But I Want My Kids To Be Proud Of Me

Being a parent is hard.  In fact, I think if we had full disclosure beforehand, most of us would balk.  Parents put in long hours for little reward.  We clean up vomit and snot and poop with not so much as a "thank you" from the little tyrants that call us "mom" and "dad".  It's way harder than I imagined it would be (back when I was young and knew everything).

Sure there are some moments that are fulfilling, like the first smile (although it's probably just gas) or the first time your baby says, "mama" ( although probably because they want food or something), or those first wobbly steps (probably toward something priceless and breakable), or when they graduate from high school (Yes!  We finally made it!).  But the vast majority of our parenting careers will be spent doing what I think of as drudge work.  Drudge work includes the endless diaper changes, the countless loads of laundry, the boo-boos bandaged, the thousands of reminders to tie their shoes, the pain of helping with Algebra homework.  It's the day to day task of parenting that make up a good 90% of our contribution to raising human beings that are fit to venture out into society.  It's thankless, it's exhausting, and it's anything but glamorous.

After a while, we kinda learn to do this drudge work blindfolded.  It doesn't take a lot of gray matter to do this stuff.  I'm pretty sure a monkey could do it (or if you've got the income, a nanny working for slightly more than minimum wage).  But there's the really big stuff, too.  Things that are tough but necessary.  Separate from the drudge work, but stuff that is about as fun as oral surgery without anesthesia.   Like helping your teenage son deal with the heartache of a nasty relationship breakup (Given the choice, I'd choose the oral surgery.  Although, I would have gone through a dozen oral surgeries to have spared him the pain.)

The point is, the really cool, fun, fulfilling stuff that we dream parenting should be are few and far between.  (I mean like, from here to Jupiter far between).  And in between, is crammed all of this not-so-cool, not-so-fun, not-so-fulfilling stuff.

Parenting is an awfully thankless job.  In fact, sometimes it's downright wretched and miserable.  I completely understand why parents might need to seek fulfillment and a sense of appreciation outside of their home, because they aren't likely to find it from their offspring, which are too busy being demanding of our time and financial resources to hand out words of encouragement.

A few days ago, I ran into a friend of mine, a mom with more than the average number of children (by some standards a large family).  On more than one occasion we had commiserated about moody teenagers and other such things parents console each other over.  She announced to me that she had returned to school pursuing a degree in something-or-other, engaged in some form of higher education.

"I just want my kids to be proud of me," she told me.

Ok.  Sounds like a noble pursuit, doesn't it?  And perhaps it is.  But something about that statement nagged at me in the back of brain.  It just didn't sit right for some reason.  And then right in the middle of simultaneously stirring dinner, telling one kid to take out the trash and another to be nice to his sister, it hit me...

It's not the job of my children to be my cheerleaders.  It's my job to be theirs.

It's not their job to be proud of me.  It's my job to be proud of them.

Yeah, folding laundry, and preparing gourmet peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and making sure they wash behind their ears,  and reminding them to walk (not run) indoors and to remember their manners and not to ride the dog like a small horse....these aren't things that are supposed to make them feel pride in their mother.  Neither is tucking them in at night, or reading bedtime stories, or holding their hand while they cry over some monstrous hurt.  And cheering them on during a little league game, or posting their report cards or awesome artwork to the front of the refrigerator aren't supposed to invoke a sense of pride either (not a sense of pride in their parents, anyway.  Hopefully, a sense of pride in themselves, however).

But maybe it will make them feel loved and valuable.  Maybe they will think of everything that mom puts up with and realize that I think they are worth it, every temper tantrum and broken vase and slammed door.  Perhaps when life gets tough (and it inevitably will), because I set aside my own comfort or my own pursuits to be there and smile and hug them and love them unconditionally, they will feel a sense of personal worth. Because I truly treasure them above my own life.  They are that important and lustrous and magnificent to me.

Someday, when these little midgets are all grown up and (hopefully) contributing members of society, they will be proud of THEMSELVES.  Then I will feel like I have done my job.

Don't Let Consumerism Eat Your Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is Thursday. (You probably know this unless you inhabit a dwelling tucked under a rock somewhere.  And if you do, more power to you, 'cause I'm a little jealous.)  Thanksgiving marks the beginning of both my favorite and absolute least favorite time of the year...the Christmas season.

