I Need To Send a Thank You Note

I have not had an easy relationship with my mother. I've broadcast this many times over with various friends and my husband. My siblings and I share special knowing looks whenever the topic of our mother comes up.

She's not a bad mother. Far from it. And she's a far cry from episodes of horrible parenting several of my friends experienced while growing up.

But she's a hard woman. Hard to get to know. Hard to understand. She and I have some hobbies and beliefs in common, but our worldviews are miles apart. Especially when it comes to people and their foibles.

I understand that people are elastic. Emotional. That sometimes they say one thing and may do another. I believe in the supernatural phenomena such as whims and feeeeeelings. That sometimes people are driven by these, and that may make them unreliable but does not make them bad people. I can listen to a story about a conflict, and see where both sides are coming from.

My mother seems to have a more rigid outlook. There are times when people must seem downright incomprehensible to her. Probably myself included. I wonder at times if I must be to her the changeling daughter left on her doorstep.

I could give examples, but I don't want this blog to turn out seeming like a bash-fest of my mom. In many ways, I can understand her viewpoint, because I know at least some of the circumstances that made her turn out that way.

The point I'm trying to boil down to is this -- I suffer from envy. Extreme envy at times. I try not to, but I feel a twinge of envy every time I meet a woman that has a close, friendly relationship with their mother. Where they talk to each other about life, spouses, relationships and yes, feeeelings. Even in movies. I can't even watch the damn Golden Girls without feeling at least a little jealousy about Sophia and Dorothy's sarcastic, yet easygoing relationship.

Over the years I've learned, if I need to vent, if I need someone to listen to my problems, if I need sympathy -- I DO NOT call my mother. I don't tell her my problems, unless they've grown to the point it is unavoidable and my conversational skills are overtaxed by mentally editing everything I say.

I can recall one instance in particular, when my son wandered off. The panic and frenzy I felt while he was missing was excruciating. Fortunately, he was soon found. I knew it was something I could not avoid telling my mother, but I was wise enough to talk to a few friends before I made that call. I knew better than to seek sympathy from her at this point, and was correct. Instead I received a lecture about my irresponsibility and neglectfulness.

Last night, I was watching a movie, and once again feeling envy for the relationship of the mother and daughter. Thinking it would be nice if my mother and I could be the same way. That it would be nice to have my mother's advice and sympathy during a time I feel I will really need it, since my husband is accepting a new job that's going to take him away from home weeks at a time. Essentially leaving me as a single parent.

That's when it hit me. If anything, by now, my mother has taught me to be self-reliant. I couldn't believe the revelation. In all my 30 + years, I finally learned that whether it was intentional or not, my mother has given me a terrific gift. That was the gift of being able to listen to my own voice, in the head that sits on my own shoulders.

To make a decision, mostly uncluttered by what other's opinions of that decision are. I won't need her advice. I won't need the validation. I will occasionally need a break sometimes, but that is something else I've learned to seek out on my own.

Her greatest gift to me has been teaching me how to be an adult. I just never recognized it until now. I've essentially kicked her in teeth all these years, and have been nothing but ungrateful for this lesson. I need to send her a thank you note.

Hot Mess Mommy

"How has motherhood made you a misfit? Have you found that parenthood has made it easier or more difficult to make friends? Do you rebel against the cliches of modern motherhood or embrace them? How have you changed?"

Those were the questions posed recently on a blog I follow. They're definitely food for thought.

You know, as far as being a misfit goes, I've always been that. Now I'm just a misfit with children. Sometimes that makes it easier to make friends. Sometimes, that makes it harder.

Having children is definitely an icebreaker, and opens doors for you in some ways. If you see a person with children, you know you're in the same boat. Theirs may be a yacht, and yours a dinghy. But nevertheless, you're both navigating the tricky ocean of parenthood. Instead of say, driving a car. On an established road.

If it weren't for my daughter, I would never have attended storyhour at the library. I wouldn't have made friends with other new mommies, and found myself as part of a playgroup. However, these women, as nice and friendly as they are, only see a facet of myself.

Don't get me wrong, I'm genuine with them.... I'm just not my "whole" self. These women have their lives together. They make potty charts for their children. Shuffle them off to Gymboree, preschool soccer, all sorts of organized activities. They have mommy hairstyles. They get the perils and pitfalls of motherhood, but they do it with class and style.

I'm a hot mess of a mommy. My kids are perpetually crusty faced and messy haired. I wear T-shirts and jeans insteads of blouses and khakis. I'm never prepared for anything, always forgetting to pack a snack or sand toys when we go to the park, not having any wipes or extra pants for my kid when he messes himself. Always having to borrow these items from other mommies, my face full of shame, even when they tell me they understand, they have 3 kids themselves.

