When I was first pregnant, I worried I wouldn't be able to handle the icky factor of parenting. The diapers. The snot. The vomit. The blood.
I found I was quickly desensitized. The serious injuries tend to keep me focused - assess the damage, stop the bleeding, make the trip to the children's ER for stitches. I am always surprised at how calm I am in those situations. The moments after, not so much, but when action needs to be taken, I have been able to take it.
Even the gross stuff is dealt with quickly. After a recent temper tantrum gone too long resulted in me wearing my two-year old's just consumed dinner, the hubby and I had the clothes in the wash, sheets changed, kid in the tub, clean jammies on, Resolve on the carpet, extra squirt of Purell on the hands and Lysol sprayed on all surfaces all within a matter of 15 minutes so I could get back to calming the little guy with a story.
I have faith that a mother is as strong as she needs to be. My sister recently had to spend a scary trip to the emergency room and night in the hospital with her 10 month old with RSV. Although I know she was scared and terrified of the what ifs, she was strong for her little one. She fought alongside her and cared for her until that baby was quickly cruising between the sofa and the coffee table again, that long night now just another battle scar of motherhood.
And then I marvel at another mother I know. A mom who found out her two year old son had brain cancer and comforted him through surgery and chemo and an uncertain future all while being pregnant with her daughter. I rejoiced when he was declared cancer free. I high-fived him at our college's homecoming and smiled as our two boys struck up the instant friendship that five year olds do. I crossed my fingers each time she'd bring him back for a follow-up MRI, exhaling at each clear result. And then, this time. It wasn't clear.
Today, she is living through the nightmare again. A surgeon has gone into her son's brain for a second time to remove another mass, similar to the first. I can't imagine what must be running through her head about next steps, treatments, logistics of care, missing school, explaining things to a child who now understands so much more at 5 and a half. And yet I can imagine what is going through her mind. According to her updates today, she's holding his hand. She's made sure he's in his Star Wars pajamas. She's stroking, hugging and praying. She's doing what a mother does.
She's being strong.
And in those moments when she is given an opportunity to rest and be weak and cry and rage and worry, I hope she feels the strength of all the rest of us mother's here to help carry her load. Because the sum of all the super heroes and weightlifters and soldiers in the world can't hold a candle to the strength of a mother.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Here
Where to even start.
It's been more than a month since I've been in this space. Since I've stared down the blinking cursor. Since I've felt the tingle of something to say in my finger tips. Even now, I'm not sure what I want to share, tell, say. There are a number of things bouncing in my brain, a cacophony of to-do lists, observations, worries.
Typically, to silence the noise, I take a deep breath and pluck something to pour onto the page and watch as the burden lifts with each sentence or clarity makes its way out of the paragraphs or I simply enjoy the left to right motion of my thoughts finding their way outside of myself.
For some reason, taking a deep breath hasn't been working. The thoughts are stuck. The page hasn't been beckoning. And I miss it.
I'm not sure if it's work. The fact that I'm creating, arranging commas and otherwise filling blank pages and just don't have anything left. I don't know if it's the stage my kids seem to be in that leaves me exhausted after asking, asking, asking... I'm not sure if it's winter, writer's block, a hangnail.
Excuses. All of it. Today, with the sun shining through the window, the laundry begging to be folded, Bravo tempting me on the sofa, the hubby out with the boys, I am here. I might not know what to say, where it's going, how to solve the problems, but I am present. I am at the page.
And that is a small victory.
It's been more than a month since I've been in this space. Since I've stared down the blinking cursor. Since I've felt the tingle of something to say in my finger tips. Even now, I'm not sure what I want to share, tell, say. There are a number of things bouncing in my brain, a cacophony of to-do lists, observations, worries.
Typically, to silence the noise, I take a deep breath and pluck something to pour onto the page and watch as the burden lifts with each sentence or clarity makes its way out of the paragraphs or I simply enjoy the left to right motion of my thoughts finding their way outside of myself.
For some reason, taking a deep breath hasn't been working. The thoughts are stuck. The page hasn't been beckoning. And I miss it.
I'm not sure if it's work. The fact that I'm creating, arranging commas and otherwise filling blank pages and just don't have anything left. I don't know if it's the stage my kids seem to be in that leaves me exhausted after asking, asking, asking... I'm not sure if it's winter, writer's block, a hangnail.
