Motherhood & More: Taking a stand against the bedtime routine* **

For the safety of my children and the preservation of my mental health, I have given up on bedtime routines.

For as long as I can remember of my time as a mother, since my son was born, bedtimes have been the worst. They are fraught with anguish, disagreement over exactly how tired the particular child is and futile attempts to persuade said heathen to just go to sleep already because Mama needs a break.

Whining and fighting and refusal to listen to reason or yelling have been the norms.

As soon as my son got easier, my daughter was born. She gives new meaning to stubbornness and outright ignoring any attempt to bend her to my will.

Somehow we got into a ridiculous routine of stories and snuggling and various feats of mental persuasion and voodoo trickery that had to be performed in a certain order before she would consent to stay in her bed.

Of course, this only worked part of the time, maybe 60 percent. The other times I wouldn’t do something properly so there would be screaming and flailing about and I would lock myself in my own bedroom in hopes that by ignoring her she would eventually tire herself out.

I know that everything got out of hand because I allowed it, but I only allowed it because I was so tired and wanted, just once, to be able to walk downstairs and feel good about how bedtime went. So I went along with the crazy.

My husband, who had bedtime every other night, never encountered these issues. Ask me how I felt about that. Go on. Ask.

Ahem.

So after a particularly bad routine recently, wherein I was kicked in the face by one of my lovely angel children after the other one had worn my patience down to the quick with a refusal to be agreeable about anything, I stomped downstairs announcing loudly to my husband that I was done. Finished. Never again would I be subjected to this torture because I refused to participate in it anymore. No more bedtimes. None. Zero.

It was liberating.

In the time since my stand, I have had to endure minor whining about how Dad’s had too many bedtime turns and now it’s Mama’s turn, but I refuse to be persuaded. I’m not walking up those stairs anymore, kids. As I say to them daily, you are responsible for your own actions and those actions have consequences. You did it. You suffer through the penalties.

Now, obviously this doesn’t mean that I ignore them at bedtime. I’m happy to read them a story downstairs on the couch and give hugs and kisses. But I’m not setting foot into their rooms because that’s how it will start. That’s how they’ll draw me back into their madness and in no time I’ll be performing again in the minor hopes of a smooth transition to sleep.

I figure I’m only helping them out by ensuring they become self-sufficient people.

Tuck yourselves in, kids. I’m out.

*This column was originally published in The News-Enterprise on August 24, 2016.

**Alternate title: Go The Fuck To Sleep

Motherhood & More: Trip allows time to recapture the old, discover the new*

As parents, many times we put our lives on hold to make sure our children have everything they need. They always are fed first or clothed first. Their needs always are met before anyone else’s.

But sometimes, we have to do things for ourselves.

In the spirit of that, my husband and I took a trip — a no-kids, only-have-to-worry-about what-we-want, no-complaining-allowed trip. And it was glorious.

We have been married for 10 years this past April — a long time, right? And in that entire time, we’ve never had a trip together that lasted longer than a day or two. We actually never had a honeymoon because of work commitments.

So we were long overdue. I actually wasn’t convinced we’d really get to go until we were more than half way to our destination. I am an optimist at heart, obviously.

But go we did. We went to Savannah, then Tybee Island in Georgia. It was hot and muggy and gorgeous and fantastic. We had actual conversations that weren’t interrupted by arguing children in need of a referee. We ate in restaurants without having to make sure there was a kids’ menu, because heaven forbid they eat something other than a burger or chicken nuggets.

We drank grown-up drinks at 3 in the afternoon.

We were together. Just us.

I took three midday naps.

I remembered what it was like to spend days with just my husband and we were able to be us again, not Mama and Daddy.

I walked miles each day without listening to one person with tiny legs complain about their feet.

I didn’t have to brush anyone’s hair but mine, or help anyone dress, or argue about the importance of clean underwear.

I didn’t have to follow a tiny tyrant’s schedule that includes more than frequent bathroom breaks.

And yet.

I didn’t get to show the kids the ocean or force them to try new foods under threat of lost screen time. I didn’t get to swim with them or people watch with them or stay in a hotel with them, which obviously is the best part of any trip away from home.

I didn’t get to stay up too late with them, watching a movie they probably shouldn’t be watching or share the history of a gorgeous old town.

I think it’s good for our kids to see us as separate from them, not just Mama and Daddy, or “The Ones Who Make Us Do Things We Don’t Want To Do.”

They need to see us as who we are as individuals, who we were before them. But it’s hard when you can’t quite remember who that is. Taking a few days to just be me, to just be us, let me have a bit of that back. And I was able to see how different of a person I am now, eight years later.

