I have a trip coming up where I’m taking both children on a plane to visit my family on the other side of the continent. I’m both excited and filled with anxiety.

On the one hand it’s been absolutely ages since my oldest has been back to where he was born. While my mom and dad have both seen the kids recently, others whom I care a great deal about have not, and I don’t like that.

Since the kids are both older I feel like the trip will hopefully be better than those past, i.e. not quite so much work. (Although I recognize I might be overly-hopeful in that department, but I am choosing optimism here.) We tried to work it out where hubby could come too, i.e. help on the plane, but in the end it’s just me and the boys. It’s going to be better that way for many reasons, but OH MY GOD THE PLANE. You can sense the panic rising, yes?

So I’ve been plotting and planning in an effort to stem the tide of anxiety. Here are my current ideas for entertaining a preschooler and a toddler on a 4+ hour flight across the flippin’ country:

• Felt finger puppets designed to go with to nursey rhymes
  i.e. the three little bigs, billy goats gruff, jack and the beanstalk, hansel & gretl, ugly duckling, etc. Are there others that would be good? Here’s where I admit that I don’t know many nursery rhymes and I certainly don’t know all of those listed above. This would be homework for me not only in stitching finger puppets (I keep telling myself how hard can it be?) but in memorizing the stories!
• “Finger play” book, like Eentsy Weentsy Spider: Fingerplays and Action Rhymes
  I wish I could remember where I ran across this suggestion, but I know it had to do with a recent change to airplane rules where you are not allowed to get up or do anything for the last hour. Expecting children to behave themselves for an hour in the incredibly unnatural setting of an airplane is folly at best, but if that rumor is true, and if I can get my memory to work, maybe I can teach some of these types of “action rhymes” to the kids to pass the time. It’s worth a shot.
• I Spy bags, first seen here: http://www.etsy.com/shop/aebaby
  I love that this shop sells both completed versions and DIY kits. I will of course attempt to do it all myself first (although I’ve never purchased sewable clear vinyl before.. where does one get such a thing? And where do you get tiny crap?) but as time passes, I may well buy some. We’ll see. The I Spy books are suddenly popular around here so I think this will go over well throughout the trip. I wonder if one could design them to have different stuff added as time goes by? I guess you’d risk spilling ten tons of rice around if you did that!
• Crayon/pencil rolls with paper/sketch books
  I have scoffed at pencil and crayon rolls in the past as unnecessary, but now I understand the wisdom. You can keep track of said crayons/pencils. An excellent idea both for when on an airplane and travelling in general. Of course I will attempt to make these myself, but if pressed for time, they can be ordered. Yay! I am as yet undecided on whether both kids get crayons or if elder gets pencils, whether to use plain paper (or staple them into books) or get real sketch books, or just tiny books that can be included with the roll, or some combination thereof. Must think more.
• Quiet book for toddler
  This is a project that I’ve had in mind for a long time, in fact since my preschooler was a toddler, and I know I’ve written about it before, but of course have yet to make it. I did get as far as setting aside some baby clothes with intriguing closures to make into a book, so I could, if I had the gumption, square them off and make a quiet book of zips, buttons, snaps, etc. We’ll see. This is probably the least likely project to get done, which is ironic because it’s for the child who is going to be the hardest to occupy for that length of time. Perhaps I should revisit my priorities! I’m just not sure how to go about making the actual book.
• Car playset
  I usually bring a “car playset” that folds up compactly but opens up into this little 3D playset for Matchbox-sized cars. The kids think it’s pretty cool, I usually have cars anyway, but I’m undecided if it is value-for-space if you know what I mean.
• And of course, don’t forget the usual suspects!
  • Favorite and/or new books including one about airplanes for the new-experience-toddler
  • DVD player (FULLY CHARGED!), with reliable and favorite (and possibly new) cartoons or movie
  • music (possibly videos) on the iPod, possibly kid-friendly games on the iPod (but then possibly not because I don’t want it broken but as a last resort?)
  • …and then headphones (maybe two sets? Will they be able to share? Do I need a splitter?).
  • Actually the drawing materials and paper and books are “usual suspects” as well, but the rolls are new so I did those in a separate listing.
  • Workbooks for eldest (Mazes, coloring, math, dot-to-dot, stuff he likes doing anyway)
  • Coloring books
  • Mama’s Little Book of Tricks
  • Sticker books (although I’m annoyed at them now because the stickers always come off??? But we have several so might as well.)
  • Leapster for the eldest, but do I need to bring the Gameboy so the toddler has something to copy with? This is what we do at home to distract the younger, and hey sometimes I even get in some Tetris play, but do I really want to do this on the plane? Hmm.
  • Cars. Of course. Maybe even trains.
• Random idea: Paper dolls
  I have a set of paper dolls that have been floating around because I pulled them out of some kid’s catalog ages ago. Might as well bring them along, no?

