It's been a long time since I've posted. I wish I could say it was because I'm a flake and nothing more has happened, but a major life change happened on February 27. It was the day that marked my seperation from my husband. The blow was tremendous as the love of my life, the only adult relationship I've ever had didn't want to be with me.
The next few weeks were a haze, a blur. The only thing I can definitively remember, was directly after he told me and I calmly told him to take the kids out. I emailed my best friends, went out to get some chocolate peanut butter ice cream and calmly sat on the couch watching TV and fielding calls. Talk about shock. Shock was good though, it protected me, of course it didn't last and I spent the next few months piecing myself back together again, trying to keep it together for my kids and relying heavily on my friends to help me get through easily the worst period of my life.
Somewhere in April, I realized that I wasn't going to save this marriage and my ego kicked in that I wasn't necessarily worthless, that this might indeed just as much a loss for him as it were for me. In May, I started smiling again, genuine smiles and laughs, it took some effort getting into the right frame of mind to smile, but once there, I started to resemble myself again. I also realized that yes, I was going to make it through, it was going to be Hell for the next three years, but I'll survive and God willing, be a better, stronger person.
Its now nearing the end of July. There have been so many peaks and valleys I've lost count. Its been very difficult to write this post as 1. I feel like a fraud having given so much talk and commentary on relationships and 2. How to discuss a very painful part of your life without lashing out, sharing too much or throwing myself into a valley again. I don't want to use this blog to give all the gory details or run down my ex, I'd like to be honest, but diplomatic and use it as a vehicle for reflection and reaching out to others who might be going through the same thing.
So, that said, I do need to write, and I want to share this part of my life as I get through the next few very tough years ahead. My first reflection came at me from the moment I received the first of many calls from my friends. (Though I didn't know it at the time) I am very lucky. Insanely lucky. So lucky that it hurts when it comes to the friends department. They have held me as I cried, bailed me out as I put my van into a bus (long story, I'll share it some time), they have force fed me food, they have force fed me alcohol. They have given me support, places to sleep, husbands to borrow, babysitting and an amount and the kind of love that you see in the movies.
Truly, I never thought that I'd ever be so lucky as to have friends like this. EVER! I remember I think the second time I met with the mediator, she asked me if I could see a silver lining in this. I couldn't, not for a lack of trying, I just truly wasn't in the head space to think of anything remotely good (maybe except for getting to claim the bathroom all for myself...pink and girly products took over like two days later). That said, once I was capable of smiling, I saw my community who rallied to pick me up. Not just my friends and mother, but my mothers friends, my friends husbands, my inlaws, some of my extended inlaws, nieces and nephews, brothers, sisters, school teachers and principals, therapists, my hairdresser. Every cloud has a silver lining, but my lining was diamonds because when I think back today, I am still overwhelmed by the love and support I have received from everyone. In fact it was a couple of friends who pressed me last night to write about this and to start blogging again. This isn't an easy blog post, it's very hard, very embarassing, very emotional, but I do know that if it weren't because of my friends, I wouldn't be capable of standing on my own two feet from time to time, let alone write a blog post about surviving this heartbreak.
So there you have it in a nutshell. Why I've been MIA and what I've been doing for the past 5 months. I can't promise my writing from now on will all be lollipops and rainbows, or even terribly consistent, but it will be honest and genuine.
Showing posts with label SAHM. Show all posts
Showing posts with label SAHM. Show all posts
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
What they don't tell you in prenantal class
There are a million things people don't talk about when having children. Your deliveries will be beautiful, your birthplan will be adhered to, you'll spend your babymoon nursing in a sunlit room garbed in white, your baby will make your family complete and you'll all live happily ever after.
What they don't say is that you'll likely poop yourself during delivery, your birthplan may be radically altered in a blink of an eye, your babymoon will be filled with delirious highs and crushing lows due to sleep deprivation and your partner and you? Your marriage is likely going to be REALLY tested by this little new arrival.
That is the thing they don't talk about, but they really need to. I can't tell you how many times I've talked to moms who were at their wits end with their partner. Their partner having emotionally distanced themselves, burying themselves in work, games, hobbies or even less healthy activities. I'm not going to be inclusive and talk about partners in terms of men and speak from the womens point of view, because it's really the only one I know. It's like the guys see this new responsibility, which is going to tie your life down considerably and they panic.
I've known women with husbands who've cheated during their pregnancy, post partum, husbands who work like maniacs, get involved with online gaming, pick up several new hobbies, turn into grumpy emotional messes. I've known women who scratching their heads, women who would pin part of their PPD in part to their hubbies wigging out, women teetering on a knifes edge about whether they were going to leave their marriage.
Pregnancy is hard, post partum is brutal, nothing can quite prepare you for the toll it takes. In Canada, most women take the first year off work for maternity leave (yes, envy us Canadians) more often than not, mom stays home as we're the ones with the milk. So in addition to no sleep, wild hormonal swings, a mega dependent baby, we have a partner going through an identity crisis, but we seldom address the mom's needs beyond good nutrition, good lactation support, good post partum support and really, even that support is a joke.
And on the other side of that, what about our loss of identity? Our loss of independence. I've been childfree three times this week. Once for a meeting at church, once for an appointment and once to go grocery shopping. Maybe for a total of 6 hours, out of 168. And I don't count shopping or medical appointments, so 2 hours. I had to threaten to put my head through a badminton racket if I didn't get 20 minutes to write this blog post. I've purchased food, supplies, clothes, underwear, furniture with baby in tow. If I want to take a class, go to the doctor, or do anything for further health or mental development, I have schedule babysitters, drivers, schools and pray that no one gets sick,. My life is no longer my own, it's dictated by the needs of three children and as a SAHM, the buck stops here. If my child is sick, my plans are cancelled. Period! It doesn't matter if I have a date with the Queen, that's how it is, and it's not unique to me.
