Breaking Up The Pity Pinball Party

"If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."

The old adage is so very true, and more than a little grammatically painful for me to utter. One thing I hear repeatedly from my fellow friends who are mothers is how easy and detrimental it is to continually put yourself last. In my case, sometimes it becomes a weapon of (self) destruction: overtired martyr mom. Run for the hills people, it's not pretty. This week, in a fit of maternal exhaustion and frustration I told my husband that I felt like a giant pinball machine as a parent. Of course I had to describe the game I was visualizing to my husband in the throes of my tantrum, because my completely spun out brain couldn't remember the name of the dammed thing. That's a whole other post: Mommy Brain. But Mommy Brain on full tilt meltdown is a thing of unparalleled dark humor if you stop to actually listen to yourself. Honestly, I don't know how my husband holds it together listening to me sometimes.

The pinball metaphor is especially apt for me. When my husband plays pinball, he is strategic and focused on his timing when flipping those paddles to keep that little ball in play. And while he is fully engaged and wants to win, he doesn't sweat it when one ball drops through the slot. Now me on the other hand, I start off carefully and tensely flipping those paddles, but as time goes on and I get more and more frustrated, I start pressing those buttons wildly and fiercely. That's usually when the ball usually shoots straight down the chute and I don't even get a flipper on it. Game over.

Mothering small children and infants is intense, at least it is for me. While I practice attachment parenting and support its principles, I struggle with balancing my own needs. I jealously watch my husband disappear to the shooting range, and lets face it, the office a lot of days, and envy him what I imagine to be an escape. But at the same time, the thought of not being with my kids daily literally makes me lose my breath. I chose this path, I still choose it, even when I'm ready to get in the car and drive away. But it's really easy to become hyper-focused and let a lack of self care snowball into a ball of exhaustion fueled resentment that I'm sure my little ones don't understand, and my husband certainly doesn't appreciate.

Tonight I took a break, and it was good. I returned from an evening with friends, and I didn't dwell on the fact that my five month old was still awake, I could once again appreciate that he was really eager to see me and be held BY ME. I am the center of his world right now, and for now I am OK with that.

• Macro Goal: Self renovation and repair
• Micro Goal: Take a mommy break a least once per week to restore sanity

Photo courtesy of Rev. Xanatos Satanicos Bombasticos (ClintJCL)

A heavy-hearted Mommy day

I only have ten minutes to write. but I have something to get off my chest...

I fear I'm screwing up my kid.

Why? Because I somehow neglected to deal with all my "stuff" before he was born, and now, poor kid, he's along for the ride and suffers from some of it to. I feel like he deserves so much more than me as a mother.

I feel that it's my fault that he still is pushing other kids. I feel it's my fault when I go to pick him up from his care program after my weekly Bible study and I get those resigned looks, and those reports of how "he didn't have a good day." I feel like sinking into the floor holding his little hand as he stands there and hears his mom given a report of his difficulties in the room. I want to simultaneously hug him hard and tell him not to take it personally, that I know his heart and he is not a bad little kid. I also want to shake him hard and tell him to just please quit it and follow the program like all the other kids.

I read what I've just written, and I see the prevalence of "I." What about him, what can I do for him so he isn't cast forevermore as the "difficult one."

This is where it gets really really hard.

My ten minutes are up, and now it's time to go figure it out, one minute at a time.

A Bit Obsessed

It's late, but I wanted to post a quick update lest you think I've fallen off the blog wagon. Nope, just writing elsewhere in the midst of this wrenching situation in Haiti. I posted this to my Twitter page and it about sums it up:

"One of my worst traits is my tendency to hyper-focus, one of my best traits is my ability to do so."

Busy helping move some mountains...be back soon!

Show Don't Tell

Actions speak louder than words.

I had one of those "I'm a crap mother" days today. I've had an uncomfortable number of those lately. You know the ones: when you finally get your kid into bed and you feel about as good about yourself and your mothering as disgusting gum on the bottom of your shoe, and have a strong impulse to get yourself into the confessional booth (even though you're not Catholic), and better yet, if they could flog you a little bit, you feel that would be richly deserved. Yeah, that kind of day.

