I suffer from “Just for a minute” disease

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The clock is ticking ...

Before naps and bedtime, Eliza asks me to cuddle her.  Sometimes I outright say, “No” because she really just needs to go to sleep.  But when I do agree, despite really enjoying these precious times, I find myself so often saying, “Okay, but just for a minute and then I have to go (fill in the blank).”

I’ve realized I use this phrase a lot.  Eliza will ask to read books, and I’ll say, “Okay, Eliza, but just for a minute.  I have to get the laundry.”  Zach will walk up to me with a toy, and I’ll say, “Okay, Zach, but just for a minute.  I have to cook dinner.”  And on and on it goes, with playing, or dressing up, or going outside, or singing.  (And of course, there’s “Just for a minute’s” evil cousin, “In a minute” if I’m already busy when asked to do something.)

I know I am at home to pour myself out to these kids.  It’s the main reason I’m here and not in an office for this season.  So why, if I want to give them all that I am, do I find myself short-changing these moments in exchange for dish-washing and floor-mopping?

Are these “just a minute” times enough?  A minute hardly allows my kids to build memories they will reminisce about, saying, “Remember when mom used to get all the couch cushions and we’d build a fort together?”

I know I use “Just for a minute” as a tool to warn them that whatever we’re doing has a cut-off point. Because they don’t really understand how long a minute is yet, what I’m often doing is communicating that our activity will end even if they don’t want it to, and there’s something else we must do.  But I don’t just use it for that.  I use it as an excuse so I can get to unimportant things and my to-do list.

Trying to find the time to do everything that must get done as well as what I consider a priority is tough.  I mean, the messes do have to get cleaned.  But I sit here wondering if these children are capable of understanding why household chores sometimes come first.  If I’m honest, I’m not sure they can make sense of it.  I’m afraid that perhaps the message I’m sending to them is, “I’ll do this for you, but it’s conditional because what I really want to do is what’s important is me.”

Last weekend we ended up at a playground next to some basketball courts.  There were a handful of seemingly unattended kids, ranging from ages 3-8, playing on the playground.  We finally figured out that they belonged to some of the men who were shooting hoops.  As I watched, there was one dad who was obviously inconvenienced by his 3-year-old boy who wanted a drink.  He was begging his dad for some Gatorade, but the dad decided to berate him, saying in a sarcastic tone, “You didn’t share your toys so I’m not going to share my Gatorade with you.  How do you like that?”  He then put the boy in a time out for escalating the situation because he continued to cry, “But I’m thirsty.”  And the boy asked, “but daddy, where’s my drink?”  And the dad said, “I don’t know where your drink is, go find it yourself.”  It was clear this guy wanted to play ball and everyone was waiting on him to recommence the game.  When the game ended, the dad immediately left with his 3 kids.  He didn’t stick around to play with them on the playground.  It was such a sad display for us.  But I can’t sit here and say that I’m not guilty of similar behavior sometimes.  (Though I would never leave my 3-year-old to be supervised 100 feet away by other children while I played basketball in a public park.)

It’s tough to balance all of life’s demands within the confines of time.  It seems there are three types of time in my days.  There is wasted time, and then there is time that must be spent on certain tasks (like chores, getting the kids to activities, and cooking) and then there’s precious time.  And I realize that I’d like to fit in more precious time.  In fact, it’s taken me a long time to finish typing this post.  Two days ago I had picked it up and started writing again, and Eliza approached me after waking up from her nap and asked, “Hey mommy, do you want to make cupcakes now?”  And I said, “Yes, Eliza, I would love to do that right now.”  It was a lot of fun, and the perfect moment, because Zach was still sleeping and we got to spend some quality mommy-daughter time.

I’m so glad I set down this laptop because now I’m finishing it at a time when my kids are otherwise occupied and not wishing for my attention.  Often, the things I want to do can be fit in at a later time.  I want to cut back on saying, “In a minute” and “Just for a minute.”  Here’s to replacing them with “For you, dear, I have all the time in the world.”