As for when we’re there.. Obviously I don’t want to pack a ton of toys. The preschooler is actually at an age where it doesn’t take a lot to “entertain”. He can do a lot of things with me — cook, go for walks, watch a variety of shows with us, read books, play on the computer, draw, take pictures (CAMERA! Must take the camera) etc. I’m really not that worried about him. I will probably back some card games like Uno and Go Fish and that might be it.

The younger though… ay yi yi. So much energy with such a short attention span! He loves to do stuff with me too but that attention span means he won’t do it as long. There are a number of things we can purchase while there, like bubbles, and of course the grandparents have a random sampling of child-friendly items as well. He also is quite keen on wandering houses picking up random objects, so strategically placed tupperware type containers will work well. In addition to the plane items though, I’ve thought about making this kitchen playmat to play with while making dinner with regular kitchen objects, or bringing even more books. I prefer light and easily packed, which the mat fulfills, but books not so much, so I dunno. Maybe I can convince my Dad to cut up some 2×4s while we’re there for blocks. We’ll see.

I’m sure there are more things I haven’t thought of that I might add at some point. But for now… this is what I am thinking. I wonder if it’s too much? Perhaps I am overly-anxious? It will be fine, right? Right.

I heard someone ask once what the big deal was with travelling with kids; they thought travelling with children was wonderful! I had to force myself not to snort with derision. Maybe your children are blissful travelling companions, but so far mine have proved challenging at best, and I’m often more exhausted on coming home than I was leaving, and that’s saying something! On the bright side, it’s almost always gone better than I anticipated, so at least there’s that.

In the end, I am the sort of person who packs enough food and diapers in case we get stuck in traffic for six hours on the way home (seriously, it’s happened to me before!) so I may be overdoing it. But it’s got to be better than not being prepared. I hope.

To finish things off, here’s my theoretical craft priority list for airplane travel:

• Felt finger puppets/play sets (think houses for three little pigs, etc.)
• I Spy bags (Need to collect random teensy stuff! Plus vinyl for windows.)
• Crayon and pencil rolls, possibly with pockets for paper. Fold out books might work better?
• Kitchen playmat
• Quiet book

Shopping list:

• Teensy stuff for I Spy bags
• Vinyl for I Spy bags
• Paper for plane — books? Sheets?
• Fingerplay book mentioned above

Best get started!

Tonight was the last ER. I feel totally dorky writing about a TV show, but ER has been in my life for a very, very long time.

My one big chore growing up was the ironing, and I always ironed to ER when I was in high school. I watched it religiously right until I moved to the UK where I stopped because they were behind several seasons. I caught up when we moved back home, I even watched ER in the hospital waiting for the Boo to be born (wherein H said I was probably the only person in the entire hospital watching that show). Since then it’s been intermittent, here and there, because kids do that to you. Sometimes I feel like the last person on earth to still be watching ER. But I still love it.

Tonight’s show sparked a thought for me with Carter’s speech about his son who died. He said, “in the midst of our small tragedy we realized we could help people with their own small tragedies” — or something like that. Small tragedy is such a good description of these types of events. On a personal level they are so huge, yet in the scheme of things they are so very small.

You know, I remember that show, where his son died in utero. I remember it because I was pregnant with the Boo at the time. It caused massive feelings of paranoia, not to mention buckets of tears. I almost wish producers would put a warning in front of tv shows that feature pregnancy mishaps: WARNING: Pregnant women should not watch this show. It will make you cry and phone your doctor in the middle of the night when the baby hasn’t moved for ten minutes. I spent the next several days constantly trying to make him kick, just to make sure he was still there. I hoped to hell that never happened to me. I could insert in here some belief about inviting ideas into your life, but I try really hard not to believe that sort of thing.