Our independence and identity has been changed to the nth degree. We are forced to sit still and just be. After being programmed for 30 or so years that we're nothing if we're not out making money or out changing the world, we struggle with the slower pace of life. We're not being the movers and shakers we were pre kids, so needless to say, it's a pretty big adjustment. And while moms do go off the rails, biology is a strong pull to keep us near our babes and exhaustion takes care of the rest and so that offers little opportunity to do much else than shutting down emotionally or being crabs.
So we might feel a little resentful when our significant others go squirrelly at the shock of their new identities when we are struggling with ours. I mean, a big part of me is like WTF? You get to PEE ALONE!!! You get to go to work! You get to have lunch! With people! And have a conversation! You don't have to go food shopping, or buy toilet paper, or clean the house 40 times a day or change 70 diapers a day! So in my less charitable moments, I'm not even the slightest bit inclined to see the other POV and to be honest, I still don't fully understand it, three kids later.
Is there a happy medium? I imagine there is, but I think it's a learning curve. I wish I could say I've figured it out, but three kids in, I haven't. I think time, patience, and understanding for how we're coping is needed. I think sensitivity in how we cope and how it affects our husband/wife is vital. If your inclination is to go to the computer after a hard day, do so after the kids are in bed. Stay up as much as you want, but be prepared kids wake up early and often and you'll have to be game ready. Going out drinking every week and coming home smashed...probably not a great coping mechanism. We need to cope, but we need to cope responsibly!
The marriage is going through a major change and the urge to escape the pressures is only natural, but how, and when and why we do it is key to determining whether this will make or break your marriage. I think even though our reserves are low, we need to dig down deep and pour in extra energy to make things a little more bearable for our partner, within reason of course.
We also need to identify our needs and get them addressed. Whether its swapping some babysitting, hiring someone, getting housecleaning, getting non work/baby time ALONE with some friends or not. We need to figure out our emotional needs, like touching, thoughtful gestures, space and we need to get them addressed. As emotional partners, we need to be prepared to meet our others emotional needs as well. (BTW, this is going for men as well as women, don't think for a minute I'm letting them off the hook).
Really, I think more time and study needs to be given to helping couples get through that first year or two. It's a major shock to the person, let alone the relationship and no one talks about it. It's like a shameful little secret, but the more and more I hear about it, the more I believe it's common, even normal, however it needs to be managed so that the marriage isn't staggering along, but rather evolved into something different, but better and stronger.
Sometimes I waver in what to do with my next life (post SAHM) and given that I've just spewed a bucketload of thoughts on this subject, sometimes family counselling doesn't seem like such an out of place idea. ;) Anyhow, my 20 minutes are up, I have two kids 3 and under melting down, I have laundry, shopping and a house to clean, before 2pm. So I best put away my superblogger cape and get back to my ordinary mom identity.
What they don't say is that you'll likely poop yourself during delivery, your birthplan may be radically altered in a blink of an eye, your babymoon will be filled with delirious highs and crushing lows due to sleep deprivation and your partner and you? Your marriage is likely going to be REALLY tested by this little new arrival.
That is the thing they don't talk about, but they really need to. I can't tell you how many times I've talked to moms who were at their wits end with their partner. Their partner having emotionally distanced themselves, burying themselves in work, games, hobbies or even less healthy activities. I'm not going to be inclusive and talk about partners in terms of men and speak from the womens point of view, because it's really the only one I know. It's like the guys see this new responsibility, which is going to tie your life down considerably and they panic.
I've known women with husbands who've cheated during their pregnancy, post partum, husbands who work like maniacs, get involved with online gaming, pick up several new hobbies, turn into grumpy emotional messes. I've known women who scratching their heads, women who would pin part of their PPD in part to their hubbies wigging out, women teetering on a knifes edge about whether they were going to leave their marriage.
Pregnancy is hard, post partum is brutal, nothing can quite prepare you for the toll it takes. In Canada, most women take the first year off work for maternity leave (yes, envy us Canadians) more often than not, mom stays home as we're the ones with the milk. So in addition to no sleep, wild hormonal swings, a mega dependent baby, we have a partner going through an identity crisis, but we seldom address the mom's needs beyond good nutrition, good lactation support, good post partum support and really, even that support is a joke.
And on the other side of that, what about our loss of identity? Our loss of independence. I've been childfree three times this week. Once for a meeting at church, once for an appointment and once to go grocery shopping. Maybe for a total of 6 hours, out of 168. And I don't count shopping or medical appointments, so 2 hours. I had to threaten to put my head through a badminton racket if I didn't get 20 minutes to write this blog post. I've purchased food, supplies, clothes, underwear, furniture with baby in tow. If I want to take a class, go to the doctor, or do anything for further health or mental development, I have schedule babysitters, drivers, schools and pray that no one gets sick,. My life is no longer my own, it's dictated by the needs of three children and as a SAHM, the buck stops here. If my child is sick, my plans are cancelled. Period! It doesn't matter if I have a date with the Queen, that's how it is, and it's not unique to me.
Our independence and identity has been changed to the nth degree. We are forced to sit still and just be. After being programmed for 30 or so years that we're nothing if we're not out making money or out changing the world, we struggle with the slower pace of life. We're not being the movers and shakers we were pre kids, so needless to say, it's a pretty big adjustment. And while moms do go off the rails, biology is a strong pull to keep us near our babes and exhaustion takes care of the rest and so that offers little opportunity to do much else than shutting down emotionally or being crabs.