Excuses. All of it. Today, with the sun shining through the window, the laundry begging to be folded, Bravo tempting me on the sofa, the hubby out with the boys, I am here. I might not know what to say, where it's going, how to solve the problems, but I am present. I am at the page.
And that is a small victory.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Being Flexible with my Flex Schedule
I had a light bulb moment this week. Perhaps the reason why "flex scheduling" isn't more readily embraced by the corporate community is that employers aren't sure they can, in fact, be flexible. They may feel that the burden will fall on them.
The fact of the matter is, my current employers have asked, simply, that a certain level of work be completed. Other than perhaps understanding that my best days for meetings are Mondays and Wednesdays, the reality is that, as long as I deliver, they're pretty much fine. Sure, some employers may balk at employees working out of sight for fear that they can't supervise or offer input. And some jobs certainly can't be terribly flexible (a chef or a doctor can't work from home the way an accountant or a PR pro can). But for many companies, does it really matter whether you finish that report in an office or at your kitchen table as long as it is still quality work?
My personal light bulb went on earlier this week when I realized flex scheduling is less about my employer being flexible (although, obviously the fact that I have this arrangement indicates that yes they are) and more about me being flexible. I plan my work around the two days both kids are in school, around typical nap/quiet times, around evenings or early mornings. But then, inevitably, something will happen. A colleague will have a request that might need to be met on a timeline that doesn't fit the mental parameters I have anticipated for a day. Or that early morning I was planning on is traded in for a snooze button after being up for two hours in the middle of the night with an inconsolable toddler. Or in order to make a crucial meeting happen, I need to suck it up and find a babysitter.
Strangely, the hardest part of my flex schedule is being flexible with myself. Letting it go until the next day so I can get to bed early or postponing that revision because the toddler decided to skip a nap or buckling down for several hours of work on a weekend when the hubby takes the kids on an outing are all part of me rolling with the punches. The press release doesn't know the difference. The research still gets done. The plans still get written.
As long as I can be flexible with my own expectations, this flex schedule thing may just work out.
The fact of the matter is, my current employers have asked, simply, that a certain level of work be completed. Other than perhaps understanding that my best days for meetings are Mondays and Wednesdays, the reality is that, as long as I deliver, they're pretty much fine. Sure, some employers may balk at employees working out of sight for fear that they can't supervise or offer input. And some jobs certainly can't be terribly flexible (a chef or a doctor can't work from home the way an accountant or a PR pro can). But for many companies, does it really matter whether you finish that report in an office or at your kitchen table as long as it is still quality work?
My personal light bulb went on earlier this week when I realized flex scheduling is less about my employer being flexible (although, obviously the fact that I have this arrangement indicates that yes they are) and more about me being flexible. I plan my work around the two days both kids are in school, around typical nap/quiet times, around evenings or early mornings. But then, inevitably, something will happen. A colleague will have a request that might need to be met on a timeline that doesn't fit the mental parameters I have anticipated for a day. Or that early morning I was planning on is traded in for a snooze button after being up for two hours in the middle of the night with an inconsolable toddler. Or in order to make a crucial meeting happen, I need to suck it up and find a babysitter.
Strangely, the hardest part of my flex schedule is being flexible with myself. Letting it go until the next day so I can get to bed early or postponing that revision because the toddler decided to skip a nap or buckling down for several hours of work on a weekend when the hubby takes the kids on an outing are all part of me rolling with the punches. The press release doesn't know the difference. The research still gets done. The plans still get written.
As long as I can be flexible with my own expectations, this flex schedule thing may just work out.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Mommy's Jobs
I'm only in the office two mornings a week. The rest of the week, I'm balancing work during the boys' nap/TV time, post bedtime, and weekend outings with daddy. When I pack up my laptop and head out for car pool pickups on office days, the office manager typically says goodbye with a "Have fun at your real job."
And that's certainly how it feels. I definitely bill more hours to the mommy job than the other. Each has its own uniform with a nice Mr. Rogers-like transition when I come home replacing the skirts with jeans and the heels with slippers. Each has its own compartment in my brain and color on my iCal. Both are relieved with a glass of wine and a good book.
I took a little time off from the hustle and bustle around the holidays and put work away for a bit. When I came back, ready to tackle the scheduling and the balancing act again, I decided to approach it a bit differently. To mentally stop trying to balance a see-saw that defies all rules of physics to begin with. To approach each day with a unique task to accomplish. To only judge my performance on that one task whether that day's focus is bringing snack to my son's preschool class or developing an outreach plan. To try not to say "in a minute" to my kids when I'm trying to finish an email/press release/dinner.
