Bath night.
I love and hate, at the same time, bath night. I’m not a parent who (and I imagine I’ll get some flames for this--) bathes her children every night. I just don’t see the point. It is a waste of water (given that the majority of the world is in such desperate need of clean, potable water), and kids, generally speaking, don’t get dirty enough to warrant a bath every night. They just don’t. (Pubertal humanoid forms, that I’ll someday call my children, on the other hand, definitely need a daily bath—with soap. However, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.) Bath night, for the kids, is a whole lot of fun. I find it boring and tedious. Therefore I love and hate it—I love that the kids have so much fun, I hate that I have anything but fun.
Sunday, the bath scene went like this:
It is about 5:45pm, the children have been fed, and they’re winding down from running around in the front yard. I look over at my beautiful little girl, and I realize, with dismay, I can no longer ignore the spattering of mud on her legs and feet nor the streaks of bright blue Tempera paint that is tattooed up her arms, and across her face. It is inevitable: she is in desperate need of a bath. I groan inwardly, not because I know how much she loves splashing in the tub, but about the pitch and frequency of the howls that will emit from her rosy little mouth when we do the deed she dreads most in life (more so than getting immunizations, if you can believe it): washing her hair. Ugh. This is one of those tasks where I wish for Harry Potter’s magic wand to materialize and ‘magic’ the trouble away.
I resign myself to the task at hand. I gently round up my little chicks, put their containers of magic bubble soap on the garage shelves, and we head inside to remove shoes, clothes, and other mysterious pre-school paraphernalia en route to the tub.
Then I smell it.
My mommy olfactory sensors don’t lie: it is the nostril-curling aroma of a misplaced bowel movement. I ask the Peanut, “Did you poop in your panties?”
“Yes.” She at least has the grace to look sheepish as she informs me of her accident.
We move our production to the bathroom to clean up her mess. Accidents happen, I remind myself. I’m just looking forward to when they happen a little less frequently.
Then, as if to show solidarity with his sister, Chubber decides that it is imperative, at that exact moment, to have a big, poopy blowout in his diaper. What a mess. As it is his custom to drop a messy bomb in his pants, and then 5 minutes after I change him, make another equally messy b.m., I decide to let him marinate (forgive me, I’ve earned yet another ‘bad mommy’ award) for the 5 minutes it will take me to fill the tub, so that I can change him and then immediately get him squeaky clean.
Life is going along good—well as good as it gets with two kids with poopy pants at the same time, anyway. The tub is filling; both kids are happily running around the house half-naked, squealing with glee (what is it that nothing makes little kids as happy as when they are free to run around the house indecently?), and then CRASH!
I stick my head into the bathroom to see the tub-toy net that is generally suction-cupped to the walls of the bathtub has crashed into the tub. This is inconvenient to me because I like to wash and shampoo the kids then I let them have their toys to splash around with (otherwise I’d wind up more soapy and wet than the bathing beauties in the tub, and they’d end their bath without ever having wound up washed). I heave a big sigh and begin to stick the net back to the side of the wall and reach down into the tub to pick up a rubber squirty-frog just in time to see a very large, a very nasty, and not to mention poisonous, aggressive house spider thrashing madly about in the water.
It must have been hiding in the ‘dark’ of the toys. I’m happy this happened before the kids were in the tub, but I’m also mortified.
I. Do. Not. Like. Spiders. I loathe spiders. I am a big baby around spiders and my instant, gut-reaction, is to prance around the bathroom on my tippy toes shaking my hands and arms having arachnoleptic fits. That is how much I like spiders.
Now, my issue has become plural, as in, issues: 1. I have one nearly naked girl running about the house tearing toys out of their bins and merrily strewing them across the living room as if they’re pixie dust; 2. A nearly two-year old boy who is easily found wherever he goes by the putrid skunk-trail that follows him about like a fog, and lastly 3. I have an icky spider in the tub that I have to figure out how to get rid of before it climbs up on a toy and jumps on me, or it climbs on me as I’m trying to get rid of it. Fun.