Getting away will cost you: the aftermath of grandma

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We're on a boat ... without the kids!

I came home to my normal life from our anniversary getaway and wondered how on earth anybody does this.

Before I begin, I know my mom is going to read this, so first of all, mom, you know how I feel about you and this is not reflective of you doing anything wrong; rather, this is more about the grandma’s right to spoil her grandchildren.

Getting away without the kids was fabulous.  There was peace.  There was quiet.  I even read for fun, instead of all the non-fiction how-to parent stuff.  But after being home from our trip for about 15 minutes, I realized my life is consumed by constant, loud noise: Eliza singing her ABC’s on repeat; Zach screaming at the top of his lungs to get my attention, clenching his fists by his side like he just kicked the winning soccer goal in the European Cup; Eliza tapping on me in mid-conversation, saying, “Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy – look at me!”; me asking her to give me a few minutes to talk to Omi (grandma); Zach crying because Eliza took away his car while singing her ABCs; Eliza switching to “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” because I asked her to sing something different (funny – different words, but same, darned tune).

Unless they are sleeping, there is always noise.  And if there isn’t any noise while they’re awake, then there is trouble.  You can’t win.

The contrast is stark between the quiet of an adult-filled lake house and the ear-damaging loudness of my kid-filled house.  It was amazing to realize just how much ambiance I hear on a daily basis.  But there was something else.  I also realized the kids were tired and more used to getting what they wanted when they wanted it.  There were more whining demands and tantrums.  It has been tough adjusting.

I’ve tried to embark on a re-training schedule.  Even today, Eliza whined to me that she wanted to go downstairs to play with her kitchen, so I turned off the TV and starting to go with her, and then she threw a fit about wanting to finish what was on TV.  In that moment, I felt like a puppet, and instead of caving into her antics, I picked her up, took her to bed, and told her it was nap time.  Her tantrum got worse, turning into one of those times she could barely get her words out amid her tears and gasps for air.  I kept my cool and didn’t budge, and she realized her efforts were futile.  I walked away.  She fell asleep.  Which is exactly what she needed.

I read one mom’s perspective today that when her kids were little, she could never get enough sleep.  And when they were toddlers, she never had enough patience.  It’s so true.  Although I still don’t get enough sleep, patience is really what rearing toddlers and pre-schoolers requires.  I am a broken record of behavior correction and modeling.  Sometimes I am dumbfounded by how many times both Zach and Eliza will test whether I mean what I say.  And since grandma came, I’ve had a lot more testing.

But our trip was still worth it.  We’re getting back to normal, little by little (which is to say a place that still requires vast vats of patience).  It is really hard, but it is also really awesome.  And at least today, I know I can do this.

Parenting lesson #30: Getting away gets easier

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The lake view from our balcony as the sun set

When you’re a parent, a family vacation does not count as vacation from working.  So I have found that for me, getting away without the kids is super important if I’m going to feel refreshed.  Greg and I just came back from a four-day lake trip with old friends, and it was heavenly.  I can honestly say that if you need assurance you can escape for some adult time, our experience is that it gets easier over time to leave the kids behind.

Perhaps you are a parent that doesn’t believe in ever leaving your children behind for vacation.  (As my high school student government teacher used to say, you are entitled to your opinion, however wrong it might be.)  Or maybe you think someday you’ll do it, but not until your kids are much older.  (Completely understandable, but still wrong.)  Or maybe you’re interested in doing it after you’re no longer breastfeeding, whenever that day seems to come, or even a soon as you can find someone willing to give you the break.  (I was one of those, so of course I think I’m right.)  And though I will admit it is difficult to do, I would highly encourage it for the sake of your marriage and sanity, provided you have friends or family you would trust to take care of your kids.

I have come up with a definition of stay-at-home parenting.  It is like having a challenging, awesome job, mostly because things are always changing and you adore your colleagues.  But the difference between this job and all others is that you live with your co-workers, too.  So even though you might not be working 24/7 per se, your boss and work friends are always around and you are inevitably immersed in work conversations, gossip and to-do lists.  I don’t see how anyone could do it without needing some time off, not only to refresh but also to remember that there are other things going on in the world.  (And this need I’m sure heightens for working parents.)