The last has been the toughest. Inevitably, the boys are done with naps/videos/Legos five minutes before I'm done with whatever task I'm trying to accomplish. I want them to know that mommy works and that what mommy does is important but that they will always be the most important job mommy has.
At dinner recently, the five year old was asking the hubby to stay home from now on and mommy could go to work (the boys enjoyed the extra time the hubby was around over the holidays burning some saved up PTO). I explained that mommy already goes to work, just while they are at school. I thought I could use the opening as an opportunity to explain a little bit more about what mommy does. And so I asked him, "Do you know what mommy's job is when she's not home taking care of you?"
His response, "Loving me?"
It's good to know that he understands my real job.
And that's certainly how it feels. I definitely bill more hours to the mommy job than the other. Each has its own uniform with a nice Mr. Rogers-like transition when I come home replacing the skirts with jeans and the heels with slippers. Each has its own compartment in my brain and color on my iCal. Both are relieved with a glass of wine and a good book.
I took a little time off from the hustle and bustle around the holidays and put work away for a bit. When I came back, ready to tackle the scheduling and the balancing act again, I decided to approach it a bit differently. To mentally stop trying to balance a see-saw that defies all rules of physics to begin with. To approach each day with a unique task to accomplish. To only judge my performance on that one task whether that day's focus is bringing snack to my son's preschool class or developing an outreach plan. To try not to say "in a minute" to my kids when I'm trying to finish an email/press release/dinner.
The last has been the toughest. Inevitably, the boys are done with naps/videos/Legos five minutes before I'm done with whatever task I'm trying to accomplish. I want them to know that mommy works and that what mommy does is important but that they will always be the most important job mommy has.
At dinner recently, the five year old was asking the hubby to stay home from now on and mommy could go to work (the boys enjoyed the extra time the hubby was around over the holidays burning some saved up PTO). I explained that mommy already goes to work, just while they are at school. I thought I could use the opening as an opportunity to explain a little bit more about what mommy does. And so I asked him, "Do you know what mommy's job is when she's not home taking care of you?"
His response, "Loving me?"
It's good to know that he understands my real job.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
The Rainbow Connection
For the past few days, I've had horrible jaw pain. I finally called my dentist yesterday when it was nearly unbearable. I was told the following: Take an ibuprofen before bed. Turn off the television/to-do lists/etc and massage the area between my jaw and ear for 15 minutes. I did. And although it's still a tad bit tight today, it's really a night and day difference.
I have admittedly been a bit stressed out this holiday season. Whether I'm working and not shopping or shopping and not playing or playing and not doing anything else, it always feels like the wrong thing. The good news, is that I have been trying. Trying to slow down and enjoy the moments that will be the memories my family remembers. The only drawback has been when I finish smelling the proverbial roses, I'm thrown right back into my stress spiral totaling up all the items I didn't do while I was taking a "break."
The jaw pain, probably caused from overnight teeth clenching because I'm apparently even stressed during my sleep, was a wake up call (bad pun was sadly intended, sorry). What difference does it all make? If I know anything about myself, it will all still get done. The work will be completed, the presents wrapped, the laundry done...eventually. Maybe it won't be according to my Type-A expectations or timeline, but it will happen.
So, today, while the toddler was at school and the five year old was home on his first day of Christmas break, we took care of two Christmas errands and then headed to the movie theater. Nothing like popcorn for lunch and the Muppets to put you in a good mood. Then, in the dark of the theater, towards the end of the movie, my little man reached for my hand. There in the quiet, it was just me and him. No to-do lists. No distractions. Just his maturing profile in the film's glow and his slender fingers taking up increasing room in my palm.
And that, my dear Kermit, was me finding my rainbow connection.
Well, that moment and the one where I laughed hysterically with him when Gonzo got Chris Cooper in the gut with a bowling ball. Cause if slapstick ain't a stress reliever, I don't know what is.
I have admittedly been a bit stressed out this holiday season. Whether I'm working and not shopping or shopping and not playing or playing and not doing anything else, it always feels like the wrong thing. The good news, is that I have been trying. Trying to slow down and enjoy the moments that will be the memories my family remembers. The only drawback has been when I finish smelling the proverbial roses, I'm thrown right back into my stress spiral totaling up all the items I didn't do while I was taking a "break."