Can we stop having so much fun yet? Please? I’m all fun-ed out.
Oh, yeah, I nearly forgot: My plan of arachnid attack (to scoop up the spider and toss it into the warmly waiting jaws of the porcelain god for flushing away to Kingdom Come) won’t work, because I have nasty, dirty, My Little Pony poopy panties soaking in the toilet in my feeble attempt to get some of the poop off with as little scrubbing as possible.
Can it get any ickier?
So, I do the arachnoleptic fit thing a few more times, finally resign myself to saying “screw it!” and scoop the panties out of the toilet and fling them into the trash can in the garage (with hopes that Peanut doesn’t see a favored pair of pony panties in the trash—because then I’ll have to rescue them…. shuddering just thinking of that episode). Then, I try to scoop the spider (whom I think, at this point has mercifully drowned in the tub) out with the bathroom cup (think little, bitty) and the arachnid comes frighteningly back to life—the bathtub resurrection, Lord have Mercy! I run to the kitchen to get one of my tall drinking glasses.
I am utterly creeped out at this point, and have the heebie-jeebies, but I screw up my courage and scoop up the spider in one Swan Lake-graceful move, and slam down the toilet seat lid and flush my uninvited guest away.
Oh, how I do love bath night.
Whoever Murphy was, he had me in mind when he coined his famous phrase. In the end, the kids wound up washed, and ‘factory-fresh’. After all the fun, I slipped them into their little beds, snug and safe, blowing them kisses for sweet dreams and collapsed into my favorite arm chair. As I did so, B.J. walks in from his motorcycle ride and asks, “So, how was your evening?”
I certainly had a tale to tell this evening.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Rub-a-dub-dub....
Friday, July 20, 2007
I'm so totally High School Cool
Thursday, July 19, 2007
For Sale
I decided (subject to change, obviously) that when I created this blog that I wouldn't run adverts. We all see enough adverts to fill us up forever, but I didn't say to myself "no personal advertisements." Not that I was thinking I'd sell anything on-line any time soon, but here it goes...
I'm trying to sell two things:
1) my old car
2) my old clothes dryer. ---SWEET!! I just sold this one. Yowsa! Less than 24 hours, and it is gone. Now I just need the same pixie-dust, or karma, or whatever with the car... (this is at 5:56pm on Thurs. Jul. 19).
I have them listed on Craig's List. Here's the links.
1997 Ford Escort LX It is in great shape. It is just too small for my family to comfortably fit us all into it any more (and I have the mommy-van, now, too). I'm the second owner. Originally my Dad purchased it from the Lincoln Dealer (in Eugene). It was a demo car that only had 2,000 miles on it. Then I got it from my Dad, making me the second owner. If you know anyone who needs a great, well-taken care of car that gets 38MPG (city!) could you let me know?
Amana Commercial Quality Electric Dryer w/ Electronic Moisture Sensor This is also in excellent condition. I had Sears replace the heating element last year, and it does what it is supposed to do--dry clothes. The reason why I'm getting rid of it, is that I have a new dryer and I don't have a second hook-up. Again, if you know anyone, please send them my way.
Thanks!
Monday, July 16, 2007
Sunriver
Well, here I am, at last, with time to write about our little holiday in the mountains. In a nutshell: we had a blast, and we definitely got the most 'bang for our buck.' We were up in Sunriver from Friday through Wednesday--our first real 'vacation' since Chubbers was born.
Our Holiday week started out on a funky note. But, then, when you're talking about me, would it start out any other way? We had hoped B.J. would luck out and get Thursday, July 5Th off, so that we could head up on the Fourth of July--but no such luck. Ya win some, you lose some, and with that we packed up the van on Thursday evening/Friday morning and were about ready to head out of the driveway (quite literally, we were all buckled in, engine running) and B.J. gets a call on his cell phone.
