Category: Parenting

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Trading the Gin Bottle for a Baby Bottle

Did you ever have one of those mothering moments where you’re stopped cold in your tracks with the realization that, “Oh my God.  I am a mother.  His mother.  Her mother.  Their mother.  WOW.  I am a MOTHER.”  I don’t have them often, as I’ve been at this parenting thing since 2005, but every once in a while, that sensation kicks in and when it does, it packs a punch.

It happened most recently for me last Saturday night.  I was at an old friend’s home unexpectedly with my two kiddos in tow. Our husbands were heading out for a Bulls’ game together and neither one of us had yet met the other’s brand spanking new baby.  We were well past due, so decided to make an early evening of it.

I call this gal my “Fancy Friend,” well, because she’s fancy.  Not uptight.  Not snooty.  Not condescending.  Fancy.  She and her family live in a massive high rise unit right on Lake Michigan and the views will just bowl you over.  I feel privileged just being in their beautiful home.  The first few times I was pretty certain I would break something and never be invited back.  Well, I did break something, of course, and I’m still allowed in, so that tells you something about my Fancy Friend.  She’s a gem.

We all visited together and traded the appropriate ooohhhsss and aaahhhhsss over our respective babies — my boy born in September and her girl born in November.

After the husbands left we settled in and fed the babies.  It was around dinner time and we decided to order in.  Exhibit A of motherhood struck me. Any delivery would have to be fast, as I wanted to get the boys to sleep by 8, and satisfy a young child and a toddler in addition to us two tired moms. Dominos FTW!

Exhibit B struck me when my Fancy Friend joked that her wine glasses were dusty from lack of use.  In my house, wine is served in juice glasses.  I justify that by claiming it’s how all wine is consumed in Italy.  But my Fancy Friend, there, she knows how to entertain proper.

I have been to some epic parties at her home.  Epic parties.  Parties so good that you talk about them years later.  Parties so good that I will remember them fondly when I’m old and in a nursing home.  Parties so good that when I post about them on the Facebook, my friends who live in the suburbs have to pick their jaws up off the floor.

Yes, they were that good.

When we needed a night out during Donna’s cancer treatment, these were the folks we went out with to forget our troubles.  When my husband turned 40 and I threw him a surprise birthday party with a Mad Men theme, these were the folks who hosted, with the husband even going so far as to don a tuxedo for full effect.  These are the folks who hire bartenders at their parties so that their guests are as comfortable as possible.

Epic parties with Fancy Friends are the best parties ever.

But here we were, and what struck me was that with two babies in our arms, two little ones roaming at our feet with toys splayed out throughout the living room, foam tape wrapped around every sharp edge as far as the eye could see, eating Dominos pizza and drinking wine out of dusty glasses, we were both happy as freaking clams.

There is nothing fancy about babies or toddlers or four year old little boys. There is definitely nothing fancy about Dominos pizza.  Motherhood sure as hell ain’t fancy.  But it is fun and fulfilling and doesn’t require you wear Spanx or high heels.

Life changes.  My life has changed and my Fancy Friend’s life has changed, too.  That’s the way this whole life thing works, when it’s working.

Image courtesy of my Fancy Friend.
Image courtesy of my Fancy Friend.

Part of these life changes means that there are fewer (like not a single one) hangovers.  That our fatigue and lack of sleep is caused by late night feedings instead of wee morning drinkings.  Motherhood is the kind of life change that makes you realize the bar in the living room is the perfect height for a second diaper changing station.

It happens.  Motherhood changes you.  There are simply fewer gin bottles and a massive number of baby bottles.  Isn’t that lovely?

Happy New Year to you.  It has and continues to be my absolute pleasure and honor to write these posts and have you read them. Thank you for that and may 2014 only bring blessings your way.

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I Am a Mom

This is part of the ChicagoNow Blog-a-palooza challenge.  Once a month all bloggers are given a writing prompt at 9:00 PM and instructed to write our little hearts out until 10:00 PM when all involved post simultaneously. Here is today’s prompt:

Write about something you learned or experienced since you woke up this morning.