When Eliza was about 11-months-old, Greg and I took our first overnight trip away.  We left her with both of my parents at our house and about a two-page detailed instruction guide regarding her schedule and every potential scenario they might face and how to handle it.  We ended up at a restaurant about 2 hours away where we did not have cell phone reception.  (This was not on purpose.)  It was unnerving, especially because I was pregnant and thus not willing to use a good cocktail to calm myself.  But the restaurant called our house for us and reported that all was well.  We were able to breathe a bit easier, relax and enjoy ourselves.  It was the first successful attempt and it worked: Eliza and my parents survived unscathed.  We were gone a total of about 16 hours.  And it was amazing.

Then a few months later we took a “babymoon” outside of the country.  We left Eliza with my mom for nearly six days, again with detailed instructions.  Both my mom and Eliza came out of it alive.  Each time you successfully leave, it builds confidence that you can do it the next time.  (And video chatting helps!)

Then along came Zach.  That complicated things.  It’s one thing to leave a single toddler behind.  It’s another to leave a baby and a toddler.  We took our first overnight trip away when Zach was 7-months-old and Eliza was about to turn 2.  We of course left detailed instructions and I had to pump a lot.

And now, here we are.  Zach is 20-months and Eliza is 3.  Though Zach still isn’t the perfect sleeper, he’s generally now in a phase where he’s done teething (until those 2-year molars come in), he eats table food, and he and Eliza play together.  This time, I left my mom behind without a schedule or instructions and a hurricane approaching.  She knows they nap in the afternoon and when they generally go to bed.  They can feed themselves.  They tell you when they’re hungry and thirsty.  (Well, Zach pretty much just points and screams, but I consider that communication.)

The point is that I’ve never been as comfortable as I was this time around.  I had less of an idea what they would eat and do than ever before, and I was okay with that.  Time spent getting spoiled by grandma is important.  And though I missed the kids terribly, Greg and I were able to celebrate our ten years of marriage by having fun and enjoying each other, which is what made us want to be together and have a family in the first place.

So, if you’re waiting until it “feels right” to leave your child or children at home (even just for a date night), I would highly encourage you to get out and do it.  Because marriage is hard work that’s worth working for … and sometimes that means taking a vacation.

How to answer the 187 “Why?” questions a day

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There’s something simultaneously endearing and obnoxious about a “Why?” child.  Endearing (in my opinion) perhaps because I was one.  Obnoxious, perhaps, because now I’m getting a taste of my own medicine with Eliza.  I even think Eliza might be more of one than I was.

And yes, there is an innate curiosity that you don’t want to stifle by ignoring the incessant questioning of “How?” and “What?” and “Why?”.  But there is also a point at which you cannot answer everything.  More importantly, would you want to?  I want to teach my children to think through things before they ask about them.  I also don’t want to encourage them to be attention hogs or let them know that they get under my skin.  When I was young, I figured out I could use “Why?” to get attention from my dad, and I enjoyed how I could control him with that simple, one syllable word, watching him go from cooperative with the first “Why?” to indifferent (come the 2nd) to annoyed (the third) and finally angry in a matter of seconds.

So, I find myself constantly trying to come up with thoughtful answers to the daily barrage of question darts.  Here they are:

1. Why/What do you think?  I use this one a lot, especially when I believe she can reason through an answer on her own.  And if she was just asking the question to hear herself talk, this stops the conversation.

2. Why not?  Similar to the first, if she asks me why I picked out a certain shirt to wear, I might not really have a reason, and this response helps bring out interesting conversation.

3. That should be obvious.  I thought I was a genius the day I started responding with this, because it immediately stopped about three “Why?” attacks.  But the fourth time, she then asked, “What does obvious mean?”  Now that she knows what obvious means, this phrase is another tool in the toolkit that stops her and makes her think.

