Staples Got It Right, or, It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

You remember this commercial, don't you? The first time you heard it, I'm sure you wondered why the TV was playing Christmas music in August (or, more likely, July). But then you watched this exuberant dad riding through the aisles of Staples on his shopping cart, happily buying back-to-school supplies for his stonefaced children to the refrain of the Christmas song, "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year." The clear implication being, of course, that parents see the first day of school as being even more wonderful than Christmas.

I got it, but I never REALLY got it until this year, when I actually WILL be sending both my children off to school at 8am on Tuesday, August 30th. (And yes, I do know exactly how many days, hours, and minutes it is until then.)

Don't get me wrong: I love my kids, and I love spending time with them. But after nearly 7 years of stay-at-home parenthood, I need a break. THEY need a break. Sure, they've gone to nursery school and gymnastics and dance classes and playdates and all kinds of other activities that have gotten them out of the house and listening to other adults besides me. But there's something different about school.

I think it's because school is an unavoidable, long-term commitment. Nursery school lasts for only two or three years; kids may eventually lose interest in gymnastics and dance or turn to other interests; playdates and friends will change over time. But school will take up the majority of their time and focus for the next 13 years. How they perform over those 13 years will shape their futures.

It's a pretty big deal.

I will no longer be the primary educator and disciplinarian in their lives. From 8am until 3pm every weekday, someone else will make and enforce the rules. They will have multiple new authority figures who are not Mom or Dad. That is a huge change for them and for me.

I'm confident that they'll deal well with the change. I've given them a solid base of self-confidence, personal skills, and curiosity which should serve them well in a school setting. They have respect for authority, interest in learning, and a friendly outlook. I've spent the past 5+ years preparing them for this moment.

But no-one's been preparing me.

For the past 7 years, a huge part of my identity has been being a stay-at-home parent. My JOB was to be a parent. And I was on call 24/7 at that job. Yes, I have an awesome co-worker, but he has a full-time job of his own, so I was the primary on this job. And my hours have suddenly been slashed. I'm still pretty important, but I suddenly find myself with unassigned time to be filled. And I'm not quite sure what to do with that.

Maybe I'll get a job outside the home. Maybe I'll find work I can do from home. Maybe I'll finally write that best-seller that my husband is convinced I have inside me. I just don't know. It's a little terrifying, but it's also a little exciting.

And it's very definitely the most wonderful time of the year.

Mental Health Day for Moms

There are very few things that I miss about being in the "working world": I don't miss the commute, or the politics, or the meetings, or the difficult clients, or the difficult bosses. I DO miss the paycheck. But most of all, right now, I miss the ability to take a mental health day now and then.

I didn't take mental health days often when  was working, but there were times when I absolutely needed to give myself a brief pause, a one-day respite from the pressures of what I did all day long. I never abused the privilege, and I'm certain that I was more productive because of those moments I took to take a figurative breath and gather myself.

But as a stay-at-home parent, I don't get mental health days often.

Let me say, first thing, that my husband is AWESOME about giving me those days whenever he can. He often comes home from work, takes one look at my face, and offers to take us out for supper so I don't have to cook. He even offers to take the kids without me so I can have a few hours to myself. On weekends, he'll take the kids for the whole day if I ask him to. But sometimes I find myself having a spontaneous mental meltdown in the middle of the day when he's at work, or on a day when he's not around.

Today is one of those days.

A lot of my acquaintances are probably surprised to hear this. On the surface, I seem to come off as a capable, competent parent. (So people tell me, anyway.) And at a certain level, I am. But there are other levels when I just fail at adulting. I fail at balancing my commitment to my kids with my commitment to my husband with my commitment to my multiple volunteer positions. Sometimes, I flat out drop the ball. And today, the ball is rolling, rolling far away, rolling out of my reach.

And today, I'm just going to let it go.

I'm going to do the absolute minimum I can to keep myself and my children fed and dressed and alive. I'm going to do my best to let go of all the other projects on my plate, just for today. I'm not going to stress over getting my next column written, I'm not going to the fabric store to search for that costume pattern I need, I'm not searching my house for that missing library book or that folder of music I know are both around here somewhere. I'm not going to color my hair. I'm not going to plan the dinner menu for the rest of the week. I'm not looking at my "to do" checklist for the big event I'm helping plan next month.

I'm just going to take a few deep breaths.

And tomorrow, I'll jump back into the trenches, ready to take on those projects again. Hopefully, with more energy, more focus, and more confidence.

In the words of Frasier Crane, I wish you all good mental health. Even if it means taking a mental health day from whatever you do.

Reflections on My First Week of Homeschooling

If you asked me to sum up my experiences during my first week of homeschooling, the sentence I would use is this: "Homeschooling is HARD."

That's not to say that it isn't rewarding, or that I'm not glad that I chose homeschooling over various other options. It's not to say that I'm not aiming to do better next week, or even to say that I did badly this week. But it is HARD. Unexpectedly hard.

I honestly thought that the first few weeks wouldn't be so bad. I figured that the hard part would come a few weeks, maybe even a month, in, when the novelty wore off and the coolest stuff that I had planned was used up. I honestly thought that the first week would be easy, for both me and my son.

Ha.

It wasn't easy.

It wasn't easy to take off the "mom" hat and put on the "teacher" hat. It wasn't easy to start seeing my son as a student rather than as, well, my son. It wasn't easy to respond to his frustration with the patience of a teacher rather than with the discipline of a mother.

Honestly, I didn't realize quite how different these two hats are, that of "mother" and that of "teacher." They do have a lot in common: Both want the child to do his best, to learn, to understand, to enjoy. Both want to help the child understand and absorb. Both know how the child thinks and adapt the plan to that way of thinking. Both love the child and have his best interests at heart. But the mother wants to soothe and protect and comfort in a way that the teacher should not. The teacher should - MUST - at times, force the issue. The teacher must insist that the child does what he is being asked to do. She must discipline in a much more distanced and impartial way than the mother is used to.

That is asking a lot of a mother.