Ah Christmastime...that beautiful time of year where we can cozy up around a fireplace, sip hot chocolate, and enjoy the warmth of family and deep friendships.  Because it tends to be cold outside we seem to appreciate the warmth that is inside just a little more than we usually do.  The warmth of a home-cooked meal.  The warmth of family ties and traditions passed down through generations.  The warmth of roasted marshmallows and smiling happy children.  The warmth of wool socks and comfortable sweaters.

The season makes me truly thankful for all of the wonderful blessings in my life.  In that regard it's pretty appropriate that the season kick-off with a great family holiday like Thanksgiving.  Thanksgiving might be the ultimate family holiday...a holiday filled with murmured prayers of thanks by family gathered to break bread together.  It's a time to sit back and count blessings...real blessings.

If I could have all of this without the ugly side of Christmas, I would be a happy human being.

Ugly side of Christmas?  What the heck are you talking about?  There's nothing ugly about Christmas.  Christmas is all joy, and peace on earth, and goodwill to humanity...

Oh, how I wish it were so.  But Christmas has a darker side, and it feels like that darker side grows darker and more difficult to resist every year.  With Christmas comes the Christmas shopping season, and fetid stench of consumerism.

People spending money they don't have on things they don't need (often to impress people they don't even like).  Because it's what we're supposed to do this time of year.  It's called "the joy of giving"...but it gives us little joy compared to the eventual misery of the debt that is incurred (indenturing us to our banking and credit card masters).

In this sense, perhaps Thanksgiving is also the perfect start to the consumer season.  What better way to prepare for the season of excess than to gorge ourselves on a feast of thousands of calories that we will most likely regret in the morning (and if not by morning, certainly by New Year's Day).

After the exorbitance that is our Turkey Day meal,  people venture out en masse to big box retail hell-holes, risking life and limb to "save" a few bucks on the latest gaming system or smart phone or other trivial trinket the manufacturers have programmed us to believe that we "need".  Like cattle drunk on capitalist hysteria, fattened and fed, they wait in line and lumber through the gates in some ritualistic running of the bulls, trampling one another in the process.  All of their thanksgiving hushed and forgotten under the cries of consumerism.  Spend, spend, spend!  Buy, buy, buy!

In the very spirit of consumerism, which...well...consumes...Black Friday was not enough.  Consumerism, like the cannibal that it is, is currently attempting to eat Thanksgiving.  The spending spree begins earlier and earlier every year, with many retailers open early on Thanksgiving Day.  (Of course no one really noticed,  They were too busy fighting over buy one get one free sweaters.)  Nothing is sacred.  That's why little old ladies get trampled.  Consumerism is nothing if not selfish and destructive.

And who are we trying to impress with all of those flashy new toys anyway?

Here's a novel idea.  Instead of cutting Thanksgiving dinner short to stampede out to the nearest mall, instead of throwing money into shiny new iPhones and Xbox Ones, just stay right were you are.  Have another piece of mom's pie.  Play some cards with your family.  Start a game of touch football in the yard.  These are the things that will matter to you in ten years (by which time the technology that inspired you to go out and hunt for the best deals will be long since obsolete).

Create memories instead of debt.  Give gifts that are thoughtful and heartfelt (maybe even handmade) rather than expensive.  Even better, give the gift of your time, especially to your children.  Because the best things in life aren't things at all.  The best thing is life itself.  I intend to live it to it's fullest and that does NOT include the consumer orgy that is Black Friday and it's subsequent Christmas sales.

Somebody pass me another piece of pie.

8 Things My Children Should NOT Do Before Their Mother Has Had Her Coffee

Dear Sweet Children of Mine,

By now you must know that your mother is NOT a morning person.  (Mornings effing SUCK!)

For your personal safety I have composed this list of things you should not do before I have had my coffee. (Oh, glorious nectar of the gods, which doth bring me consciousness in an otherwise stressful world!) I can no longer be held responsible for what befalls you should you disregard the list.  You have been forewarned!

1. Do NOT stomp up and down the stairs like a crazed herd of elephants...no wild wooly mammoths might be a better metaphor.  Even a herd of wild elephants could not make as much noise as you, my darling children, first thing in the morning.

