Motherhood on a shelf

For nearly three years, I've had to fight to remember who I was before I became a mother. I had to wonder what I did with all my time.

For the last 2.5 years, I haven't been able to escape being a mother. I couldn't dream of being anything else. The simplest things led me back to two beings: My daughters.

I breathed them. I dreamed of them. I daydreamed about them. I couldn't imagine another child, another life ever being more consuming than my love for them.

I couldn't imagine anything -- nothing at all -- ever coming between me and them. Where I began, they started; where they started, I began.

Now, as I spend eight hours away from them each day, I have to fight to bring myself back to being a mother. When I'd normally be fixing their lunch, I'm fielding calls with complete strangers who now need my attention.

As I walk on short breaks around town, I wonder who am I now? Am I still Mommy? Am I still a writer? Glimpses of my old self have started creeping back. It's me, but very different.

Like a web spun by a spider, I'm feeling stretched from limb to limb to remember the person I've been the last two years, the one who has put creativity and art and nature before everything else. The one who values family and love and gratitude above all. The one with dreams that have been on hold.

And it is hard. I walk down the store-filled street, window shopping for exercise, and realize that I'm drawn to the natural elements as I have been lately. I long to sit in and do yoga, create an artful masterpiece to sit on my daughters' bookshelves, a small bowl wih a simple message. I want to drop in the all natural cleaning store and soak up the good vibes respectful of Mother Earth. So many things I wanted to do ... so many, many things.

And yet ... I want to grab a glass of wine and listen to some music. I want to browse at the library. I want to talk to random people because I haven't' talked to random people in so long. but I forget how to talk to them. How to speak. How to get a conversation started without my conversation pieces -- Jadyn and Liana. I have nothing to glance down to, nothing to push forward and say, here these are my girls! Look at me! I'm somebody!

It's just me. Feeling very exposed but thin and frail and a bit insecure. Like just learning to walk for the first time. Careful, cautious, considerate.

My first three days were spent nearly incognito in a town where many people would recognize my face, and know my name. But, I have even changed that. I'm no longer using my maiden name -- my byline, a name that illuminates that woman I used to be and who hardly exists anymore. Even my hair is different.

At 5:01, I lock the office door, and briskly walk-run toward the parking garage and swiftly make my eight block drive home to my husband and daughters who await my entrance with giddy laughter and big smiles -- something long, long overdue in my life.

This week has been easy. I know they've been happy and fulfilled. Next week, next week will be different. And hard. Perhaps putting motherhood on a shelf won't be as easy.

But, for this week, it's been an interesting experiment to just be a little bit of both of women I used to be.

Photo Courtesy of Luckychair.

Inch by inch, straddling the fence

The funny thing about considering going back to work full-time -- by back, I mean return since I was in the workforce once before as a mother -- is that recently I've begun getting really annoyed by the so-called media-hyped Mommy Wars. But, it's not just the media, unfortunately. Web sites are being created for working moms, too, answering things like how to fix dinner or stay social when working because, you know, stay-at-home moms have nothing to do but cook and talk on the phone all day.

Since I've been on both sides of the battle line I know the challenges, the advantages, the joys and sorrows of each. I know them very well, in fact.

We all struggle with finding time doing the ordinary, the stuff we don't like so we can have more time doing the things we do like. Each season brings a new obstacle to figure out and make our own. And, since my mom always worked I know it is still possible to mother well while working. I also know that she missed out on a lot of memory-making, too, because she was busy preparing for working.

Both "sides" have it equally hard for so many reasons.

But I know three things I'm certain about:

The first is that I do have more quality time with my girls now than I would if I worked. Nothing beats our no-rush mornings lying in my bed giggling under the covers before our breakfast that includes entertainment of silly noises and clapping for each other's big bites. And, I cannot imagine a better way to spend a childhood than taking long walks in the park as often as possible or lounging in the backyard in the afternoon, filling ourselves with fresh air and nature's best toys.

The second thing is that by working I would certainly avoid the often dead-beat feeling of being a mother, such as doing the mundane chores while dealing with simultaneous tantrums, or putting their clothes back on several times in one hour or making yet another grilled cheese lunch because, frankly, I just don't know what else to make besides peanut butter and jelly anymore. In other words, I'd get out of a lot of the crap work and get to spend more time just being the cool Mommy.

The third is that no caregiver could do what I do as their Mama. In a way that is comforting to me. But in other ways it is not. You see, I am that Mama who would make and fly a kite. I am that Mama who creates backyard painting projects. I am that Mama who goes on field trips. That's the Mama I love being; that's the one that I wish could be every minute of the week.

These three points are not perfect or black or white. There are certainly times/days/weeks that are better for quality time than others. And, there will still be crap work as a work-out-of-the-home Mama. I know how easy it is to complain about being at home all day, but I also know that I'm lucky to be here, that I still look forward to Mondays when it's just me and the girls.

But, I will say this: All the comments were wonderful yesterday. I appreciated all of them and took them all into account. I do have a great village. Certainly, I am approaching this from the top of the fence knowing the pros and the cons, knowing the challenges for each. Like a good journalist, I'm gathering facts and weighing their importance.

And I do not know which way I am leaning right now. I do know that by writing this post I learned a little more about the gray areas of the situation, the part that wasn't easily written on a pros and cons list. In the meantime, deadlines are looming.

