Category: mumbling

I am tired of all this judgmental Mommy stuff. I really am over it.

Maybe I hit the wall tonight when Chris sent me a link to this blog, which holds all of three posts, one of which is a big diatribe that declares the Momergency Kit “robs mothers (and their children) of the uncomfortable, difficult and often frustrating moments of life that promote growth and resiliency.” Clearly, the Momergency Kit is not her cup of tea, but is it necessary to grind someone else into the ground while making your point?

But, Chris, don’t feel bad for making me grouchy. This is just another in a long list of things that are getting under my skin about the whole mommy culture right now. And the internet is fueling the fire.

Last week, I spent a whole night tossing and turning in bed because I’d read an article a woman had written about her friend’s three-year-old. She loved the mom, but she hated the three-year-old. And the three-year-old she was describing? Pretty much Neko to a tee. I even looked back at the author’s photo and bio to make sure we hadn’t once been friends. The thing that saddened me most, though, is that she never talked to the mom about the child—how the child’s behaviors affected her child negatively, and were there things she could do to elicit better behavior from the child. Instead, she just quit being friends with the mom. And I think I really like this woman. From all her other articles and her bio, she totally sounds like someone I could be good friends with. It just made me so sad that she would quit being my friend because she doesn’t understand my child.

And then I read some other article tonight about over-parenting and other stuff—all very good points—but often made while criticizing other mothers.

Why are we so contentious toward one another? Staying at home v. going back to work. Breast v. bottle. Attachment parenting v. schedules. Pacifiers v. bottles v. thumb-suckers. Early potty-training v. after three. It goes on and on.

I completely admit that I’ve had my share of bitch sessions. Times where I rant and rave about this and that. (I’m doing it right now!) But I think we can all agree that being a mother is hard. Harder than nearly anything we’ve ever had to do. And it is rewarding. More rewarding than nearly anything we’ve done. But at the end of the day, we’re all just trying to do the best we possibly can.

A few weeks ago I was unloading the kids at the park. Everyone needed a diaper changed or shoes put on and then there was the packing of the stroller and snacks and sippy cups and on and on. It probably was a full ten minute process. As I finally got everyone moving, the woman in the car next to me rolled down her window and smiled. “You’re doing a really good job, you know. I just thought I should tell you that.”

And that is what we could use a whole lot more of.

The construction crew is back working on the wall. I’m in hiding, because toddlers and nail guns don’t mix.

Is it weird that my reaction this is that I can’t believe it took them that long to use Jennifer?

It should be noted that not all days are sunshine and roses around here. I tend to document the good stuff more than the bad because it just gets monotonous and mostly it’s all like, Shep took Neko’s toy but Neko had been waving it in his face so really she had it coming but now everyone’s screaming and crying and oh, lordy, when was the last time I changed Ellery’s diaper, because I think we have leak to rival the Titanic.

It’s all very glamorous and makes for incredibly riveting reading.

But, today, I must mention. I just wanted to make dinner. Every day, all over the world, people come to their kitchens or huts or even the simplest fire and they make dinner. And then the family comes together and eats. It happens all the time. I swear. But if this is so, why do I, in this world of modern conveniences, have so much trouble making it happen?

I just wanted to make dinner. Spaghetti and faux meatballs. Garlic bread. Wilted spinach. These are not hard things and not terribly time-consuming. At 4:15, I sat down Neko and Shep and explained that I needed to make dinner, that this is my “work” and I need time to do my work. And I need to not be interrupted every three seconds. That Neko and Shep needed to—are you ready—entertain themselves while I cooked. It was all very civilized, and I thought, well understood.

And in the next thirty minutes, the following things occured:

1) A loud thud, followed by much crying. Neko decided it would be fun to stack two bean bag chairs on top of each other on top of Shep’s bed and then they would both jump off the top. About four feet down. Shep got hurt, a shock, I know.

2) No one watched television. Thousands of articles are written every year about children rotting their brains in front of television. Devices have been invented to limit the amount of television watched. Yet I can’t even reliably get my kids to watch thirty damn minutes of Dora so I can mince garlic.

3) Neko decided she wanted everything Shep came within three inches of, and Shep decided it was really funny to run away with those things, laughing with glee.

4) Ellery decided that if I wasn’t going to hold her she would put in a call to Children’s Services. Once she can learn to crawl and push the right buttons, that is. Until then she would fill the time with lots of loud crying.

5) Neko and Shep decided to host a very loud and dangerous game of chase around the island where I was wielding large knives and the oven where I was trying to place very hot objects while balancing a baby on one hip.

You can see where this is going. I broke. I yelled. Way too loud and too much. And then I picked everyone up and sent them to their rooms for the next fifteen minutes. And there was a lot of crying. And screaming. And when Tom walked in the door he got very wide eyes and you could tell he was thinking that his best move would be to turn around and pretend he had to work late.

But, by golly, dinner was on the table at 5:10pm.

Day three.

There is no picture for today. If there was, it would be me with my head on the counter, drooling into my coffee.

Since Tom was gone and I was already going to be exhausted, I decided it was a good time to cry-it-out with Ellery.

Now, I know some people don’t believe in cry-it-out, but I think if these people birthed my children, they might come to my way of thinking. My children don’t sleep hours and hours in a row. When they are born, they wake up every 2-3 hours to eat because they need to. But then they don’t really need to eat that often, but let’s face it, if you could just roll over at 3am and take a few sips of a latte and then get tucked back into bed, it sounds kind of cozy and appealing. My children agree.

With Neko, we didn’t cry it out until she was nine months old. Nine months old and still eating every 2-3 hours. With Shep, we waited until he was six months old. My intent was to wait that long with Ellery, but when last week she ditched the 2-3 hour gap and decided to eat every hour on the hour all night, I decided I’d had enough. And, no, this pattern did not continue during the day. She lasted nearly five hours the next morning before she ate again. So I know she’s capable. And clearly not starving.

And if she were my only one, I might feel differently, but when you’ve been awakened every hour all night and then these two other needy people wake up at 7am and demand to be fed real food and changed into clean clothes and stuff, my grip on emotional stability becomes a little dicey.

Anyway, last night Ellery cried a lot and I did a lot of useless middle-of-the-night tasks, resulting in not a lot of sleep for either of us.

Fortunately, my aunt was lined up to take Neko and Shep in the morning, and I crazily thought Ellery and I would take a nap since neither of us slept the night before. Ellery had other ideas and stayed wide awake until about half an hour before it was time to pick up the other kids. Ellery then slept the whole time in the car and while the other kids ate lunch, promptly waking up as I put the others down for naps. (Libby, this is the collaborative effort I speak of.)

But wait! My kind mother takes Ellery for nap time so I can sleep. But then Neko decides not to nap, and I am kept awake by the adventures of Lightning McQueen and Sally and some other characters. I have no idea who, but they sure are loud.

This whole entry probably doesn’t make any sense at all, but it’s managed to keep me awake long enough for Ellery to conk out. Blahblahblah. I promise to be more fun tomorrow.