And maybe it let my kids miss me a bit and appreciate me just a little bit more.

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on June 22, 2016.

Motherhood & More: When the kid's right, he's right — even if he's wrong*

I have a kid who knows more than me.

At least, that’s what he believes. And he’s right in some instances. For example, I do not know whether emeralds are stronger than diamonds in Minecraft or how to work the Playstation remote or the different life cycles of certain bugs.

I do, however, know that Valentine’s Day always, every year, falls on Feb. 14, not Feb. 7. The child was adamant to the point of frustration and near tears that he was right and we, his parents, were absolute idiots for not knowing the true date of the holiday.

This type of thing happens often. When he is sure, he will fight you with the determination of a stubborn 7-year-old dealing with his out-of-touch parents. Sometimes he’s right, sometimes he’s wrong. Always he’s obstinate.

I try to think back to when I was his age and wanted to be taken seriously and whether I was as much of a jerk to my parents. (Yes. The answer is yes. I am still not quite clear how my parents didn’t regularly drop me and my sister off somewhere for extended periods of time just to get away from the enormous amount of attitude heaped upon them daily.)

I know it’s horrible to be dismissed and not respected as an intelligent, thoughtful person, even at 7. I try to be as supportive as I can while still needing to banish the child to his room until he stops talking to me as if no one in the entire world could be as “un-with it” as I am.

And the thing is, he’s super, crazy smart. He does know much more than I do on certain subjects, which makes all of this that much harder.

I honestly thought I had more time before this became an issue. Twelve? Thirteen? Isn’t that the age the eye rolling starts? But now I can see years and years spread out before us, with him being increasingly right and me being increasingly wrong.

We, the parents, will become progressively out of touch with what “the kids these days” are doing. Already I can’t keep up with technology, so I am becoming a stereotypical mom who needs her kid to show her how to use all the new-fangled phone apps. I also now am using words like “new-fangled.”

So he will grow ever away from me — seeking more time with friends and less time with his boring, dorky parents.

For now, though, I still can get him to discuss books and movies and whatever else is interesting him, though I tune out when he starts in on Minecraft. There is only so much interest in Minecraft I can fake and I met my limit a year ago. (Sorry, kid. This blank stare totally doesn’t mean I’m not interested in seeing the new house you built. Swearsies.)

And maybe, if I am lucky and patient and can ignore the eye rolling, he will continue to teach me new things and I will be able to learn with him.

At least until he turns 13, right?

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on February 24, 2016.

Motherhood & More: Finding time, energy to be available for demands on Mama's time*

Parenting is a hard gig, right? I mean, no one disputes that, or the fact that it’s draining and exhausting. But it’s also wonderful and life-changing and happiness-bringing and awesome, obviously.

Lately I’ve been having trouble feeling the awesome. What I mean by that is I am wishing greatly for more time to be me, not Mama. My sweet heathens are all loved and fed and clothed and happy, and I am being as good of a parent I can, but I don’t seem to relish it, you know?

I have hours to myself – I work at home while the kids are in school so rarely do I hear a noise other than my own thoughts and my fingers typing on the keyboard. And I like it – no, LOVE IT – that way. I am sort of an introverted extrovert in that I am very comfortable at home, quiet, doing my own thing. But I am also thrilled to be around other adults.

But the kids – they come with much more work than do grown-ups. They return home from school each day with demands for food and homework help and pent-up energy and whining from having to behave. I have to mentally prepare myself for a culture shock each weekday at 2:20, when the complete silence turns into complete chaos.

And then there was the holiday break and the endless snow days, and what I’m saying is that I’m really missing the quiet. I am having a hard time being a present, involved mama. I am spending too much time at my computer and not enough time playing horses or Barbies or Star Wars or monopoly.

I’ve begun tensing up when I see the children heading my way, because I know it means they will want something from me, or have a question for me that will only lead to more questions, and then even more questions because my son never stops talking. Like ever.

I feel myself resent the interruption, and then resenting the fact that I have that feeling. I resent the need to be alone, and yet desperately need to be alone. I am working daily, hourly on trying to be more in the moment and to actually enjoy those moments. 

I want to say ‘yes’ instead of ‘not now’ to my daughter when she asks me to play another game of monopoly or work another puzzle. I want to want to answer my son’s 178^th ‘Did you know’ question on his latest obsession (Star Wars. Pirates. Minecraft. Weather. Rocks. Bugs. Animals.) 

I am trying. It is so very hard. But I figure if I force myself to get out of my head, to be present, to say yes even when I don’t feel like I can, soon it will be easier. I will not inwardly sigh when they come to me. My smile will be more enthusiastic. 