I didn't know quite how hard it would be to take off my mother hat.

Even before homeschooling entered the picture, I struggled with not being a "helicopter mom." I had to fight my instinct to hover over my children, to fight their battles, to solve their problems, even when they were perfectly capable of fighting their own battles and solving their own problems. I had to remind myself that they were capable of fighting their own battles and solving their own problems, and that even when they weren't, they would benefit if I let them try. It has always been a hard lesson. I am grateful that I have a husband who is perhaps a bit too far on the other end of the spectrum. Given his druthers, he would let them run through the park without an adult watching over them, stay at home without supervision while he runs a quick errand, and be in a large group of people without holding the hand of a parent. These scenarios are all horrifying to me. But between the two of us, I think we strike a reasonable balance of supervision and freedom. I think we balance each other out so that our children have a healthy dose of both protection and independence.

But when it comes to the classroom, and it's just me and my son, my helicopter mom self wants so badly to do everything for him. I desperately want him to answer all the questions correctly, and if I can't I want to whisper the answers to him. I don't want to see him struggle, or be confused, or have to work hard to figure things out for himself, or (God forbid) to be WRONG. I have to literally bite my tongue to not hand him the answers.

Keeping my mouth shut and letting him struggle is absolutely the hardest thing I have ever done as a parent.

And yet, when I do let him struggle, and he gets frustrated, and cries, and gets angry, but then finally figures something out on his own, I am so proud that I fear my heart might actually explode. I am almost as proud as he is.

Yes, homeschooling is HARD. But boy, is it worth it. It is ever so worth it.

Doing Nothing IS Doing Something

My daughter started nursery school this year, which means that two mornings a week, both she and my son are out of the house from 8:30am until 11:45am. Which means that twice a week, for three whole hours, I am completely enuncumbered by children and I can do whatever I want. When I first realized this, I immediately made a list of the things I could do without children in tow: grocery shopping without using a cart shaped like a fire truck, showering without an audience, folding and putting away laundry without "help," writing my blog without interruptions, running quick errands that actually ARE quick. But over the past month, as I've learned the true value of these precious hours alone, I've added what is probably the most precious and the most important thing of all to my "to do" list: Doing nothing.

Anyone who has ever been a stay-at-home parent - or a parent, for that matter - has firsthand experience of what a constant responsibility it is. There is no coffee break, no pause between meetings, no lunch away from your desk, not even a two-minute mental break while you use the bathroom. Instead, you try not to let running children knock your coffee out of your hands while you attempt in vain to drink it before it gets cold, you don't get a breather between trying to stop the kids from flushing stuffed animals down the toilet and scrubbing maple syrup out of the carpet, your lunch consists of the crusts cut off their peanut butter sandwiches washed down with the milk they didn't finish, and your two minutes in the bathroom are punctuated by loud pounding on the door, small faces peering underneath it, and repeated yells of, "Mum? Mama? MUUUUUMMMMMMYYYYYYY!!!!!"

There are no breaks when you are in a house with small children (at least, not when they're awake).

The only times that I really do get a moment to myself to catch my breath are after my kids go to bed. But those are also the only times that I get a moment to talk to my husband, or to run on the treadmill, or to fold laundry, or to write my blog. So some mornings when the house is empty and quiet, the dishwasher and the washing machine and the email can wait, and I just do nothing.

I do nothing while I drink my coffee. I do nothing while I sit in the back yard and watch the breeze shuffling the leaves on the trees. I do nothing while I watch the birds at my bird feeder. I do nothing while I sit on my front steps and watch the neighborhood bunny nibbling at my lawn. I suppose that reading a book doesn't exactly count as doing nothing, but considering how rarely I read a book without also doing something else like stirring a pot on the stove or running on the treadmill or eating breakfast, reading without multi-tasking feels like doing nothing.

The hardest part about doing nothing, though, is not feeling guilty about it. Because whenever I'm doing nothing, there's always something else on the "to do" list. There are always dishes to be washed, laundry to be folded, floors to be swept, toys to be put away, blogs to be written, beds to be made. There is always something that seems like it ought to be more important or higher priority on the list. But sometimes I need that nothing to recharge my emotional and physical engines. Sometimes taking a few minutes to do nothing saves me a lot more minutes later on when I actually DO do something.

So I put "do nothing" right at the top of my "to do" list. Because doing nothing really IS doing something. And now if you'll excuse me, there's something I need to do.

The Struggles of an Introverted Mom

Many of my friends are extremely surprised to find out that I am an introvert. Being an introvert means that I get recharged by being alone, rather than by being in a group of people. I don’t necessarily dislike being in a large group, but I do find it exhausting rather than invigorating, and at a certain point I need to take a break away from other people to recharge my emotional batteries.

When you’re a stay-at-home mom, you don’t often get chances to be alone. Your children are always with you. To someone who is an extrovert, or who falls somewhat in the middle of the introvert-extrovert spectrum, having small children around barely counts as having people around. But to a true introvert like myself, it can be a struggle never having a moment alone to recharge, away from your children. When I wake up in the morning, my kids are either running in to greet me or waiting for me to come and play with them. When they’re playing games, or eating lunch, or reading a book, they want me close by to keep them company. When I go in my office, or the laundry room, or the bathroom, there is nearly always a small person following me, asking where I am and what I’m doing. When it’s time for them to go to bed, they beg for me to read to them, to sing to them, to tell them a story, to come and give them just one more kiss. I am NEVER ALONE.

It’s exhausting.

But here’s the real struggle: I love being with my kids. Honestly, I adore spending time with them. I don’t want to miss that moment when they figure out how to put the puzzle together or how to sound out that long word or how to do a somersault without any help. I WANT to be with them all the time. Except for the part of me that needs a break.

Luckily, my daughter still takes a nap every afternoon, and my son is old enough to have a bit of unsupervised computer time while she sleeps. That brief window is what allows me to survive my day. For maybe half an hour, sometimes even for a whole hour, I get to sit quietly and read a book, or fold laundry, or scrub the kitchen counters, or sit in the sunshine, or take a shower, ALL BY MYSELF. I don’t have to talk to anyone, I don’t have to smile at anyone, I don’t have to acknowledge anyone. I can pretend that there is no-one else on the entire planet except me.

