I have been talking and joking about the first day of school for months now. How I couldn’t wait for my kids to be out of the house for the whole day so I can actually get things done, work, read, clean, shower, who knows… the possibilities are endless, really.
But here I am, alone, kids at school, with a quiet house and two sleeping dogs and I literally feel lost. What the hell am I supposed to be doing?
This is the time when one of my kids is usually starting to moan that they are getting hungry because they didn’t finish their breakfast and refused a snack because they were too busy playing.
Right about now is when I start my two hour warning to my kids that I would eventually like to get into the shower today.
I would have fielded at least three fights by now, five “mahhhm, he’s copying me!!!”s, wiped one butt, kissed six boo-boo’s, and styled my girl’s hair in three different ways.
She would have changed clothes at least four times and placed each discarded outfit on the floor in a trail back to the closet. I would be picking them up shortly.
I would be thinking about what to make them for lunch that will appease all three of their palates, but not force me to make multiple selections. I would have been cursing myself for forgetting to get milk last night and making a mental note to stop when we leave the house again.
My middle child would be asking for the twentieth time if he can play Fortnite yet, forgetting that he lost that privilege after last nights refusal to eat dinner or take a bath without a complete meltdown.
My oldest would be searching the basement for papers and markers to complete templates for uniforms he “needs” to design for the imaginary baseball team he’s been constructing all summer.
My youngest would have told me at least ten times already that I’m the “bestest mom in the weh-ld”, my middle might have told me he hated me (depends on today’s mood) followed by many cuddles and apologies, my oldest would have said something like, “I’m sorry my brother isn’t being good mom, I know you’re tired”.
One of my kids surely would have released one of the dogs out of the yard at some point today and I would have spend an hour trying to wrangle her back in. Another would have attempted to get themselves a drink while I was out of sight and spilled sticky juice all over the counters and floor.
All three would have played nicely for a short time and then would have noticed me quietly on the couch and fought each other jumping on top and to each side of me to be the ones closest to my seat. And then when we finally all settled down, one surely would have asked me to get up and grab them something they could easily get themselves. But they’re “too tired”.
My son would have brought me a blanket, my youngest two would have started racing to the refrigerator to be the first to get me a soda (but can’t seem to get anything for themselves when they want it).
We might have watched a movie, colored a picture, read a few books, played outside or went for a walk, but instead I’ve been sitting here, alone, wondering what to do now that they aren’t here with all of their tiny demands, constant conversation, and incessant needs.
I would have been annoyed, frustrated, dozing off, tired or aching, and had instants where I was on the verge of tears, but I also would have also had hours packed with moments of squeezing them, sweet giggles, and as many kisses on the cheek, forehead, and hands that I deemed necessary….
Maybe having them around hasn’t been so bad after all. I think I kinda miss them.
MomTransparenting
If you like this you might also like: Things I Promise Not To Do On Your First Day Of School
Dear Judgy Social Media Moms, Get the F*ck Over Yourselves.
Mom on mom attacking needs to just chill the fuck out already. Since when did mom-shaming become a “cool” thing to do? It’s like one starts and they have an entire posse ready to pop in and crush someone’s soul. I’m saying it, others have said it before me, and I’m sure more are to follow. What is it about the world of social media that makes (some) people morph into these beings that basically share the same characteristics as sociopaths if they were to exhibit them in real life (but let’s be honest, they don’t. They only share their “knowledge” behind a screen where they are hidden, safe, and in the dark). Anyone who walked around on an average day pointing fingers, stopping people in the street to let them know they were “doing it wrong”, or walking up to moms with a child melting down and giving them (unwarranted) advice followed by multiple resources and recommendations. NOBODY DOES THIS IN REAL LIFE! If you did, you would have zero actual friends, and you would eventually land yourself in a “ward” of some fashion for having no boundaries, no filter, no empathy.