2. Do NOT ask me what is for breakfast.  You are no longer small incapable toddlers.  I abdicate responsibility for feeding you first thing in the morning.  I fed you dinner last night, and that was less than 24 hours ago!  I do not care what you eat for breakfast.  Scavenge what you may.  Cold leftover pizza and mayonnaise sandwiches are viable alternatives should we be out of cold cereal.

3. Do NOT ask me what is for dinner.  (Yes, faithful readers, this happens first thing in the morning with frightening regularity.)  I refuse to think about breakfast before I've had my coffee, and I most certainly will NOT be thinking about dinner before coffee.  Just because you are in the midst of puberty and you have basically become a walking stomach does not mean I have to think about dinner so very far in advance.  Keep playing those cards, and you'll end up with more cold pizza and mayonnaise sandwiches.  Do not push me!

4. Do NOT turn on the television.  I have no stomach for Sponge Bob or the Disney channel before I am amply caffeinated. (I really don't have the stomach for it post-coffee either, but caffeine generally reminds me that I love you and should not shout obscenities.)

5. Do NOT sit behind me and clip your fingernails.  Also do not chew your mayonnaise sandwiches with disgusting gusto.  There will be no whistling, or "beat boxing", or other annoying noises.  This includes singing One Direction songs.  This ESPECIALLY includes singing ANY One Direction songs.

6. Do NOT inform me of injustices, real or imaginary.  Do not tell me your brother called you "retarded".  Do not tell me your brother hogged the last of the bread and now you only have mayonnaise (minus the sandwich) for breakfast.  Do not tell me your brother locked you in the bathroom for 4 whole minutes.  Do not tell me that your brother tried to push you down the stairs.....On second thought, we'll just lock your brother somewhere until I've had my coffee.

7.  Do NOT allow non-family members into the house.  I realize this only happens on weekends when your friends aren't in school and you want to play, but no one unrelated to me should have to witness the mess-of-a-human being that is your mother before she's had her coffee.  Also you are much more likely to engage in #5 while your friends are here, and I refuse to be held responsible for what may happen should that occur.

8.  Do NOT tiptoe up behind me to peer over my shoulder just to see how close to empty my coffee mug is.  This is only going to piss me off.  It may even make me need an extra cup of wonderful consciousness-bringing caffeine, and then you are just going to have to wait longer...so just don't do it!

Do not fret Fruit of My Womb, your mother will generally be back to her normal, patient, positive self after one mug (two if it was a particularly long night involving kids with stomach bugs or horrific nightmares).  Just allow your mother a few minutes of peace until she has the mental and emotional fortitude to deal with the crises of the day.  Thank you in advance for your patience and cooperation.

Sincerely,
Your Loving, Yet Un-caffeinated Mother

Do What You Love...And Sometimes What You Don't

Today has just been one of those days.

I woke up with a horribly stuffy nose and killer sinus headache.  I had to walk to work in the cold and rain.  The internet was down at home for most of the day.  Dinner was a disaster.  It's still cold and rainy and I still have a killer headache and all I want to do is curl up in the fetal position under my covers and wake up tomorrow in a better mood.

It's amusing to me that just when I make a decision to do something, it seems like the Universe conspires to throw stuff in my direction to make me change my mind.  (This time it's my decision to blog every day for 21 days and I didn't even make it to day 3 when Mr Universe tosses nasty weather, a lack of internet connection, and the worst headache I've had in recent history to make me want to say. "Screw you!" to my resolve.)

But here I am at 10:42 PM headache and all.

I've read a lot lately about happiness.  According to some schools of thought, you should do more of what you enjoy and less of what makes you miserable.  "Do what you love" say the happiness gurus.  And while I agree with that to a large extent.  There are a few exceptions.

I hate to write.

There.  I said it.  I'm grumpy through the whole process.  I dread it when I know I have a deadline coming up.  I find it emotionally exhausting, and stressful.  Usually because I'm overly critical of my own writing, and I probably care far too much about other people's opinions of it.

But I love having written.

I enjoy the feeling of accomplishment.  I enjoy seeing a them developed through words I've written.  I enjoy hearing from others that my words have made them think, or challenged them, or inspired them.

Basically I hate the process, but I love the result.  Kind of weird, right?  Not so much.

I also hate cleaning my house.

I absolutely hate every second of it.  I especially hate mopping floors.  I despise washing dishes.  I loathe folding laundry.  I can generally think of a million other things I'd much rather be doing.