The jaw pain, probably caused from overnight teeth clenching because I'm apparently even stressed during my sleep, was a wake up call (bad pun was sadly intended, sorry). What difference does it all make? If I know anything about myself, it will all still get done. The work will be completed, the presents wrapped, the laundry done...eventually. Maybe it won't be according to my Type-A expectations or timeline, but it will happen.
So, today, while the toddler was at school and the five year old was home on his first day of Christmas break, we took care of two Christmas errands and then headed to the movie theater. Nothing like popcorn for lunch and the Muppets to put you in a good mood. Then, in the dark of the theater, towards the end of the movie, my little man reached for my hand. There in the quiet, it was just me and him. No to-do lists. No distractions. Just his maturing profile in the film's glow and his slender fingers taking up increasing room in my palm.
And that, my dear Kermit, was me finding my rainbow connection.
Well, that moment and the one where I laughed hysterically with him when Gonzo got Chris Cooper in the gut with a bowling ball. Cause if slapstick ain't a stress reliever, I don't know what is.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Home for the Holidays
In the 13 Christmases that have come and gone during our marriage, the hubby and I have travelled back to the city of our formative years and spent the holiday with our families 11 times. Only twice since we had kids did we actually stay in our own home.
The first time, Peanut was one or two and by 11 in the morning, the hubby and I were staring at each other wondering, what now? I'm not sure if that's why we decided the following year to go back up or not, but I'm sure it had something to do with it. Pumpkin's first Christmas, we stayed here, too. He was only a month and a half old and traveling with both kids was just too much for us to handle at that point. That year went much better. We were kept busy by caring for a newborn, enjoying Peanut who better understood Christmas and friendly neighbors who invited us to brunch with their family.
Then last year, we went back up again. As we packed up all the Santa presents in the dead of the night so that the kids wouldn't see them and struggled to fit everything plus all the kids' gifts from the family back into the trunk at trip's end, I turned to the hubby and said two words: Never. Again.
Yet, there I was this summer, looking ahead and figuring, maybe we should go back up again. The pull of my niece on her first Christmas was a powerful tug.
As Thanksgiving approached, we avoided the topic. We put it off. We constantly agreed to talk about it "later." When Thanksgiving passed and we entered into December, we finally sat down and talked it through. Pros. Cons. Reality. And decided to stay home for the holidays. Well, at least for Christmas day.
I heard Perry Como crooning "Home for the Holidays" today on the radio and I nearly felt that tug of guilt again. "See?" I said to myself. "You're supposed to want to go home for the holidays. The traffic sounds nostalgic. The pumpkin pie would be homemade...wait, what? My mom never made pumpkin pie."
Sure, we'll miss providing my parents with the Christmas morning magic that kids bring, but we'll be giving our kids the magic of Christmas morning in their own house. Isn't there something about waking up in your own bed while the moment dawns on you that this isn't just any other morning? Something special has happened. Something unexpected is awaiting. Sure, we'll miss my mom's excellent Christmas dinner, but I'll get to make these as a new tradition. And we'll see everyone, just a few days later.
So, yes, Perry, we will be home for the holidays. Although it feels a little bit selfish, what wish list to Santa isn't?
This year, we start creating the traditions and the magic and the laughter that will pull my children back home for the holidays when they are grown. That is, until they, too, have to decide it is time they stay home for their own sanity.
But I have a many more Christmases to go before that happens. And I plan on enjoying each and every one of them. Wherever we are.
The first time, Peanut was one or two and by 11 in the morning, the hubby and I were staring at each other wondering, what now? I'm not sure if that's why we decided the following year to go back up or not, but I'm sure it had something to do with it. Pumpkin's first Christmas, we stayed here, too. He was only a month and a half old and traveling with both kids was just too much for us to handle at that point. That year went much better. We were kept busy by caring for a newborn, enjoying Peanut who better understood Christmas and friendly neighbors who invited us to brunch with their family.
Then last year, we went back up again. As we packed up all the Santa presents in the dead of the night so that the kids wouldn't see them and struggled to fit everything plus all the kids' gifts from the family back into the trunk at trip's end, I turned to the hubby and said two words: Never. Again.
Yet, there I was this summer, looking ahead and figuring, maybe we should go back up again. The pull of my niece on her first Christmas was a powerful tug.
As Thanksgiving approached, we avoided the topic. We put it off. We constantly agreed to talk about it "later." When Thanksgiving passed and we entered into December, we finally sat down and talked it through. Pros. Cons. Reality. And decided to stay home for the holidays. Well, at least for Christmas day.