So we might feel a little resentful when our significant others go squirrelly at the shock of their new identities when we are struggling with ours. I mean, a big part of me is like WTF? You get to PEE ALONE!!! You get to go to work! You get to have lunch! With people! And have a conversation! You don't have to go food shopping, or buy toilet paper, or clean the house 40 times a day or change 70 diapers a day! So in my less charitable moments, I'm not even the slightest bit inclined to see the other POV and to be honest, I still don't fully understand it, three kids later.
Is there a happy medium? I imagine there is, but I think it's a learning curve. I wish I could say I've figured it out, but three kids in, I haven't. I think time, patience, and understanding for how we're coping is needed. I think sensitivity in how we cope and how it affects our husband/wife is vital. If your inclination is to go to the computer after a hard day, do so after the kids are in bed. Stay up as much as you want, but be prepared kids wake up early and often and you'll have to be game ready. Going out drinking every week and coming home smashed...probably not a great coping mechanism. We need to cope, but we need to cope responsibly!
The marriage is going through a major change and the urge to escape the pressures is only natural, but how, and when and why we do it is key to determining whether this will make or break your marriage. I think even though our reserves are low, we need to dig down deep and pour in extra energy to make things a little more bearable for our partner, within reason of course.
We also need to identify our needs and get them addressed. Whether its swapping some babysitting, hiring someone, getting housecleaning, getting non work/baby time ALONE with some friends or not. We need to figure out our emotional needs, like touching, thoughtful gestures, space and we need to get them addressed. As emotional partners, we need to be prepared to meet our others emotional needs as well. (BTW, this is going for men as well as women, don't think for a minute I'm letting them off the hook).
Really, I think more time and study needs to be given to helping couples get through that first year or two. It's a major shock to the person, let alone the relationship and no one talks about it. It's like a shameful little secret, but the more and more I hear about it, the more I believe it's common, even normal, however it needs to be managed so that the marriage isn't staggering along, but rather evolved into something different, but better and stronger.
Sometimes I waver in what to do with my next life (post SAHM) and given that I've just spewed a bucketload of thoughts on this subject, sometimes family counselling doesn't seem like such an out of place idea. ;) Anyhow, my 20 minutes are up, I have two kids 3 and under melting down, I have laundry, shopping and a house to clean, before 2pm. So I best put away my superblogger cape and get back to my ordinary mom identity.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Interracial kids
I'm getting ranty, so grab a drink and hold on to your butts.
One of my friends over three years ago when we were pregnant asked to meet me at a Chapters. It was actually the first time we've ever met in person. She is a white woman who was trying to prepare herself for having an interracial child. I was impressed at someone taking this role so seriously, because I see so many parents just go into it willy nilly without much thought about their children and how they will be viewed as a brown skinned person in this world. They don't take into account the needs of the child, which is one of the things on my 3000000 mile long list of stuff that irks me. I can't claim I know what the experience of a white woman raising an interracial child, but I can certainly comment on what I as an interracial person think that interracial children need. And since my word is gospel, you know I'm right. :)
I see and get comments like how beautiful we are, what a wonderful sign of racial harmony, it's so wonderful that people are having interracial children, one day it will all be interracial people and we'll all be brown in an ebony and ivory song and doves will coo, bunnies will hop and unicorns will return singing My Little Pony songs. Blah blah blah blah blah! Really? While I agree that interracial people are a cut above and more beautiful than anyone else on the planet in my own unbiased opinion, these words are superficial labels spoken by people who clearly haven't put a lot of thought into this. And the scary thing is, half of these types of comments come from the parents of such kids. Now mind you, I am only one person and it's only my opinion, but us interracial folks tend to be able to launch into discussion about identity fairly easily because it isn't always fairy kisses and cuddles to be interracial and often the only people who understand that is us.
A lot of us struggle with identity. Like it or not, despite the coming together of two people cross race and culture, the rest of the world, still very much binary. Racism? Alive and well. Yes! In Canada! Really really! The other side of that of course is that a lot of people of colour are not all too eager to espouse the values or culture that still has a lot of racists. (Now, I swear to God, if anyone comments complaining about reverse racism, I will scream. Because that is NOT the point of this post). So a lot of us are caught in the crossfire and we're fair game. If I were to talk about my Irish heritage white people look at me funny (despite the fact that of all my heritage, white is the largest percentage). If I talk about my black heritage, black people look at me funny. My native heritage, well, I don't even bother. I'm not unique, many of us struggle to find a place to belong and it's only an experience of half belonging for the most part. We're often forced to make a decision as to which part of us to ditch to fit into either crowd. I do it all the time. If I talk about racism with my white friends, most of them do that polite Canadian "Oh shit! Smile and change the subject!!!!" If I am ignorant about various topics (nothing Earth shattering in case you're wondering) with my black friends, I get the stink eye. I don't pass anywhere, but I often pass everywhere. Any given culture/race/nationality where its feasible for someone to have my complexion, people have asked if I belong.
My mother certainly never kept me from discovering about my heritage, but it wasn't an ongoing or active topic of discussion. My dad insisted that I was black and that was the end of that. That left me confused as Hell for years. My hair, oh good grief, I know this is a superficial topic, but it's something many of us interracial kids have a big beef with. Parents with straight hair, if your kid has any chance of having curly hair, learn how to work with it! Go to a salon, online, one of your friends, a lot of parents of my day had a pass since no one really knew how to deal with curls properly, but there is no excuse now! But it's little things like that, the ignorance of how to deal with your kid's hair can leave your kid feeling like a freak of nature because their hair is so messed up, since mom/dad can't deal with it. I was genuinely shocked when I first went to Jonathan Torch and he exclaimed how healthy my hair was. I had thought of it as a wreck, but evidently not. Where you live, your friends, your family associations, how much you embrace different cultures, all impact on a child who has to straddle two races, two cultures. I can't tell you how many people I see who haven't even begun to do any bit of research on the culture/race their child will be of. They stick to platitudes, thinking that so long as they love the child enough things will be okay. And on many levels it will. But being loved and feeling understood, feeling that they have someone safe and educated to rely on to discuss experiences good and bad, research, knowledge are two different things. Personally I think parents should strive for both and not just simply rely on the easy route.