But I love a clean house.  There's little I enjoy more than walking into a clean kitchen first thing in the morning to fix my coffee.  I enjoy propping my feet up on the couch in my tidy living room just to read a book.  I like being able to find neatly folded clothes stacked neatly in dresser drawers.

Basically I hate the process, but love the result.

So should I abandon cleaning house because it's something I don't enjoy?  Should I quit trying to control the dust bunnies and the clutter and the million little messes that a family of six makes?  If I did, I miss out on the comfort and peace I feel when the house is clean.

And this is the same reason I right.

With a little time and thought I could probably think of a dozen other examples, but right now I'm tire and it's late and it's raining and I still have this major headache.  So I'm going to bed, content that I have written today.  But I will try to think of this truth next time I consider skipping an activity because it's not something that I enjoy.  It might just bring me happiness in the long run anyway.

Boisterous

In our house I feature a "word of the day".  It's really my feeble attempt to force my children to have an impressive vocabulary.  But while I encourage them to use beautiful expressive words like "eloquent", "intrepid", and "serendipity" they still choose to use their own favorite descriptors like "tight" and "epic", although my favorite is the made-up "sarcasmic".

Today's word of the day is boisterous.  Today's word makes me a little sad.

There was a time when this house was constantly boisterous.  With 4 children and 2 dogs, how could it not be.  The children were always underfoot.  Always climbing the furniture...and the counters...and the walls even.  They were always squealing, and laughing, and exclaiming with delight.  And yes, they argued and fussed at one another when someone didn't "play right".

This morning my house is anything but boisterous.

The youngest (on the verge of turning 9) has run off to a neighbor's house to play.  The two middle children are quietly reading, each immersed in their own worlds, headphones blaring their own music.  The oldest is cooking his own breakfast.  At 16 he doesn't need (or want) my supervision or input.

Don't get me wrong.  I like the calm.  I need the calm.  I dreamed of the calm for years  (years I had to sneak into closets with chocolate bars just for a few seconds of peace).

But I miss their exuberance.  Their delight in the small things.  The vibrancy that filled this house in my children's younger years has faded to a dull glow.  And surprisingly...I miss it...a lot.

Of course, older more experienced mothers told me in their infinite wisdom that I would miss it.  But I hadn't given it much thought, I hadn't even realized it was missing...until that silly word of the day brought it to the forefront of my mind.

Makes me want to grab each child and hold them close for a little too long.  And smell their hair and feel their hearts beat.  But that would be a little creepy, so I'll just tousle their hair in passing, look them in the eyes, and maybe slap them a high five.

Snowed In

Yesterday, I packed up the kids and the van and drove 150 miles in the pouring rain and gusty wind. The plan was to spend a few days at my parents' house in Hampton, VA. We were going to go fishing and meet Jennifer and her boys for the special homeschool days at Colonial Williamsburg. Today sees us snowed in in this tiny little house with four kids and no appropriate cold weather, snow-playing clothing. And the snow isn't going anywhere, either. The high temperature today is only supposed to be about 30 degrees. How long can the kids handle watching CMT and old cowboy movies? I don't know. So far so good, but it's only 10:00 in the morning.
Even though my plans have been foiled by this crummy winter weather, I'm still happy to be here. I haven't seen my parents since Christmas. While I know that isn't a long time in the grand scheme of things, I don't normally go longer than about six weeks without a visit of some kind. Plus I've felt a sincere need to just get away. Get away from home and bills and my daily routine. Get away from the laundry and housework and general stress. It's funny how I always feel the need to run back to this tiny little house where I grew up. I haven't called this place home in over 16 years, but I nearly cried when I walked through the front door yesterday. It's like my soul let out a great big sigh of relief. This house is one great big refuge. It's always represented safety. Plus I know that the two people here are always on my side, always love me no matter how big I screw up or how big a mess I find myself in. I can relax here and really let my hair down. And as long as we stay away from the subjects of religion and politics, there probably won't be any casualties.

That's it for now. I apologize if someone screws up your coffee while I'm away. ;o) Everything will return to normal on Wednesday. Now I'm off to wrap my kids in plastic garbage bags, shove socks on their hands, and send them out into the snow.

Oh yeah, no wild parties while I'm away, Keith.