Anyway. Carter’s speech reminded me that I’ve never really done much to remember our daughter, to honor her brief existence. Of course I want to. I’d like to donate to the Linus Project as we received donations from them, but have yet to make the time. But I’d like to do more — I’m just not sure what. Maybe I’ll look into March of Dimes this year. Maybe some other way to connect, to reach out to others exeriencing their own “small tragedies”. I’m not sure — I hope I figure it out soon.

I also realized that I’ve never talked much about Abigail’s birth. It’s been two years now, and some moments are so fresh, just frozen in time. Seeing her so still on the ultrasound. Telling Hen that she was gone. Sitting on the beach at Golden Gardens seeking solace in a cold, windy, wet day with a very active toddler seeking to distract me. Hearing my father choke up on the phone, which isn’t something I’d ever heard before. walking down the hospital hallway on the way to surgery, the nurse leading the way. Entering the room, slowing down, feet like lead, trying not to take another step forward. The nurse sitting me down on the table, the room large and cold and bright. My body physically rebelling against the idea of lying down. My breaking down in tears and huge sobs that wracked through me as I started to hyperventilate. The nurse pulling my head to her shoulder and giving me a big bear hug, saying simply, “You don’t want to let her go.” I nod, and she says, “It will be okay.” Down I go. I remember the doctor telling me about the knot in the cord, about how I wouldn’t remember any of what she was telling me, except I do. I remember wanting very much to hold the doctor’s hands — the only hands to have ever held my daughter. I wanted to hold on to her hands, in a vague attempt to hold onto my daughter. Except I couldn’t ask — the logical part of my brain knew that I was romanticizing her birth. I knew very well that D&Cs resulted in pieces of a baby, not a whole baby, that there were shiny instruments and silver trays and latex gloves. There weren’t loving hands cradling a small life that didn’t make it. It was a procedure, not a birth.

On ER tonight there was a woman who gave birth to twin girls, a last ditch attempt to have a girl after having three boys, except she died. I actually know a family who had two boys, and on trying for a girl, got twin boys. Then the mom died of breast cancer.

So many bad, senseless, horrible things happen. Sometimes they are big tragedies, and sometimes they are very, very small.  If I’ve learned anything from my own experiences, it’s how joy and grief are so fleeting, so powerful, yet they cannot exist in a vacuum. I thought I couldn’t love Boo any more, but then we lost Baby Bea and I saw him in a whole new light. I don’t treat Bean with kid gloves, although sometimes I think I ought to.

I hope. I dream. I try.  And I remember a baby girl whom I still love very, very much.

I love everything about baby baths.

I love that naked baby! All cute, warm, cuddly and soft. I love how excited Baby gets. I love how he exuberantly splashes in the water and is eternally surprised at how it gets on his face. I love how he kicks and kicks and kicks and can never get enough. I love how it’s apparently new and different every time. I love continually squeezing water over his head and back to keep him warm. I love that even though his diaper changes are like mini-baths throughout the week, only a good soak really gets off that icky yellow stuff. Getting dirty can be fun, but getting clean is even better.

I love how soothing water can be. It warms up the room, makes rattling chests breath easier, and calms down the most hyperactive child. I love how my eldest can be in a rage, but you suggest a bath and everything is magically better. He literally runs to the bathroom stripping off his clothes as he goes. I’m not so crazy about playing with sharks, but it’s often a better deal than whatever precipitated the bath suggestion to begin with.

I love kids after a bath. They’re warm and clean and happy. It’s a smooth transition to the rest of your day, whether it’s changing clothes for the day or into PJs for the night. It can brighten up even the worst day.

Baths are good.

I just can’t seem to get my act together. Is it me? Is it the kids? Is it society? I just don’t know.

What I do know is that it’s not the Angelina Jolie’s of the world that make me feel inadequate. She has more resources than I, and that’s okay. It’s the women who live outside our “western world” who seem to manage to do things like, oh, feed their families, maintain a household, and perform their work, on a daily basis, who make me feel inept. It’s women throughout history who make me feel incapable.