I wear my hair in pigtails, when I so fancy. My chidren have never attended anything more organized than preschool or storyhour. We dig around in the yard looking for worms, when the weather's nice. I'm always, ALWAYS running late. To everything.

Every once in a while, when the planets align just so, I find another Mommy rowing a dinghy like mine. Ok, I admit it -- it's just happened once. But it's glorious to find another mom who appreciates the finer things in life. Like old school paper, pencil and dice role playing games. The merits of playing a video game for 6 hours straight. Trashy celebrity gossip rags. Or leaving the kids with the grandparents to get your drink on and dance the night away in some dingy, dimly lit overcrowded lounge.

I like to think I've stayed true to myself, while also embracing the part of me that is Mommy. I'm all about feminism and equality. When my daughter wanted a Bob the Builder cake for her birthday, she got it. She loves to play outside in the dirt, and I encourage it. When she's debating on whether to be a ballerina or a firefighter when she grows up, I suggest being a ballerina who's on the volunteer fire department.

I also try to keep an open mind and agree to requests from my son, when he wants help putting on his sister's Cinderella dress. Polishing his fingernails if he asks, and letting him wear one of my rings if he wants. And stand up for him and say, "That's what he wanted" if someone should dare tsk, tsk me about it.

While some mothers are dragging their babies and children off to pageants or getting their ears pierced and suggesting I do so too, I stand firm. My children are their own people and not my personal accessories or an accomplishment. Should they ever want to do those things, I'll support them. But they're not going to do them, solely because *I* want them to.

I guess that's one way I have changed. My children have given me a reason to root out the issues I care about, and to stand firm on them. Before children, I was a reed in the wind, bending to the whims of wishes of others, whether I agreed or not.

Memorializing this for my son's future embarassment

My son is 3, and mostly potty-trained. However, he still wears disposable training pants at night. After getting my son ready for bed, my husband related to me the following story:

My son had a piece of fuzz stuck to his "peanut" as he likes to call it, and was trying to remove it. In doing so, a predictable reaction occurred. Or in his words, "Look, Daddy! I made it big!"

Husband's response. "Yes, you did, son. That happens sometimes."

Son's reply, "It's as big as a mountain!"


Well, at least he's got a healthy self-esteem. Heh. But I had to share that story, since it cracked me up!

My Coming Out Party

I guess I'm basically "coming out" with my blog, so to speak. I've been participating with other websites and blog comments, and have been listing my blog's URL address in various profiles.

I may actually start getting some hits soon. That unnerves me a bit. Only a few others really knew about this site. The thought of random strangers reading the things I've posted leaves me panicky, unsettled and excited.

I soon realized I chose a bad address for my blog, as it contains the same ID I use to contribute to other sites. Being as that for now I want to retain anonymity, I had to go back and change the address so I couldn't be googled and found!

Technicalities, technicalities, I know. No one is much interested in the how's of assembling sites. It's the connection and entertainment readers want.

I shall provide more, all in due time. It takes time to get to know each other, don't you think?

Yeah, I'm OK

Well, hello again, faithful readers. (My joke. I don't have any readers yet. ha ha). I have seen the other side of crazy and survived.

Four days after my big meltdown, Aunt Flo came into town for a visit. Now Hubby is chalking up the "Nervous Breakdown" to PMS. Maybe it was an extreme case. I don't know. Everyone around me seems able to predict what I'm going through or what I'm going to do, while I don't even know myself.

This is true. I don't know how many times I've told a story about something that happened to me, or something I've done, to Hubby or friends, and been told they suspected that would happen, they could have told me that, or they "just knew" I was going to do that. Myself? I don't have a clue. I consistently surprise myself.

I do know that I need a break. It's not that I'm under any extreme stress, it's just the day to day things. Hubby does his best to help around the house, though inconsistently. His line of work has erratic hours. I can expect him home anywhere from 5-8 p.m. That leaves me home with the kids who fight, wreak havoc, constantly disprespect me, backtalk and unless they are having a sweet moment, are generally unpleasant to be around.

I love my kids, but I find I don't always like them. My mother has a plaque on her wall that reads, "Raising children is like being pecked to death by chickens". I have to say I agree. I feel pecked at all day long. Mix that with cabin fever and spring fever, and you have a recipe for meltdown.

So, if there's anyone out there concerned for my wellbeing, afraid they might find I've been locked in a padded cell and wearing a straightjacket -- I'm fine. I'm looking forward to getting out this weekend with a friend of mine, and making plans to visit with some high school friends the next weekend, if possible.

Nervous Breakdown

Ugh, what a day.

The morning started out terrifically. I went to bed early, and Hubby let me sleep in. I woke refreshed and rested. Then he volunteered to make breakfast -- biscuits, gravy, sausage and eggs, and it was terrific.