'Oh crap.' I thought to myself. Something has come up--the house caught fire, the roads were washed out, lemmings are falling from the sky (hey, when I panic, I do it up right). Nothing so dramatic as all that, thankfully. Just an hour and a half detour added to our drive to swing by the in-laws house and pick up the accidentally forgotten pool passes for our vacation (they were going to be dropped off at the Sunriver house...but life got in the way). No biggie. There's a reason why I have a built-in DVD player in my van--PARENTAL SANITY!
En route to getting the passes in Eugene, my meticulously mapped out Letterboxing (click the link, and it will fill you in--yes, I keep saying I'll write a blog, I've been too lazy so far...) route got all messed up--as in the stops were off of HWY 20/22 and we would be driving up HWY 58 to get to our destination. I decide this won't work, and, besides, after my raspberry mocha from the Evil Empire I had to pee, and thus the Peanut and I detoured to the U. of O. to a) go pee, and b) print out a new letterboxing agenda that worked with HWY 58. (Yes, indeed, I am insanely obsessed with my hobby.).
It was interesting to see the changes at my Alma Mater. It has been a total of 7 years since I received my B.A., and 5 years since my Master's degree. The exterior of the university hasn't much changed, but I noticed subtle interior changes; changes that made me feel old. That surely sucked. I had to ask the librarian for help (how on earth do you print out stuff anymore...?). But, with a little patience we were 'good to go.' With new letterboxing agenda and little Peanut in hand, we walked across campus, met B.J. outside of MacArthur Court, and yo-ho-ho and away we go.
The drive is beautiful, and we've forgotten how green and lush the vegetation is on the way up to Willamette Pass. It had been a full 4 years since we had driven to Sunriver via 58. Ti
me flies when you're having babies.
We stop in LaPine to do a little letterboxing/hiking. It is good for the kiddos (and us) to stretch and move around; we reach our box and are rewarded with views like this: The view of the Deschutes river from the hidden letterbox location at "Big Tree" (incidentally, a 1,000 foot tall ponderosa pine tree--'big tree' as a site name seemed a trifle understated).
When we make it to Sunriver we immediately dump off our stuff and head to the pool. It is hotter than a frying pan, and we're all hot, dusty, tired, and in serious need of some refreshing. The pool definitely does the trick. In fact, we spend every 
afternoon for each day of our holiday at either the North or South pool--miraculously (and thanks to a neurotic sunblock-a-holic) nobody but B.J. (who refuses to wear sunblock) gets burned. Yippee! I have accomplished my personal goal of no sun burnt babies and very little tan lines. I just love the new continuous spray sunblocks--I can even get my own back with them, and they dry almost instantly. (Yes, this is me in my swimsuit from hell.)
We did a lot of walking around in Sunriver, but the majority of our walking around and hiking 
came in the form of letterboxing. This is the insane (and utterly fun) letterboxing itinerary we followed: Pilot Butte--I just love this picture I 
took of of Peanut and Chub-chub on the top of the butte:
Peanut climbed up on the post all by herself, with no prompting from me, and as you can see Chubbers is in the dirt--something that would be repeated again, and again, during this trip, prompting us to nickname Chubbers "Pigpen" in honor of the chronically filthy Peanuts character.
We also went to sites at: Shevlin Park Covered Bridge (in Tumalo); Sawyer Park: #1 (couldn't find box 2 or 3--very frustrating); Hollinshead Park; Widgi Creek (next-door to the Seventh 
Mountain Resort) and Cascade Lakes Scenic Byway.
Another box we found was called Quacker Backer Central Oregon Where I waited with the kiddos in the van since it was out in the brush (we're talking no paved roads, here) and not developmentally appropriate for a 1.5 year old and a 4 year old to tag-along. While waiting I got out of the van periodically to look to see if B.J. had headed back yet (he was far enough out I couldn't see or hear him) and in the process, brain-trust that I can be, [I am not thinking of wild animals out here] I startle and in turn am startled by an 800lb. ELK! I about peed my pants (I had to go already and was doin' the dance) with fright.
