Getting real.

I'm an overwhelmed mommy.  And, if one were to peruse the internet, it would seem my kind are a dime a dozen.  It seems that the world is flooded with "bad mommies".  If you read the blogs and articles of my ilk you would think that all of us vacillate between these superhuman mommy-machines and self deprecating she-beasts.  Is that who I am?  Really?

I feel that way sometimes, certainly, but it's not really what I signed up for.  My biological clock didn't click loudly at the age of 30 ringing with a chorus of "I MUST PROCREATE SO I HAVE SOMETHING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT AND FAIL MISERABLY AT!"

So, on the days when I am sick of my own voice and I feel like one more tug on my proverbial apron will send me to the loony bin, why is it all I can find to sooth me are other "bad mommies" at their wits' end?  Does it all go back to our formative years?  Those moments in high school where we solidified our girlfriend status by standing in front of the locker room mirror and playing, 'I'm fatter, no, seriously I am totally fat!"  I always sucked at that game.  Maybe that's why, not unlike high school, I have a hard time finding comfort in the "bad mommy" game.

So, why is it so OK to talk about all those annoying, embarrassing mommy gaffs, but less OK to talk about all the tender moments - those moments that make you proud of who you have become and who your children have become?  – The moments that might actually make you feel better about yourself and your situation rather than like you just need a stiff drink.  Although I have often engaged in a good vent, I never really feel any better after.  I just feel all the more worked up.  It's not until I step back and take a breath and look at it with new eyes, that a situation seems workable.

When I enter a mommy-circle, I feel self-conscious and unsure of myself.  My children have turned me into a person that is totally new to me.  Some days I hardly recognize myself, and that has brought me back to the uncertain place of my adolescence, where I don't know what to say.  I don't feel comfortable talking about all the amazing things my kids do, because I don't want to seem like I'm bragging.  But at the same time, I'm not happy sitting around talking about how every decision I make is potentially scarring and destroying my children, or how inept my husband is - because he's not, or how I really just need a bottle or two of wine - daily.

So, I turn to the internet.  I read mommy blogs and wonder, are we all super human mommy machines?  Or are we all self deprecating she-beasts?  I hope that I am neither.  I hope that my family has helped me to become a more powerful and focused version of me - one that can see outside of herself and give freely without giving it all away.  I hope that I am a good mommy.  I hope that when my boys look back they remember dancing to loud music in their rooms and the words to the lullabies I sing every night.  I hope they remember the strength of my hugs and how to drive monsters out from under beds.  And not the time I lost it in the Menards parking lot because they just wouldn't listen, and I was scared because I couldn't find them.  Or maybe I do hope they remember that, but remember that I Really was just scared and desperate and not merely a big angry face and a loud voice.

Not every little decision should be held up to the light and examined.  That is a difficult thing for me - not to overanalyze every step I make and check it for faults.  My children have stripped away all of the touch-ups and mending I have done over the years so that now every ding and scratch in my self shows.  And I try to look down on those dings and be proud because they give me the perspective to help me on my journey.  But it's hard, because I have spent a lot of years making sure no one could see them at all.

Children may not always bring out the best in us, but they do bring out the real.  And I'm working very hard to be proud of the real me - scratches and all.

I am a good mommy.  Somedays I yell.  Somedays I question every move I make.  Somedays I sit down and cry.  Somedays I create amazing memories.  Somedays I do nothing but enjoy the day with two precocious, growing boys.  But everyday I get the opportunity hug and kiss the people who make me the best me I can be.  The real me.  And that's worth it all.  Even when I'm completely overwhelmed.

Urban is at his best when he is focused, creating and has a concrete goal.  It's a good thing to know.  I know when to expect meltdowns, well, most of the time.  But, here's the thing...  It's exhausting.

I will admit that I have a lot of energy, and I too need a lot of activity to keep me busy and engaged, but planning for Urban's activities has become my only activity, and that makes me cranky.  On Saturday, for instance, here was what we did:
painted three beanie animals - a frog, lizard and fish that he had received as a gift
cut, clipped, drew and colored dozens of shrinky dinks to make a garland
shrunk the shrinky dinks in the oven and strung them together
watched 2 Christmas movies
cleaned the bathroom
cleaned out Beringer's closet
had lunch (Yes, we did all that before lunch)
cleaned out Urban's closet
Packed up things for donation
Watched Gnomeo and Juliet (for a second time in 2 days)
Took a bath

Can you see where this is going?  Yes, I got things ticked of my to do list, but I didn't avoi

Sucktastic

I had a dream over the weekend that I was on my own reality TV show.  Cameras followed me around documenting my life...which seemed to consist of every exasperating moment from the last 5 years...  Like, losing a job, Urban meltdowns, quitting a choir, many, many moments.  And to punctuate each moment, I would look at the camera and say, "See?  SUCKTASTIC."

I woke up kind of confused

HOW TO DRAW: by Urban Maxwell

This is a person.  Clearly.  You can tell it's a person because there are two eyes, a mouth, two arms, two legs and 2 ears.  Just like all people have.