And they might just better remember all the times I was available to them instead of all the times I was too busy.

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on Jan. 27, 2016.
  

Motherhood & More: Hoping kids remember more than Christmas magic misses*

I think I may have single handedly ruined the magicalness of Christmas for my kids.

I mean, there’s only so much enchantment I can create, you know? As much as I would love to present my children with a Pinterest Christmas, I gave up on that attempt the year my daughter destroyed the homemade applesauce cinnamon ornaments just because.

They have an advent calendar with a daily treat (mostly cheap chocolate because I am not an idiot) but we had to move that surprise to the afternoon because someone (my son) wasn’t sleeping past 4:30 a.m. He was too excited because of all the anticipation, and I was too tired because of all the early rising.

But sometimes I forget to have their treat out when they get home from school. They run expectedly, eyes bright hoping for their tiny snowman chocolate. I have to inform them that no, their mother wasn’t prepared. Again. But hold on a minute and I’ll get it for you. I guess that ruins the surprise, or something.

We also acquired an Elf on the Shelf a few years ago as a family gift, though we probably would have gotten him ourselves because everyone has to have an elf now, right?

Guess how happy I am about that little nuisance? Not only does he absolutely have to be in a different spot every night, but parents now are creating ridiculous scenarios where their elf is squirting toothpaste all over the bathroom because he’s just a silly, naughty thing. Excuse me, but I have enough junk to pick up after my children. Sorry, kids. I’m not cleaning up after the elf, too. You will just have to make do with our boring Mr. Christmas.

I also don’t understand how people leave their elves in places low enough for kids to reach. My kids know they’re not supposed to touch him. However my daughter will look you right in the eye as you tell her not to touch and poke the poor guy’s leg. That’s because no one is allowed to tell her what not to do, obviously.

And now my son has started writing to our elf. Usually he tells me when he’s written a letter and asks that I make sure the elf knows about it because we have a special bond, Mr. Christmas and I. But sometimes my son doesn’t tell me and is greatly disappointed when there isn’t a response. That means, of course, that now I have to search for a letter every night, just in case.

As much as I complain, I actually wish I were better at all of this than I am. I’d love to be the type of mom who has everything organized enough to fill every day of the Christmas season with magic. I’m having a difficult enough time keeping up with all I’m supposed to be doing that isn’t Christmas related, and many times I drop the ball. But I hope they don’t remember all the times the elf didn’t respond to a letter, or how we still didn’t put up the outside Christmas lights.

Maybe, instead, they’ll remember cookies we made, the tree we decorated, the Christmas music and hot chocolate, and the holiday shows we watched snuggled up together and offer a bit of forgiveness to their imperfect Mama.

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on December 23, 2015.

Motherhood & More: The kids grow up and, somehow, so do the parents*

Adele took this one.

The other day, my husband turned to me and said, “He’s 7. How did that happen?”

He was, of course, referring to our son, our oldest. It’s so strange how that transpires. One minute you’re wishing and wishing for time to go faster, for you to be older and more independent, then the next, you’re the mother of an almost-tween who acts more like a 30-year-old than most 30-year-olds.

And he does. He’s always thoughtful and responsible, forever trying to improve things about himself — whether it’s increasing the amount of healthy foods he eats or decreasing his screen time. He’s so proud for doing what he considers the right thing and always is quick to call his parents out for doing things they shouldn’t — such as forgetting to recycle.

He’s goofy but shy, respectful but kind of gross in that he loves bodily function humor. He’s learning to play chess and  always is improving on the soccer field. He still will hold my hand in public and give me hugs and kisses, but I know it won’t be long before that changes.

It’s absolutely insane. I don’t feel like the mother of a 7-year-old. I feel like me, you know? I feel like who I was, the same weirdo-goofball I’ve always been. But now there are small people forever needing me.

I’ve never minded growing older. I absolutely believe age is just a number. I’m so much happier and satisfied now than I ever was in my 20s. Of course, having young children will exhaust you to the point where you don’t even remember what it was like before they were there. But there are no regrets. I never feel like I’m truly missing anything. Often, I would like more time to myself, to do exactly what I want to do. But, in my eyes, that’s not the same thing as wishing to be alone.

It’s hard, sometimes, being a parent. It’s hard to remain yourself, to keep that part of you that is only you, not Mama or Wife. And I think it’s absolutely essential to grow and evolve once you are caring for another human being 24-7. Because how could you not?

Your entire life is flipped around and most of your thoughts will switch from, “How will this affect me?” to, “How will this affect my child?” (Or, in many instances, “How can I get more sleep?”)

It’s such a fantastic thing, that development. Nothing else but parenthood can change you like that – from selfish to selfless.