And after that brief interlude, I’m ready to face the world again. My batteries are recharged, my energy has returned, my spinning mind has quieted itself. I am ready to have a conversation, whether it’s with one of my children, one of their teachers, the cashier at the grocery store, my husband, my best friend, or some random mom at the playground.

And even though I can’t tell yet whether my children will turn out to be introverts like their mom or extroverts like their dad, I think they kind of like having that little break from my company, too. I just hope they don’t like it too much. Introvert or not, I still love spending as much time as I can with my children, while they are still children. There will be plenty of time for me to be alone when they’re grown up. 

Here's That Rainy Day

(Dov Severinsen and Tommy Newsome performing "Here's That Rainy Day")

Boy, is it ever a rainy day today. It started raining last night, so when I woke up this morning my allergies were kicking up so my eyes are sore and swollen and itchy, and my joints are achy. Rainy days are not my friend, health-wise. And since I am a stay-at-home mom of two small (and extremely energetic) children, rainy days are not my kids' friend, either. So what to do on a yucky, rainy day? Here's a list of things that kids and moms can do or enjoy to throw off those rainy day blues.

• Bake something. A chilly, rainy day is the perfect time to let the oven heat up the kitchen and drive away the damp, replacing it with wonderful, homey smells. Let the kids help - it'll keep them busy, and they're more likely to eat something they helped make. (Especially if it's dessert.)
• Have a dance party. This may sound like it's just for kids, but it works just as well for adults. Crank up your favorite tunes and get moving. Do it while you fold the laundry or sweep the kitchen or scrub the bathtub, do it as a break between calling clients, do it just by itself for a few minutes. Or for more than a few minutes.
• Get creative. Color, paint, draw, glue something to something else. Dig out some feathers and glitter and construction paper and balloons and whatever else is languishing at the back of the kitchen junk drawer and create something. 
• Re-read a favorite book. Reading for pleasure tends to get shoved aside in our busy society. We barely have time to read a book from cover to cover, never mind reading it twice. So dust off something from your bookshelf that you loved years ago and love it all over again. Find one of your kids' favorite books that you haven't read in a while and read it out loud together.
• Play pretend. Create a blanket fort under the dining room table. Make the couch into a pirate ship. Find an old box and pretend it's a rocket ship to the moon. Make puppets out of old socks or clothespins or paper bags and put on a puppet show. Imagine you're the characters in your kids' favorite TV show or book and re-enact one of their favorite episodes, or make up a new one. 
• Put comfort food on the menu. Serve chicken pot pie, or lasagna, or stew, or pretty much anything made in a crock pot. They call it comfort food for a reason. 
• Jump in puddles. Embrace the wet, put on your raincoat, rain hat, and rain boots, find the biggest, deepest puddle you can, and get splashing. One of my favorite memories from my college years was during finals week when there was a horrible rainstorm, and my roommate and I took a study break and puddle-jumped on the quad for an hour, they came home and made hot cocoa. There's something incredibly emotionally renewing about jumping in puddles.

Here's that rainy day! Make the most of it.

Far More Precious Than Jewels

Today, the website salary.com posted their annual estimation of what a stay at home mom’s work is worth (http://www.salary.com/mom-paycheck/). This number is based on average time spent per week on jobs such as laundry operator, facilities manager, housekeeper, cook, van driver, janitor, and psychologist. The study calculated a base salary of about $37,000 for the first 40 hours, plus roughly 55 hours of overtime pay at about $76,000, for a grand total of $113,000. According to a radio interview I heard about the study, this number is a national average so, adjusted for the Boston area (where I live), what I do is worth around $120,000 dollars a year.

Now, I don’t deny that’s a nice, fat paycheck, and I certainly wouldn’t complain if someone offered to pay me that amount. But I do beg to differ at the article’s definition of “worth.” Being a stay-at-home parent cannot be defined simply by monetary worth. And this is a job description that is, by far, so much greater than the sum of its parts.

The time I spend as a day care teacher is worth about $9,500 of my salary. But hearing my son use words like “humongous” and “actually,” or count to twenty, or point out letters that he knows, to me, is priceless. Actually being there to see my daughter stand without support for the first time instead of getting a report about it from someone else is priceless.

The time I spend cooking for my family is worth nearly $10,000 of my salary. But cutting sandwiches into gingerbread men, letting my son be my sous chef when I bake cornbread, and watching my daughter’s funny expression as she tastes a piece of something I just made and rolls it around in her mouth is priceless. Being able to tailor my menus to the tastes of the people in my own family is priceless. Watching my children grow strong and healthy on the food I prepare for them is priceless.

The time I spend driving my son around to things like gymnastics and church and the playground is worth $6,000. And the time I spend as a psychologist is worth nearly $15,000. But the value of just getting to talk to him – and, more importantly, to listen to him – is immeasurable. Discovering how and what he thinks about the world around him has a value that cannot be calculated in dollars and cents.

And let’s not forget that, as with all jobs, there are always “other duties as assigned.” How about nurse, when the baby is running a fever of 102 and the preschooler is coughing up a lung in the middle of the night? Or conflict mediator, when both kids are determined to play with the same toy at the same time? Fashion consultant, photographer, travel agent, personal shopper, manicurist, hairdresser – there are truly too many components to list.

It’s nice that someone has calculated a tangible, numerical value for my job, something that in some way recognizes and attempts to validate what I do every day. But I know, and my family knows, that what I do, and what all stay at home parents do, is worth far more than can be defined by a paycheck.

An excellent wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels. The heart of her husband trusts in her, and he will have no lack of gain. She does him good, and not harm, all the days of her life. She rises while it is yet night and provides food for her household. She opens her hand to the poor and reaches out her hands to the needy. She is not afraid of snow for her household, for all her household are clothed in scarlet. Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs at the time to come. She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue. She looks well to the ways of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her: “Many women have done excellently, but you surpass them all.” Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her works praise her in the gates.