This is another person.  You can tell it's a person because there are 2 eyes, a mouth, 2 arms, 2 legs and 2 ears.  Just like all people have.  But this person wears glasses.  That makes him happy.

This is a cyclops.  You can tell it's a cyclops because he only has one eye.  That's what cyclops means.

This is a cat.  You can tell it's a cat because it has four legs.  Just like all cats have.  Duh.

This is a cow.  You can tell it's a cow because it has four legs and black spots.  Just like all cows have.  It's a girl cow.  You can tell it's a girl cow because it has udders.  Duh.

Becky Homecky

My mom is an awesome cook.  Growing up, she cooked all the time.  She made breakfast each morning and dinner every night.  OK, not every night.  We ate out sometimes too.  But the big meal was always Sunday dinner.  We would always have a roast or turkey or ham and all the fixings.  The house would smell amazing, and those smells will forever pull me back to that warm comfort of childhood.

Now my mom and I are living together again, but this time I'm a mom too.  She doesn't cook much in the new house.  I mean, I was raised with a mom that cooked, so I am now a mom that cooks.  That's kind of weird to say, because I never asked my mom to teach me to cook.  I was more than happy to just let her do it and reap all the benefits.  In fact, I didn't start cooking until I was well into my 20s.  (We're talking closer to 30 than 20, here.)

And do you know what made me learn to cook?  I wish I could say it was the primal instinct of a mother-to-be, but no.  It was the farmer's market.  And not my burning desire to eat fresh or local or even my curiosity about ne, exotic vegetables.  I had a craving for zucchini bread.  Simple.  No biggie.  Just a craving.  I thought, "That can't be that hard.  I'll just pop down to the farmer's market over lunch and pick up a couple of zucchinis."

So, I grabbed my friend, and we went to the market.  I walked up to the first stall with zucchinis and said,  "I'll take two!"  (Those of you familiar with the ways of the the market are likely snickering at my naivete right now.)  They don't really sell things one at a time there.  And, before I knew what was happening, I had two bags overflowing with zucchinis.  Literally.  At least 2 dozen.

My eyes round, I looked at my friend and said, "Do you have any zucchini recipes?"  We both laughed.  At least I had a project for the weekend.

So, I went home and started googling zucchini recipes.  I sent out an email to all my friends inviting them to a zucchini dinner party and started cooking.  I made 2 loaves of zucchini bread, a zucchini chocolate cake and West African Stew.  And by the time I was finished chopping, grating and cooking all of that zucchini – I was obsessed with cooking.  (And by the time eveyone was done eating, they were obsessed with West African Stew and Zucchini Chocolate Cake)

The thing is, though, I never got back around to learning the basics.  I've never baked a turkey.  I rarely make roast.  And ham is more of an addition to soups or stews.  (I make lots of exotic stews and curries.)  I love vegetarian casseroles and meatless meatballs.  I love things that require a lot of chopping and make the kitchen smell of summer gardens and crackle with hot olive oil.

So, now I wonder, what smells will my children remember?  What things will they taste and say, "This is really good, but my mom made it sooooo much better."  What dishes will they crave when they've moved out, and I'll offer them the recipe, but they'll refuse it and say, "I'll just come home so you can make it for me."

Oh, and Mom, you make the best pie.  I can't wait for Thanksgiving.  I can never make pies as yummy as yours.

They're just words

I put a lot of stock in words.  I choose my words carefully.  I collect words so that I will have just the right one when the need arises.  So, recently, I have found the increased use of words in the house both exciting and frustrating.  In the past few weeks our boys have begun to travel the slippery slope of word play in very different ways.

Beringer has turned the vocabulary corner that is my favorite in the development of language.  I love this age of 18 - 30 months when everything is exciting, and words tumble out of their little mouths faster than you can record them.  They repeat everything you say with glee and begin to make their thoughts known.  Beringer has been spouting new words everyday – one morning cheerily chirping, "Mo-NIIING!" and the next responding to a, "thank you" with "weh-o-cum."  It's the best.

Urban, on the other hand, is stumbling into a territory I had hoped we would avoid.  It's linguistic mud, and I detest it.  This is a kid whose vocabulary rivals most 2nd graders I've met (and probably some adults.)  All of a sudden, the only words I hear are these aggressive shouts of "You (insert any word)-head!"  "BUTT!"  "EYEBALLS!"  And EVERYTHING is "DUMB!!"  In the grand scheme of things these words do not seem overtly offensive.  Part of it is the tone with which they're uttered.  Part of it is the incessant repetition.  I'm telling you, even the most patient of parents will snap after a 20 minute chorus of "dumbbutt, dumbhead, butthead, dumb eyeballs in your butthead!"

So, what do we do?  We talk.  We talk and talk and talk.  We talk about how our words shape other peoples' perceptions of us.  How the words we choose can show people we are intelligent, sweet and helpful or aggressive, mean and bullying.  We ask Urban, "What do the words you're choosing say about you?"  (Generally the response we receive is either a growl or a shriek.  Which in some ways is appropriate.)