4. I’ve already answered you (or I’ve already explained it).  When I say this, sometimes it works, but sometimes she’ll then say again, “But why, mommy?”  That’s when the next one comes in really handy.

5. I’m done answering questions right now.  This one’s great for when I’m particularly exhausted by her interrogations.  I used to say, “I don’t feel like talking right now,” but when I said that, she would respond with – you guessed it – “Why mommy?”  So If I say I’m not going to answer any more questions, it communicates that it really doesn’t matter if she keeps talking.  I’m not going to respond, so she gives up.  I reserve this for when I really need it.

6. Are you talking just to talk?  She sometimes responds, “Yes,” to this, which gives me an opportunity to talk to her about not always needing to be the center of attention, and allowing others a turn to speak.

If God has blessed you with an inquisitive child, and you have magical solutions, please share them with me.  Why, you ask?  Aww shucks, I just decided I’m done answering questions right now.

Parenting lesson #29: You will catch yourself in a “Do as I say, not as I do” moment

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Quiet and alone.  That’s what I want to be.  It’s just another way that parenthood has changed me.  Four years ago, I scored 100% extroverted on the Myers-Briggs test.  Now I get energized by peace and quiet.  I want to pee alone and I can’t even do that.  This morning, by the time I was shoving food into my mouth, I wanted nothing more than to eat alone.  (It was “one of those mornings.”)  But alas, alone is not my reality.

This morning, Zach finished his blueberries quickly, and began to whine and point at Eliza’s.  Because he still only says about ten words, and blueberries is not one of them, whining and pointing is his main way of communicating exactly what he wants.  She understood immediately, and in a high-pitched voice, said, “Oh, Zach, you want some blueberries?  Okay, here you can have two.”  And she handed them over.  It was a melt-my-heart moment.  She was so loving, so giving, so cute in that instant!  I welled with pride, thinking to myself, “All my work is paying off.  She is turning into someone who wants to give and share.”  I patted myself on the back.

Not 10 minutes later, I was barking at her to occupy herself so I could finally eat something because I was hungry.  I poured myself a meager bowl of Raisin Bran, emptying the bag’s contents and realizing it wasn’t quite the amount I had hoped for.  I added my milk, plopped on the living room couch, and instantly had a visitor.  Eliza jumped beside me, opened her mouth to indicate she wanted some, and said, “Mommy, can I have some?”  And I said, with an attitude, “Eliza, you had your breakfast.  I didn’t get eggs and fruit like you did, I have this cereal.  This is mine.  I’m not going to give you any.”

Whoops.  Instantly my heart sank as I realized how selfish I was being.  I, the one who wants so much to teach my children to put others first and to share what they have, was refusing a bite of bran cereal (BRAN CEREAL!) to my 3-year-old.  And just 10 minutes after I watched her share her coveted blueberries.

I was so embarrassed.  I changed my attitude and said, “You know what?  I’ll share with you.  I’d love to share,” or something like that.  I probably gave her 4 bites of my 15 bites of cereal.  And she said, “We always share our food, right mommy?”  And I said, “Right.”

Getting married really shows you how ugly you can be, but having children magnifies it ten-fold.  When you watch your toddlers pointing their fingers at their friends while yelling at them to do this or that, you realize they learned it from … somewhere.  (Yes, YOU.)  It is humbling and revealing and amazing.  And yes, now that I’m having a quiet and alone moment because both kids are napping, I can see clearly enough to realize this is a good thing.  I know I’ll be ready for the wild and crazy, extroverted afternoon.  It beckons now – Zach just woke up!

Count your blessings by writing them down

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I’m currently reading a book called 1,000 Gifts with some neighbor moms.  It’s a book about really thanking God for every gift in every moment, whether things are good or bad or ugly.  And her point is that she went on a quest to document a thousand thanks.  Now, the author, Ann Voskamp, is way too poetic, because somehow she gets giddy as a school girl about the moon, and her cup floweth over after photographing a plate of cheese hit by the sun’s rays “just so.”  That’s just not me.  But, the idea of documenting gifts as you notice them, and teaching yourself the discipline to seek them out in everyday life, is already proving to be a great takeaway.