Want some more adjectives for how I feel about my “job”? How about
bungling, helpless, inefficient, inept, lacking, unable, unequipped, unfit, unqualified, unskilled, unsuited, and useless. Yes, I looked those up.

I just don’t get it. I don’t get why I can’t do this. Why can I not put together three meals a day? Every day? Why can I not have a clean house? I don’t mean squeaky clean, I mean not a health and safety issue clean. Why can I not make the things I want to make and fix the things I want to fix? Why can’t I take care of my family, my house, my work, in their simplest forms? Why can’t I do just that? I feel like it shouldn’t be this hard. I feel like I’m missing something.

I think about those women of olde a lot. Pioneer women. Women in the third world. Women who live in villages where they still make everything from scratch. I’ve studied these women with my useless college degrees, yet I cannot maintain even the simplest form of their lives. Why is this? What’s wrong with me?

I’ve been trying to answer these questions for a while now. Part of it is lack of community. Part of it is misappropriated energy in the form of the computer and various forms of media. But mostly I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know how to fix it.

Are other children not as demanding as mine? Surely not. Do other mothers let their kids cry or run wild? Perhaps. Do those kids have their own household jobs by now? Maybe.

I just can’t figure out how to juggle everything. I can’t think of enough meals without devoting at least a few to opening up a can. The baby cries when I fold the laundry. The eldest complains if I sew or knit instead of play with him (unless it’s for him, but even still). The house is never clean enough to vacuum and picking everything up takes the rest of my energy. There’s always something.

Nevermind finding time to exercise or read a book. A least the other tasks have obvious outcomes.

I guess I’m a little down. The election has me worried, my children’s future has me worried,  my ailing health, newly developing nighmares involving bicycle accidents, lack of funds, an inability to visit my family — so many things are weighing on me tonight. Some seem so trivial, yet in many ways are the most important.

I keep telling myself it will get better, but it still bothers me that I can’t handle mundane life tasks right now. Fixing dinner should not be that hard. I am not a desperate housewife. Or am I?

I read this letter today, from a family to their baby who was lost to SIDS. Aside from being astoundingly sad, it reminded me of some of the mixed emotions that occasionally surface with our own darling babe.

I tell Bean on a daily basis how much I love him. How glad I am he’s here with us.

But there’s always the thought in the back of my head how I also miss Baby Bea. And, of course, due to timing, if we did have AB, well, we wouldn’t have Bean. How sad that would be, because he’s such a wonderful little person.

So it makes me wonder sometimes.. what Baby Bea would have been like. Would she have looked like her brothers? Because they sure look like each other! Would she have been the full time nurser her older brother was, or the nonchalant feeder her baby brother is. Would she have slept? Would she have curly hair or blue eyes? All things I’ll never know.

Pointless to wonder, I know, but still. There it is. I wonder.

Sometimes the days get a little rough and I end up putting Bean down to do something else, like fix dinner, or take a shower, or even just to take a break from the constant, constant needing. And sometimes he cries. And sometimes I pick him up afterwards and he stops crying, heaves this huge sigh, collapses on my shoulder, buries his wee head in my neck, and just breaths, his arms wrapped around me and his hands patting my back and neck. He stays that way for a few minutes, as if the worst thing in the world is now over, Mommy has come back.

Those moments remind me of Bea. They remind me how precious my baby is and how I want to hold him closer than close. How any moment things could go awry and life will never be the same. It’s easy to forget that when you’re tired, angry, and overwrought. While I still don’t think that letting him cry a bit while I get something done will kill him, for example, fixing dinner without a sling on is infinitely easier on my back, I also can’t help but think he’s here, he’s my baby, and he needs me. Find a way. You’re the mom, that’s your job. Find a way. Don’t forget what it’s like when they’re gone.

October is apparently SIDS, pregnancy & infant loss awareness month. While I can’t bring myself to compare my loss to one like the above, I do feel that pain is pain and we could all do with a good hug now and again. So go hug someone. Be glad they’re here.

There are so many baby things I don’t want to forget. I keep wishing I could take pictures with my eyeballs. I find myself staring at my children, trying to sear the images into my brain. Listening to the Boo talk, completely oblivious to what he’s saying because I’m trying so hard to just remember what he sounds like.

