I’m not talking about saying “NO!” to my kids. I know some moms are very anti N-word. But not me. I say no at least 300 times a day. It’s a regular part of my conversational interactions with my children. I say “no” more than I say yes, and I’m not afraid to admit it.
That’s not where I’m going with this though. I’m talking about saying “no” in terms of not spreading yourself too thin. Allowing yourself (as a mom, as a person who needs self-care) to take a day off, to skip the laundry for today, to cancel on your dinner plans and stay home with a book.
Moms these days have so much pressure to be perfect, to be super mom. We have to make sure our kids don’t get too much screen time, but get enough that they aren’t the only kids at school who don’t know what Fortnite is. We can’t yell or scream or swear. We have to use our words carefully as to not bruise their fragile egos. We need to be their advocate, but make sure we aren’t helicoptering over them… they need their independence too, but not too much. We need to keep them away from processed foods and GMO’s and ensure they are only supplied gluten-free, sugar-free, non-GMO, fresh, clean, and homemade meals shaped like their favorite Disney characters. We have to make sure everything is fair, because (as we all know) life is always fair and simple participation in life is always awarded. Our kids must be the best in everything or it’s a direct reflection of us as parents. Hell, you can’t even apply sunscreen on your kids nowadays without someone chastising you for using an aerosol spray can of SPF that causes cancer. DEET? That’s absurd. No one uses that. It’s homemade essential oil concoctions to repel bugs in this century. Get your shit together, bad mom.
That is just the pressure we women have with KIDS! When you add in the pressure of just being a woman it’s seriously overwhelming. If you show up to school drop off looking like you just woke up, sure, some moms might get it, but some will judge the fuck out of you. Show up late for pickup? Clearly there is something wrong with you! Don’t make it to the gym on a regular basis? Stop at McDonald’s on the way home from running to school to sports to clubs and home for homework? You must not care enough about your family. What’s wrong with you?
You’re not part of the PTA, PTSA, PTSO and the NRA? Well then… you’re not a real “mom” at all!
In this world of perfection, it’s hard to take time for yourself. It’s even harder to FIND time for yourself. I have found that the only time I get any time to breathe, think, focus, or plan for the upcoming days is at night when my kids are asleep. Which is great, if you can live off no sleep. I can’t.
When my marriage started to come to an end and I had to take a look at my life and my family on a much deeper level, I realized, I was doing WAY too much. I was falling apart at the seams trying to keep up with sports, school and after-school activities, dinner and PTA meetings, cub scouts and parties and the list. is. ENDLESS. When things got really bad I was having such anxiety I couldn’t even fall asleep at night even though I was walking around like the living dead because I was so damn tired. And when I finally did fall asleep I couldn’t get my ass out of bed in the morning without hitting the snooze fifteen times (or more).
It might be an unpopular opinion I have, but I am a firm believer after years of spreading myself so thin I can’t breathe, that sometimes… I just have to say no. If I am not up for a night out, I will say so. And I won’t feel bad about it anymore. If I don’t want to drag my kids to a party where I know they (and I) are going to take days to recover from…. I make a call, send a text, and apologize, and STAY HOME. If I have to skip making dinner and order in just to save my sanity, I do it. If I have to send my kids to school with a lunchable instead of a homemade sandwich in a bento box with carefully selected fresh fruit and vegetable sides, then so be it. I overslept so I’ll stop at 7-11 on the way to school, and I might even throw in some ho-ho’s (GASP!).
In most cases when speaking about anxiety and depression, women are TWICE as likely to be affected than men. I think that speaks volumes to the amount of pressure we are under as women, as moms, and as wives. It’s a hard thing to admit when you are in over your head. It’s almost like you’re admitting defeat. Admitting you can’t handle the stress. But, in reality, if you can be someone who knows their body, knows their mind and their soul so well that they know when enough is enough and it’s time to slow down. To do what it takes, for your own well-being, and ultimately for your overall health so you can actually take some time to ENJOY life and have FUN with your family, with the strength to not give a DAMN about what anyone thinks about it. Well, that makes you the real super hero.
**did you know? According to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America“
Generalized Anxiety Disorder affects 6.8 million adults, or 3.1% of the U.S. population, yet only 43.2% are receiving treatment.
Panic Disorder affects 6 million adults, or 2.7% of the U.S. population.
Social Anxiety Disorder affects 15 million adults, or 6.8% of the U.S. population.