And every time my youngest gets up in the middle of the night to crawl into bed with us, I remind myself of this. She won’t always do it. I need to enjoy it now because it’s part of our story, part of my evolution.

Neither of my children will be small for very much longer, and already it feels like it’s slipping away.

But for now I’m still Mama. And that’s just fine by me.

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on Sept. 23, 2015.

Motherhood and More: Introducing chore charts to teach responsibility, get stuff off the floor

I’ve started researching chore charts for my children to strongly encourage them to stop being the ungrateful heathens that they are.

I know they need chores and we should have started this years ago. I know, I know, I know. It’s important for them to understand life doesn’t revolve around their every want and need and we all have to work together to keep this home going. For goodness sake, would you please stop throwing your socks all over the living room floor or at least pick them up yourselves without waiting for me to do it for you?

We’ve made good efforts in the past to enforce chores and whatnot. And the rule still is if they keep their rooms clean for a week, they get a dollar on Sundays. Guess how many times that has happened?

I am not out all that many dollars, is what I’m saying.

Occasionally, my son will want to earn money to purchase weird, zombie-type game apps and is willing to sweep the floor and unload the dishwasher.

But I think it’s time to be more serious. We need to have a schedule and rules and consistency.

Implementing a regular chore chart is going to be difficult. We’ve been talking about it for a while and how we expect them to start working around the house more since my husband and I spend 70 percent of our time at home picking up all of the random junk that ends up on the floor. But the kids don’t seem to be too keen on the idea.

My youngest, my daughter, has no concept of money and the fact she can buy things with it. We very rarely take her to the store because she’s insane and we lost her one time in a huge, packed store. No one has recovered yet. Since she hasn’t seen actual money transactions very often, I think she thinks toys and books and fun stuff just show up in her hands through no effort of her own. Which is true, actually.

Both of the kids really enjoy helping, though. Setting and clearing the table can sometimes be a battle to see who can put the most dishes on the table and clear the most off, which has obvious ramifications.

I mean, there’s only so many glasses that can be broken before we’re all drinking out of Spider-Man cups.

Although, now that I think about it, their excitement with helping probably has more to do with competing with each other than actually helping their parents. I’m willing to accept that, though.

But they do like to feel included, like they’re doing something that contributes, like they’re responsible members of our family and that we appreciate their contributions. So I think it will be good.

I think they’ll adjust well in spite of all the whining and complaining about me being the worst mom ever and why can’t they just watch television instead of dusting. Having responsibilities will be good for them and for all of us.

Plus it means less work for me, which leaves me more time for watching television. 

This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on March 25, 2015.

He probably should have bought more beer

This morning we all had to get dressed and eat breakfast and whatnot by headlamp- and candle-light on account of the no power.

And this was, of course, after Adele got in our bed at 4 a.m. and wouldn't settle and be still and tossed and turned and kicked my stomach and caught my hair in her hand and so I didn't sleep.  She did eventually, of course.  I'm not complaining much, though.  This was still better than the usual time she likes to visit us at night.  Which is 1 a.m.

And then Sebastian came downstairs a little after 5 to tell us that the electricity was out which means that he was awake at that time and able to see his closet light shut off.  Which means what the hell is wrong with these children?

(They take after their parents, that's what's wrong with them.)

So we got dressed in the dark and ate breakfast in the dark and cajoled Adele into her clothes in the dark and then out of her clothes because she didn't want that dress, she wanted another dress but actually, not that one either.  Let's try the first one again.

And then as we were preparing to leave the lights all came back on so the grown ups went around the house blowing out candles while the children decided that it would be an excellent time to sneak outside in the pouring rain and run through all the puddles, liberally soaking feet and legs.

Back inside we went to change everyone again and find new shoes that didn't squish out buckets of water when stepped in.

Yelling may or may not have been involved.

(I was all for letting them spend the day with wet feet and pant legs but apparently that's not appropriate, JAIME.)

And we are also all planning for snowmageddon2015 No. 2 that is supposed to start this afternoon so I'm guessing we will have an unexpected day together tomorrow.  My husband volunteered to go to the store for us last night so we wouldn't have to worry about it for the rest of the week/weekend and he picked up the essentials like milk and peanut butter and beer.

I'm taking my work computer home today so at least I can possibly do something vaguely business-like in between playing in the snow and making hot chocolate and cursing the weather.

And sewing.  I bet there will be more sewing.

To make you smile, here is a picture of an entirely inappropriate t-shirt.  And now that song will be forever stuck in your head as it is in mine.  INAPPROPRIATELY.

I would like to spend the next few snow days with netflix and snacks because I just started watching The Killing and am absolutely addicted to it, but somehow I do not think that will happen.