Having a baby around again has reminded me of how much I’ve forgotten about the Boo as a baby. It seems like no matter how many pictures you take, how many videos you record, ultimately you still lose so much of their babyhood.

So with the Bean, I’m just trying to remember as much as I can.

He’s so sweet. He’s started kissing us back. He’ll reach out those chubby little hands, put them on my cheeks, and pull me towards his very wide open mouth for the slobberiest kiss you’ve ever seen. He sucks on my chin too. I take these all as good signs.

His smile is beyond gorgeous. It’s hard to catch on film because the camera turns him into a deer in headlights, but his smile just emanates from his entire body. Sometimes he literally shakes with joy. He loves people and is a huge flirt. But he’s also really shy. He will grin at someone, but then turn and bury his head into my shoulder as if that’s just too much joy for one little person to hold.

I love that about kids. They express their emotions with their entire body.

Of course there are also the things I’d wish he’d get over real fast. He has this piercing scream that just makes my brain wobble. Ow. Fortunately he’s generally a pretty happy little guy. He even lets other people hold him, which is a totally new experience for me since the Boo was basically velcro. Several of my friends have held him and he’s pretty much happy as a clam, for a while at least.

He loves, loves, loves other children. Doesn’t matter where we are — at home with the Boo, at a museum, at the playground — if there are other kids around he’s glued to them. Of course he loves his big brother most of all. He has eyes and ears only for the Boo. It’s actually quite tricky getting him to go to sleep sometimes because if he hears his big bro, his eyes snap open and he starts looking around for him. Fortunately the Boo loves him right back!

Speaking of sleep.. it would be handy if he did more of that. He cat naps. I blame myself for this, of course. There’s no such thing as a nap schedule at our house. The Boo settled into a nap schedule of his own accord pretty early on. Of course my presence was required, but at least he slept. The Bean though.. 10 minutes here, 20 there, a quick nap in the car. That’s pretty much it. I try and lie down with him to sleep when I can but it’s rare. Poor kid. Too much fun stuff in the world. I hope he settles down a bit as time goes by.

Bean is five months old now. Smaller than the Boo (I think, I don’t have numbers to hand), quickly outgrowing clothes, of course, and almost sitting up on his own. He’s also been testing out real food. He’s so excited to eat with us, it’s adorable. He’s been eating homemade applesauce and bananas. The bananas he loves, the applesauce, not so much.

He also loves gnawing on our apples. Tonight at dinner he was making these “Hee! Hee! Hee!” sounds while flapping his arms at the Boo, and I finally realized he wanted to Boo’s apple. Boo shared it with him, how sweet! Of course sharing right now just means Bean sucks on your apple, he doesn’t get any actual food, but still. Not sure how to deal with that when he actually gets some teeth, but we’ll figure it out. And the Bean looks so very pleased.  It’s good.

Too bad the other end isn’t so happy.  I guess I don’t need to go into too much detail about that. We’ll just say that he grunts and cries a lot and I’m not sure why. I should probably try cutting out dairy again. Unless it’s the bananas. It’s so hard to tell!

Anyway. Although it’s quite hard having a baby around a very active preschooler, I still just absolutely adore them both. I love how much they love each other, which is very gratifying because I worried a lot about that before the Bean was born. I love how the baby lights up when I look at him. I love playing simple baby games and singing songs and toting him around with me. Too bad my back doesn’t like it. Good thing this one is willing to sit down sometimes!

I currently seem incapable of keeing up with the laundry or the dishes, and somedays I really can’t stand playing with cars, trains or airplanes for one more second, but so far I’ve never forgotten to be glad that they’re both here.  I do love them so. I just wish I coud remember everything!

I was watching the Today Show this morning (I know, I never used to watch such drivel, but getting up with a baby far too early will do that to you) and there was this segment about whether mothers were happier working out of the home or staying at home.

I believe it was prompted by the whole “can Sarah Palin be a good mom and good VP too” thing (a topic which is really starting to annoy the crap out of me) so the Today folks hosted two authors to discuss the issue. The books were The Feminine Mistake by Leslie Bennetts, and Beside Every Successful Man by Megan Basham.