One of our group discussions about the book prompted me to say I wanted to start a dinnertime tradition of everyone detailing something for which he is thankful.  Someone else chimed in and said her parents keep a jar on the table and they write down what they’re thankful for throughout the year, then pull out all the strips of paper and read them at the end of the year.  I decided I wanted to adopt this same principle.

A little more than a week ago we began because I finally found a little paper pack with the right size sheets.  (I bought a memo cube at Michael’s that is not sold online or else I’d link it here.)  I figure that whenever we eat dinner around our table, we will all share something we’re thankful for and write down at least one thing that’s said (probably we will vote on the best one as the kids get older so we have about 300 each year and not 1,200).  We are also writing the date down on the sheet.  Then we will put them in chronological order into a notebook at the end of the year.

You could also buy a family journal and just write directly into it.  Or if you’re really crafty, you could make a special “Thanksgiving” album and print off relevant photos from the year and include them.

The point of documenting these things is to remind us of how much we do have and how we could never count all of our gifts because there are too many.  But I’m also already finding that in doing this, we will essentially be documenting our lives.  Right now, Greg and I have to write them all down, but as our children learn to write, this will also become a journal of their handwriting and them maturing.  It will also reflect the good times and bad times, but things we treasure despite our circumstances.  We had two of our neighbor’s girls over for dinner the other night, and I had them participate, so it will also serve as a guest book of sorts, documenting who we had over for dinner on what dates over the course of our lives.

So far, we’ve documented the following:

8.6.11 We’re thankful God answered our prayers for good weather at Eliza’s birthday party, and Eliza is thankful for baby Liberty.

8.7.11 I’m thankful that you fixed my butterfly wings so I could wear them again. – Eliza

8.8.11 Though we had hoped for Eliza to be born on 8.8.08 because that would have been super awesome, we’re thankful she came a week before that because of how big she was.

8.11.11 I’m thankful for baby Chaaya. – Eliza; I’m thankful for our new art set up and my mommy and daddy protecting me.  I just love them SO much. – Adelaide; I’m thankful for Abbey (the dog).  Both Abbeys (our dog and her dog). – Sydney

8.12.11 We’re thankful for Greg’s safe return from his work trip, that Zach has figured out how to climb on Greg’s back for a horsie ride, and Eliza is insistent that she is most thankful, again, for baby Chaaya.

8.13.11 We’re thankful that Eliza’s learning to swim.

Just reading a week’s worth of our thanks, written down, brings a smile to my face.  It gives me the warm fuzzies.  If you have any suggestions on how our family can improve this process, or a similar tradition of your own, please let me know!  I don’t think it’s going to take us long to get to 1,000 Gifts.

Parenting lesson # 23: Your kids learn to talk by repeating what you say.

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Teaching your kids to talk is a double-edged sword.  I can’t count the number of times I’ve already been embarrassed by what Eliza has said, mostly because it’s so obvious she’s repeating something she learned from me.  Something bad.  And it only seems to be getting worse.

Luckily for me, there haven’t been any recent instances of her saying “dammit!” like she learned about a year ago.  I taught myself not to say that word.  No, now she is much more into poop.

We’re trying to train her that “poop” talk is not funny, but somehow, especially with her friends, it is the funniest word she knows.  They will sit and giggle and just say it over and over and over.  It doesn’t help that yesterday, she was playing and just kept saying, “Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap” when she couldn’t get things to go her way.  I instantly knew she must have heard me say that (apparently it is my replacement for “dammit”).  It was such an ironic moment because I keep trying to tell her not to use potty talk, but I do it obviously often enough for her to pick up the word and its proper usage (though I don’t think she knows that crap is a worse form of the word poop.  Yet.)