I mean, I understand. Tortilla chips are delicious.

I convinced my husband to go out for Mexican food last night which was a miracle from Sweet Baby Jesus as he (my husband) is incredibly strong and full of will power and we do not eat out because we cook at home because the food there is better and better for you and cheaper and we are supposed to be eating all the 'right' foods because that will make us invincible.

So I got a giant chimichanga and a big bowl of queso and have zero regrets.

Except maybe for the amount of tortilla chips I allowed my daughter to consume but win some, lose some, right?

So we went out to eat because neither one of us felt like cooking and I was exhausted from all the no sleep I'd gotten the night before and really I just wore him down.

I've found that if I ask enough times eventually one of those times he will say Sure!  Let's go out to eat!  Complete with exclamation marks because that is totally how he talks.  (Not really.)

And I can't even get mad at him not cooking because he will cook when I don't want to which leaves me no excuses to go out to eat.

But sometimes you just want a taco from a Mexican restaurant, you know?

Of course, since we did go out to eat that meant that I accidentally forgot about the meat I was defrosting in the microwave to cook and it set out all night so I had to throw it away this morning when I remembered.

But I'm still calling it a win because I didn't have to wash dinner dishes and because Sebastian only said the word 'fart' loudly in a busy restaurant three times.

And now I have to get back to work because I am the new Web Content Editor for our office, which means that I get to change up the web page when someone tells me to.  It doesn't come with a raise or even really the actual title but I still think it's neat.

Do these $3 reading glasses make me look web-content-editory?

Also if you look closely you can see my new star shirt so let's consider this a how to wear diy post.

You're welcome.

And I have how many days left until they go back to school?

I am currently 56 percent zombie, 41 percent coffee and the rest cracker candy.

That's because my sweet 4-year-old Adele had a minor freakout at 2 in the morning in the form of hysterical screaming about spiders in her bed.  (Spiders this time, not snakes.)  And so I lay with her for awhile to calm her down, and I noticed that she sounded horribly congested and wouldn't stop coughing.  I got her some cough medicine and hippie decongestant salve and returned to my own bed, hoping to quickly return to sleep.  I knew it was wishful thinking because I am self aware, but still.  I wanted to believe it was possible.

But then, of course, Adele began fake crying because she's not supposed to get out of bed and that was her way to get our attention.  She's not supposed to get out of bed because for the past few weeks (WEEKS) she has come downstairs in the middle of the night to our bed.  We let her stay for a bit then one of us (me) will carry her back to her own bed.  And neither parent goes back to sleep.

So instead of coming downstairs after we told her not to she put her head right by her door and fake cried until I made it back upstairs.  I gave up at that point.

I stayed in her bed until around 5.  I think I slept some.  A bit.  But not nearly enough.  And today I needed to run to the store for jewelry supplies because I had two necklace orders and desperately needed chains even though I was sure I'd bought an obscene amount the last time I stocked up and how did I go through so many so fast?  (Obviously, this is a good problem to have.  Just not today.)

So the kids and I went out, me partially awake and Adele majorly tired and possibly on the verge of a meltdown.  But luckily that didn't show up until we were waiting in line at the bookstore to get a drink and I refused to buy her a cookie.  We were at the bookstore because I didn't have the energy to disagree with my son who really, really wanted to go there.  That's also how we ended up with a chapter book.  Well, that and I'm a sucker for books and it's pretty awesome that he's reading chapter books and I'm ok with encouraging it.

And maybe I would have been okay with buying a cookie for the kids if they hadn't spent the entire weekend eating nothing but sugar.  We had three parties to go to on Saturday which included cupcakes and gingerbread house and cookie decorating and hot chocolate and chocolate covered pretzels and - and - and ...

And on Sunday we had my parents' Christmas party where the rest of us ate lasagna but my two unnatural children don't actually like lasagna and so survived on Pez.

So I thought I'd attempt to get them back on some sort of halfway-healthy-type of food plan, which didn't include overpriced cookies from the bookstore cafe.  Adele flipped out so we left that line and went in the book-buying line, which actually was longer than the over-priced coffee and cookie line.  And she wouldn't stop flipping out so I put her Barbie book back and just bought Sebastian's book because he was behaving like a civilized human being.

And then she screamed in the car when she realized I hadn't bought her book.

Thems the breaks, kid.

We went home and ate lunch and Adele took a nap, which means that she was exceptionally tired because she didn't even protest me forcing her in her room all that much.  I honestly think she was a little relieved.

I probably should have taken a nap myself but I had three baskets of laundry to fold and Gilmore Girls to marathon and so I just made another pot of coffee and had a few more bites of cracker candy an considered myself sustained.