- Excerpted from Proverbs 31

The Best Job in the World

Being a stay-at-home-mom is seriously the best job in the world. Sure, there isn’t much of a paycheck, and the hours are long, but the workload and the fringe benefits are way better than any other job I’ve ever had, not to mention my fabulous office mate.

Think about it: there’s no dress code, I’m my own boss, the commute is non-existent, I make up the rules and responsibilities as I go along, and I can redecorate the office any time I want. I can take field trips anywhere and anytime I like. I never have to fill out paperwork. I don’t have to requisition supplies. I don’t have to fill out a timesheet or punch a clock. I take my coffee breaks and my lunch break whenever the spirit moves. I always get to listen to the radio and occasionally even get to watch TV in my office. What’s not to love?

And above and beyond all that, my office mate keeps me entertained. Yeah, he’s a little loud at times, but he keeps the mood in the office upbeat and he’s always good for a laugh. He’s always happy to help rearrange the office supplies (i.e., the Tupperware cupboard, the pots and pans, the books on the bookshelf), even though he isn’t particularly neat about it. He always lets me pick the background radio station (although he WILL wrestle me for the TV remote). He takes a break for a couple of hours every day and lets me have the run of the place. If we take a field trip, he always lets me drive.

I love my job so much that I always hang around long after my shift is over. Of course, that might also have something to do with the fact that the guy on second shift is REALLY hot…

What DO I Do All Day?

My cousin Jenn recently sent me an interesting article about stay-at-home moms. Someone had written a letter to the author that went something like this: “I don’t have children, but I have a good friend who does. Ever since she had children, she claims to have no time to spend with me, even though she doesn’t have an actual job. I find it hard to believe that she can’t even spare a few minutes to call me on the phone every couple of days. I just can’t comprehend what she could possibly do all day. I mean, sure she does laundry and makes dinner and cleans the house, but so do I, on top of having a 9-5 job. So what exactly do stay-at-home-moms DO all day?”

The article made me wonder if any of my friends wonder what the heck I do all day. So I thought I’d give you all a little run-down of my typical day.

6:30am – Wake to the sound of child laughing, cooing, and rattling the bars of his crib. Stay half-awake waiting for inevitable loud thud followed by wail of distress.

7:30am – Realize no thud/wail combination has been forthcoming; tiptoe into nursery to confirm that child is still breathing. Realize he has fallen back to sleep. Go back to bed.

8:30am – More laughing and cooing, followed by loud wail as child realizes he’s starving to death. Haul heavy, squirming child out of crib. Wrestle on changing table to change diaper and outfit.

8:50am – Strap child into high chair; provide with spoon, pot lid, or other obnoxious noise-making instrument. Prepare child's breakfast. Feed child.

9:30am – Complete feeding of child; hose off child, high chair, self, and entire kitchen. Move child to basement for playtime. Place in playpen and start up stairs to prepare own breakfast.

9:33am – Return to playpen, confirm that child is wailing due to frustration rather than injury. Distract child with toy, head back to kitchen for breakfast.

9:34am, 9:36am, 9:39am, 9:42am, 9:47am – Repeat previous step.

10:00am – Finish own breakfast. Clean up kitchen. Return downstairs to entertain child. Remove child from playpen. Follow child around downstairs, cleaning up messes left in wake (restacking plastic dishes, restacking pile of juiceboxes, returning books and CDs to shelves, etc.) and preventing various assorted tragedies (closing drawers, pulling child away from sharp table edges, fans, lamp cords, electrical plugs, etc.).

11:00am – Start to heat microwaveable heating pad for back, which will no longer straighten completely after an hour of helping child “walk”. Notice the time; heat bottle for hungry child instead.

11:15am – Feed child bottle on couch, repeatedly moving remote control, books, pillows, one’s own hair, and other objects from child’s reach.

11:30am – Wrestling match to change diaper again. Place yawning but protesting child in crib. Observe on monitor.

12:00pm – Screeching ceases; child is asleep. Shower, dress, brush teeth. Blog. Have lunch. Start laundry/move laundry to dryer/fold laundry/start dishwasher/unload dishwasher.

2:00pm – Screeching resumes. Rescue child from crib. Feed child lunch. Hose off child, high chair, self, kitchen.

3:00pm – Wrestling match to change child’s diaper and food-drenched outfit. Place child in car. Realize that diaper bag is missing crucial components (e.g., diapers). Repack and return to car. Realize child is hungry again. Make bottle. Return to car. Go grocery shopping. For each item placed in cart by mother, remove two items knocked into cart by child. Retrieve shopping list from child’s mouth. Stop so child can be admired by passing shoppers. Retrieve shopping list from child’s mouth. Get in checkout lane. Retrieve shopping list from child’s mouth. Retrieve credit card from child’s mouth. Retrieve keys from child’s mouth. Return several packs of gum pilfered by child to shelf. Stop so child can be admired by bagger. Retrieve shopping list from child’s mouth. Leave store.

4:30pm – Place child in kitchen. Remove groceries from car. Retrieve child from underneath kitchen table. Begin to unpack groceries. Retrieve child from underneath kitchen table. Finish unpacking groceries. Retrieve child from underneath kitchen table. Begin to prepare dinner. Begin to retrieve child from underneath kitchen table, think better of it, and continue preparing dinner.

5:30pm – Interrupt dinner preparation to feed child. Hose off child, high chair, self, kitchen.

6:00pm - Daddy arrives! Hand off child to Daddy. Collapse.

And that is what I do all day.

Who Am I, Anyway?

There’s a poignant line from a song in the musical “A Chorus Line” in which the characters ask themselves, “Who am I, anyway? Am I my resume?” I think that line has been echoed by countless people through the ages, as they try to define themselves. Am I my job? Does what I do (or what I’ve done) define who I am? Since my current occupation is “stay at home mom”, it’s definitely a question that I struggle with.