Right, so with that out of the way, this segment was really annoying! One lady was citing studies showed that mothers were happier working outside the home, while the other was citing studies that showed that mothers were happier staying at home. This is why studies on people annoy me — it seems hard to prove anything for certain. Humans are a diverse lot, yes?

The author who was claiming that mothers are happier at home cited one statistic that really got my goat. She said something like, “Women who stay at home have husbands who earn 20-50% more than the husbands of women who work.”

HELLO. Surely that’s a socio-economic figure that’s been twisted to work in this scenario. Surely the men whose wives stay at home earn 20-50% more because they already earned more to begin with (or had the potential to do so) and can therefore afford to have wives who don’t work. A wife quitting her job does not assure that her husband, who may be, say, a manager at Taco Bell, suddenly earns twice his previous income. That part was utterly ridiculous.

But then I also took issue with the other lady stating that women were happier working. I can assure you that I am way happier at home than I ever was working. Obviously this doesn’t apply to everyone — I don’t have a career, for example, being a lawyer. If I did, I’m sure I would have kept working. But I don’t, and I love being at home. If I get bored it’s not because of lack of things that I want to do, but because my children are requiring things that I find boring but still feel the need to do anyway. I also take care to maintain my identity, not that I know what that is exactly, but it’s not just someone’s mom, that’s for sure.

Of course the lady who insisted that women were happier working seemed primarily to be interested in warning women of the dangers of being overly reliant on a man, that you run the risk of lacking a retirement, of being alone for decades should your husband die before you (as is statistically likely) or leave, of how hard it is to enter the workplace after staying home for a decade to care for your children. Fair enough.

But it’s a risk I’m willing to take. I didn’t enter this blindly.

It’s funny.. I feel like I know women on both sides of the coin, and somewhere in between. I know working moms who wish they could stay at home. Working moms who know they would go nuts at home and are glad to be working. Moms who choose to stay at home but worry that they’re setting a bad precedent for not working. Moms who stay at home but want to work, just not yet.

It’s not an easy subject and there’s no direct answer, no matter what the studies say. I know I often harbor dreams of finding the perfect part-time job where I work from home and earn just a little extra money to help contribute to the family income and, let’s face it, buy more fun things for me! But I know I don’t really want to. I bitch enough about lack of “me” time, where do I think I’m going to find the time to work? Even less “me” time, that’s where.

I do think the studies are asking the wrong questions though. I’ve come to the conclusion, over the last few years, that “happiness” is not the goal. Asking someone if they are happy is asking for a fleeting and time/space specific answer. It’s easy to be happy one second and unhappy the next. So what should they be asking? Even if I’m unhappy at the moment, I’m generally content with my choices. I like the way things are going. I’ve stopped aiming for happiness and instead have begun to focus on achieving and maintaining family peace (world peace can wait) and peace within myself.

Are mothers happier staying at home or working outside of it? I feel like there are too many variables to that question to make any sort of broad conclusion about half the human population. I know I’m happy — generally — but I also think a mom can be VP, a mom, and be happy. Although I do wish it wasn’t Sarah Palin that was up for the job.

Today was my son’s first day at preschool.

I was a little nervous. Partly because although he had been excited about the concept of preschool throughout the summer, at the “welcome day” (which was only an hour and zero pressure to conform), he didn’t want me to leave him alone. Hmm. And then partly because we had to get up really early and I didn’t want to be late, which I almost always inevitably am.

So I packed lunches and my bag the night before. I laid out clothes and attempted (but failed) to go to bed early. When I woke up at 6 something (having spent the majority of the night in the glider as it is — teething baby) I just stayed up, afraid I’d oversleep if I went back to bed.

We got there in good time. I ushered the lad through the drill (shoes off, lunch in cubby, hang up coat, wash hands, say hello, etc.) and then expected we’d play a bit or something before I left. But the Boo ran off, there’s so much to do he hardly knew where to start! Paid me no attention whatsoever. I went and sat by the baby, unsure as to whether or not I should go.

When a friend (whose daughter is in the same class) suggested coffee, I told the Boo it was time for me to leave. I practically had to wrangle a hug and a kiss out of him, told him I’d pick him up after lunch, and I left. He was FINE!

Well, I thought he would be, but still. It’s odd to have a child who was once attached to you like velcro, to just wave bye and run off.