Lest you think I was completely neglecting my older child, he was around, and perfectly behaved because he spent his afternoon watching youtube videos of a boy opening toys and playing with them.  Now, I don't necessarily understand the concept of evantube, but it keeps him occupied.

Good Lord, is it only the first day of Christmas break?

Spreading the Christmas cheer one animal sacrifice at a time

I maybe forgot I had a blog.

Okay - I didn't forget.  I spend every morning for the last little bit (when was the last time I actually wrote something?) planning to write, telling myself to write, even writing posts in my head.

But I seem to have forgotten to actually write.

But I'm here now!  At least for today, and really, that's all I can commit to because time and Christmas and work and all that.

My I Love Kentucky necklaces have become popular all of the sudden, with mucho orders coming in. (Maybe it was because of the giveaway?) Every time I see a new order I grin and tell my husband how excited I am because SOMEONE WANTS TO BUY SOMETHING I MADE!  You have no idea how happy it makes me.  I am goofy with joy.  There'as also been some interest in my new personalized motherhood necklace.  I wear mine all the time, myself,with my kids' initials stamped on the little hearts.  My son likes to see it on me and comments on how I like to keep him close to my heart.  I sure do, buddy.

So what with all the grinning and the celebrating people buying things and the making I am a bit booked up, you know?

And then, on top of that I decided last minute - as per my usual schedule - that I would hand-knit some presents for people.  Every year I say no - I'm not going to put myself through it because it's ridiculous to stress myself out as much as I do and also I have a million other things that require my attention.  And then I change my mind very close to Christmas because handknits are awesome and I like to spread happiness in the form of wool.  And that leaves me scrambling and up late and sore-wristed from all the knitting.  I think it will be manageable this year, though.  I've chosen a quick pattern and everyone gets the same thing.  So maybe it won't be so bad?

Do I say that every year?  I feel like I say that every year.

We'll see.

I also have lots of baking/food making to get done.  And birthday parties to go to and Christmas parties and then there's my annual animal sacrifice for snow on Christmas.  (I'm kidding. No animals were harmed in the writing of this blog post, or in the hopes of creating snow.)

This time of year is fantastic, isn't it?  I've honestly been a bit grumpy about the whole thing, trying to make myself feel more Christmas cheer than I do.  But I think maybe my standards are too high.  It's okay for me not to be ebullient over everything Christmas related.  I am all grown up now, even though I don't always feel like it.  Of course the season isn't going to be the same as it was when I was a kid so I should probably try to stop focusing on why I don't feel the way I feel like I should feel.  You feel me?

Instead, now I can create all that magic for my little monsters.  I can make the days exciting and full of all that stuff that made me so Christmasy in days past.

Which is a pretty great gig, if you can get it.

Motherhood and More: Teaching our kids to accept people for who they are*

I feel like my job as a parent, as a mother, is to prevent my kids from being jerks.

That’s the gist of it all, really.  All I want is for them to be kind to others, to be sympathetic and empathetic.  I want them to appreciate everyone, no matter what they believe or who they are.  I want them to see the good in all, because in spite of everything I do believe that everyone has something to offer.  Everyone has their own story and their own baggage and it’s our job to teach our kids to look around that, and through it, to see the actual person.

I am not perfect.  In fact, I have my own set of issues – my own jerk tendencies.  But I fight them daily.  I also spend a lot of time encouraging my children to think about what they’re doing.  Favorite phrases of mine are “actions have consequences,” and “our first instinct shouldn’t be to hurt each other.”  That last one is usually said after one kid has kicked the other one. 

My son has always gotten it.  He’s a sensitive little man, even through his love of zombies and burping.  He’s considerate to his friends, kind, and perfectly willing to share what he has.  My daughter is the same.  She’s concerned when someone is hurt, always ready with a sympathetic pat or hug, and plays well with her friends at school.

Of course, none of this applies when they are with each other.  Then it’s knock-down, drag-out, full-on wrestling match, usually because one child has touched the other one’s toys.  It’s a punishable offense, apparently.

But in spite of their behavior toward each other I have hopes that they are growing into people who will be thoughtful, who will do nice things for others not because they expect something in return, but because it is the right thing to do.  It isn’t hard to be nice.  It doesn’t hurt you to hold the door open for someone, to let a car merge in front of you even when you’re late for work. 

I once heard my mom discuss giving money to people asking for it on the street.  Many will say that it’s not worth it because that person won’t spend the money on something meaningful – something that you think they should spend it on.  But my mother’s point was that in giving the money, we have done our part.  It’s not our responsibility to monitor what they do with a gift.  We’ve passed the responsibility on to that person and what they do with it is their business.   