I wish I could simply say, "that's life with a nearly three year old," but I fear that places the blame in the wrong place. Sure, my kid is a "spirited" toddler, with a wicked stubborn streak (wonder where he got that from), but honestly, he's a good kid. He's really sweet-natured. He just wants me to show him that I'm interested in him and what he's doing. When he doesn't get that enough, he finds ways to get my attention, any attention will do.

Now visualize that old Ram truck commercial, where two rams crash violently into each other. Yeah, it was that kind of day.

Tonight at dinner, when my kid flung food on the floor (again), and said the obligatory "sorry, Mommy," after much cajoling from his dad, I told him, I'm ashamed to say more than a little passive aggressively, "actions speak louder than words." If he was really sorry, he wouldn't do it anymore. Gee, great job Mom! When you had him repeat the words back to you, and he got stuck on the word "louder," and each time you said "louder" trying to get him to say it, he just kept repeating "speak" in a louder voice, that should have been a clue.

Yeah mom, actions DO speak louder than words!

I sat by his crib tonight and apologized, held his hands, and told him I loved him.

He forgave me with his words. I hope his actions tell me he truly forgives his very flawed mom.

• Micro goal: I will spend more one on one time with Big Kidlet
• Macro goal: I will show him I love him as much as I tell him I love him

Photo Courtesy of fudj

Waste Not, Freak Not

When I'm anxious, I clean and organize. It helps me feel some measure of control. I used to work in a high pressure environment; there was always something to stress out about, and there was always a mess to clean up. Don't get my husband started how many dead of the nights he awoke to find me still not home, and would call me at work to find me protesting, "I'm just clearing up a few things and I'll be home soon." Remember, I have the ability to be almost unnaturally focused when I want to. Bless him for not bailing on me then.

This kind of behavior would not work with kids. This is why I feel that I wasn't gifted with my children, until I learned on my own that it was time to relinquish such an unhealthy existence. And, I do not embellish when I say I got pregnant unknowingly, and unplanned I might add, the exact day I left that life.

But those feelings just don't go poof! (I wish) Making the transition to a stay at home mother these last few years has had many starts and stops. Mainly the control thing. I always worked up to that point. When I say "always," I mean virtually from birth. My parents have owned their own businesses all my life, and I just tagged along. I didn't go to preschool, I went to a playpen in their store, and developed a hell of a vocabulary my father claims virtually by osmosis. I was the mascot. As I aged, I was put to work in other capacities. Except for a brief month immediately following my completion of college (early), I was employed, and usually in a few jobs at once.

When I no longer had a "job" of my own outside the home, I felt dependent. I did, and don't like this feeling. Cue anxiety.

Lest you think I am now obsessively compulsively cleaning my house, don't worry I won't show up anytime soon on Oprah. I kind of wish I was more, but no, it manifests itself in different ways.

For example, I hate waste. I hold onto stuff. Again, don't look for me on one of those Oprah hoarder episodes. I'm really, really tidy about it actually. But I hold onto stuff nevertheless. Not surprisingly it's about control.

I wasn't deprived as a kid and I never felt "want," but things were certainly tight. I never was in the latest stare of fashion, or with the latest gadget. To this day, stuff like that still doesn't interest me. But, I did learn a certain degree of fear surrounding money from my father. My mother is a very pragmatic, if one angle doesn't work, go at the problem from another direction type of person; My dad, however, is more apt to freak out and run screaming that the sky is falling. I'm a perfect blending of the two: I'm freaking out on the inside, but on the outside I just try to muster up and find a way through it.

My father used to verbalize about his fears of not having enough, and consequently things got hung onto way past their original intended purposes. My parents are dedicated "repurposers." I get this impulse from them, but I'm just not as efficient. Things hang around my house, in their nice and neat (mostly) locations, and just sit. This I think gives me a sense of security, knowing I have these things around me that could be used for something.

That's why one of my goals this year is to "get rid of stuff." I'm trying to realize that I can't build a wall of things between myself and those things I fear.

Today I started small: I started to clean out my pantry. And the organizational fiend couldn't resist busting out the Excel spreadsheet to inventory what I have in an effort to control the waste issue. I buy things, don't end up using them, and forget that they are in there. And then I feel shame, because I hate to waste. It was really big for me to let go and throw out several things in there that I had stubbornly held onto because I didn't want to acknowledge that I had let them expire unused.

Today it's dealing with food that has expired, tomorrow perhaps some fears and aspirations.