It’s the classic lesson of “do as I say, not as I do.”  It’s often funny to hear your kids repeat the not-so-great things you say, but it’s also scary.  It’s like every sentence you speak goes on the record and could be repeated at any moment (most likely when it would be the most mortifying).  So, now I can add “crap” to my list of no-no words.  I’m quickly running out of options.  Maybe I’ll start saying “drat” or make up a word, like, “snaggle!”  I need to come up with something before I fall on my proverbial “double-edged” sword.

The first of the month to-do list

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The beginning of each new month marks a time when I like to recommit myself to organization.  I am happy to report that I am already finished with my “first of the month” tasks.  They are:

1.  Feed the dog her heart worm pill and apply her K9 Advantix.

2.  Clean out the whirlpool jets in the tub.

3.  File all of my receipts for the previous month.

Not only do I feel like I got a lot done, but it’s making me consider a system for other days of the month, or perhaps tasks for certain days of the week.  For example, I could make Mondays dusting days, and Tuesdays the day when I check all the walls for crayon marks and smudges I can remove with my Magic Eraser.  Wednesdays could be window washing days.  Thursdays could be for vacuuming and mopping.  Fridays could be for cleaning the tubs, toilets and sinks.  Saturdays I could vacuum the dog hair off the furniture.  And Sundays, of course, would be for rest.

I wonder if any of you have ways you organize tasks, household chores or the like in your home that you’d like to share.  I’m always looking for new ways to make life easier, less cluttered and more organized.  Happy August 1st!

Parenting lesson #1: Your birth plan is to get the baby out

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Still able to smile after all my plans failed

At some point during pregnancy, someone or some book or some article tells you to think through your “birth plan” and write it out for your doctors.  After having two kids, I can honestly say the best advice I have is this: do not spend a lot of time planning out an event that is by nature entirely unpredictable.  I mean, the term itself is an oxymoron, like jumbo shrimp.

Sure, it’s good to have an idea of what you want so you can sign up for the right classes or anesthesiologist, and it’s good to weigh health risks of certain interventions and procedures.  But I didn’t understand the ridiculousness of my 3-page (typed!) plan until way after my episiotomy and tear scars had healed.  So I learned from my lesson, and with Zach, I told my OB that my birth plan was to get him out (safely).

Thus, I thought it might be fun for my pregnant friends and readers to see some of my birth plan (I wouldn’t dare bore you with the whole thing) compared to how differently things actually went.  The best lesson childbirth gives you to prepare you for parenthood is how to deal with unpredictability.

“We would like to do all we can to have a natural delivery while keeping the baby’s health the priority.  We will attempt to labor at home until contractions are two minutes apart, but with the knowledge that pain management or other complications might send us to the hospital earlier.”  Natural it was not.  I don’t think I’d even call it vaginal because my rectum became so involved in the whole process.  I distinctly remember calling the OB number about six hours after my water broke and 12 hours into labor.  The on-call doctor called me back, and when I told her my contractions were erratic and 3-5 minutes apart but that I wanted to come into the hospital, she said, “that’s not part of your birth plan.”  I wanted to say, “It is now!”

“As much as possible, we would like privacy during our birth.  Once I’m in stage two of labor, we do not want anyone but us and the doula in the room.  Additionally, after the baby is born, we want an hour to ourselves (without the doula) before anyone else interrupts our time (aside from medical personnel when absolutely necessary).”  There were probably 6-12 people in-and-out of the delivery room during my nearly two hours of pushing.  I almost fainted, so I think there was a team there responsible for me and also a surgical specialist waiting, among others.  Once Eliza came out, a bunch of new faces appeared during my 40-minutes of getting sewn up, and I realized later they were interns and residents.  If you will deliver at a teaching hospital and don’t want anyone to, ahem, learn about va-jay-jays while staring at yours, there is most likely a way to prevent this if you ask for the right paperwork.