It was at that point I, after I recovered my wits, I began looking at the various animal tracks in the dust and mud where we were, and only then did I notice the abundance of Elk and Deer tracks (cool) and (gulp) Lynx tracks! I could hardly wait for B.J. to get back--all the while having visions of him being mauled violently after unknowingly startling a sleeping wild cat while looking for a letterbox. In the end, no harm, no foul. It turned out to be a really cool and really, really, remotely placed stamp.
We had several other 'attempted' letterboxes--boxes we tried to locate but later found out I missed finding one by 5' (grrr! how frustrating) and also finding out a number of the boxes were missing (double grrr! it would be nice if the box owners would take the 'clue' out of circulation if they aren't available!!).
One of our adventures that resulted from chasing down a missing box was visiting the Lava Cast Forest. When we embarked on this journey, we didn't realize that it involved going off-road to 
get to the hike. Off-road. In. A. Mini-van. (secretly, I think that this was so totally exciting!). If I still had had my Explorer, going off-road, down dirt trails, over curbs, through small rivers--no big deal. But, this was in a van. Pretty gutsy. The picture doesn't look too bad, but just imagine an old-time aluminum wash board. Yep, you know the kind. Now, apply that zig-zag pattern, horizontally with 3-4" grooves to the road. For NINE miles. Then you have an idea. The kids had a blast. Little kids love to go "uhhhhh" (a monotonous tone with the voice) when going over a few bumps in suburbia, well, they had the 
time of their lives going 'uhhhh' for 9 miles each way. B.J. and I laughed so hard. Where is Bill Cosby, when you want him? We ended up not finding the box (the author informed me it was missing) but the sites, and geology we learned about was worth it--me being the dyed-in-the-wool-geek that I am, I just ate it up. (I'm going to ROCK! at Jeopardy! some day, all because I went to the Lava Cast Forest). We saw where the Lava flow had gone around the trunks of trees and, miraculously made 'casts' of the trees. Pretty cool beans.
We also went on a wild goose chase at Newberry National Volcanic Monument. It was o.k. 
though, because, again (me being a geek) we learned a ton about our local geology, and got in a couple of cool hikes (Big Obsidian Flow & Newberry Crater). The views were spectacular.
We spent the entire week together, as a family. It was fun, relaxing, and a good way for all of us to connect. However, like all good things, this too, had to come to an end.
We (B.J. and I) have been coming up to Sunriver together for the past 11 years (B.J. has been coming since he was 4 or 5 years old). We have shared a lot of good times together at the Sunriver house, we've grown, changed, and learned a lot. So, it was with bittersweet tears that we said goodbye this time. This visit was our last visit, ever, to this house. The family has decided that the house has served its purpose and it is time to move on. And thus has ended another chapter in our lives together: Goodbye Sunriver. 
We made the most of it, and it was a good run.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
...She did what?
From down the hallway I hear my loving husband, the father of my children call out:
"She crapped a banana."
"She did what?" I question, with a note of horror in my voice.
"You heard me. She crapped a big banana."
I go into the bathroom to see what the heck he is talking about. I peer into the white porcelain throne that my daughter is perched on; my little girl beams up at me with her dazzling white smile and says, "Look mama, I pooped a banana!" Indeed, there is a plantain shaped bolus of fecal matter floating just below the water's surface.
I am utterly mortified at this point, yet at the same time trying not to start laughing hysterically.
Yes. This is the actual conversation that took place this evening as B.J. and I got ready to put The Peanut to bed. And, no, this is not a totally out-of-the-ordinary getting-ready-for-bed conversation. I wish it weren't, but it is.
A brief history of poop:
The Peanut was born almost a full month early, tiny, angry, squalling, and completely against eating-anything. As a result, she was jaundiced, chronically dehydrated, and lost a lot of weight (which is saying something, as she was only 5lbs. 12oz. at birth). She hated eating, it was an hourly battle, we measured what she ate in CC's (until she was a few months old). It is a fact: When you don't eat, you don't poop. End of story.