What are we DOING to each other? Can we just make a pact here and now to stop all the madness already? When a mom posts a picture of a rash on her child at midnight asking if anyone has any insight, it’s not because she’s a complete moron and didn’t think to call the damn DOCTOR! It’s because she’s a mom (quite possibly a new mom) and she’s freaking the fuck out and needs someone to talk her off a ledge while she’s watching her child breathe in his sleep and googling staph, syphilis, E-Coli, and other various catastrophic disease that (coincidentally) carry the same symptoms
When someone posts a picture of their child in the car – cute.as.a.button – and another mom jumps at the chance to teach her some serious lessons on how to correctly strap her child into their car seat it makes me HOMICIDAL. *Most* (not all, I know I can’t speak for all) but most moms snapping a picture of their kid in the car are doing it before or after they are even on the road. Their kid did something cute and they want to quickly document it before the demon child comes back demanding goldfish and juice (you think, by then they are speaking in tongues and you can’t quite make it out) on their way to the doctor’s appointment they are already late for. They shared a cute pic of their kid FFS. It’s not always your job to educate people on safety when you have no idea what the situation is.
Why are we constantly reporting “nannies”? Who the hell even knows if that was a NANNY! There are so many nanny narcs on social media. “I saw this babysitter at the park and the toddler asked to go on the swing and she said NO because she was too busy playing on her phone! So I think it’s my civic duty to report her in case one of you 20,000 women employs this deplorable excuse for a nanny so you can fire her.” We are raising a bunch of tattle tales and we wonder why (ummm, hello!). Here’s where my anger comes in. Let’s get real, if I’m paying someone top dollar to take care of my kids when I can’t , then sure… I expect them to actually watch my kid. But if we are talking about the same kids I pushed out of my body and fed and fought with and listen to bicker and whine for hours on end in a day, well then, I know full well what they are capable of doing to the human spirit. And if my poor sitter needed a break so she took them to the park so she could screw around on social media for 10 minutes. GOOD ON YOU, GIRLFRIEND. Get your peace and quiet break. We all deserve one.
But, that wasn’t the only issue I had with this particular social media shaming post. My other issue was that someone commented that this could very well be their MOM. And I said “hell yeah! I do that all. the. time.” Well, you bet your ass people had things to say about that (of course they did). You take your kid to the park you should be playing WITH them! Not on your phone. Pay attention to them! Ummmm, listen. You don’t know the shit storm we have been dealing with in my house filled with tantrums and sibling fights, back talking, and lost socks and shoes to get to this moment of serenity. It was complete and utter chaos today. I just want to chill. So until you bother to ask about the REST of my day? Then back the fuck off with your judgements, mmmmk?
And if I have to read one more time about how someone is “really offended by that”, I might cut someone (virtually, of course. I would never act the way I do online in real life, like the rest of the human population). You’re on Facebook. Not everyone is going to agree with you in life, better yet in a virtual world of endless members. 99.9% of the time. Grow a pair, or get off the internet. Chances are, unless you are opening offensive to an entire population of people, I’m not judging you. But even if I was, you assholes seem to be judging me any time I open my thoughts up on social media so if you can’t take it then stop dishing it out, Nancy.
I’m not kidding when I say this shit has gotten WAY out of hand. I can’t even post asking for recipe ideas with chicken for dinner without someone chiming in about how unhealthy poultry is and “did you know about all of the antibiotics they bulk those animals up with? I suggest a nice big salad”. Thanks a lot, Suzie, for your unnecessary advice. I, too, watched “The Magic Pill” while I was snacking away on some Cheetos and washing it down with Cherry Coke. This is MY life, and I do what I want, so back off. Let’s all just BACK OFF, mmmk?
Give each other a break. You know you’ve also had bad, really bad, and worse days. Maybe keep that in mind before you start attacking other moms on a platform made JUST FOR MOMS. We are all in this together, are we not? Parenting is hard enough. And if you can’t figure out a way to be helpful in a non-condescending way and ONLY when someone has asked for it, then maybe you should take your own advice, chill the fuck out, and put your phone down and go play with your kid for a little bit.
Grief and Loss Of A (Transgender) Child
It’s an odd feeling to miss someone who is staring you right in the face.