“We would like as much freedom of movement as possible and as much choice in birthing positions as feasible.  Thus, having intermittent electronic fetal monitoring and a saline or heparin lock IV are important to us so that we are as free as possible to improvise.”  I had lots of freedom until I got drugs.  Then I had no freedom.  For pushing, I was on my back with my legs up like you see in all the movies and lots of videos.  It makes it easy for the doctor to see, and let’s be honest, isn’t that what really matters?  (Can you sense the dripping sarcasm?)

Specific interventions:

Epidural – only administered between 5 and 8 cm dilation, and only under circumstances listed above.  I had been advised to get the epidural in that window because that would give it the least chance of slowing down my labor.  Although I got it at 5 cm, it slowed me down anyway.

Pitosin – only administered if there’s a question about the fetal heart rate, the baby is asynclitic (head turned to the side or posterior), or aphoditic (the baby is no longer getting good circulation from the umbilical cord).  I am not interested in having Pitosin administered to speed up stage 3 of labor.  I wasn’t interested in it but I got it anyway after I hadn’t made any progress for two hours.  We were approaching 20 hours since my water had broken and needed to get things moving.  It turned out Eliza was posterior anyway, and she just didn’t manage to turn on her way out.

vaginal exams – only as necessary.  Hey, what do you know, I found something else that went as planned.  I didn’t have very many of these.

Episiotomy – only if absolutely necessary and we would like to be asked about the decision.  I would definitely like to know what the doctor will do to help prepare my perineum.  The doctor, who was not my OB, did not ask.  I knew he was cutting me because my epidural had been turned off for pushing and I felt him snip me three times.

If you’ve gotten through to this point, I do want to say I hope I am not scaring (or scarring) you.  My labor with Zach was everything I could have dreamed of at less than two hours and completely natural.  The bottom line is despite my two very different experiences, both of my kids made their ways out of my womb and into this world healthily.  So try not to freak out about your “birth plan,” and concern yourself with more important things, like sleeping a lot and thinking through what to eat right now because food will never taste as good as it does when you’re pregnant.

Parenting lesson #27: the extent to which things go wrong is directly proportional to how unrealistic your expectations are

Posted on by peeinpeace

On the days when everything has to go right for your plans to work out, inevitably just about everything will go wrong.  And if I really think it through, most of the time it’s my fault for expecting too much of myself and my kids.

Yesterday, my plan for the day was to get up, run, shower, feed the kids and get ready, go to our 10 a.m. music class, then, assuming Zach was hanging in there, head to Chuck-e-Cheese’s to meet up with a friend, get home for naps and build my lasagna for dinner, then once they woke up, head to the mall to hit up Old Navy’s sale with my Groupon and Gymboree with my Gymbucks, and finally go to the grocery store to pick up essentials and dessert fruit before hosting our friend and her son for dinner.  (Lovely, Zach just spilled a bottle of hot pink nail polish on the floor.)

The day, of course, did not get off on the right foot because Zach had a nightmare and spent two-and-a-half hours awake before finally falling to sleep again.  Instead of sleeping in, he woke up ready for the day at 6:15 a.m.  I knew he would need a morning nap or we’d never make it.  So after the morning eat and get dressed routine, I put Zach to bed at 8:30 with my fingers crossed that he would fall asleep.  At 8:45 he was still making all kinds of noise, so I checked on him and discovered he had taken his large morning poop.  Great, now he could sleep.  Well, he didn’t fall asleep until 9:15.

At 9:45, I made the decision to wake him up and go to music class anyway.  As a caveat, the only way to explain this is to say I am my father’s daughter.  When I was a kid and McDonald’s had its 29-cent hamburgers and 39-cent cheeseburgers for a limited time and a 10 burger limit per person, my family would pile in our minivan, my mom would go through the drive thru, and my dad, older brother and I would each get in a separate line inside.  We would head home with 40 hamburgers and cheeseburgers to freeze.

So, back to my music class … this class is $25 for the two of them and 45-minutes long, and because I don’t like wasting money, I couldn’t imagine skipping it so little man could make up his missed nighttime sleep.