Before I was married, I defined myself by what I did as a profession and what I did as an avocation. I was a technical project coordinator and a musical theater performer. It’s what I did, it’s who I was, and it’s where I got my validation and satisfaction. I was a valued employee and a valued cast member, and that made me feel good about myself. And when I got married, I layered being Herb’s wife on top of that. I work hard at being a good wife and a good partner, and Herb appreciates that.

But when I got laid off, I lost one of those layers. I didn’t have a paycheck or a performance review to make me feel like I was accomplishing something. And then I got pregnant with Ryan, and there was definitely a feeling of accomplishment there! But when he was born and I got into the cycle of early motherhood where it seemed like all I ever got done was feeding the baby, changing the baby, and putting the baby (and occasionally, myself) to bed, I lost that feeling of accomplishment.

Being a mom is an amazing and wonderful thing. But it’s all too easy to feel like you’re not really DOING anything. Which is kind of silly, because you’re molding an entire human being! You’re helping him learn about the world around him, keeping him safe as he explores, encouraging him to develop new skills. But that work has a definite tendency to take over everything else. I spend less time alone with my husband, because we’re both spending time with Ryan. I spend less time doing things for my husband, because I’m wrapped up in taking care of Ryan. My musical theater career has fallen by the wayside, because I would need to find someone to watch Ryan while I’m at rehearsals and performances, plus I’d need to find time to learn my lines, songs, blocking, and choreography - not easy to do with a busy baby in my lap! Even my time with friends is curtailed because it’s just not the same when I’m hauling a baby around with me, not to mention that my “free” time is now during the day instead of evenings and late nights.

So sometimes I need a bit of a reality check to remind myself that what I do is worthwhile. What I do is admirable. What I do is HARD. What I do is part – but not all – of who I am. But I think it’s still one of the very best parts.

Hi, my name is Sandy and I’m a MOM!

Off-Duty Time

As much as I love being a mom, even being a stay-at-home mom, there are definitely times when I need a little break. You can’t do anything 24/7 without losing your mind eventually. So those hours when I get to put up the mental “Off Duty” sign are just wonderful.

Take last night, for example. I went out to dinner with a girlfriend and Herb took baby duty for the evening. Now, I don’t want to make it sound like he never does this, or that I’m usually in charge in the evening. As a matter of fact, most of the time as soon as he comes home from work, he takes charge of Ryan and I get to make dinner unencumbered, or work at the computer, or run a load of laundry or dishes. Any he always does tubby time and bedtime. But I feel like I’m still on call, simply because I’m there. And of course, the mom-radar never shuts off, so I’m still on alert. But getting to be out of the house, blissfully unaware of any fidgeting or crankiness or lack of cooperation, now that’s being off duty.

Even this morning I’m getting a bit of off-duty time. I heard Ryan fussing at 6 am (!!) this morning, and when I went in to check on him, he was flipped over on his back, turned sideways in the crib, with his blanket off him and mushed in the corner, and he was grinning exuberantly at me, absolutely wide awake. So I put him back on his belly where he could reach his toys, tucked his blanket back over him, and waited to see what he would do. Instead of turning to me or fussing, he very contentedly began chewing on his elephant’s ears, and as I headed back to bed for what I hoped would be 15 or 20 more minutes of peace, I heard him turn on his sunshine music box. I dropped off to sleep pretty quickly, so I’m not sure if he kept playing for a long time or if he dropped back to sleep pretty quickly himself, but I do know that when I got up at 8 to take a shower, he was sound asleep. And as I’m writing this, he’s just barely starting to stir. Which means that I had a wonderful leisurely breakfast all by myself (Daddy’s getting over a bad cold so he’s sleeping a bit late, too). I enjoy having company, but every now and then it’s nice to have a few minutes to myself without my “mommy” hat on.

And I find that those few minutes to myself rejuvenate me for another day of mommyhood. I’m glancing at the baby monitor as I write, and I feel a little thrill of excitement and joy as I see some stirring, a little hand squeezing his blanket, a fuzzy little head turning back and forth, hearing an occasional soft peep. I’m looking forward with renewed energy to another day of watching my little man explore and discover and learn. But for a few more minutes, I’ll enjoy being off duty and just watching him sleep.

Go Daddy!

No, not the website with all those annoying Superbowl ads. I mean "Go" as in hooray, whoopie, you rock, do the happy dance, and hot damn and hallelujah. And I mean "Daddy" as in wonderful man, wonderful husband, and most of all, wonderful and devoted father of two. In other words, Herb rocks.

[Happy Dance]

He got home this morning after having been away for four days. Now, four days is not a particularly long time. It's not like I was pining for him because I hadn't seen him in months and months. I talked to him on the phone a couple of times a day, we emailed each other often, we even had a Skype videoconference once. So how is it that I missed him so much? Well, for one thing, this is the longest we've been apart since we've been married. Come to think of it, other than that one week in October 2007, this is the longest we've been apart since we met! And for another thing, I had no idea how much I rely on his support dealing with Ryan.

He's fantastic in terms of giving me a break when he comes home from work. He loves taking Ryan and playing with him before dinner, which makes it a lot easier for me to make dinner. And as I've mentioned before, he takes care of tubby time and the last diaper change and bottle before bedtime. So I get a nice long break to clean up after dinner, throw in a load of laundry or two, empty the dishwasher - all those tasks I can't quite manage during the day. Not to mention just being able to sit down without a 23-pound sack of potatoes on my shoulder.

But above and beyond that, just having his emotional support is so much more important than I ever knew. When Ryan is crying for no particular reason and I'm feeling like it must be my fault for not being able to figure it out, Herb reassures me that that's just what babies do. And I know that's true, but somehow hearing it from another adult, one that I love and trust, makes it more believable. He constantly reassures me that I'm a good mother, that I have good instincts, that I take care of Ryan, and that I'm still a good wife to him on top of that. Sometimes I feel like he's getting the shaft a little because I need to spend so much time taking care of Ryan, but he reassures me that he doesn't feel left out.

