Not The Mama

Sometimes, I try to pretend that I'm not a lowly pawn in my daughter's ever-changing chess game.  I've lost count of the number of times that she's "check-mated" me.  

"Ella, it's time to eat lunch."

{whiiiiinnnnneee}

"Ella, I need to change your diaper."

{NOOOOOOO!!!!!}

"Ella, it's time to brush your teeth and get ready for bed."

{But I wanna watch Mike the Knight!!!!}

In my head, I know that every act of resistance is an opportunity for me to push back that much harder. Be firm.  Unmoving.  Unfeeling.   To say, "Tough toenails, kiddo.  I'm the MOM."  

But the reality is that I don't want to be the mom sometimes.  I want to be some obscure, favorite aunt who isn't around enough to wear out her welcome and therefore, has an endless supply of patience and energy (and candy).  She would be so much better to do all of the negotiating and coercing.  Because, truth be told, I'm just a bit of a pushover.  And I'm not so much interested in laying down the law as much as I'm interested in peace and quiet.  And sometimes, I just want a few extra minutes to muster up enough grit to forge ahead with a diaper change that could truly gag a maggot, or the ridiculous (and yet, impressive) display of stall tactics at bedtime.  

So, through a combination of happenstance and necessity, we've landed on the "five minutes" rule.  Every parent has said it:  "Fine. Five more minutes."  It's a compromise of sorts, because let's be honest:  as parents, we've met our matches.  These beautiful creatures who captivate us because we have no idea what we ever did to deserve to feel such love are also nature's pay-back for all the crap we did to our parents.   Sure, they're only 3 feet tall and can't control their bodily functions, but there's no denying that they've had us at their mercy from the day we brought them home from the hospital.  

So at times, I just like to give them the illusion of control.  Not giving in, per se, rather handing over an inch or two of the reigns without letting them take full control of the horse.  Ultimately, it buys them time to do whatever it is that's so incredibly important, and it gives me time to gather my nerves and patience.  And to top it all off, I'm momentarily spared the attitude and soul-sucking whine.  Maybe they'll forget that they didn't want to go to bed... 

But what I've found, surprisingly, is that those five minutes are often all that's needed.  Ella has now learned (and somewhat accepted) that when the timer goes off, there's no more debating.  She knows that she only gets one five minute rule at a time in our house.  And for me?  Those five fleeting minutes give me time to not be the bad guy, the negotiator, the time-out placer, the layer-down-of-the-law, the frazzled cook,  schedule coordinator, endless supplier of boo-boo kisses, and the car-pool fairy.

For five more minutes, I just get to be someone who maybe gets to finish her cup of coffee in peace.   And that's enough for me. 

 

Death by Chocolate

Willpower isn't one of my strong points.  This is one of the many reasons I loved being pregnant (you know, after I started to like food again).  "Hey, are you gonna eat that other bear-claw?" and "Yes, I will make that a Route 44-super-extra-jumbo milkshake, thank you."

However, this is why I don't often like to buy things at the store such as cookie dough or Double Stuf oreos.  Once they're in our fridge or pantry, it's ON.  (Oh, what I could do to a package of Double Stufs).  It sometimes takes all I have not to tear into them on my way home.  Then, heaven forbid that Ella has one of her special days.  Come nap-time, there's a 99.4% chance that I've already eaten an entire sleeve of oreos  (Yes, I sometimes eat my feelings.  But I do it with skim milk, so that has to count for something, right?)  My dad, on the other hand, is infamous for keeping a pack of M&M's on his desk and taking one solitary piece out at a time, munching it, then folding the package back up and leaving it for the rest of the day.  WHO DOES THAT?  And more importantly, why didn't I get THAT gene?