SAD typically begins around age 13. According to a 2007 ADAA survey, 36% of people with social anxiety disorder report experiencing symptoms for 10 or more years before seeking help.
Major Depressive Disorder is the leading cause of disability in the U.S. for ages 15 to 44.3.
MDD affects more than 16.1 million American adults, or about 6.7%of the U.S. population age 18 and older in a given year.
While major depressive disorder can develop at any age, the median age at onset is 32.5 years old.
More prevalent in women than in men”
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.
Every Mom Has A Favorite Child
Ok – don’t all crucify me at once. But can we just be real for a minute? On any given day, in any given moment, I have a favorite child. And if no one else is brave enough to admit it, I sure as hell will.
As moms I think we go through phases, just like our kids go through phases. They are like episodes of the miniseries that make our week, our month, our year. The dramatic episodes of not sleeping, refusing to eat or deterring bedtimes with every excuse known to man. Heartwarming ones of showing us some extraordinary side of them we didn’t know existed that makes us well up with this immense amount of pride and love we had no idea we were capable of until motherhood slapped us in the face. Or… the horror episodes of complete dissonance and disgust for you, mom. It’s in these moments, that my favorite child tends to shine bright.
At one point I had three kids ages four and under and it was B.R.U.T.A.L. One of them was constantly going through some growth spurt, some sleep regression, or some milestone that subsequently caused them to have a hard time falling or staying asleep. Which, synchronously, meant that mom was getting a really shitty night’s sleep. During those days? My favorite child was whichever happened to be sleeping through the night with the least amount of interruptions to MY sleep.
Around the age of four, all of my kids seemed to have some chronic case of the “terrible two’s” (what can I say, we have a hard time letting go in our house). Except it was amplified significantly from the average child tantrum and more like a “terrible preschooler who doesn’t care what you say and DEFINITELY doesn’t care what strangers think about them, because they are going to completely meltdown in…. 3, 2,…1…. in the middle of target with NO shame and NO regrets” stage. And in the middle of that stage I think to myself (every.single.time.) “I don’t remember my older child(ren) doing this?” They did, of course. Just like labor pains for sure kicked my ass and made me think (in the moment) that there was no way in hell I was ever doing that again. NOPE. Yet… a few short months later, found myself once again staring down the beginning of the harsh pregnancy path, forgetting all about the inescapable and excruciating ending to the human gestational period.
In that moment, the moment when my child is the spawn of the devil himself and thinks I’ve come to expel him from his body, this child is my least favorite. The favorite spot is up for grabs. Usually, at this point, if you’re quiet? You’ve won the title.
Then there is the moment when I go downstairs to see the laundry has already been washed (albeit not sorted and not enough or too much detergent was used in the process, but this is a minor infraction I can overlook, because it’s DONE!). Because my oldest has taken an interest in housework in exchange for a weekly allowance, he is doing extra around the house to learn the value of money, and simultaneously experiencing buyer’s remorse and the hollow feeling of overspending your very last dollar on something you definitely didn’t think through. You know, major life lessons. In THOSE moments? He’s my favorite. Hands down.
When my child learns to tie their shoe, pick up after themselves, makes a team they tried out for (or doesn’t), in that moment, that child is my favorite. But tonight, when that same child is the one refusing to brush his teeth after I’ve only asked seven times? He slips himself down to the bottom rung and the lead is taken by the snoozing babe with clean teeth already in bed.
Regardless of whether you are willing to accept it or not. I’m guessing you have a favorite right now. It’s the one sitting quietly on your lap while you read this. Or maybe the one who took it upon himself to clean up his own plate after lunch and put it in the sink. Maybe it’s the one who’s napping. But it’s definitely not the one you just put in a timeout ten minutes ago because she took it upon herself to cut her hair while you showered. Or the one who didn’t pick up the legos you asked her to and now you’ve stepped on a tiny landmine of pain. It’s not that one. Not now. But maybe later….
As A Single Mom, Sometimes It’s Bring Your Child To Work Day
In real life, when I’m not picking boogers out of one kids nose and gum out of another’s hair, I am a Realtor. I’ve always had a job. Besides the obvious reasons of needing the dough to survive, to me, having some sort of interaction with the outside world after I became a mom was important. Something to break up the long days of baby-talk and over zealous reactions to my infant finding their feet. Before the big D (divorce, get your mind right), it was nice.