I heard Perry Como crooning "Home for the Holidays" today on the radio and I nearly felt that tug of guilt again. "See?" I said to myself. "You're supposed to want to go home for the holidays. The traffic sounds nostalgic. The pumpkin pie would be homemade...wait, what? My mom never made pumpkin pie."
Sure, we'll miss providing my parents with the Christmas morning magic that kids bring, but we'll be giving our kids the magic of Christmas morning in their own house. Isn't there something about waking up in your own bed while the moment dawns on you that this isn't just any other morning? Something special has happened. Something unexpected is awaiting. Sure, we'll miss my mom's excellent Christmas dinner, but I'll get to make these as a new tradition. And we'll see everyone, just a few days later.
So, yes, Perry, we will be home for the holidays. Although it feels a little bit selfish, what wish list to Santa isn't?
This year, we start creating the traditions and the magic and the laughter that will pull my children back home for the holidays when they are grown. That is, until they, too, have to decide it is time they stay home for their own sanity.
But I have a many more Christmases to go before that happens. And I plan on enjoying each and every one of them. Wherever we are.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Christmas is Coming, The Mama's Freakin' Out
Christmas is already hectic enough between holiday school performances, class parties, adult parties, gift shopping, decorating, baking, wrapping, card addressing, hauling, traveling, outings...I do my best each year to really make sure all those things are still fun and enjoyable, because why else do them, really?
This year, however, I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. Who knew that the holidays ARE a part time job? But they must be because my actual part time job has apparently taken that available time. I'm realizing that finding the time to accomplish the shopping and the organizing and the selecting is next to impossible when most of my free-to-just-me moments are occupied with work. Work I need to be doing. Work I want to be doing.
But I want to be working on Christmas ornaments with the kids, too. Only I haven't had time to go to the craft store for supplies not to mention figure out what we'd be making. And I want to be carefully thinking of my loved ones and what I want to select for their gifts. I really do love those eureka moments when you've found the perfect gift for the perfect person. This year, I can't even figure out what the kids are going to be getting - and they're usually the easy ones. I want to be wrapping pretty packages of cookies for the boys' teachers and creating family memories of warm apple cider and Christmas music.
I know. I know. I didn't have the Norman Rockwell fantasy even when I wasn't working, but at least I was attaining some level of postcard semi-perfection, if only for an hour here and there.
My strategy for the holidays, then? Anybody got any extra elves I could employ to either babysit my kids, do my shopping or clean my house? No? Or just not sharing? I suppose instead I'll make lots of lists, fly by the seat of my pants and practice my deep breathing. That, and do a lot of shopping online in my jammies once the work is complete for the day and the kids are in bed.
And if I find myself starting to freak out, I'll just pop in the John Denver and the Muppets album and boogie with the kids a little bit. I can't freak out when belting out "five golden rings" with Miss Piggy, can I?
This year, however, I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. Who knew that the holidays ARE a part time job? But they must be because my actual part time job has apparently taken that available time. I'm realizing that finding the time to accomplish the shopping and the organizing and the selecting is next to impossible when most of my free-to-just-me moments are occupied with work. Work I need to be doing. Work I want to be doing.
But I want to be working on Christmas ornaments with the kids, too. Only I haven't had time to go to the craft store for supplies not to mention figure out what we'd be making. And I want to be carefully thinking of my loved ones and what I want to select for their gifts. I really do love those eureka moments when you've found the perfect gift for the perfect person. This year, I can't even figure out what the kids are going to be getting - and they're usually the easy ones. I want to be wrapping pretty packages of cookies for the boys' teachers and creating family memories of warm apple cider and Christmas music.
I know. I know. I didn't have the Norman Rockwell fantasy even when I wasn't working, but at least I was attaining some level of postcard semi-perfection, if only for an hour here and there.
My strategy for the holidays, then? Anybody got any extra elves I could employ to either babysit my kids, do my shopping or clean my house? No? Or just not sharing? I suppose instead I'll make lots of lists, fly by the seat of my pants and practice my deep breathing. That, and do a lot of shopping online in my jammies once the work is complete for the day and the kids are in bed.
And if I find myself starting to freak out, I'll just pop in the John Denver and the Muppets album and boogie with the kids a little bit. I can't freak out when belting out "five golden rings" with Miss Piggy, can I?
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