This is the first summer in nearly four years that I have a) not been pregnant and b) not been burning through an extra 500 calories a day just by sitting on the couch being a milk factory for someone.  And while I'm looking quite forward to not feeling pukey and/or not having some kind of swimsuit wardrobe malfunction brought on by my ever-growing mammaries, I'm also realizing that there has been little to no discipline in my eating habits for a looooong time.  My willpower, for all intents and purposes, is like a muscle that's lost it's tone.  It sags.  It jiggles.  It burns when I run up our steps (wait, maybe those are my glutes).

So I come up with ways around actually practicing some restraint.  Have you ever done this?  I figure if I can just outsmart myself, I'm golden.  It's nap-time, and I'm hitting that 2 p.m. brick wall:

...I need some caffeine.  Time for some coffee.


...{takes a sip} Hmm...One of those Ghirardelli dark chocolate-caramel things would be AWESOME with this cup of coffee.  {sip}  I want one.  


...Nope. {pours in more coffee creamer}.  I'll just make my coffee taste sweeter instead.


...{sip} Hmph.  Now it doesn't taste right.  I'll need to munch on something to off-set it.  Hey- I know! I'll have some vanilla wafers.  Those would be good.  They're low-fat.  {grabs box of wafers} ....I still really want that chocolate.  Nope.  I'm going to abstain.  Just eat these.  Hey look- they actually call them 'Nilla' Wafers.  My bad.  Wonder why they don't just say "Vanilla??"  {desperately trying to think of anything BUT the chocolates}  Wonder who invented 'Nilla Wafers, anyway?  Wonder if they make Chocolate Wafers.  Would they call them 'Colate' Wafers?  Maybe 'Choco' Wafers...{sip}  I really want some chocolate.


...Okay, I'll compromise.  Just eat something with small bits of chocolate, maybe.  Just enough to take the edge off.  A quaker chocolate chip granola bar.  Perfect!  {inhales the granola bar}  {Checks Facebook}.  {Checks Pinterest} {Sees a pin for dark chocolate caramel brownies}.  *sigh*.  That granola bar was actually pretty anti-climactic.  I've still got half a cup of my coffee left.  And I HAVE been eating healthily today up until, well, an hour ago.   Maybe I'll just eat a salad for dinner...{willpower officially disintegrates}.

So, I end up eating the Ghirardelli chocolate covered caramel square after all.  After all of that- all of the extra calories I consumed while trying NOT to eat it- when I would have been better off (calorie-wise, at least) just eating it right when I wanted it.  I'd still like to give myself an A for effort though.  I had good intentions, really.  (Okay, maybe an A-).


Bottom line: Maybe it is better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission after all (even if you're asking it from yourself).


So carry on, fellow chocolate lovers. ;-)

K

Balancing Act

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a planner.   I need to know when, where, how, why, and have the teensiest of details worked out.  Trips, events, grocery shopping, outfits, even next week's nail color.  I've been this way for as long as I can remember.

It must be true, then, that opposites attract, because I met and fell in love with a guy who loves to "roll with the punches."  It's one of the things that makes me love him so and yet annoys me to no end.   When we first met, he would sometimes ask me if I wanted to go for a drive. "Sure!" I'd say.  "Let's go.  Where are we going?"

"Oh, just for a drive.  I don't know, we'll decide on the way."

Um, what?  Who does that?  What if I'm wearing a completely inappropriate pair of shoes for whereever we end up?  Is this a long drive or a short drive?  Should I pee before we leave?  Why didn't he realize that these were important considerations?  Of course, I kept my high maintenance mouth shut for fear of scaring him away, remembering that he did come to pick me up in a jeep for our first date, after all.  (That really said it all).

So naturally, when it came time to start a family, he said, "eh, let's just see what happens." And once again, my detail-oriented (and impatient) brain computed this as, "you will be 39 by the time you have your first child."  I saw no need to waste perfectly good eggs.  Clearly, he hadn't yet familiarized himself with the latest fertility charting software and thus, needed to know how crucial the timing was.  Luckily- gratefully- we got pregnant right away.  But now looking back, I can honestly say that was essentially the last time I had some kind of control (or any illusion of it, at least) as it pertained to my life.