So, it's a pretty hard position to understand, but it's an important one to try and gain some level especially if it involves your children and it's absolutely worth the effort. So instead of using the cliches and assuring your children how beautiful they are the next time they come home upset because they're the only brown kid with curly hair on the playground, learn how to deal with the bigotry, teach them, validate their feelings, educate them, expose them to children and places where they won't be teased, and get out of your safe place, so you can create one for your child.
One of my friends over three years ago when we were pregnant asked to meet me at a Chapters. It was actually the first time we've ever met in person. She is a white woman who was trying to prepare herself for having an interracial child. I was impressed at someone taking this role so seriously, because I see so many parents just go into it willy nilly without much thought about their children and how they will be viewed as a brown skinned person in this world. They don't take into account the needs of the child, which is one of the things on my 3000000 mile long list of stuff that irks me. I can't claim I know what the experience of a white woman raising an interracial child, but I can certainly comment on what I as an interracial person think that interracial children need. And since my word is gospel, you know I'm right. :)
I see and get comments like how beautiful we are, what a wonderful sign of racial harmony, it's so wonderful that people are having interracial children, one day it will all be interracial people and we'll all be brown in an ebony and ivory song and doves will coo, bunnies will hop and unicorns will return singing My Little Pony songs. Blah blah blah blah blah! Really? While I agree that interracial people are a cut above and more beautiful than anyone else on the planet in my own unbiased opinion, these words are superficial labels spoken by people who clearly haven't put a lot of thought into this. And the scary thing is, half of these types of comments come from the parents of such kids. Now mind you, I am only one person and it's only my opinion, but us interracial folks tend to be able to launch into discussion about identity fairly easily because it isn't always fairy kisses and cuddles to be interracial and often the only people who understand that is us.
A lot of us struggle with identity. Like it or not, despite the coming together of two people cross race and culture, the rest of the world, still very much binary. Racism? Alive and well. Yes! In Canada! Really really! The other side of that of course is that a lot of people of colour are not all too eager to espouse the values or culture that still has a lot of racists. (Now, I swear to God, if anyone comments complaining about reverse racism, I will scream. Because that is NOT the point of this post). So a lot of us are caught in the crossfire and we're fair game. If I were to talk about my Irish heritage white people look at me funny (despite the fact that of all my heritage, white is the largest percentage). If I talk about my black heritage, black people look at me funny. My native heritage, well, I don't even bother. I'm not unique, many of us struggle to find a place to belong and it's only an experience of half belonging for the most part. We're often forced to make a decision as to which part of us to ditch to fit into either crowd. I do it all the time. If I talk about racism with my white friends, most of them do that polite Canadian "Oh shit! Smile and change the subject!!!!" If I am ignorant about various topics (nothing Earth shattering in case you're wondering) with my black friends, I get the stink eye. I don't pass anywhere, but I often pass everywhere. Any given culture/race/nationality where its feasible for someone to have my complexion, people have asked if I belong.
My mother certainly never kept me from discovering about my heritage, but it wasn't an ongoing or active topic of discussion. My dad insisted that I was black and that was the end of that. That left me confused as Hell for years. My hair, oh good grief, I know this is a superficial topic, but it's something many of us interracial kids have a big beef with. Parents with straight hair, if your kid has any chance of having curly hair, learn how to work with it! Go to a salon, online, one of your friends, a lot of parents of my day had a pass since no one really knew how to deal with curls properly, but there is no excuse now! But it's little things like that, the ignorance of how to deal with your kid's hair can leave your kid feeling like a freak of nature because their hair is so messed up, since mom/dad can't deal with it. I was genuinely shocked when I first went to Jonathan Torch and he exclaimed how healthy my hair was. I had thought of it as a wreck, but evidently not. Where you live, your friends, your family associations, how much you embrace different cultures, all impact on a child who has to straddle two races, two cultures. I can't tell you how many people I see who haven't even begun to do any bit of research on the culture/race their child will be of. They stick to platitudes, thinking that so long as they love the child enough things will be okay. And on many levels it will. But being loved and feeling understood, feeling that they have someone safe and educated to rely on to discuss experiences good and bad, research, knowledge are two different things. Personally I think parents should strive for both and not just simply rely on the easy route.
So, it's a pretty hard position to understand, but it's an important one to try and gain some level especially if it involves your children and it's absolutely worth the effort. So instead of using the cliches and assuring your children how beautiful they are the next time they come home upset because they're the only brown kid with curly hair on the playground, learn how to deal with the bigotry, teach them, validate their feelings, educate them, expose them to children and places where they won't be teased, and get out of your safe place, so you can create one for your child.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Musical Instruments or Weapons of Mass Destruction
Today my boys came running up to me wearing their sweetest grins and brightest eyes. I knew immediately. They wanted something. God love them, they've learned early how to try and con their mother. They wanted to bring their new special musical instruments to class to show. The school has a policy about children not bringing their toys in, but as my eldest reasoned, "It's not a toy, it's a didgeridoo" (yes, I had to look up the spelling on that.) Well its not technically a didgeridoo. It started with us going to the Royal Botanical Gardens in Burlington last week. Which is something I really recommend if you're in the area with kids, we did end up having a great time. They have this exhibit on music and natural sounds, and their craft of the day was to have kids make didgeridoos. Great idea right?