We don’t know everyone’s story.  We don’t know what a person is dealing with, or what they have been through.  All we can do is take charge of who we are and how we treat others.  So striving to just be nice, to, as I said, not be a jerk, is all on us. 

And that’s what I hope my children learn from me.  Everyone is different.  Everyone has their own struggles.  But it’s how well we live and work and help each other, and our kindness to others, that sets people apart.  

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on Nov. 26, 2014.

Coffee features prominently into this post for many reasons

Well, I survived the first snow day and I only beat the children once each.

It was nice, you know?  I miss being home with the kids all the time, even though when I was home all I wanted was a few minutes of peace.  Never satisfied, I know.

So Monday it snowed quite a bit and we spent the day making snow angels and throwing snow at each other and then after five minutes of that I gave up and went inside to pour myself another cup of coffee because BRRR.

And when the kids finally got cold I made hot cocoa with extra marshmallows and we watched Frosty on Netflix.

(I also made bread and yogurt and butter that day because I am an idiot.)

The afternoon kind of sucked because they always do.  Something about being tired but not wanting to rest and me trying to rationalize that 'resting' also can be playing video games or watching tv because at least they are sitting still.

It never works.  When I finally tell then that hey, time to unplug, they're glazed over and super-extra tired and pissed off because I've separated them from their beloved screen.

(Is this just my kids? Because this is a regular occurrence in my house.)

Also Adele lost a tooth.  Which, what?  Too young, right?  But she's a teeth grinder and loosened them up, which I think had something to do with it.  Obviously I am super concerned about it all.  The tooth fairy came, but since she couldn't care less about money she barely has acknowledged her dollar in a baggie.  It was kind of funny when the tooth fell out, though.  I heard her saying "It's not working!" and holding the tooth like what the hell just happened?

She's pretty excited to show everyone the missing tooth, though.

Chris was out of town for work for the last few days which means I stayed up extra late because he wasn't there to tell me to go to bed at 8:30.  That also meant I was dealing with the kids' extra-crankiness (are they sick or just moody? I DON'T KNOW!) all alone and feeling pretty cranky myself which didn't help anything.  In fact, surprisingly, it made everything worse.  As did the staying up later and now I am currently surviving on 6 hours of sleep, a gallon of coffee and dreams of my bed.

But because of all the crankiness and the fact that I couldn't leave the house on account of my children being horrible store-goers, I jokingly facebook-requested a liquor-store delivery.  But sometimes the universe gives you nice things in the form of friends who send their preacher-husbands to your house at 9 p.m. with a bottle of wine.  Also I'd like to formally apologize for answering the door while not wearing a bra.  I did put on a huge sweater, though, because no one needs to see that.

In other news, Sebastian has been complaining a lot this school year about his afternoon bus driver who takes him from school to his afterschool place.  Apparently this man is a yeller.  One day he even forgot to drop the kids off at this particular place, then blamed them.  Also I'm not the fondest of the afterschool place, either.  There's yelling there, too, and Sebastian is always told to keep his hands to himself when he hugs his friends goodbye.  Dude.  Let's promote more love and kindness and less yelling, ok?  Especially since this is at a church.  You'd think kindness would be more encouraged.

But because of all this, and also because I want to save money, I've switched up my hours at work.  Now instead of working Tuesday-Thursday, I'm going to work Monday-Thursday from 8-1.  That way Sebastian can just ride the bus home (different bus driver, we know and like her).  I won't have to pay for afterschool, I'll get a little more time with my guy, and whenever Adele starts kindergarten we will be officially paying $700 less a month in childcare.

I can hardly contain my excitement.  Maybe we can finally have another car instead of sharing one!

But none of this would be possible if I didn't have one of the most understanding bosses around.  He gets families and family commitments and the need for mothers to be mothers as well as employees.  I'm extremely lucky, I know it.

Now if you'll excuse me I need to find someone to tape my eyelids open.

Wanted: One padded room

I almost went to the gym this morning.

Almost.

My gym bag was packed, my alarm was set, I was all for it.


Last night.

But then I woke up this morning with the same headache that I went to bed with and so I pulled up the feather blanket and rolled over and closed my eyes.  I'll try again tomorrow.

It's kind of a pain in the butt to be healthy, you know?  It's not that I don't like it, or that I don't love how I feel when I'm working out regularly and eating properly.  But sometimes it's just exhausting mentally.  I'm tired of putting so much thought into everything and not getting the results I want.  Or really any results at all.  So I give up.  At least for today.

And also all last week because it was fall break and I had a lot of apples to bake into desserts.