Because after Ella started growing in my belly, I realized that ultimately, I had no control over whether the pregnancy would be viable.  Scary.

I had a due date.  She made me wait a week longer.  Torture.

I had planned for a vaginal delivery.  (I typed up my birth "plan."  Don't judge). She apparently didn't like the shape of my pelvis.  PAINFUL (and again, scary).

And that was really just the beginning.

Of course, a few things I planned to do did work in my favor.  But I learned to view those instances as happy surprises rather than things I was banking on.

Now, almost three years into being a mommy, I realize that most of my days are comprised of minute-to-minute plans that get train-wrecked or abandoned.  It comes with the territory when your kids are 20 months apart and both under the age of three.  I won't lie- it SUCKS sometimes.  Unfortunately, there are times when I'm just selfish enough to take it out on them or Jake.   And yet, it's futile.  I could cry and stomp my feet all I want (and I'd be in perfectly good company) but it doesn't change a thing.  This is what I signed up for.  I didn't realize it at the time, but the day that I got my positive pregnancy test, I essentially took my planner, my spreadsheets, my preconceived notions- all of them- and chucked them out the window.  I still remember buying mother's day cards for my mom when I was younger (and not yet a mom).  All of them- even the funny ones- were streaked with words like "unconditional," "sacrifice," and "selfless."  I understood and appreciated (in my own way) that she gave up things for me, but those words didn't carry the same weight then that they do now.  As it turns out, Hallmark was dead on; "mother" is pretty much synonymous for "sacrifice."

I'm sure that any mom can rattle off a handful of everyday, run-of-the-mill sacrifices that are commonplace: you don't remember what good sleep feels like.  Your hips will never look the same again, for better or for worse.  Your dinner is always cold by the time you actually sit down to eat it.  You don't always get a shower.  The money that you would normally put aside for that manicure or new pair of shoes is now being syphoned into the Pampers Fund.  You planned to have a date night, but then one of the kids got sick.  You wanted to watch The Today Show, but Peppa Pig- once again- trumped Matt Lauer.  And although you're never consciously keeping score, you find yourself stopping mid-diaper change and remembering how you used to be able to leave your house when you wanted to- without any regard to car-seat configuration, naptimes, and/or lack of clean clothes.  For a moment, you're wistful.  Then grateful.  Then exhausted.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  Every single day.  And those typically are the days that you leave an exhausted and semi-coherent message on your best-friends voice-mail because you just want to hear someone else say they understand.   That, and you just want to speak to someone who doesn't crap their pants.

And then there are those sacrifices that cost a bit more, that cut just a bit deeper.  Those that your children may never fully understand or appreciate.  (Maybe you pray that they won't ever have to understand it for themselves).  The ones that find you sobbing in the solitude of your shower, or having heated "discussions" with your partner behind closed bedroom doors, or up at 2 a.m. fighting off the monsters in your own closet.  You find yourself thinking...


"My kids will always know..."

"I don't want them to ever be...."

"I don't care what it takes, I'll never...."

"I want them to remember that..."




Behind each of these thoughts is sacrifice.  A conscious decision to keep your bucket- which is filled to the brim with years of lessons learned the hard way, fears, insecurities- from spilling over onto the ones you love the most, no matter what the cost.  Sometimes it does spill over, despite your best efforts.   But over time, you learn to balance it somehow.  Some days it feels heavier than others- that bucket on one hip, a fifteen month-old on the other, and a three year old clinging to your leg.  But you manage.  You see the bigger picture.  And you hope that one day, when they have buckets of their own (because they will) they'll learn to balance them the way you did.   And on those days when their own buckets are filled with the weight of the world, you can then look at them and say,  "I know how you feel."   There is truly no substitute for experience.


Sacrifice begets sacrifice the way that love begets love.  It's impossible to have one without the other.