So this is a public thank-you and acknowledgement of his all-around awesomeness. Go Daddy!

My (Very Short) Life As a Single Mom

I am currently developing a deep and profound respect for single moms. I've always marveled at how hard it must be, and even moreso since Ryan was born. But this weekend Herb is away visiting his daughter in California, so I am experiencing it firsthand. And understanding why God made two parents physiologically necessary for procreation!

For a large part of the day, there isn't a lot of difference in what goes on. Since Ryan's been sleeping through the night consistently, I've been the one getting up with him at 7am, since I can catch a nap later in the day while Herb is headed off for work. But Herb often takes him for at least a few minutes in the morning so I can make myself a piece of toast, or go to the bathroom, or brush my teeth. And I didn't realize how much I look forward to him coming home at the end of the day and taking Ryan out of my arms for a few minutes. Evening tends to be his fussy time when he likes to be held, and by the end of the day my arms are TIRED and looking forward to a break.

And as jealous as I sometimes am of Daddy's evening tubby and bed time with Ryan, I will admit it's nice to get a break and be just an observer for a bit at the end of the day. I adore watching them play together, but it's nice to not be the one making sure Ryan isn't crying, and juggling the bottle while trying to wipe up spit, or manhandling that heavy sack of potatoes into the crib without waking him up. In short, it's just nice to have a little break from the first-hand responsibility for a few minutes - or a few hours.

But above and beyond that, I miss having the moral support of another person in the house who can "cover" for a few minutes. When Herb works from home, even though I do my best to not interrupt him, just knowing that if I desperately need a minute to myself - to shower, to get dressed, to grab a snack, whatever - I can hand Ryan over and go do what I need to do without listening to him cry because he wants to be held. And because I know I can, somehow I rarely need to. But those long days when I'm all by myself make me realize how much I do look forward to another adult in the house, someone I can talk to in full sentences (that don't include the words "Boo boo boo!" or raspberry noises). Someone who'll amuse Ryan while I make dinner. Someone who'll give me a few minutes away from being just a baby-caretaker. I'm always a mom, but sometimes it's nice to be just "on call" instead of "on duty".

So here's to all the single moms who never get a break. My hat is off to you. I'm glad I only have to walk in your shoes every now and then.

Recharging Your Engines (in 30 Minutes or Less)

I've learned a lot of useful skills over the past three months since Ryan was born. One-handed typing, for instance. The art of the three-minute shower. Picking things up with my feet. Positioning a bottle with my teeth. Singing in my sleep (I think). But the most useful set of skills I've developed has to be the ways I've found to recharge my engines in less than 30 minutes.

Those readers who have children understand the 30-minute window. Naptime that lasts for several hours is reserved for crucial things like laundry, running errands (if the baby is a car-napper), and the occasional REAL nap. But it's during the shorter catnaps that you can snatch a few minutes for yourself without feeling guilty. I suspect every mom has her own list of things that refresh her and re-energize her to get through the rest of the day, but here are a few of the things I've discovered that work for me.

A 30-minute bubble bath. Incredibly hot water, an absurd amount of girly-scented bubble soap, a cushy neck pillow, the radio set to a classical station, and a paperback copy of Shakespeare, and I'm in heaven for half an hour. It doesn't matter that there are rubber duckies in all colors of the rainbow lined up on the side of the tub watching me. It doesn't matter that I'll have to rinse carefully so that Ryan doesn't get a mouthful of soapy-tasting boob the next time I feed him. It doesn't even matter that I know I may have to wait another week or more to finish the tale of Romeo or Viola or Petruchio. It just matters that for 30 minutes it's pretty much all about me and my comfort.

Another favorite is a big steaming mug of flavored coffee or herbal tea or cocoa with whipped cream and a piece of toast with cinnamon sugar sprinkled on it, enjoyed at the kitchen table watching the birds at the bird feeders. I even sometimes get my brain going by researching new birds with my electronic birdsong book or my faithful Peterson's Guide. The peace of nature warms my soul while my beverage of choice is warming my body all the way down to my toes.

Speaking of warmth, how about 30 minutes spent snuggled under a fluffy blanket just listening to music? (Okay, maybe catnapping a little, too. But mostly listening to music.) Grownup music, that is. Nothing with lyrics about holes in buckets or the bottom of the sea, or little old ladies eating bugs and livestock, or three little fishies/ducks/pigs/bears. Just music that soothes me the way the buckets and bugs and bears soothe Ryan.

And last but not least, I have to admit my favorite 30-minute guilty pleasure: cable TV reality shows. Not the cool competitive shows like Survivor or the Amazing Race or even Hell's Kitchen, but the really cheesy low-budget ones like Say Yes to the Dress, What Not to Wear, I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant, and Bridezillas. I suspect the reason I enjoy them so much is that they make me feel so well-adjusted, personable, and well-dressed. I never threw a temper tantrum while planning my wedding. I've never worn my mom's hand-me-down 1980s power suit to a job interview. I've never thought I had food poisoning and discovered in the emergency room that I was in labor with a baby I didn't know I was having. I may still be in my pajamas at 2 in the afternoon eating peanut butter toast as my first meal of the day, but I've still got it together more than these people.

So when Ryan goes down for a nap that I know is destined to be short-lived, I know what I need to do to fill that time and recharge myself for the rest of the day. And since he's falling asleep in my arms right now, I'd better wrap this up. I'm pretty sure I can find an episode of Tabatha's Salon Takeover on somewhere.

Nibbled to Death By Ducks

Motherhood, particularly stay-at-home motherhood, is not an easy job. Fun, yes. Rewarding, yes. Most exciting, challenging, and wonderful thing I've ever done, yes. Easy? Not so much. In fact, it's often like being nibbled to death by ducks.