Speaking of fall break, I don't like it.  We are not the 'go on vacation for fall break' type of people, mainly because we prefer to spend what extra money we have on things like 'fixing the car' and 'food.'

My children are incredibly deprived.

I do not actually believe that.  I think it's a bit ridiculous to be expected to go somewhere and do things for every time the kids are off of school for more than one day.  Of course, that means the kids were home all week and bored.  My husband was off for most of the week and I was off Monday and Friday and part of Thursday and we all were ready to separate by the end of it.  My mom did take the kids to the movies and the park on Wednesday, so at least they got out of the house.  And Chris took Sebastian fishing on Thursday while Adele and I stayed home and she got pissed because her Duplo tower fell down so she threw a block at me and bruised my hand that I held up in self defense.

Girl's got a temper.

And then on Sunday night I realized that Sebastian didn't have school on Monday either because of teacher in service or something so basically I cried myself to sleep thinking about all the peace and alone time I wasn't going to have.

I am in a funk.  Can you tell?  Also I maybe need to go get some more coffee.

I am strongly in the "let the children learn to play by themselves" camp.  But my children don't seem to know how to do that unless it involves a screen.  I'm okay with television.  I happen to love television.  They will eventually go play when denied television, but not before spending an inordinate amount of time laying in the floor at my feet whining about how horrible I am for not letting them watch another hour of Pokemon or Barbie's Dreamhouse.  I am the worst, obviously.

(Have any of you actually seen Barbie's Dreamhouse?  It makes me sad and also want to punch the creators.)

So I have to use my mean voice, which is pretty much my all-the-time voice now, and banish them to their rooms because NOBODY LIKES A WHINER.  Does anybody have any tips for getting them to play by themselves?  Or maybe together?  Because "together" is a whole other issue.  My daughter thinks 'playing together' means she tears up whatever her brother is touching, then throws the toys at his head.  Understandably, whenever she gets close to his toys now he yells at her to leave him alone.  I've attempted to play with them and guide them, but as soon as I stand up to run to the bathroom or refill my coffee cup someone gets a Lego to the eye.

What am I supposed to do with that?  How do you foster good sibling relationships?  I'm thinking of locking them in a padded room for a day and see what happens.  They'd come out hating me, but at least they would hate me TOGETHER.

Before all the sibling rivalry started ...

What I did on my summer vacation

Guys.

I have not been rocking this return-to-stay-at-home-mom thing.

It's been a little difficult.  Or a lot, maybe.

We have had far too many fights and far too many television shows and far too many instances where Mama looses her cool.

A couple of days ago I told my children they were fighting over something stupid.  My son had a quick intake of breath to show me I had used a 'bad word' and before he could say anything I said "Yes!  I know I said 'stupid' because IT IS STUPID!"

Ever since then he's been using the word sporadically then turning to me and saying "Well YOU said it."

That I did you little heathen.  That I did.  (Although to be fair to myself - IT WAS TOTALLY STUPID.)

I mean, yeah, we've been able to do a few things.  We went to the aquarium with their grandmother, we went swimming, we went hiking and fishing, we had a birthday party, we went to the fair (THE fair - the Meade County Fair, obvs.), we went swimming again.  We even made it to Abraham Lincoln's birthplace.

But dear lord the fighting.  And screaming.  And fighting.  And whining.  And arguing.  And whining.

I know it's my fault.  I went from a couple of months of being able to pee alone and also having two whole days of the week all by myself to being completely immersed in mom-ness.  And honestly, summers do not showcase my best qualities as a Mama.  The days stretch out without me being able to fill them.  The kids don't play together unless I am there to keep them from smacking each other, and even then lots of time board games end in someone stomping off or someone else ripping up the pieces.  Tempers are short all around, all the time and I don't know why.  (Probably a lack of drugs, I'm just guessing.)

I don't know how to teach them to be friends.  I want to play with them, but I also try to keep a bit of distance because I don't want them to rely solely on me for entertainment.  As it is I have to force them to do something other than watch TV.

But I try to balance keeping the house from looking like life exploded in it with being a good, fun, mom, with trying to make jewelry and handknits to sell.  (I'm going to set up at a festival in September with my sister.  Not exactly prepared for it yet.  Also I have an Etsy shop.  Want something?)

So far nothing is balanced and we all just fell flat on our faces.  Maybe that's normal.  Maybe not.  But I can only try to do better.  I've got three weekdays left before I go back to work.  Time to peel the kids away from their screens and do something.

Mama is going to be fun if it kills her.  (Pass the drugs.)  (I'm just kidding.)  (I don't know why I felt the need to clarify, but I did.)

Let's look at some photos, shall we?