It was the perfect job for a mom that wanted to pretend she was a stay at home mom
too. I got to wear both hats, because theoretically, I was both. Back then, I would work when I knew my (then) husband would be home and make sure to not schedule any appointments when he wouldn’t be. I could be the one that was raising my kids and not missing any of the big (or little) moments in their life, while providing some sort of contribution to our family. Win-win. After the big D, my job became dangerously necessary. I NEEDED a steady income, and an ok one at the least.
And so, regardless of my new status as a single mom, I was determined to make sure that my career prevailed, whether I had help or not. “Or not” being the most common scenario. And because of that, there are more times than I would like to admit that I have had to take my kids to work with me.
I really try not to. Let’s be honest, I could use the break from then as much as they can from me. Still… babysitters are a luxury that I just can’t afford consistently, especially when it’s going to be a brief- 20 minute appointment that I’ll be paying a sitter a minimum 2 hour rate for. On the other hand, it’s just not “professional” in some cases. But when you are a single mom and you have three little kids and bills and baseball and karate and gymnastics and need groceries and toilet paper and laundry detergent, you gotta do what you gotta do.
I’ve gotten exceptional at slipping in a little disclaimer to my clients up front that I have young children, there might be a time or two where I may need to cart them along with me. And most of my clients are more than ok with that. Some even encourage it as a way to give their own children in tow someone to interact with while we are out.
That being said, in truth I kind of like my job, and my clients, and I would like to KEEP them as my clients. And there are days where I really shouldn’t bring my kids with. Not because my client would disapprove and not because the circumstance wouldn’t allow, but because on that particular day all three of my bio kids are apparently in need of some sort of exorcism. They have clearly been possessed by some malevolent poltergeist and are in desperate need of purification before they spontaneously combust.
One particular day speaks to me when I think about all of the times I have paraded my children into the car with outlandish promises of fast food, ice cream, unlimited IPad time or whatever else I can come up with in the moment to threaten them into submission so I can get through this engagement without completely losing my credibility.
On this specific day, I actually had a babysitter lined up, but as {my} luck would have it they had some unavoidable situation pop up and could no longer help me. I had a long(ish) appointment to be at, and in my career, it is not easy to reschedule steps of major importance to the transaction so my options were limited.
After carefully considering all of the things that could go wrong and the ways I was going to proactively safeguard said things from happening, I made a pact with my oldest, pledging him the title of “the boss” and therefore far too much power for a (then) 6 year old, and packed my nuggets into the car with promises rolling off my tongue as I strapped them into their car seats.
“Do NOT say anything about the house. Don’t even THINK about running. You absolutely can NOT start whining and crying. Don’t you DARE ask to leave or complain. And when we are done, if we get through this hour with ZERO issues (yeah right)…. I’ll take you to Disney World.” – Me, in my blissful ignorance.
Once this appointment is rounding the corner to the finish line, my youngest falls asleep, my oldest is ready to play on his IPod and my middle is just done. So I offer to take them all out to the driveway where they can wait in the (doors locked, heat running – I’m not an animal) car. They gladly take me up on my offer and off they go. I run around the house in a frenzy making sure all of the lights are off, windows are closed and doors are locked, and as I’m doing so I start hearing some very loud techno music coming from outside. The old lady I’ve become is secretly cursing whatever teenage driver must be on the road and how “irresponsible” they are (as if I was never that same adolescent without a care in the world).
I’m standing in the doorway delivering my clients the rundown and summary of our appointment today and next steps for them as we start walking out of the house… and we all look over simultaneously to where we can see all three of my children have created their own rave in my minivan.
The car is vibrating up and down to the base of the music that is BLASTING out of the speakers into the silence of the neighborhood and if that wasn’t bad enough one of my demon-spawn rolls down the (very large) back window revealing that dependent #2 is whipping their shirt over their head screaming “DANCE PARTY!!!!” as they all jumped up and down some more squealing with delight.
At the time, I was mortified. Now, looking back, it was pretty flippin funny. Thankfully, my clients saw the humor in it from the beginning and were cracking up at my tiny humans cutting a rug in between the seats of the car, half naked.
After that day, whenever I am faced with potentially having to take my children to work with me or finding them a new sitter at the last minute, I try a little harder, beg a little more, and consider deeply the possibilities of what they are capable of before I decide on risking their attendance at my important meetings. Luckily for me, this particular little stunt of theirs was in breach of our contract guaranteeing them a future trip to Disney World. (PHEW!)
Until next time… be the mom that gets the job done. Even if it means you have to drag your kids to work with you. Even if it means you have to promise them the world (or Disney World) to do it. And remember, whatever they do now that makes you want to cry, will probably make you laugh years from now.