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A feminist housewife

Dear Jadyn and Liana,

"What will you do?" your Da! asked me one day, not long ago.
"You know, when they start school?" he continued, with caution and perfect-Da! thoughtfulness.
I will continue writing, I immediately snapped.
It is my mission to never have to return to another office-like setting again unless it's my own business.
It is my purpose to make sure that I will always be home when you get home from school.
Just because these early years pass too fast and I don't want to miss them doesn't mean I want to miss any of the rest.
Just the opposite.
I want to be there when you get home to offer you a snack, to help you with your homework, to find some form of physical activity to engage in.
Perhaps more than anything, those days will be most important to me of all.

****

As you grow into girls and then adolescents and then into teenagers, I want you both to take a hard look at what makes you most happy.
It could be that, at this moment, a boy makes you happy.
That is fine.
Follow your dreams.
But, never give up on the fact that you might change your mind, you might discover something bigger, brighter or more heavenly just ahead, around the curve.
And when you see it just stop and enjoy it.
Find the peace in that moment.
You will know when it's time to move on.

****

I hope as you read these blog posts on some crazy archiving machine in your college library that you aren't hurt or sad by my words, that you don't pity me for becoming Just a Mom.
Rather, I hope that you will take the time to search through that same machine all the words that I typed over the years as a writer and journalist.
Sure, I cooked your meals, brushed your hair and helped you make crafts.
Now and then, I even folded your clothes or baked cookies.
Those are just jobs that all moms do and much better than I.
Just like you, I followed my career dreams. I lived that world -- and it still feels like I spent a lifetime doing so.
All along I was dreaming of you, though.
When my career-life was over, just like a great novel, I just knew it was complete, for me.
Perhaps you will find a profession that will lead you all over the world. One that will bring you satisfaction and peace.
In the end, you may decide to become Just a Mom yourself.
Or not.
That's the beauty of being an American woman.
The choices.
They are yours to make over and over.

****

The day may come for me when I wonder why I chose a life that keeps me more housebound than ever. I may suddenly miss being that working woman who gets coffee breaks and chats with co-workers.
I may keep wondering that. I may always reevaluate the decision.
But, for now I am truly at peace with believing that the family unit needs to be protected. That it is, indeed, a dying art form that even our stupid government can't protect with dumb laws.
Family meals, discovering traditions, gatherings of relatives -- these are things I value more than a paycheck, more than whose car is bigger or who has the nicer title.
I don't even care about a Pulitzer. Not that much, anyway.
The truth is I hardly do laundry. Your father does it.
I don't see myself as a housewife or a housekeeper.
Just a Mom.
With a purpose.
And that purpose is you.
The two of you.
That's my choice.

Thank you. Thank you so very much.





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The Snowballing Effect for Babies

I couldn't even count the number of times people told me that caring for infant twins would get easier. I remember about half way through that first year -- inundated with day care illnesses one after the other -- and thinking these people were nuts.

But, alas, it did get easier -- as soon as I stopped working, but before they officially became toddlers at 18 months.

Now, I took back with my hindsight glasses and wonder what the heck was so hard about those first several months. (I'm kidding; it was much harder.)

Still, in the middle of our days together I have these moments that take me back to those worries I had in the earlier days and think, duh, that was nothing!

The older they get the more substantial everything is compared to when they were younger. I thought when they started crawling that I needed to baby proof because they were getting "into everything." HA. That's a joke. The proofing had only begun then. Then, when they walked, I thought I had to baby proof. That was still easy.

Now, at 21 months I'm finally perfecting The Art of Babyproofing by considering moving all furniture and personal items into a motel for the next two years. I'll go there, too.

And, the crying, I thought that would have been easier by now, but it's louder and they can cling to your leg so you can't get anything done. I remember feeling like it was the end of the world when they were crying and were sitting in their bouncy chairs. Oh, how easy those days were!

Now and then (maybe now and then is an understatement) Liana will come up to me with a toy -- usually her Doodle Pro -- and hand it to me with expectations. Now, this girl is a master scribbler. She has the patience of a saint for this one task.

I have no idea what she wants so I try clearing the screen -- she throws a fit -- I try writing on it -- she throws a fit -- I try giving it back to her -- she throws a fit, this time slamming herself down on the floor. I try putting it down -- but, her fit has consumed her and I just walk away, knowing there is no reasoning with her. In the past, though, I've also tried putting the pen in its holder -- and, guess what? She throws a fit. What's left, people?

Other snowballing effects that I've noticed include the food issues. When they were infants they had trouble digesting milk. That was hard. Then, when they started table foods, Jadyn gagged and threw up until she was almost 12 months. That was hard. Then from 12 months to 20 months, I would say they ate very well. We had our difficult meals, yes, but overall I wasn't doing much complaining.

Well, now ... now is a completely different story. They can see something on the counter and set their minds to it. Or, just think about a food and want it -- and nothing else.

"Appool!"
"Appool!"

"Juu"
"Juu"

And, the food throwing. That was really bad when they were just starting table foods, right?

Nah, try having two toddlers throw -- in anger -- their plates that are full of foods. At once.

But, this snowballing effect works in the other direction, too -- the good stuff. Their first kisses were basically lips or tongue put on our cheeks once in a while. Now, they are clear, full-blown puckered lips with popping smacks again and again -- when they want to, that is.

Those are what I hope and pray will start our day. And, end them, too. When that happens, the middle part gets kinda blurry.



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