Dammit.  I have not left the house today.  I did manage to change clothes, though, but that was sort of a bonus and not really intended.  I was standing in the downstairs hallway, just outside our laundry room, and realized I had been wearing the exact same clothes since Monday.  Today is Wednesday. That’s over 48 hours in the same fleece and Lands End stretch pants, and yes, underpants.  Ugh.  I stripped naked in the hallway and added them to the mounds of laundry, already separated, just waiting for me to take it to the next laundry level.

What in the hell has happened to me?, I thought to myself, standing naked and shivering in the cold hallway — I’m such a mom cliche.  Like a bad mom cliche.  And then it hit me:  I am a mom.

Whoa.

When in the Sam Hill did that happen?

Well, technically, it started about 8:10 AM on the morning of July 20, 2005, when my oldest child was born.  But that is when I became a mother, not necessarily a mom.

Those are different things, you know.

Today, all day, throughout the day, were these kind of, sort of LOUD announcements that I am a mom.  Standing naked in the pile of laundry was one.  An obvious one.  Doing dishes three times today was another.  Feeling stretched between my crying, hungry baby and my little boy home sick from school with a fever was in there.  Seeing my hair pulled back in a ponytail was one, sure.  Oh, yeah, and there were those piles of Christmas boxes needing to be brought back downstairs and no one to do that but me.

Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom.  “MOM!  Can you put my juice on a coaster?!”

I honest to goodness never aspired to motherhood.  In fact, I think I was the least maternal woman I knew.  But things change, and so did I.   And now, right now, being a mom is the most important thing I do.  It is a repetitive gig. God love motherhood, but it is mind numbing at times.  The dust and the dishes and the laundry and the bed making.  I about want to scream some days.

But then a baby smiles at me in a way he smiles at no one else.  And I swoon.  And find the strength to wash his bottles and bibs.  Again.  And again.

Today, late in the day, really, the baby was sleeping and my boy was comfortably watching television.  I crept downstairs to tend to that laundry, still in progress.  For the first time in hours (days?) I was alone.  No one in my arms, no one clinging to my neck, no one asking for a snack or art supplies. I took in a full breath and moved the laundry.

Rather than cart the clean laundry upstairs to fold and put away, I opted to fold it downstairs.  It felt luxurious, that folding of laundry all alone.  I clicked on the television and those Real Housewife bitches (who you never see doing any damn laundry — real housewives, my ass) kept me company for the 20 minutes it took to fold the bibs and burp clothes and towels and boxers and super hero t-shirts.  Dare I say, it was relaxing, those twenty minutes of solitude and laundry.

As I made my way up the stairs, I heard a whimpering, a sniffle, a padding of footie pajamas on the hard wood floor.  Is that Mary Tyler Son, I wondered?

It was.  And he was scared and crying and looking, suddenly, not much bigger than his three month old brother.

“Mom, where were you?  I was worried,” and then another round of fresh tears burst out.

The poor honey.  I dropped the laundry, scooped up the boy and cradled him in my arms just like I would the baby.  You don’t really get the chance to cradle four year olds much anymore.  I soothed him and assured him and apologized profusely.

“Mommy’s here, pie.  Mommy’s here, sweet pea.  Mommy’s always here.  I will never leave you.”

I am a mom, a MOM, dammit, and these little people need me, rely on me, worry to the point of tears when they don’t know where I am and think I have left them all alone on a cold winter’s day.

That is some serious stuff, my friends.

So today I learned, that I am a mom.  And I have the kids and laundry and dishes and dust to prove it.  I am a mom.  That makes me one damn lucky lady, laundry and all.

Laundry

 

 

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WTF, OMFG, GTFO, and Other Mothering Mantras

Here within the Mary Tyler Family we place a lot of importance on knowing and understanding our feelings.  I attribute it to my training and experience as a clinical social worker.  It’s so important in today’s busy and modern families, amirite? But knowing your feelings can be a challenge these days, what with small children running around our ankles all the time.

That’s why I’ve devised a new system for helping the whole lot of us get better at knowing and understanding our feelings, all the feelings.  I call it the WTF System — What’s The Feeling?  It’s so easy, you and your family can do it, too!

Here’s how it works . . .

Let’s say you come home from a busy weekend day of holiday shopping only to find your kids still in their pajamas, leftover food and dishes all over the coffee table, and your husband in his boxers watching the football game with a beer in his hand.  What might be running through your mind in that moment?