We have started to use cool-off time.  Now, whenever he uses aggressive talk – yes, that's what we call it.  What else should we call it?  It's not like he's swearing.  They aren't 'bad' words. – he is sent to his room.  We walk him up there and tell him he needs to sit in his room and cool off.  He can come out when he is ready to use nice words and talk like the sweet, intelligent boy that he is.  Some nights, he spends more time in his room than with us.

So, where is all this coming from?  A boy at school.  It figures, doesn't it?  This is the first time in Urban's life, though likely not the last, that he is being bullied.  I have witnessed the aggressive tone and physicality of this other boy.  The teachers and I have discussed it.  We've talked to the other boy and to Urban.  So, what else are we supposed to do?

And on the days that Urban has a hard time at school, he gives us an even harder time at home.  He clearly wants attention, but is trying to get it with aggression.  Then, when he gets his time out or a reprimand, he is doubly hurt, because he doesn't want more aggression.  He wants attention.

So, I have been trying to give him more focused Mommy/Urban time.  More hugs.  More goofing around.  More focused story time.  And every time he acts out, I say, "Urban, did you want to get in trouble or did you just want some attention."  He will crawl over into my lap and lay his head on my shoulder.  I say, "you can always come and cuddle Mama.  I will always stop what I'm doing to hug you and listen to you.  I always have time for you."

Then it's better for a while.  But bad habits are hard to break.  They are just too easy.  I just hope this one gets out of his system quickly.  I'd much rather listen to stories than butt-talk.  And, frankly, I am acquiring a chronic word-induced headache.

Though sometimes I describe Urban as his own natural disaster, he has become increasingly obsessed with actual natural disasters.  He wants to know so much about what happens and how.  It started out innocently enough with questions about thunderstorms and lightening.  But soon it developed into an obsession with tornadoes.

We try to talk frankly with him.  We tell him about wall clouds and the different kinds of cloud formations within a storm.  We go online and look at scientific pictures of storms.  For a while he even proclaimed that he was going to be a weatherman.

Then, last spring, he happened to walk into the living room when I was watching coverage of the earthquake and tsunami in Japan.  "What happened?  Why is the ocean in the streets now?  Where did the buildings go?"  He wandered around for days talking about earthquakes and tsunamis and waves crashing into buildings.  He never seemed that scared, just interested and concerned.  We talk about the people effected by the disasters and how other people, heroes, rush to their aid and try to help.

The earthquake fascination faded quickly and "normal" boy obsessions took over again.  Especially lava.  Lots and lots of lava.  It shoots out of his hands, it fills our living room and the bad guys have to jump in it.  Lava is everywhere, it seems.

So, the other night at dinner when he turned to me and asked, "Mama, did people make lava?"  I wasn't surprised, but, as with other questions, I had the brief internal struggle of how much is too much information?  I remember sitting at a parents' conference last year that focused on gifted kids, and they said, "Answer the questions until they stop asking.  Don't over-inform, but don't blow it off either."  So I told him about volcanoes.  Which led to where volcanoes are in the world.  Then to what happens to the lava after it comes out of the volcano.  We ended up talking about tectonic plates and the earth's molten core.

Then, yesterday, he hears the DJs on the radio talking about the earthquake in Turkey.  I have intentionally avoided the coverage to try and avoid all the earthquake talk again, but there it was.  "Mama?  There was another earthquake?  Like the one in Japan?"

"Yes."

"Mama?  Will there be another tsunami?"

"No."  So we talked about how the tectonic plates move to cause the earthquakes.  That there are fault lines all over just like seams on his clothes, and that sometimes the plates shift around and it causes the earth to move.  They aren't always by oceans, so they don't always cause tsunamis.  Sometimes it causes volcanoes to erupt, and most of the time it just causes things to fall off of shelves.

"Mama, if there was an earthquake here, we would run away really fast and you would hold me and keep me safe right?"

Oh, buddy...  I assured him that I would always do my best to keep him safe no matter what.  And we talked about what you should do if there really was an earthquake.  (Which, I assured him, is very unlikely in Minnesota.)

"Mama, I want to see one.  On the videos.  I want to see what an earthquake feels like."

Ummmm....  so, after some internal debate, last night we sat down together on YouTube and watched videos.  We started by watching some beautiful footage of volcanoes and talking about lava and fire and how it makes new land and islands.  Then we watched some footage from the earthquake in Turkey.  He sat quietly for a while.

"OK, Mama, I think I understand.  Can we just watch buildings fall down now?"

So, I pulled up a bunch of building demolition videos, and we ended our night shouting, "AW! COOL!" as skyscrapers fell into piles of controlled rubble.

But I still wonder, how much is too much information?  I want to shelter him from all of the painful and frightening things in the world, but I also want him to understand and feel like he is safe.  I feel like if I can explain things to him so that they are not big scary unknowns, then maybe he won't be so scared.  I hope that's the case, and I guess, that's all I can do...  continue to answer questions and hope.  And give lots of hugs.  There's always hugs...