Well, on the surface it seems so, you get to paint them, add strips of construction paper, tie strings and beads to them and then try to mimic the sound. How? I have no ideal, but in my guys approximation, it's by putting the instrument to their mouths and making the loudest most growly sound a 3 and 5 year old can muster. Really great thing to wake up to from a sound sleep at 3am. I'm proud that my heart is still beating after that. Anyhow, the instrument itself is a very long, very sturdy, industrial strength cardboard roll, like you'd find in a roll of toilet paper or paper towel, except it's about 10 times as strong and long for that matter.
So after running around playing their didgeridoos, they got bored of playing their songs, so started imagining that they were in the outback communing with Australian wildlife. They decided that they were good walking sticks, so they started hiking around the house with them. Okaaaay, no biggie. Then they decided they were hockey sticks, so I reasoned with them that they had to keep them on the ground. Then stupidly, so very stupidly, I went and did my own thing. I mean, did I really have to take care of the laundry? Or cook dinner? Or deal with the baby? Because as important as those things sound, it was not worth the wrath that came from the didgeridoos. I'm sure you all know where I'm going with this. The boys decided that they were knights, at first they were swinging and thrusting at imaginary dragons and bad guys. I'm a little hard of hearing, so if I'm folding clothes in the laundry room with the machines running, I'm not necessarily hearing the sounds of two big chunks of cardboard hitting each other, or my kids. But I sure as heck did hear it when they decided to wipe out half the contents of the table with those wonderful instruments. Then as they proceeded to blame each other, one of my charming darlings takes a swing at his brother and takes off like a bat out of Hell. His brother in hot pursuit, trying to clock him with his didgeridoo, landing a few strikes, which has his brother squealing in outrage, me yelling at them and the baby at this point decided to add to the madness by crying (yes, he does cry!). I'm not sure whether he is scared at the mayhem that has broken out, or if he was upset that he wanted to join in. I'm suspecting the latter, he is another boy after all.
So eventually I catch the boys, when the chase turned out into an all out bloody war of cardboard didgeridoos, my 3 and 5 year suddenly possessed by Samurai warriors, screaming and wielding their katanas. I take away their weapons of mass destruction. Needless to say there was much protest and crying. I might have uttered something under my breath about burning them. I make them clean up the former contents of the table.
So back to today, they want to take their didgeridoos into class to show their friends. In the end in a stroke of brilliance I let them. They march proudly up to school and show them off to their preschool teacher who admires them in only a way a preschool teacher can. They show them off to their friends and a dad comments on what a great idea they are. Yeah, to a DAD! When I retrieved them at the end of the day, I noticed the didgeridoos parked behind the chest where the umbrellas are. The teacher who gets them ready is very sweet, but has no bones in telling you what did not go right that day. In only the way a preschool teacher can without making you feel like the worst parent in the world said, "Yes, those need to go home, today!" As I removed them from their parking spot, every kid in the room swarmed me, wanting to see the "lightsabre", "sword", "stick" Not a one was interested in the didgeridoo. So yes, in closing, I really should have known not to take weapons of mass destruction to school, but they conned me. In other news, I spent half the day with my shirt on inside out, maybe it wasn't the brightest day of my life.
Well, on the surface it seems so, you get to paint them, add strips of construction paper, tie strings and beads to them and then try to mimic the sound. How? I have no ideal, but in my guys approximation, it's by putting the instrument to their mouths and making the loudest most growly sound a 3 and 5 year old can muster. Really great thing to wake up to from a sound sleep at 3am. I'm proud that my heart is still beating after that. Anyhow, the instrument itself is a very long, very sturdy, industrial strength cardboard roll, like you'd find in a roll of toilet paper or paper towel, except it's about 10 times as strong and long for that matter.
So after running around playing their didgeridoos, they got bored of playing their songs, so started imagining that they were in the outback communing with Australian wildlife. They decided that they were good walking sticks, so they started hiking around the house with them. Okaaaay, no biggie. Then they decided they were hockey sticks, so I reasoned with them that they had to keep them on the ground. Then stupidly, so very stupidly, I went and did my own thing. I mean, did I really have to take care of the laundry? Or cook dinner? Or deal with the baby? Because as important as those things sound, it was not worth the wrath that came from the didgeridoos. I'm sure you all know where I'm going with this. The boys decided that they were knights, at first they were swinging and thrusting at imaginary dragons and bad guys. I'm a little hard of hearing, so if I'm folding clothes in the laundry room with the machines running, I'm not necessarily hearing the sounds of two big chunks of cardboard hitting each other, or my kids. But I sure as heck did hear it when they decided to wipe out half the contents of the table with those wonderful instruments. Then as they proceeded to blame each other, one of my charming darlings takes a swing at his brother and takes off like a bat out of Hell. His brother in hot pursuit, trying to clock him with his didgeridoo, landing a few strikes, which has his brother squealing in outrage, me yelling at them and the baby at this point decided to add to the madness by crying (yes, he does cry!). I'm not sure whether he is scared at the mayhem that has broken out, or if he was upset that he wanted to join in. I'm suspecting the latter, he is another boy after all.
So eventually I catch the boys, when the chase turned out into an all out bloody war of cardboard didgeridoos, my 3 and 5 year suddenly possessed by Samurai warriors, screaming and wielding their katanas. I take away their weapons of mass destruction. Needless to say there was much protest and crying. I might have uttered something under my breath about burning them. I make them clean up the former contents of the table.