MomTransparenting
Common Excuses My Kids Have Used To Avoid Sleep
In my house we have a special kind of song and dance at bed time because I have multiple kids sleeping (in their own beds) in one room. I have mastered how to stagger bedtimes so that they each go to sleep on their own, in chronological order.. but on nights where their bedtime refusal game is strong, it screws with my whole system, and we all hit demon mode in the end. I say a little hymn every night before I start this ritual, but some nights…. we had no fighting chance to begin with. And they have their arsenal of reasons why going to sleep was inevitable from the beginning.
1. Someone saw a shadow, and now there is a monster in their room
They are moving around, sitting up and talking to their siblings and now they have caught a glimpse of their own shadow and have convinced themselves that someone, or (usually) the more chilling version that some THING is in their room. Trying to show kids how a shadow works when you’re running on fumes is something for science, not tired moms.
2. I can’t put on my BLANKETS!!!
The same blankets I expertly placed and smoothed and tucked onto your tiny body before I left the room? THOSE BLANKETS? Someone find
me the nail gun so I can make sure this atrocity doesn’t happen again.
3. Ummmm, MAHMMM, my doll needs blankets too!!!
FFS.
4. The ice in my water melted, so naturally I can’t drink it now
My kids have this weird fetish with ice water, but only at bedtime. Throughout the day, cold water from the tap will do just fine for their sophisticated palates. At bedtime, however, water must be precisely the correct temperature with the exact ice cube count for them to be satisfied. And, God forbid, the ice melts just a SMIDGE and all hell breaks loose.
5. Someone is talking to me in the monitor
yeah – it’s ME. Telling you to lay down and GO TO SLEEP. {eyeroll}
6. I forgot to tell you that next year, on my birthday, I want to have cupcakes instead of cake.
I know birthdays are exciting, but seriously? Yours isn’t for 9 more months, kid. And therefore, not even on my radar. My mind races at night with all things I need to do too. Is this what it looks like inside a child’s brain on it’s way to sleep? Birthday, cake, ice cream, shadows, puppies, Legos, YouTube, ponies, baseball, homework, ABCD…., birthday, blankets, princesses, water, birthday, cake…….
7. It’s really important that this night in April we discuss my future Halloween Costume
See #5. I believe this applies. And, let’s be honest, you’ll change your mind 20 more times before October rolls around. That’s why I don’t have the luxury of getting my Christmas shopping done early. Because if I did, you would turn your nose up at half of your presents because they aren’t “cool” anymore.
8. I need to explain to you in detail the reason why two weeks ago, on Tuesday, I peed in my pants (or got sick, or spit milk out of my nose)
Something “traumatizing” happened and now my poor kid has been trying to figure out why for weeks. I can honestly say, this one is my fault. I over obsess when I do something stupid and embarrassing. Sorry, kid. You inherited this self-reflection and need to replay the moment over and over, from me. I wish I could say it gets better… but it doesn’t. And the embarrassing things you do, only get more awkward and unforgettable (For you. The good news is, everyone else you’re worried about remembering already forgot).
9. There was a tooth fairy sighting, and we are scared
I can’t even make this shit up. This happened. Twice. Next time I see the tooth fairy, we are going to have words.
And the ever-famous….
10. But I’m not tireeedddd….
Every mom has a list like this. It’s unique to your children’s choice of excuses on a given night, but you have one. Because all kids look for every excuse in the world to get out of going to bed at night, while we moms are praying to the Gods of Sleep that today is the day they all magically drift off without a production at bedtime. Because WE are exhausted. We are DYING to go to sleep. We’ve been thinking about it all day.
It’s been our oasis through the long, hot, and sometimes lonely, hike of the day: cleaning up after them, breaking up toddler fist fights, and sitting through episodes on YouTube where grown adults sit and open up plastic eggs with the tiny toys we never want in our house. We’ve licked every wound, washed every dirty hand, wiped every butt, cleaned and re-cleaned every room in the house.
We’ve made it to the top of the greatest mountain known to mom, the one that takes hours and hours of prep and even more time to conquer…. we did the laundry. And now, we just want to slip into the endless abyss of nothingness until around 1 or 2 am when the middle of the night shit show starts because someone woke up with one leg out of their blanket. But we can’t. Because our kids won’t JUST GO TO SLEEP.
Until next time… be the mom that gets some sleep. You deserve it.
MomTransparenting