Continue on to the recent past: She still hates eating. The child exists on air, I swear (why is it that I can't quit shoveling food into my face, and I can't get her to put anything in her mouth? God definitely has a good sense of humor, or irony, if nothing else).
As a result of her hatred of food, she eats a fairly limited diet--mainly white, starchy foods, cheese and dairy. Oh, yeah, and applesauce. All of these foods are highly binding, in a colon-plugged-up-like-the-hoover-damn kind of way. Needless to say, Peanut is chronically constipated. Always has been. This kid never crapped more than a few hard, dried out rabbit pellet sized turds at a time, and sometimes only once a week. It was horrible.
If it wasn't already obvious, our lives revolve around poop. (Now, I know you can die in peace, knowing that our household is so obsessed with bowel movements.) People who don't poop are extremely edgy, angry, and in a generally Genghis Khan type of mood all the time. I don't know about you, but we don't enjoy picnicking with Genghis Khan on PMS [Christian name: Peanut], so we strive toward getting Peanut to poop so she will be the lovely, adorable, girl I know she is (instead of the murderous rage-inducing mini-tyrant she likes to pretend she is).
For the longest time Peanut was on prescription laxatives. For a Loonnnng time. From the age of about 18-20 months (I forget, isn't that terrible?) until about age 4 she's been on the following high dosage (would make a brick have a b.m.) laxatives: Lactulose, Miralax, and various pre-G.I. surgery type laxatives.
Eew.
Anything and everything we tried to get our child to poop. Most folks could get their kids to eat some greens, or other high-fiber foods and get past the non-poopage issue. Not our little Peanut.
Now back to the present. We've been working with a special Chinese massage study called Quigong. It works to alleviate some Autistic symptoms in kids, and works to fix their bowels. In the case of Peanut, it was a total success in the B.M. department; our little pooper now drops the kiddos off at the pool daily--without any medication. This is like party time in our household. A la Kool and the Gang: Let's celebrate good times, come on! No more icky laxatives for our little girl. The only down-side to it is that Peanut still thinks pooping is going to be this horrendously traumatic event (--can you imagine not having a b.m. for a week or more, and then finally having one? The sheer diameter of the things that would exit her body make me shudder to think of them). I can't blame her for being anxious. So, we still have poop drama.
Most evenings go like this: Peanut gets her jammies on, goes pee, and then we have her sit and relax so that she can 'go.' This is usually followed by screaming, protesting, and the ever present "I DON'T HAVE TO GO POOP!!!!!!!!" We still have her 'try.' (she used to scream "I can't!" but I couldn't stand hearing a 4 year old tell me "I can't" so we've retrained her to say "I tried")
It is usually 3-10 minutes of her complaining, whining, and/or screaming. Then it comes: "Moooomm, I went POOP!!!". And we see she has indeed gone poop, and gone A LOT.
So, you've already read tonight's conversation. I'm sure that someday, in retrospect, we're all going to laugh and laugh about this little 'poop' issue. But right now, with the exception of tonight's ultra-descriptive b.m. most nights it is an uphill battle.
Nobody ever told me that becoming a parent would involve a degree in poop. The things I talk about with my (mom) girlfriends; the things I publish in cyberspace. If someone had told me, before becoming a parent, I'd write a blog entry on crap (no pun intended) without hesitation or embarrassment I would have told them they were full of it. Oh, how things change.
Home again, all in the same day
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Singles
After my last post, this one is a bit more light-hearted. *sighs of relief* Sometimes It is so cathartic to whine about something, get it out, and then move on. Anyhow...
B.J. and I got to experience life in the single lane. The single lane, you ask? Well, I'll tell ya--life sans fils for a whole weekend (right about here, you should be hearing the Hallelujah Chorus).
Yes. That's right. We spent an entire weekend ALONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Holy cow, Batman, would someone knock me upside the head with a Louisville Slugger to see if I'm dreaming?