When my 5 year old first started presenting as male I read and read and read some more about anything and everything I could get my hands on as it related to transgender youth. I studied and learned and researched and took notes and sent links to my fiance and family and to myself (to refer back to later). I joined groups and asked questions and met with other families of children who had come out as trans. I wanted to know IT ALL. But one thing I hadn’t prepared myself for was the grief and that accompanies the “loss” of your child. Your child as you know it is gone. And with that comes an intense amount of sorrow.
I didn’t get to mourn the loss of my child like someone might mourn a death. There wasn’t a service, no meal train was set up in our name, I didn’t get calls or texts or cards in the mail to express sympathy or condolences. There was no outpouring of support from family or the community. In many cases, it was the opposite. Months, days and hours defending my child and giving explanations and resources to family and friends.
You are so busy focusing on your child and the changes you are determined to support him through that your own thoughts and feelings get overlooked. The
HUGE changes that come along with social transition shadow your inner emotions until it comes crashing down one day and you start to realize… You are sad. You are mourning. And when you take the time to sit down and think about how you’re feeling and why, you notice that you feel as if someone died. And, in a way, someone did.
My child, as I knew him, was no longer the same person. And in his place there was a new, different child that I was still learning about. I was changing words, changing the way I referred to and reacted to my child. Everything changed. When I found out I was pregnant for the first time I had eight months to read and prepare for parenthood. And even though nothing can prepare you for the true day to day of being a mom, at least you have time. With this, I wasn’t given much time at all. As soon as he expressed himself to me that he wasn’t living his true self, he was off and running. And I was just trying to keep up. 
My son asked me recently if I still think he’s the same kid “now that I’m a boy”. And it made me wonder if I treat him differently now. Is he also mourning the mom he used to have? Has his mom morphed into someone new that he is also trying to navigate a relationship with? I sure see him (physically) differently now.
Everything he does makes this all so OBVIOUS. But I think some of that is me just trying to find and make sense of it all as a parent. How could I have not seen this sooner? How did he know, and I didn’t? So alongside the grief there is guilt. Guilt that I wasn’t doing my job as a parent to the fullest. I didn’t know him better than he knew himself. Which comes full circle back to grief and loss.
If someone ever told me there would come a day when I would miss the very child laying on my chest watching a movie with me, I would have thought they were bat shit crazy. But now, I realize how possible that is. I know with time the things I miss will get less and less as I continue to watch the development of my child in his element and becoming more and more of his true self. But for now…. it’s just a little sad.
MomTransparenting
If you connected with this post, here are a few others discussing my experiences with raising a young transgender child:
My 5 Year Old Is Transgender, And I Don’t Want Your Advice
My Son’s First Haircut – A Rite Of Passage
Why Moms Have To Stay Up Late
If I complain about being tired during the day my partner will often say to me, “well maybe you should go to bed earlier…”
He doesn’t get it. Not even a little. It’s not like I want to be exhausted all day long. We don’t, as mothers, make poor choices nightly that effect us throughout the day out of desire. We do it out of necessity.
I tell myself every single day that tonight I will go to bed earlier. Tonight, I will put a limit on how much TV I watch or how much of my book I will read and I will shut.it.down. early. But then the evening comes, my kids are crazy, and the dinner/bath shit show starts and the marathon of a day finally comes to an end and as exhausted as I am, I just can’t wait to get my butt onto the couch or curl up in my bed with the remote in one hand and phone in the other for endless hours (however many I choose) of PEACE AND QUIET.
No one will come running in with their pants around their ankles asking me to wipe their butt. I won’t hear someone screaming my name because they can’t reach a cup or a bag of chips in the kitchen when I told them ten times already to WAIT. I can get up and use the bathroom without someone following me in whining about how their sibling called them a baby (well.. if the shoe fits, kid).
If I want to read an article, I can pay attention and focus on what the writer is saying without interruption or background noise in the form of child yelps or YouTube celebrities blaring from the other room. I can watch a show or movie on TV and actually understand the plot line and the characters and be surprised by the dramatic turn at the end. (I did NOT see that coming!) Late at night, I can understand what the hell is going on in this movie, even if I am dozing off between scenes, because I’m not jumping up to every loud thud I hear wondering which one of my kids I’m going to find bloody when I turn the corner.