Off we went.  Of course, Zach couldn’t really be peeled off of me because he was a hot mess.  When I did put him down, he proceeded to throw a temper tantrum that consisted of lying face down on the dirty tile floor, pounding his fists on the ground and kicking his feet.  I left him there, but noticed he had brown stains on the back of his shorts.  I checked him and realized his diaper was leaking.  Let me begin by saying this was a complete mystery to me, seeing as he had already taken a huge dump, and he hadn’t leaked out of his diaper in this way since he was at best 3-months-old.  So of course you understand why I did not have spare clothes.  (When you’re prepared, you never need them.)  And my diapers and wipes were in the car.  I agonized for 10 minutes over what to do, whether to just hold him and wait it out until the end of class, or risk leaving Eliza inside alone and run to the car.  I finally decided to head to the car as the leakage escalated, so I indicated my situation to a friend so she could keep an eye on Eliza and left to decontaminate Zach.

While cleaning up the blowout, I noticed a man sitting in his car in the parking lot, talking on the phone.  It seemed strange.  So when I decided to leave my purse in the car to avoid having to carry it and my koala baby, I took my wallet out and hid it in the center console.  I went back into the class with Zach in only a diaper and t-shirt.  I’m generally beyond caring about judging, especially on this day in this moment.

We finished up class and it was 11:15 by the time we left.  I decided to take a detour to the mall then, because it was only a few blocks away and I figured I could find some pants for Zach in the same amount of time it would take to go home and get him fresh ones before heading to Chuck-e-Cheese’s.  So off we went.  For the 10 minutes we were in Old Navy shopping, Zach was a mess.  He didn’t want to stay in the stroller after I put some jeans on him to make sure they fit, and I figured at this point that he was not only tired, but also hungry as well.  So I was in a hurry.  I got to the checkout line, ready to get the heck out of there.  Everyone was staring at me, in part because they had to scan pants that Zach was wearing as I explained that he came in the store without any, and in part because he and Eliza were running around playing with balls.

I stuck my hand in my purse and did my usual wallet search, only to realize it was not there.  Instantly, my memory flashed back to the parking lot where I moved it to the center console to hide it.  My wallet was a 5-minute walk and elevator ride away in the car.  If you are a fan of the movie, “A Christmas Story,” that moment was sort of like when Ralphie drops his pan of  lug nuts while helping his dad change their flat tire.  “Ohhhhhh … fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuddddddgggggeeee.”

I smiled at the clerk, asked if he could hold my stuff, and took screaming Zach (in stolen pants, essentially) and questioning Eliza (“Mommy, where we going?  Where are my pants and fancy shoes?”) back to the car, realizing it was noon and there was really no way we were going to make it to Chuck-e-Cheese’s.  I finally made it back to Old Navy to pay for the stolen pants Zach and the few other things I wanted to buy.  I headed, defeated, to the food court and fed them.  They were actually a little better after eating, so I spent my Gymbucks (while Zach continued to fuss) and then booked it the heck out of the mall to get them home for much-needed naps.

The good news is that Zach didn’t fight his nap this time and Eliza wanted me to cuddle her.  I lay there thinking about the lasagna I needed to prep, but the thought drifted off as I succumbed to sleep.  An hour later I woke with Eliza in my arms and moved to my own bed, where I slept another hour until Zach woke me.

In the end, my friend came over early and brought what I needed to complete the lasagna.  I’m just out of some staple foods and we missed Chuck-e-Cheese’s.  But looking back, I know I had doomed myself from the start.  With the kids in tow, errands take exponentially more time with potty and diapering breaks, and pauses to explain why we’re not buying the Hello Kitty lunchbox at the checkout line.  And kids also don’t need seven activities planned to fill up their days.  Music class and Chuck-e-Cheese’s in one morning is a lot to ask of them.  Parenthood teaches you flexibility, because plans can only be so set when these little people are so needy.  And I also learned to be sure I always have spare clothes for both kids in the car.

Today I’m taking it much easier and I have only one social item on the agenda.  And it’s already a better day, as – knock on wood – the nail polish spill is the only mishap so far.