A little background: (cue the violins) We have not had an entire weekend to ourselves in approximately 4 years, 2 months, 7 days and some hours, but who's counting? With the introduction of my beautiful little girl into our lives, we ceased to be a duo, and (duh) became a trio. Great, you say. Congratulations. You had a baby, feel special yet? Well, yes. We love having kids. I cannot imagine my life without them. However, every once in a while they get on ma' nerves. I did get a 'two day break' (thanks to B.J.'s aunt for watching the Peanut) when I gave birth to the Chublet--however I don't really count natural childbirth as a vacation. If you do, then I thoroughly recommend you see some sort of mental health professional because, clearly, your mind is warped or you're having a permanent acid-trip back flash. Seek help.
So, to continue on with our sob story, most folks have relatives who take their kids off of their hands once in a while (I have a dear friend who gets a week off from kids every couple of months, I love her, yet if pygmies attacked her and began to violently stab her with their tiny little spears I might hesitate jumping in to save her...just kidding. I'm happy she gets a break. I live vicariously through her). We would likely have said relatives, but we are, sadly, without grandmothers. Everyone knows grandmas are the ones who really love to take on the kids and spoil them utterly rotten and send the steaming carcasses of your children back to you acting like the wild children of Borneo (revenge, I gather?). But, not in our cases. Ma, why'd you have to go and meet our maker so soon?
Back to the present.
We had a whole weekend.
Alone. 
For a short time I ran around in circles, blindly bumping into walls like a demented chicken with her head cut off.
I didn't quite know what to do with myself. B.J. with his zen-like demeanor
calmed me down and suggested we go to a movie. A night time movie. So, we did. Just. Like. That. (scratching my head here, that is what we used to do all the time, if I remember correctly) We saw Pirates of the Caribbean: World's End [on a side note, Johnny Depp is just so beautiful]. Then, we went out for tapas and soda (If I'd had a beer I would have fallen asleep at the table-lame, I know. But, I don't generally stay up past 10:30pm on a late night). We sat there and ate our food in a leisurely manner. Talked quietly. Did not have to once threaten "If you aren't going to eat your food, we're going to go sit in the car while daddy and Chub-chub eat their dinners" (it sucks, but it works. I've only had to sit in the car with her a couple of times...). Who knew that boneless buffalo wings were ambrosia of the gods?Saturday we woke up late (read: 7:00am), ate a lite breakfast at home, and then loaded up in
the two-door sports car! YES!!! A two door Mitsubishi Eclipse. No mommy-van that seats 7 for us, instead we crammed ourselves (especially funny as B.J. is 6' 4" tall) into a tiny tuna-can on wheels and scooted to the coast. We drove from Lincoln City down to Florence. It was glorious. We sat in utter silence just absorbing one another's presence. We spent some time doing hikes in state parks and letterboxing, gaining like 11 stamps for the day (the best hike involved crawling 
along a downed tree below a section of HWY 101 that crossed a river--felt like we were Indiana Jones or something cool like that). We hiked up communication hill at Yaquina Head Lighthouse--what a spectacular view. The car almost got towed from the turnout that we parked at, even though there was no signage to prohibit it. We came down from our hike just in time to see the tow-truck pull up to take the car--a little bit of an adrenaline rush resulted in preventing the towing. It wound up 'all-good' with no mishaps. The lighthouse was gorgeous, and the views...for lack of better diction, utterly breath-taking.We bummed around in little local shops here and there, full of trinkets and junk, read that as totally and completely inappropriate for kids to enter. It was fun. We even ventured into a glass float shop, chock full of finely blown glass floats, thin glass sculpture, and miscellaneous glass artworks--just because we could.
We didn't hit Florence until about 9:30pm, and decided to head across 126 to Eugene. It was a fun drive. B.J. got to pretend he was on the autobahn (or something) and test out how well the Eclipse held the corners (I do believe that there are little crescent-shaped indentations in the passenger side arm-rest from my death grip as we careened through the corners--yes, I'm a big 'ol baby when it comes to speed). By the time we hit Eugene we were famished and stopped at a favorite place for some appetizers (was way too late for a heavy meal) to fortify us for our hour drive home.