No one will tell me they are hungry shortly after I just made them a meal (that they refused to eat). I can plan out my week and write down all of the appointments, sporting events, school functions, and birthday parties I have to remember to deliver my child to.
And in the off chance I actually have some energy, I can fold the laundry, clean out the refrigerator, wash the floors, or do the dishes. And for whatever reason, at night, when it’s quiet and I’m alone, these mundane tasks don’t seem so mind numbing. Frankly it pains me to admit, I kind of enjoy them. But only at night.
There are plenty of moms out there that go to bed shortly after their kids. Who have self-control at night and make sure they are sleeping at a decent hour. But, if I had to guess, the majority of those moms are the ones who set the alarm early. They wake up in the wee hours while their kids are still snoozing away, and use the time to just be with themselves. To think, to peruse social media, to play candy crush or sit in silence. To read, watch TV or do the things us night-owl moms did the night before. Because soon, the tornado of the day will start and the whole atmosphere of the house will change.
If you are a mom, you get it.
We don’t have a choice. If we want any time to ourselves, it has to happen at night after the kids (and everyone else in the neighborhood without the title of “mom”) is asleep, or it won’t happen at all. We might regret it in the morning, but I guarantee no matter how many times we promise ourselves that this day will be different, once our kids are in bed… we will do it all over again tonight.
Things I Promise Not To Do On Your First Day Of School
Dear Son,
As you skip up the walkway and get into line with a group of your peers, all bright eyed and fresh faced with hope and dreams and the future in your eyes, I promise not to lose my shit in front of the friends you don’t know you’ll make yet. I won’t embarrass you and bawl. I won’t scream your name and tell you to tie your shoe because you’re jumping around and I can foresee the future of you tripping on your own laces and face-planting in the hallway. I won’t lick my finger and wipe away the leftovers from your breakfast off your cheek.
When I come in to wake you that morning, I assure you I will not stir you with my sobs while I stare at your sweet sleeping eyes and think about all of the times I have watched you sleep. Carefully sneaking into to your room to gaze at you longingly, to study the rise and fall of your chest. Expertly moving out of the room begging not to wake you or there would be hours of hell to pay, but I couldn’t help but watch you breathe one more time before bed.
I vow not to tell you that as you were getting ready this morning and making sure you picked out your best clothes and combed your hair to perfection that I was thinking about the day you came into this world and took me by storm. How beautiful and perfect you were and how I stroked that same hair with my hands, in the same way you are now as I nursed you into the wee hours of the night. How I too, carefully picked your clothes before you even took your first breath so that I could make sure to document the moment, with the best photos, and never forget.
I pledge while you sit and eat the special breakfast I made for your very first day, I won’t tell you about the look on your face when you tried a new food that you realized you liked and the faces you would make when you didn’t. I won’t tell you about all of the messes, the noodles stuck in your hair and the sauces rubbed on your high chair like paint and the discolored baths that followed. I won’t tell you that even if in those moments I was frustrated, I was tired, or I seemed mad, in this moment, I would do it all again.
I swear on my life I won’t tell you stories about how through my sleep-deprivation, my stress, my long days, that even though I may have appeared defeated and tired, I (secretly) loved waking up extra early with you and sneaking in extra snuggles. I adored watching the sun come up with you in my arms while you fell back asleep…. but my coffee was finally kicking in and now I was wide awake. Just studying you. Memorizing the lines on your lips, the wrinkles in your neck, how you smelled, your perfect little nose, those miniature ears. The way you smiled in your sleep. Your incredible sense to reach up, even when you were fully enveloped in dreamland, to search with your fingers for my face before you sighed with relief and continued on snoozing away.
And after the day is over, I cross my heart that while I hear your stories about all of the friends you made, your new independence and the experiences you’ve had (and will have) that didn’t include me, I won’t tell you that I missed you. That after I walked away and left you in the hands of the school, your teachers, your friends…. I cried today. How I thought about all of the things we could have been doing if you weren’t busy at school, without me. I won’t tell you that I worried about how you were alone with no one to hold your hand and guide you. But you weren’t lonely at all. I was. But I promise I won’t tell you that.