This is the time to say, WTF?  What’s The Feeling?  See how that works? Are you mad?  Aggravated?  Frustrated?  Angry?  Well then, saying to yourself WTF will help you identify those troubling feelings.  Saying it out loud will only add to the experience.

Here’s another example.  You’ve just spent a busy day with your extended family.  You’re tired and ready to head back home.  As you’re gathering up your kids and things, the munchkins decide it’s time for a meltdown.  Your older maiden aunt says out loud to no one in particular, “Sheesh!  In my day, we were able to control our children!”  You know what’s coming — WTF?  What’s The Feeling?!  While you might be railing inside your head — What in the Sam Hilll does that old bat know about raising kids?, it’s really important to identify the feeling. Instead, just say to yourself, WTF?!  You can even say it out loud!  Here, let’s do it together — W T F?

See how well that works?

In employing my WTF System, I learned that a frequent mommy feeling I was having was guilt.  You know what I mean, moms, don’t you?  I’ve got an acronym for guilt, too.  I call it OMFG — Oh, Mom’s Feeling Guilty!  This happened just yesterday to me. I was wanting to give my older son a special treat after a long day at school.  Ususally, chocolate is reserved for dessert after dinner, and just a bite, but he had had a rough day on the playground, so I says to myself, “Go ahead, mama, give the boy a thrill and offer some chocolate before dinner.”

So I did.  And then he proceeded to bounce off the walls with a sugar high. Screaming and hooting and hollering, waking up the baby from his nap!  This is when I screamed out loud, OMFG!  Oh, Mom’s Feeling Guilty!  See? If I hadn’t changed the rules and offered the boy chocolate, he would probably just be sitting quietly enjoying a book.  But no, I had to offer the kid some contraband chocolate, probably, unconsciously, in an attempt to curry his favor.  GUILT!  OMFG!

And when that guilt hits, I know it’s time to take stock of my parenting and let my feelings all out, or what I like to call LMFAO — Let My Feelings All Out. It’s just astounding what a good LMFAO session will do for your soul!

Another positive feeling method I use comes in really handy when house guests are visiting.  You know what they say about fish and house guests — three days is what all are capable of before going rotten.  For instructive purposes, I will share a personal story with you.  The in-laws were in town, and well, let’s just say we were on day seven — well past our collective expiration.  We all got into it over the pot roast, and I knew it was the things unsaid that was causing the bickering — those dreaded feelings.  Well, I popped right up and gave an inspirational GTFO (Get Those Feelings Out)!

I think it worked, cause the next morning, they couldn’t leave quickly enough. I am sure they just wanted to get home and talk about their feelings!  Mission accomplished.

One last tip works really well in large settings.  This past weekend I took my first trip to a Chuck E. Cheese establishment. Oh my.  Well, there sure were a lot of folks there, and where there are a lot of folks, there are certain to be a lot of feelings. Too much stimulation can cause lots of confusing feelings, too.  Why just in a brief snippet of that visit I witnessed about seven melt downs, foot stomping, bells ringing, and crying galore.

I stood up on a table and screamed STFU.  That is a great method in a crowd to alert the folks you’re with to Start Those Feelings Up!  There’s nothing better for creating calm out of chaos than to stand on a chair and shout STFU to all within hearing distance.  Before you know it, dozens of blank and quiet faces will be staring up at you, grateful for your intervention and the opportunity you gave them to look at their feelings.

I hope all you gals learn from my hard earned mothering experience.  Some days, us moms just gots to say WTF?  If we don’t, well then, OMFG, the guilt will consume us.  If we could all just learn to LMFAO, our whole lives would be so much easier.

I hope you, too, learn to use my handy dandy system for feeling all the feelings and when you do, say, “Thanks, MTM! Because of you I can say WTF to my husband, OMFG to my kids and LMFAO in a healthy and productive manner!”  And whatever you do, don’t forget to GTFO sometimes.  If you don’t, someone will be reminding you to STFU.

And, just because I like to be helpful, I made you a cheat sheet so you can practice feeling all the feelings at home!  Happy feeling!

WTF

Note:  Grateful thanks to my husband for both helping with and inspiring this post.  Whenever I’m feeling down, I ask myself, “WWJD?,”  cause I know my Jeremy has all the answers.

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