.

You Can Do It; We Can Help

ALRIGHT so I took a little bit of an unplanned blogging hiatus there….still trying to get into the swing of half day summer school for Gianna, plus there was all this laundry…..the most frustrating thing was that by the time I got us all caught up, there was more laundry. People still insist upon wearing clothes around here even when we’re in the midst of a laundry crisis.  I thought about imposing austerity measures, but I’m no fool…I listen to NPR and it seems that’s not working so hot in Greece. I’m letting the current piles of soiled clothing fester for the moment.

yep.

 The last two days have been THOSE kind of days…the ones where you lock your keys in the trunk of your car, and one kid is running a fever but you can’t find your thermometer, and the other kid is dying to go to the zoo like you prooooooooooooooooooooooooo-mised but it’s raining outside and I can’t control the rain ok! and no one will nap.  And the other kid is….oh. Currently, I only have two….sometimes it seems like a lot more. Plus being generally tired and living in squalor and a husband who is working hard to keep this whole thing going…THAT kind of day.

By mid-afternoon I was really starting to feel a little crazy….ok maybe lots crazy. And I heard my tone, and my words, and it was going to get ugly. What I needed was a re-charge, but what can you do in the middle of the day? There are times when a mama needs to change the mood in her home, and FAST. Short of calling CPS to deal with it all and heading out to a spa for a mani/pedi and a dose of sanity, these are my favorite ways to change my mood:

-Make a cup of tea. With a tea kettle. You might not actually get to sit and sip it while looking ponderously out the window, but something about holding a steaming mug of tea is calming. It helps me pretend my kitchen is cozy and not chaotic. 

-Drop what you’re doing and grab a stack of children’s books. Park your bad self on the couch with your little guys and read to them. This technique brings some calm into the house and has the amazing benefit of making you feel like a FANTASTIC mother.  

-consider possible careers you might qualify for; plumber, wet nurse, taxi cab driver. 

-hop on YouTube and make a quick playlist of fun, upbeat songs you can dance and sing along to. It can be silly. It can even be Justin Beiber…..whatever it takes to get you moving. 

-get outside. Take a short walk. Fresh air + Vitamin D=sanity

-say a short prayer, something like; “Holy Mary, help me!” is a good start.

-start a tickle-fest. Laughter is contagious. 

-if you have access to your car keys, and a car, go for a drive and bring your cup of tea with you. The kids are strapped in, so they can’t hurt each other or destroy anything. Relax and enjoy your beverage. 

-Fantasize about putting the kids to bed early.
 

If Mama Ain't Happy, Nobody's Happy

For as long as I can remember there was a standard-issue wall hanging in my parent’s kitchen that read, “If Mama ain’t happy, nobody’s happy.” It’s the kind of thing you can only find in a place with “bazaar” in the title. 

As a kid, I used to study my mother and puzzle over that statement. What did it mean? My mom worked three 12’s a week as an ICU nurse, volunteered at our elementary school, and bused us to numerous after school activities, not to mention the cooking and cleaning and homework-assisting. She was forever scheduling and coordinating as our busy lives swirled around her. I was fascinated by the assertion that if SHE wasn’t happy, no one was happy. Was it true? And indeed…when I paid attention, it was.  Not only was it a downer if the Madre wasn’t cracking embarrassing jokes, but nothing was quite as fun when she wasn’t around. I’m a grown up now (or so I’ve tricked people into thinking) and still…when I am visiting my parent’s house, if my mom isn’t there for dinner, it’s just not as fun. I’ve discussed this phenomenon with my siblings and we are in agreement. Everything is better when mom is around.

Mothering is hard work. Ask any mama. It’s a lot of bodily fluids and sleepless nights and endless permission slips to keep track of and worry. Always the worrying.  And to add to it that you alone are responsible for your family’s happiness? Must I always be cheerful, lest my crankiness, or annoyance, or frustration, inhibit my family from being joyful? Is that even possible? For a long time after Gianna was born, I struggled to figure out how to be a mother, and a wife, and still be….me. Should my marital status totally define me? Should my status as a primipara define me? Who was I? So much about me had changed, was there anything that had stayed the same?

I’m not sure when I realized that no; the proverb in my mother’s kitchen didn’t mean I always had to be the smiling love slave to everyone else. Rather, that simple statement acknowledged a power that is unique to us mothers: the power to set the attitude within our homes. It’s the power to serve gracefully and to call our families into service as well, to give of ourselves and be an example of sacrifice and charity for our children. Ah, but if only we always used our powers for good. Who has that kind of energy? I wondered. And where can I get some? 

When Gianna started taking a weekly ballet class, another buddy of mine said, “We should do that. We should go back to ballet.” So, after nine years out of the studio, I bought myself a pair of shoes, tights and a leotard….and went to an adult ballet class. For ninety glorious minutes I thought of nothing else but plies and tendus and when I left I felt….refreshed. Oh, I had my pitifully out of shape derriere handed to me but…I was back in the game, baby. I was ready to change diapers and slap on band-aids and read the same book over and over again.

Every mama needs a ballet class. A time to go running. A place to do yoga. A girl’s night out. A spa day. A drive around the block in a quiet car where she can listen to whatever music she wants. The chance to luxuriate in bed for an extra 30 minutes on a Saturday morning. An hour of quiet adoration before Our Lord. It’s hard to find these moments, for two main reasons. For one, we’re the mamas and we get all guilty if we take time to ourselves. For another, it’s hard to admit we can’t do this on our own steam. However, we must find the time, cuz if we ain’t happy….nobody’s happy.

Why, I'd love to read you Strega Nona for the 10th time today!