So there you go. I’m officially the mommy of a preschooler. On the bright side — I’m looking forward to the lunches and shopping to be done with just one child. Ah, perspective is such a good thing.

Quick on the heels of my last post, more thoughts on being a mom.

I’ve recently realized that parenting is bringing out the worst in me. Apparently there are aspects of my personality I didn’t even know existed.

Pre-children, if I were to describe myself, I would have (humbly) said I was thoughtful, caring, rational and logical. I don’t yell. I don’t rock the boat. I don’t throw things. I don’t like to upset anyone. I want everyone to be happy. I don’t order anyone about, I care what everyone thinks and I value everyone’s opinion. I’m a mediator. Until just a few years ago that’s absolutely how I thought of myself.

And now I know I was wrong.

I still am those things, I suppose. With adults. But with children? MY children?

I yell. I take on authority with resentment. I stomp around. I throw things (like pillows). I tell a certain someone that I’m trying very hard not to want to smack his little tushie. (That’s a startling one for me as I’m very anti-corporal punishment. But there you have it.) I’m still being rational but I’m dealing with someone who is not and it’s frustrating as hell.

Way back when I was reading lots of parenting books, one particular idea stuck with me: You wouldn’t treat your friends like that, so why would you treat your kids like that?

I’ve found that an absolutely impossible ideal to live up to. I believe in it, but it’s just not realistic, at least not in my world. Why? Because your friends wouldn’t treat you like that either, so it’s a non-issue. At least with my friends.

But my child? My child doesn’t respect me. He doesn’t trust me. (In that he wants to do his things his way and doesn’t believe me when I tell him otherwise. I do think that fundamentally he trusts me.) So it’s hard to treat someone respectfully when you are not receiving the same level of respect in return. When you are routinely ignored. When in fact you are barely receiving love in return, much less thanks or appreciation. Welcome to parenthood, right?

I always start off politely and I try to exude an expectation of cooperation. But somehow it still all goes downhill and I end up wading in a pool of power struggles of epic proportions. It makes me so tired. I just want him to listen and do what he’s told when it’s important. I swear I don’t tell him what to do all the time, I’m extremely lax about a great many things, believing in his autonomy and need to make his own decisions.

But it doesn’t seem to matter. Everything must be a struggle. I’m just so tired. I don’t like who I’ve become. I don’t want to yell. I don’t want to be angry and upset and frustrated. I don’t want my kids to remember me like that. I don’t want to spend my days like that. I don’t get any breaks or vacation; this isn’t a job, it’s a life, MY life, and I want to live it striving for peace and maybe a little happiness on the side. I want to wake up excited about the next day, not having an expection of what’s going to cause the tantrum today?

I want to be Fun Mom. Creative Mom. Life Loving Mom. Mom who always has a good trick up her sleeve. Active Mom. Interactive Mom. Mom who isn’t scared of her own damn kids.

My mom yelled a lot. I remember that. Of course I love my mom dearly, which I suppose should be some sort of consolation that my kids aren’t going to hate me or anything, but still, I swore I wouldn’t do that. And lo, here we are. Welcome to Carrie’s abode, where you get to be yelled at on a daily basis!

I hear myself writing a lot about “I want…” to which my normal reply would be, “Okay, so what can you do to make that happen?” And here’s the sad truth — I have no fucking clue. I’m treading water here, not drowning, but not getting any closer to my island of peace and happiness.

Often I AM quite happy, I know I’m so lucky, and my kids are often great. In fact just today my boy asked me for a kiss and hug, which is totally new and joyfully given. But when that’s followed up by the demand to “pretend drive” but then a refusal to do such, followed by a one-sided conversation about why do you ask to do something, I tell you that’s fine, then you decide not to do it but then throw a hissy fit that you didn’t get to… I’m dumbfounded. Totally and completely at a loss.

Sometimes I want to just give up. Go to preschool all day. Confuse someone else. I never thought I’d say it, but damn babies are easy. I don’t know that I’ll even find an answer to all of this, other than that time will pass and some things will get better while some will get more difficult. I’m not sure that’s good news though. It’s certainly not going to help me sleep at night.

And then I read something like this. I am totally at a loss for words.