So back to today, they want to take their didgeridoos into class to show their friends. In the end in a stroke of brilliance I let them. They march proudly up to school and show them off to their preschool teacher who admires them in only a way a preschool teacher can. They show them off to their friends and a dad comments on what a great idea they are. Yeah, to a DAD! When I retrieved them at the end of the day, I noticed the didgeridoos parked behind the chest where the umbrellas are. The teacher who gets them ready is very sweet, but has no bones in telling you what did not go right that day. In only the way a preschool teacher can without making you feel like the worst parent in the world said, "Yes, those need to go home, today!" As I removed them from their parking spot, every kid in the room swarmed me, wanting to see the "lightsabre", "sword", "stick" Not a one was interested in the didgeridoo. So yes, in closing, I really should have known not to take weapons of mass destruction to school, but they conned me. In other news, I spent half the day with my shirt on inside out, maybe it wasn't the brightest day of my life.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Coming to terms with the end
I've been reading this book called the Secret Daughter. It's one of my bookclub books and a really good read. I'm about 3/4 of the way through it in less than 24 hours, which gives you an idea of how good it is, even for a speedy reader like me. Anyhow, in it, there is a lot of feelings of resignation. A woman facing infertility, a woman giving up her daughter to an orphanage, a woman dealing with the fact that she's never had a daughter.
We're pretty sure we're finished having children. At least biologically. There are many good things about this. It's tough having three, when we're outnumbered. It's taken a toll on my body with a tougher pregnancy, an irritable uterus and post partum depression. I'm looking forward to continuing losing weight and eventually getting a reduction and tummy tuck (whole new post there around body image and women's contradicting feelings on it!). The lack of sleep, the lack of time, the lack of energy. I'm looking forward to being able to do more heavy duty travel without heavy duty gear, finishing up potty training and just moving on with the second stage of our lives without diapers, strollers and sippies.
Still, there is a sense of mourning around it. I hold Baby D and think about how this could be the last time he does this or that. When he outgrows an outfit, I think about how much I loved it and how cute my babies looked in it and I might as well pack it away for a friend or donation. Still, it's hard for me to bring myself to do that at this point. I think about trying to get as much cuddle time in when he falls asleep in my arms, but there is always something else that needs to be done...at least on weekends. Trying to document everything and scolding myself for falling behind on taking pictures. I try to remind myself that he is only 4 months old and I have a lot of baby time left, but somehow time seems to be flying by all the more faster now.
In reading the book, I also felt that pang of gender disappointment creep back up on me. I really did want a girl. Not so much for the pink or shopping, but just that sense of comraderie. Last night as we were eating dinner, the guys in the house decided to start lifting up their shirts to show off their muscles. Nothing wrong with that and chances are a girl would probably join in, but I kinda felt left out amidst the cuteness and giggles. But there is also that shared experience of periods and sexism and female power and perhaps even pregnancy and rearing children from an entirely female perspective that I'm not going to pass on my eternal and life changing wisdom. (Okay, a little grandiose, but I have a high opinion of myself *g*). Sometimes a female perspective is just different from that of men, and while I might be lucky enough to have a great daughter in law and to share a great bond, I'd love to be able to work on that bond from a young age.
I told Dearest about this and he immediately launched into "We can adopt!" "You're still a young woman, we can have another!" etc. Adoption may very well be an option for us, but pregnancy is probably right off the list, or at least as much as the Mirena promises it to be...and it better live up to that promise! However I don't think he truly understands what its like, some perspectives are uniquely female and feeling a little glum over this isn't something that can be fixed quickly.
It's going to be a great future. I'm looking forward to many new stages, and not, but I suspect there will be many greats and maybe if we do adopt, I will get that daughter. But for now, I'm trying to give myself some space to mourn and feel a sense of goodbye as I close a chapter of my life. I'm hoping this is a normal feeling and I'm not just some drama queen moping over the fact. I feel very grateful to have been able to have my children. Not too long ago, it didn't seem at all possible, but we've been blessed by three very great boys. It's not an overwhelming sadness that I say goodbye to my bearing children, but just a quiet and thankfully small mourning, but it's still there, ready to take a nip out of me every now and then.
We're pretty sure we're finished having children. At least biologically. There are many good things about this. It's tough having three, when we're outnumbered. It's taken a toll on my body with a tougher pregnancy, an irritable uterus and post partum depression. I'm looking forward to continuing losing weight and eventually getting a reduction and tummy tuck (whole new post there around body image and women's contradicting feelings on it!). The lack of sleep, the lack of time, the lack of energy. I'm looking forward to being able to do more heavy duty travel without heavy duty gear, finishing up potty training and just moving on with the second stage of our lives without diapers, strollers and sippies.
Still, there is a sense of mourning around it. I hold Baby D and think about how this could be the last time he does this or that. When he outgrows an outfit, I think about how much I loved it and how cute my babies looked in it and I might as well pack it away for a friend or donation. Still, it's hard for me to bring myself to do that at this point. I think about trying to get as much cuddle time in when he falls asleep in my arms, but there is always something else that needs to be done...at least on weekends. Trying to document everything and scolding myself for falling behind on taking pictures. I try to remind myself that he is only 4 months old and I have a lot of baby time left, but somehow time seems to be flying by all the more faster now.