We finally crashed, in our own bed, at about 12:30am. I hadn't been out that late in ages, and could barely keep my eyes open. It is funny to think that I used to stay out until 2, 3, 4am on a regular basis before we had kids. I could do it, I suppose, since I could sleep-in the next day until noon (aah...such memories. Now-a-days I consider 6:30am sleeping in. Ha ha.).
We concluded our weekend as singles by one last-ditch effort at romance--Sunday breakfast out, alone. The coffee was good, the food was sub-par (what I get for letting B.J. indulge in choosing a greasy spoon to eat at...) but it was the company that I was after. It was so nice, again, to eat our food s-l-o-w-l-y, look at one another and just 'be.'
I truly enjoyed the weekend. Big thanks to our friends K & P for taking on the monumental task of watching our rug rats. You allowed us to renew our spirits, our friendship, and get a much needed recharge. It, as I said to a friend of mine, is amazing what being on-call for 4 years straight can do to you. We so completely and totally needed this recharge. We're blessed to have good friends who love our kids and were willing to take them so we could be better parents and a better husband and wife to each other. And-gulp-they said they want to take the kids again for us, at least once, before the end of summer...
Hmm, I'm thinking this time (God and our friends willing it happens) maybe B.J. and I can fire-up our motorcycles....
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Seeking Absolution...
I normally try to make my posts more up-beat and cheerful--we all have enough drama in our own lives without anyone elses', but today I'm in a bad space. So, here it goes:
My kids are acting terribly, I'm tired and cranky, and I'm feeling pretty useless as a human being right now (can you hear the violins playing yet?).
When I'm in this space I think about social movements in history. The women's liberation movement is something that I think about quite often. Strange, but true. I often think that what my grandmother and mother have done for my generation is both good and very, very bad. The Women's Movement created the possibility of independence, a voice, and choices for women; yet it also took away that which we already had. I am grateful for what it accomplished in that I can go into most businesses, doctors' offices, or any other public place and be treated (mostly) in a fair and upright manner. I can complain and have my complaints heard, addressed, and changes made as a result of them. I can drive a car, vote, have a career, a family; I can have it all, thanks to the Women's Liberation Movement.
Or can I?
Today, I feel the crushing pressure closing in on me from all directions. Dolce et decorum est...said Wilfred Owen (one of my favorite poets, whose works were not discovered for the gems they are until well after his death). It is an old lie. You cannot possibly have it all. I cannot have it all, though try I may.
I had the luxury of being a Stay At Home Mother (S.A.H.M) for a year, after my son was born. I about went crazy the first few months--what the heck do you actually do with a toddler and a newborn all day long, with no help? I had never had the experience of being a REAL mother; I went back to work before my daughter turned 4 months old. I have felt extreme guilt over going to work so soon after Peanut was born because of the relief that I felt to be 'free' again. See, I couldn't wait to return to work. Working was so much easier than being a MOM. I got to love on my girl for an hour or so in the morning, and then whisk her off to my daycare provider (whom I absolutely adore--she is a fabulous human being who truly loves what she does) go to work and then pick her up at about 3:30pm. That left me with about 3 hours of being a MOM before Peanut went to bed. Truly, I was only a parent for 4ish hours a day.
That is not parenting.
Then, along came my Chubbers and I flat out told B.J. I would stay home for the year and be a mom. It was hard, but by the time my year was up, I was loathe to go back to work. I wanted to stay home with my babies. I wanted to be a MOM. I loved seeing all their changes and watching Chub-chub make all his milestones (Chubbers is a Typical child, v.s. Peanut having multiple developmental delays, not the leas of which is ASD). It was such a pure joy. It nearly crushed me to drop my babies off at the daycare and head to work.