Things started going downhill from there, although I didn't realize it at the time. First, I was left with this huge breakfast mess to clean up, while he disappeared. The kids were constantly fighting, and constantly underfoot. Each of them needing attention of some sort, but when I referred them to Daddy, they were ignored. Until the point I pounded on the door and demanded he do something. Yeah, pretty bitchy, and not fun.

Hubby suggested us having some friends over this weekend, because he missed them. I realized I missed them too, and thought it was a terrific idea. But I had a specific list of things that had to be done before they came over, and I needed his help with them. The house was a mess, and there was a lot of cleaning to be done beforehand!

I get started, then go in to ask Hubby for help. Though he'd already agreed to assist, I find out he's arranged to run a long-distance errand with a friend. I reminded him of our agreement and was basically given a pat on the head and a "I'm sure you can manage it."

A few minutes later, I ask my daughter to clean her room. I could give you the long version, but for the sake of brevity, it took two hours of near-constant supervision to get her to clean up a mess that would have taken me 15 minutes. She had just a few things left to pick up, but opted to take a nap instead.

I had accomplished maybe a quarter of what I wanted, when I realized I was hungry, and so was my son. I fixed him something to eat, and got him a glass of chocolate milk. Which he spilled, approximately .2 seconds after I set it down.

Well, the stress that had been building finally overwhelmed me. I immediately lost my appetite, burst into tears, and slid down the refrigerator. My son walks over to me, and says, "Are you crying Mommy?"

I said, "Yes." He asked why, and I replied, "Too many messes."

He said, "Don't cry, Mommy." I thought this was very sweet, but then he finished his sentence. "Don't cry, Mommy. You need to fix me something to drink."

It was very amusing later, but at the time, felt like one of the cruelest, most heartless things anyone has said to me in a long time!

I retreated to my room and locked the door. The kids have been tyrants for the past several weeks. Hubby has oh-so-helpfully pointed out ways to improve the situation, but doesn't realize that by the time you have your fifth or sixth battle of the day, you are tired of fighting. I feel abandoned, alone, and like the person who is supposed to care the most has basically told me to "suck it up and deal."

I just lay on the bed and sob. Seems like hours. Might have been 30 minutes. Either way, it's the longest I've cried in I don't remember when. I finally feel calm enough to face the world.

I go back into the kitchen, to find my son has attempted to pour himself a glass of Kool-Aid in my absence. I say "attempt", because only some of it has made it's way into the cup. Most of it is on the floor.

I burst into a fresh round of tears, clean up that mess, pop in a movie for my son to keep him preoccupied and perhaps prevent further messes, and lock myself in my room for another good 30 minutes or so. Maybe longer. I have no idea.

I just cried and cried, until I couldn't anymore. Then I felt blank. Not just wrung out, tired or fatigued. But blank. I swept and mopped the kitchen floor in a stupor, not even sure if I had swept everything up or if I even cared.

I considered if I had a nervous breakdown. Lord, it's possible. The cabin fever has been building for months, and the kid stress for several weeks. I feel like I've been bullied, and no one has really cared or I've been given constructive criticism when what I need is a damn helping hand.

I'm supposed to work tomorrow, and I wonder if I will wake up feeling better. I hope so. I'm not sure if I can fake normal for a 10 hour shift tomorrow. Will someone notice that I'm not "at myself?"

It depresses me, because I realize I'm too relied upon. I can't just fall apart. I don't have that luxury. While a visit to the crazy house might seem like a luxurious vacation right now, my poor husband would have to arrange for child care and a maid, and the world may fall apart while I'm gone. I'd return home to even worse conditions than what I'd left and the kids would be confused and scratching their heads, thinking they must have done something wrong to make mommy go away.

Yeah. That's my day, and it's put me through the wringer. Thank God it's almost over.

Popping My Blog Cherry!

Well, this is my first. Here it is.

I've been thinking about creating my own blog for a while, and I'm still struggling with how to define this site in general.

Am I a mommy blogger? Maybe? Partly? I have two kids, and I know that some of what I write about will have to do with parenting. But my children are 3 and 5, and at least the oldest is starting to create her own social life. I am a stay at home mom, but my children are no longer the be-all and end-all of my everyday existence.

I'm also struggling about how anonymous or public to be, as well. Some people blog about their families, posting pictures of them and their children. Others even post under fake names, change their children's names, or even just call their children "Chaos", "Kid 1 and Kid 2", etc. etc. Some days I feel more open than others. But if I start out completely open, I lose the option of being anonymous later when I'm feeling more shy.

I wonder how often to post. Everyday? Probably not... I don't think I'll have something to talk about everyday. Once a week? Who knows? Sporadically? Most likely.

My feeling is, after a while, this blog will take on a rhythm and life of its own. It will define itself gradually.

So, here it is, world. Hope you like it.