In reading the book, I also felt that pang of gender disappointment creep back up on me. I really did want a girl. Not so much for the pink or shopping, but just that sense of comraderie. Last night as we were eating dinner, the guys in the house decided to start lifting up their shirts to show off their muscles. Nothing wrong with that and chances are a girl would probably join in, but I kinda felt left out amidst the cuteness and giggles. But there is also that shared experience of periods and sexism and female power and perhaps even pregnancy and rearing children from an entirely female perspective that I'm not going to pass on my eternal and life changing wisdom. (Okay, a little grandiose, but I have a high opinion of myself *g*). Sometimes a female perspective is just different from that of men, and while I might be lucky enough to have a great daughter in law and to share a great bond, I'd love to be able to work on that bond from a young age.
I told Dearest about this and he immediately launched into "We can adopt!" "You're still a young woman, we can have another!" etc. Adoption may very well be an option for us, but pregnancy is probably right off the list, or at least as much as the Mirena promises it to be...and it better live up to that promise! However I don't think he truly understands what its like, some perspectives are uniquely female and feeling a little glum over this isn't something that can be fixed quickly.
It's going to be a great future. I'm looking forward to many new stages, and not, but I suspect there will be many greats and maybe if we do adopt, I will get that daughter. But for now, I'm trying to give myself some space to mourn and feel a sense of goodbye as I close a chapter of my life. I'm hoping this is a normal feeling and I'm not just some drama queen moping over the fact. I feel very grateful to have been able to have my children. Not too long ago, it didn't seem at all possible, but we've been blessed by three very great boys. It's not an overwhelming sadness that I say goodbye to my bearing children, but just a quiet and thankfully small mourning, but it's still there, ready to take a nip out of me every now and then.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Advocacy
I've been trying to think of what to write all this morning when the post kind of jumped on me. I was sitting having a coffee after running an errand at the grocery store. You know when you're staring off into nowhere not even really recognizing what you're seeing? Well, I was doing that. In my line of sight, I discovered was a mom feeding her baby a bottle. I didn't realize it until she said
"Yeah, I know it's a bottle and I feel bad about that."
I woke up and rather elegantly responded "Huh?"
She told me "You were watching me feed my baby and I just wanted to let you know that yes I do feel guilty about giving him a bottle."
I said "Why?" Obviously my vocabulary has been limited to one word answers today, it is a Monday after all.
She started to tear up a bit and told me with a shakey voice, "Well, because it's not best for my baby, but I tried breastfeeding him and I don't have enough milk."
I felt her, really REALLY felt for her, anyone who has read my blog knows the problems I've had with breastfeeding and the encounters I've had with "well meaning" people about it. I went through my bag and pulled out the formula I had bought and said "Dude" (I say dude a lot) "You're not getting any judgment from me!"
She looked very relieved. I told her that I too had problems breastfeeding and after umpteen different experts, meds, herbs, water, oats, yadda yadda I just didn't have it in me-the milk that is. During this process she had told me how she had been approached on several occasions in her mom groups, classes strangers about "doing what's best for her baby" (Seriously, if I can borrow a term from the Childfree by Choice crowd, this is a Bingo and a half!). She had been told about how her child was going to turn out fat, stupid, sick. It was freaking deja vu. This was her first baby and she was traumatised enough with adjusting to life with new child, let alone every freaking person with too much time on their hands telling her that she was doing a shitty job at it. I told her the first thing that came to my head, something I should have said over 5 years ago when I was dealing with these people. "You tell them to go to Hell!" She kinda laughed, I smiled and said "Seriously. It's none of their bloody business and you're doing your best by the baby." I told her how brilliant and healthy my 5 year old is, and how evil and healthy my 3 year old is and how inconceivably cute and healthy my 4 month old is, which she witnessed first hand. I told her that being a new mom is hard enough, to not listen to people who felt the need to criticize her no matter how well intentioned they were. Maybe because I'm of inferior intelligence having been fed formula when I was a child, but I have a hell of a time picking out this mysterious caste system of superior breast fed children and the unwashed masses like me and said as much to her.
Now, this does seem to be a rant in one direction and dangerously coming close to me just taking off with that (and yes I love ranting, deal with it!) but it's more a lights on moment for me. Why the hell didn't I say this 5 years ago? True, I didn't know how awesome my kids would turn out (when they're not being evil little despots) but truly I knew that how I fed them was no ones business. I was a lot more outspoken 5 years ago, why didn't I give them the verbal smackdown they so obviously needed? Because I'm terrible at advocating for myself. And you know what? I'm not alone. As I had this brainiac moment, I remembered a post on my FB from a friend wondering why she's so terrible at advocating for herself when she has pretty much levelled cities in advocating for her child. I talk to moms, women of all persuasions all the time who are intelligent, gutsy, cheeky people, who have no problems going Incredible Hulk on behalf of their kids, family, friends, colleagues, strangers! But true to form, they come last and all of a sudden, that ferocity is gone. I'm no different, not in the least. I've gotten up in the face of drug dealers, police officers...people who carry guns! And yet, if my doctor reads me the riot act because I'm overweight, even though I've dropped 10 pounds in the past 10 weeks, I crumple...and seriously, my doctor is 5'0 and 90lbs soaking wet, with a voice like one of the Mole Sisters, I can take her! Do we not feel that same amount of entitlement for ourselves that would have people treating us as well as our loved ones? Apparently not! Maybe we use it up, maybe we just don't think that highly of ourselves, but that needs to be changed, on the quick!
I started thinking of ways to be a better advocate for myself and I think I've stumbled upon something. We all have people who love and care about us, and if we don't, then you need some, I'll pinch hit if need be, just keep me supplied with wine and cookies. Think of yourself and how riled up you get when one of your friends has been treated poorly. Think of how you want to come to their defense and rip a new one for whoever has treated them poorly. Now reverse that. I'm going to try and picture what my gal pals would say on my behalf if I'm being treated poorly. I'll use the quickness of one, the snarkiness of another, the reasoning diplomacy of the third, the eloquence of a fourth and the kick in the head ninjaness of the fifth. Combined, they will be SuperJoyDefender! Taking Shit from no one!!!! Or I could just picture my mother, but I'd probably end up in prison, not so good on a resume for a mother of 3.