There really isn't any one particular thing that I can point to that is incredibly difficult by itself. But there are dozens, maybe even hundreds, of little things that accumulate and wear me down. Lack of sleep is probably the closest to a free-standing difficulty. But even that by itself isn't going to kill me, especially since Ryan's been sleeping through the night for over a week now (knock wood!). But on top of that lack of sleep, layer not showering some days, not brushing my teeth till noon, skipping meals, backaches from lifting the baby, sore nipples, having to keep my nails cut short (doesn't sound like a problem, but taking prenatal vitamins makes my nails grow like kudzu vines!), sore spots on my head from the baby learning to cling to hanks of hair, clothes that don't quite fit, interrupting making dinner to quiet/feed/rock the baby, interrupting dinner to quiet/feed/rock the baby, stiff arms from lifting the baby, laundry piles that never seem to shrink, empty bottles somehow wandering all over the house, never a burp cloth where I can reach it... No one thing in itself makes me crazy, but they all add up after a while.

Fortunately, on the flip side, there are also a lot of little things that I find help to un-crazy me. A long nap while the baby is sleeping (or if Daddy takes a late-night feeding), going out to dinner (with or without the little man), a long bubble bath, or a backrub before bed all refresh me and recharge my engines. A big smile from the little man gives me a surge of energy to make it through another day. Even just seeing his peaceful face when he's finally fallen asleep after an hour of rocking (me) and sobbing (him) (okay, sometimes me too), gives me the strength to keep going.

Because when it comes right down to it, there are so many things I love about being a mom. I love watching Ryan learn something new every day. I love seeing him gaze up at me with recognition. I love listening to his calm breathing when he sleeps. I love watching the funny expressions that flit across his face as he dozes off. I love the way he smells after a bath. I love rubbing my face against his whisper-soft hair. I love blowing raspberries on his belly to make him laugh. I love watching him snuggle with his daddy. I love dressing him up in cute outfits. I love rocking him to sleep and singing him lullabies. I love nuzzling noses with him. I love playing bicycle with his feet and patty-cake with his hands and head-shoulders-knees-and-toes with every other part of him. I love taking him shopping and watching him look around wide-eyed at all the unfamiliar sights and sounds. I love strangers telling me how beautiful he is. I love knowing he's mine, all mine.

So bring on the ducks. It's worth every little nibble!

The Built-in Baby Gym

Before Ryan was born, I had some concerns as to how I would take off the pregnancy weight after he was born. I was fortunate that 8-1/2 months of morning sickness kept my weight gain down to 21 pounds (believe me, after 8-1/2 months I NEEDED that silver lining), and since nearly 10 of that was baby, I didn't have a lot to lose. But at 40 years old, even those few pounds can be tough to shed. And being the opposite of a gym rat, I didn't see myself signing up for yoga or Pilates or spinning classes. I knew deep in my heart of hearts that I probably wouldn't be especially faithful about taking the baby out for walks in the snowy weather or even using the treadmill. But what I didn't realize was what a built-in home gym a baby (especially my big ol' sack of potatoes) can be.

The simplest exercise is simply lifting baby from his crib. This is a rare occasion when laziness actually worked in my favor. Since I can't be bothered to lower the side rail of the crib, getting the baby out of the crib begins a gentle stretching of the muscles in the torso and upper arms, serving as a form of warm-up exercise. The actual lifting of the baby works on the biceps, and if the baby is especially wriggly or has rolled or squirmed into an awkward position, may also strengthen the trapezius, deltoid, and abdominal muscles.

Once baby is awake, the "free-form carry" exercises not only various weight-bearing muscles throughout the arms and shoulders, but has the added benefit of encouraging flexibility of the neck in dodging the inevitable sudden head-butt and hones the reflexes for foiling the occasional Full Body Launch Squirm. The FBLS also results in increased wrist strength, as the child's full weight is generally being thrust against the parent's hands during this escape maneuver.

Should the baby doze off while being held, parental laziness can again be beneficial, as many exercises can be performed in a recumbent position with the baby sleeping on the parent's chest or tummy. A child weighing 15 or more pounds will, as any parent of such a child will attest, provide a great deal of resistance to the parent drawing a deep breath, and will therefore tighten and tone the diaphragm and abdominal muscles. A semi-recumbent position (i.e., sitting upright in a chair but with horrifically bad posture so as to angle the child) allows for both breathing resistance and development of shoulder and underarm muscles, as the baby will inevitably slide down the body and will need to be repositioned. This motion is often done in a slow, controlled manner to avoid disturbing the child and bringing the exercise session to a premature (and loud) end, thus increasing both endurance and flexibility.

My personal favorite built-in baby gym exercise is the Dead Lift/Squat. While this manuever can be done without equipment, it is done most safely using a baby carrier or sling to center the child's weight.  Once the baby is secure in the carrier, proceed to a room, such as the kitchen, nursery, or laundry room, where needed items are stored at various heights. Alternating between stretching up on tiptoe, which tones the calf muscles, and squatting low. which attacks the glutes and quads, gives a balanced workout ala circuit training, with the side benefit of doing chores such as dinner prep and laundry folding.

Who needs a gym when you've got a 20-pound baby? He's way better motivation that a personal trainer, and best of all he works for milk and kisses. What's not to love about that?

It's All In the Timing; or, It Was the Best of Times, It Was the Worst of Times

Having a young child, I am discovering the great importance of "The Window of Opportunity". The Window applies at a number of levels, from long-distance planning ("Traveling is most manageable from 4 months to a year"), to the shortest of short-term goals ("He stopped wiggling; tape the diaper NOW!"), and everything in between.

I've learned to delay meals, chores, and phone calls so they coincide with nap time. This isn't as easy as you might think, though, as Ryan has recently become the master of the Fake Out. The Fake Out is especially effective for important phone calls, as they are generally the most difficult to stop in the middle of to tend to a crying child. This morning, for example, I needed to make a call and I knew I would be on hold for anywhere from 15 minutes to an hour. So this was my dilemma: Do I make the call before Ryan starts his usual nap, risking the I-changed-my-schedule-I'm-not-napping-now Fake Out, in the hope he'll still be sleeping if it takes an hour? Or do I risk the 5-minute-snooze Fake Out and call as soon as he closes his eyes? Would it be better to wait until he's been solidly snoozing for 10 or 15 minutes and therefore safely out of the 5-minute Fake Out Zone and risk him waking up mid-call? It's kind of like playing roulette: so many options on the table and only one is a winner, which means the house almost always wins (and by "the house", I mean "not me"). So naturally Ryan was calm and quiet for the entire 30 minutes I was on hold and even for the first 5 minutes of the phone call, but then burst into loud wails at a rather inopportune moment. Whoops. The house wins again.