Photo Courtesy of zenilorac

Houston We Have A Headache

I have a headache tonight, a bad one (for me). There went the plans to open the Wii games and fit stuff and start exploring tonight once the kids were (finally) in bed. Before that (last night), the baby decided, nope, nothing but mama's arms will do, and don't even think about venturing more than inches away from me. He's only four months old, I cut him a break. And then there were husbandly needs to attend to, so some goals were being attended to, just not the one I wanted to. And before that (last week) I've had some sort of strange cold yet not a cold thing. And before that... you get the picture. When I get motivated to get moving more consistently, with intent and purposeful determination, invariably it's something like this that crops up to at the very least slow my progress, if not outright derail it. Pardon my swearing in texting language, but WTF?!

I know, I know, perseverance and determination. Yes, Scarlet, "tomorrow is another day."

Photo courtesy of Illusory Reasoning (but only in my mind)

Being Present Means Facebook Can Wait

Ah technology, blessing or curse? For a more than slightly obsessive compulsive personality like mine, I'm thinking it can be a curse if not kept in perspective. I am reading a parenting book presently that talks about raising a spirited kid. I don't know that my toddler is necessarily "spirited" or just a toddler, but I'll take ideas anywhere I can get them. That's my way of tackling a problem, I research it from many angles and try to apply the best solution to fit the challenge.

The book speaks about the differences between introverted spirited children and extroverted spirited children, and asks the reader/parent to assess themselves as well. I was shocked to find that I would be classified as an extrovert. I know some people may say, "duh," but you have to understand that although I may not be at a loss for words in a venue such as this (which is why I write), in person one on one I'm not the most graceful conversationalist, shall we say. I associate an extrovert as someone who is the life of the room when they enter it. What was illuminating from this author was her definition of an extrovert as a person who draws their energy from being around others, whereas an introvert actually draws their energy by being more solitary. Aha, lightbulb city!

Making the transition from seeing literally dozens of people a day in my prior career life to being home with small children was tough for me in part because, it turns out that I need to be out and interacting with other people; It does actually energize me. Even the pain of my social awkwardness can not keep me from putting myself out there, because I need to connect.

Which brings me to Facebook and Twitter. You know where I'm going with this, right? How much time do you spend interacting with others on social networks? I fear too much for me personally. I worry it can cut into my relationship with my husband, my self care in the form of accomplishing the endless little details of running my family's life that keep me feeling balanced and accomplished (remember those endless lists I'm so fond of), and also for me the most shameful of all, my parenting.

Recently the blogosphere was on fire with the controversy about a work at home mother, very active on social networks, who lost her toddler in a tragic drowning accident in the family pool. Her extremely active interaction in social media while caring for small children at home drew sharp criticism as a contributing factor to her loss. I recoiled at that group that wanted to blame her for not watching her young child every single second to avert that disaster, because it could have just as easily been a case of making any number of split second errors in judgment such as zipping out to put a load of laundry in, grab a glass of water, etc. We all walk this tricky line every day.

But, I also saw their point. Social media can be consuming and addictive, and in the case of being alone with small people that are extremely needy, and not the most brilliant conversationalists, social media connection feels like a life preserver. It's nice to be heard, and it's nice to know you aren't alone going through it. But when the connection of others outside of your home becomes more important than those inside your home, you've got a problem.

This lesson came home for me today. I took my spirited toddler to run some energy off at the park. For various reasons I chose to revisit a park that has been a difficult park for us in the past because it has a lot of very tempting water. It has been a very long while since we had gone, and I decided that it was time to try again. Having my infant with me, makes this a tricky proposition under the best of circumstances, but I like to push myself to tackle challenges that scare me head on. (Another surprising thing I learned about myself as a parent actually) Well, while we did MUCH better than we have in the past, there were still plenty of stressful moments and my frustration with my son was aching for venting. So, I reached for my I-Phone... for about a second. When I realized that I was about to take to my social network to express how I wondered if I would ever have a time with my son when I felt that I didn't need to be right next to him to avert certain disaster, I realized I was about to take my attention away from my son, perhaps opening us up to that very disaster. I put the phone right back in my pocket, and trailed after a little piece of my heart who needs me to make better decisions about who needed my attention most at that moment. Venting could wait, he could not.

Score a victory today in my goal this year to be more present and in the moment for my family.

Photo courtesy of Matt Hamm