Those are actually two methods for the blog price of one. You can either draw that strength and logic and objectivity up from how you would respond if your friend was being treated this way, or you can channel them into defending you.
*Waiting for the applause*
Okay, maybe not so much the applause, but I would be interested in some feedback by folks who are interested in trying it for themselves. I need to channel my inner asskicking friend as I'm about to fire someone and will use my diplomatic friend to do so in the most awesome terms. I will let you know how it goes when I discover the fallout...which I'll weather, somehow. I need to find a fallout friend that I can channel. Too bad most of my friends are great at staying out of trouble.
"Yeah, I know it's a bottle and I feel bad about that."
I woke up and rather elegantly responded "Huh?"
She told me "You were watching me feed my baby and I just wanted to let you know that yes I do feel guilty about giving him a bottle."
I said "Why?" Obviously my vocabulary has been limited to one word answers today, it is a Monday after all.
She started to tear up a bit and told me with a shakey voice, "Well, because it's not best for my baby, but I tried breastfeeding him and I don't have enough milk."
I felt her, really REALLY felt for her, anyone who has read my blog knows the problems I've had with breastfeeding and the encounters I've had with "well meaning" people about it. I went through my bag and pulled out the formula I had bought and said "Dude" (I say dude a lot) "You're not getting any judgment from me!"
She looked very relieved. I told her that I too had problems breastfeeding and after umpteen different experts, meds, herbs, water, oats, yadda yadda I just didn't have it in me-the milk that is. During this process she had told me how she had been approached on several occasions in her mom groups, classes strangers about "doing what's best for her baby" (Seriously, if I can borrow a term from the Childfree by Choice crowd, this is a Bingo and a half!). She had been told about how her child was going to turn out fat, stupid, sick. It was freaking deja vu. This was her first baby and she was traumatised enough with adjusting to life with new child, let alone every freaking person with too much time on their hands telling her that she was doing a shitty job at it. I told her the first thing that came to my head, something I should have said over 5 years ago when I was dealing with these people. "You tell them to go to Hell!" She kinda laughed, I smiled and said "Seriously. It's none of their bloody business and you're doing your best by the baby." I told her how brilliant and healthy my 5 year old is, and how evil and healthy my 3 year old is and how inconceivably cute and healthy my 4 month old is, which she witnessed first hand. I told her that being a new mom is hard enough, to not listen to people who felt the need to criticize her no matter how well intentioned they were. Maybe because I'm of inferior intelligence having been fed formula when I was a child, but I have a hell of a time picking out this mysterious caste system of superior breast fed children and the unwashed masses like me and said as much to her.
Now, this does seem to be a rant in one direction and dangerously coming close to me just taking off with that (and yes I love ranting, deal with it!) but it's more a lights on moment for me. Why the hell didn't I say this 5 years ago? True, I didn't know how awesome my kids would turn out (when they're not being evil little despots) but truly I knew that how I fed them was no ones business. I was a lot more outspoken 5 years ago, why didn't I give them the verbal smackdown they so obviously needed? Because I'm terrible at advocating for myself. And you know what? I'm not alone. As I had this brainiac moment, I remembered a post on my FB from a friend wondering why she's so terrible at advocating for herself when she has pretty much levelled cities in advocating for her child. I talk to moms, women of all persuasions all the time who are intelligent, gutsy, cheeky people, who have no problems going Incredible Hulk on behalf of their kids, family, friends, colleagues, strangers! But true to form, they come last and all of a sudden, that ferocity is gone. I'm no different, not in the least. I've gotten up in the face of drug dealers, police officers...people who carry guns! And yet, if my doctor reads me the riot act because I'm overweight, even though I've dropped 10 pounds in the past 10 weeks, I crumple...and seriously, my doctor is 5'0 and 90lbs soaking wet, with a voice like one of the Mole Sisters, I can take her! Do we not feel that same amount of entitlement for ourselves that would have people treating us as well as our loved ones? Apparently not! Maybe we use it up, maybe we just don't think that highly of ourselves, but that needs to be changed, on the quick!
I started thinking of ways to be a better advocate for myself and I think I've stumbled upon something. We all have people who love and care about us, and if we don't, then you need some, I'll pinch hit if need be, just keep me supplied with wine and cookies. Think of yourself and how riled up you get when one of your friends has been treated poorly. Think of how you want to come to their defense and rip a new one for whoever has treated them poorly. Now reverse that. I'm going to try and picture what my gal pals would say on my behalf if I'm being treated poorly. I'll use the quickness of one, the snarkiness of another, the reasoning diplomacy of the third, the eloquence of a fourth and the kick in the head ninjaness of the fifth. Combined, they will be SuperJoyDefender! Taking Shit from no one!!!! Or I could just picture my mother, but I'd probably end up in prison, not so good on a resume for a mother of 3.
Those are actually two methods for the blog price of one. You can either draw that strength and logic and objectivity up from how you would respond if your friend was being treated this way, or you can channel them into defending you.
*Waiting for the applause*
Okay, maybe not so much the applause, but I would be interested in some feedback by folks who are interested in trying it for themselves. I need to channel my inner asskicking friend as I'm about to fire someone and will use my diplomatic friend to do so in the most awesome terms. I will let you know how it goes when I discover the fallout...which I'll weather, somehow. I need to find a fallout friend that I can channel. Too bad most of my friends are great at staying out of trouble.
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