Meals are almost as bad. Not only do you need to schedule eating time, but preparation time as well. Admittedly, the preparation part isn't always an issue, since some kinds of meal preparation actually count as playtime. Making a salad, for example, creates endless amusement for a small child in a front pack. No sharp knives or open flames are involved, only lots of walking around the kitchen finding ingredients, including things on high shelves and in low cabinets, which means lots of mommy stretching up on tippy-toe and then stooping to squat. Fun, fun, fun, do it again, mommy! But any kind of cooking that involves actual, you know, cooking, that can be a problem. I have long enough arms that I occasionally dare to cook over a low flame, standing as far from the stove as possible, turning sideways, extending my arm until it's about a millimeter short of dislocating my shoulder, and holding a long-handled spoon with my fingertips. (I'd like to see Rachel Ray try THAT.) But anything that needs to go in the oven, that's just not happening unless the Little Man is either happily in his bouncy chair on the far side of the kitchen or napping upstairs. And if he's happy and/or napping during prep time, guess what that means for actual eating time. Yup, fussy city.

And don't think that finding a set mealtime that coincides with naptime will help. Herb works flexible hours so our dinnertime varies by as much as 3 hours from night to night, but some kind of baby radar wakes Ryan up as soon as we sit down to eat no matter what time it is. We had a dinner party a few weeks ago and Herb actually had to take my plate and cut up my meat so I could eat one-handed while I held the boy. In fact, we've gotten in the habit of starting dinner together, then when Ryan inevitably needs to be held, I take him, and when Herb finishes eating he takes him and I finish eating. We're both getting pretty good at the one-handed eating thing, I must admit. I can even do it left-handed, as long as the food isn't too messy (mashed potatoes is good; mashed potatoes with gravy poses some difficulty). Somehow when your options are either eating oddly and creatively or possibly never eating again, you learn to manage.

Even with eating at odd hours, fitting in showers or laundry at 3pm (or 3am, for that matter), and making phone calls only when there's active snoring coming from the nursery, I wouldn't trade it for the world. Having a baby in my life right now is definitely the best of times.

Welcome to my new blog site!

Although I've been a regular blogger for two years now, I've been blogging at two or three different locations. But I'm hoping to settle in for good here at Blogger! So "thank you" to those of you who followed me from elsewhere, and "welcome" to those of you who are new to my blog.

For the sake of any newbies, let me introduce myself. My name is Sandy, I live in the Boston area, I'm 41 years old, and I have a gorgeous 10-week old son and a gorgeous 47-year old husband, both of whom I adore. I was laid off from my job of 11 years as a technical project coordinator for an environmental engineering firm a year ago and am currently a stay at home mom. (The pay sucks but the benefits package ROCKS!) I also blog for the website http://www.shejustgotmarried.com/ (look for me as "An Older Bride"), and you can check out my past personal blog at http://ooliegirl.livejournal.com/. I've been married for less than 2 years so I'm still technically a newlywed by some definitions, but I intend on staying a newlywed forever by my own definition. I'm often accused of being a bit of a Pollyanna, but I believe that optimism is a self-fulfilling prophecy, so I'll be keeping my rose-colored glasses on, thank you very much. You can decide for yourself whether I'm delusional or whether I'm actually married to the most wonderful man in the world. Or possibly both. I do have the ultimate goal of writing for a living at some point, whether it's by finally getting my book published (with hopefully more books to follow) or by getting a paid blog or newspaper or magazine gig. So your comments and input are very much welcomed as I hone my craft!

So, now that we have the preliminaries out of the way, let the blogging commence! Since this blog is intended to focus primarily on motherhood, let me explain how motherhood is affecting me right at this moment. I am typing this with one hand because there is a soundly sleeping barnacle baby attached to my chest, who is being propped up with my other hand. It is also 1:30 in the afternoon and I am still in my bathrobe, having yet to shower, brush my teeth, or eat lunch. This is a pretty typical day. No doubt all the moms reading this are nodding and smiling. Slovenliness and sleep deprivation are pretty much universal to new moms. I'm actually luckier than many, since my little one is remarkably unfussy (Pollyanna again - but it's really true) and since we are supplementing breastfeeding with bottle feeding and my wonderful husband takes the 6am feeding so I get 5 to 6 hours of uninterrupted sleep every night. But every morning I marvel at moms who do this AND have a full-time job outside the home. I don't think I could manage to get myself and the boy up and dressed by 8 every morning, even if all I had to do was drive around the block and come back home. (Which isn't totally far-fetched; hubby and I actually considered getting me a paper route.) So getting ready and also being able to have coherent conversations with other adults about topics other than poop and the absurd sizing system for baby clothes? Not gonna happen.

I can't even imagine doing a lot of things that many other stay at home moms do, like new moms groups and baby yoga and going to the gym. Luckily, since my baby weighs 20 pounds at 10 weeks, he's kind of a built in home gym. Getting up from the couch while holding him is great for the glutes; when I have him in the front pack and I need something from the lower cabinet, it's better than doing squats; lifting him in the car seat will give me biceps worthy of Madonna. And he's much more fun as a training partner than even the hottest personal trainer could be. I might be a little motivated by a trainer yelling at me to "feel the burn" or "just do three more reps", but when Ryan grins at me when I swing his car seat like a carnival ride, THAT will make me do rep after rep without even counting. THAT is motivation.

Well, Barnacle Boy is stirring, so I'll wrap up this entry. I hope that you check back soon! Please share this link with anyone else you think might enjoy it, and feel free to post or link it to Facebook, Twitter, MySpace, Digg, other blogs, or anywhere else you can think of!