Well, here it is, summer, and I am 'off' work for a couple of months. My children and I have to get used to each other again. Learn each others rhythms and needs. We're getting there. Slowly. Peanut is having a tough time adjusting. Her attitude just keeps getting worse. She is mean and nasty to her brother; she screams at me and and her brother, and her behavior is just 'ugly' overall. This makes me feel like crap. No, it make me feel like dog crap. Peanut tells me she wants her teacher. I'm glad, because it means she's having a good time at school. I'm also distraught because, she behaves nicely for the teacher and plays well with the kiddos, but for me she is a terror. I feel so ineffectual. I feel like she would prefer to be at the daycare and at school rather than be home. She has told me she doesn't want to 'go home' after school or other outings. How should I take this? What does it mean? Does she hate me? Is being home so terrible? I take it as she would rather be anywhere than with me. It probably isn't true, but on a day like today, that is how it feels.
Which brings me back to the fact that I can't have it all and that the Women's Movement had a dark side to it.
In the past women were at home, to keep house and to tend the children. Men went to work, and made a decent living wage. The roles were sex-stereotyped, but likely worked in most families (yes, I am aware of abuse, limitations, etc.). Today, women are expected to do all of the same jobs that they did before, just they're also expected to pull in a substantial paycheck to go along with it. The Second Shift details the ins and outs of a modern 'liberated' woman. I fall into that category. Men today make less money than they did 30 years ago (adjusted for inflation) and finding a decent job for them is more and more difficult. Women have bridged the gap far enough to make $.70 to every $1.00 a man makes. Men cannot support their families today as they were able to in the 1950's working a single (non college-degree) job. It is so unfair. Are we really further ahead than our great-grandmothers? It seems, to me, men and women are more depressed, more angry, and their quality of life is much lower than it was in my grandmother's day. Is this supposed to be called progress?
I work. Part-time (really my hours total up to between 35-40 per week). My children go to daycare. Daycare dissolves the majority of my paycheck; once my student loan and some of the smaller household bills are taken care of I have virtually no money left. I see my children after work (between 3:30pm and bedtime) during the crabbiest time of day for them and for me. I am in charge of upkeep of the house, groceries, landscaping, laundry, and other miscellanea. I am not complaining about my husband. He does a good job of being a husband, father, and provider. He does share in the tasks of the household. I just wind up doing more, after all, I work part-time.
Why am I working? I keep rationalizing that my children won't necessarily remember me being home while they were infants/toddlers. They grow up so fast. I'll be able to be there for them after school during their school-age years--where it really counts (I can go to all their activities, be active in their lives and know who their friends are, and supervise them when many other people leave their kids to 'fend for themselves' after a certain age--opening the door to pre-marital sex, drugs, and all sort of other fun things). But, WHY? Why do I work? My paycheck is too small to really make much of a difference. I still do everything I did when I was home for that year. I'll tell you why: So I don't lose my license. I cannot afford to stay home with my kids and lose my license. I worked so hard for it (I got a master's degree after it!!). I can't afford to take the exorbitantly priced graduate school classes that would maintain my license (at $500+ per class/term). Someday my children will fly from the nest. If my licensure is kaput, where do I go? I went to school so I wouldn't have to wait tables the rest of my life. My mother insisted I get a degree so that I could take care of myself should the need arise. As one of my collegues has shown me the need arises all too often (her husband is no longer able to support their family). Had she not maintained her license, they would be homeless. What do I do?
I am stuck.
I feel like I can't go back, and I cannot move forward. The proverbial 'rock and a hard place.' What do I do? What do I do?
I need someone to give me their benediction and tell me that I'm doing o.k. That my kids will turn out just fine. That this season in my life won't go on forever. That I'm doing the right thing.
I need to know that it isn't all for nothing. I need to know that I'm not a bad mother.
Life is hard when you're teetering on the razor's edge in a pair of stilettos while trying to be everything to everyone. Again, I think of the Women's Liberation Movement. Was it all worth it? Am I a happier person because of all the work the mothers of yesterday did? Again, I don't know.
