mom guilt

I yelled at my kids right before dropping them at school. I forgot to send them with jackets. I bought lunchables instead of making nutritious all organic lunches. I said “because I said so” instead of taking the time to explain my reasoning for saying no to yet another sleep over. I didn’t stay long enough at the skate park. I didn’t take them to the skate park. I said the skate park was closed.

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Mom guilt.

It starts early.  You let your baby cry in her bed while you finally take a shower after a 10 day hiatus. You called him a fat ass when he wouldn’t stop crying in the middle of the night. (Only to your husband who didn’t even hear it because he slept through the crying, but you still feel awful.)  You fed her store bought baby food instead of mashing up organic avocados and bananas. Mom guilt!

It sucks.

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Every mom I know suffers from some sort of mom guilt. We have been conditioned to think that every single thing we do or don’t do can impact our child’s very soul.  I stressed because I didn’t carve pumpkins this year, and I definitely didn’t roast any damn pumpkin seeds. I don’t bake or cook really. I don’t enjoy the park. I hate reading with my kids.

Shit. My kids are screwed. (and while I’m confessing…I didn’t breastfeed. Oh shit. Double D screwed!!)

Except that I do other things. Maybe it’s not the traditional way of bonding, but dance parties, and super awesome indoor tents are something, right?  You have to know who you are and be that person. I don’t use the oven much but I’m not stingy when it comes to hugs and kisses and praise.  I can create an impromptu musical with my kids about homework. “Every day this week, we try to geeeeet our work done. Geeeet our work done….” Chorus line…Anyone?Anyone?

I heard a great Ted talk the other day from Brene Brown and she said:

” Our job as parents is to make our children feel worthy of love and belonging.”

Did you read that? It did not say our job as parents is to sit on the floor playing hours of barbies/legos/petshop.  It did not say it is our job as parents to take them to all three Chipmunk movies the day they open. Good parenting doesn’t mean baking from scratch! And Lunchables were never mentioned!

I actually googled Brene Brown after watching this. Apparently she is a big wig in the self help community. I’m surprised I didn’t know her sooner since that’s where you will find me in any bookstore. She has a great book: The Gifts of Imperfect Parenting. I haven’t read it but I did read the synopsis. Hey, that counts. Plus, did you read the title? Hello!brene brown bookBasically she says we have to embrace our imperfections. It shows our kids that it’s ok. We need to be who we really are. For me that means, I’m not a baker, a butcher or a candlestick maker.  It’s exhausting to keep up the charade anyway. I am pretty sure I’m not fooling anyone. It’s ok that I don’t bake cookies from scratch! It’s ok if I give a little processed meat.  It’s ok if I don’t want to hear my daughter sing “Rolling in the Deep” for the one millionth time.

We all have our own ways of making our children feel worthy of love and belonging. It doesn’t have to be the same for everyone. And it will never be perfect. Stop feeling guilty. In the words of Barbara Streisand and Barry Gibb: You’ve got nothing to be guilty of….”

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You’re gonna catch me Ridin’ Dirty….

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Literally. 

 My house is messy, but my car looks like a crazy person lives in it.  Why does this surprise me? It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that if you are transporting kids, dogs, neighbors, neighbors’ kids, sports equipment etc, then things are gonna get dirrrr~tay.

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The bigger question is why the hell does it bother me so much? I tried to change my dirty ways.

I made declarations!

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I put my foot down!

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But nothing changed. That’s when I realized I’m going about this all wrong!

Cue positive spin:

Food keeps mouths and hands busy and off of others. Legos and other toys keep their brains engaged so I don’t have to hear, “How much longer, Mommy?”  Time is limited and I already wash 3 kids and 2 dogs.  You can see where I’m going with this can’t you?

Ridin’ Dirty is the key to happiness!

Maybe you are thinking, give me a break. How hard is it to get to the car wash? Or bring a hand vacuum out to the car? It’s hard, damnit! You might be one of those people who also gets their nails done every week. Oh, I want to be like you! I wish I could be perfectly manicured, hair coiffed (do people still get coiffed?), car washed every Saturday.  But I’m not. I’m the other guy. The one that looks like this:

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So I am going to stop stressing about it. I will embrace my mess and call it enlightenment!

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Life is messy! Time is short and I want to have coffee with friends instead of coffee at the car wash!  When I look down and see that lego figure lying on top of a few crumbled goldfish, I’m going to have a new perspective…..I’m totally down with ridin’ dirty. Now I just need to work on a spin for not doing laundry! 😉

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“They see me rollin’, They hatin’,
Patrolling~ they tryin to catch me ridin’ dirty,
Tryin to catch me ridin’ dirty,
Tryin to catch me ridin’ dirty!”

Can you embrace the mess?

My Balls

Balls. They can be scary. I never think I’m handling them the right way. It’s hard to know. Big ones. Small ones. I’m told to grab them but then I think some should be handled with care.  I am no expert, but I definitely have balls.

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My balls are labeled with names like: school, soccer practice, dinner, homework, career, relationships, the budget, dogs. What balls were you thinking of? Oh right. Those balls are another ball. Yep, lots and lots of balls.(Maybe you should drink every time you read the word balls!)

I’m rarely on the ball and I am constantly dropping the ball.  They are rolling around on the ground by my feet, tripping me up. (Kind of reminds me of a song: “Do your balls hang low do they wobble to and fro…” Yes I know it’s actually ears.) Anyway, back to my balls.  How do I get a good handle on all these balls? (You are drinking, right?)

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 I could set up a schedule!  The red balls are juggled on Monday and the green balls are Tuesday…I will save the blue balls for Friday night. 😉

I could give my attention to one ball at a time! Be fully present with whatever ball I have at that moment. Juggle one. (But isn’t that just holding the ball?)

Or maybe I just keep doing what I’m doing and watch my step. No one has broken their neck, YET.

Whatever I decide, one thing is for sure:

No one can ever say I don’t have balls.

And my own personal balls should be a priority.

(Yes, I realize that’s actually 2 things.)  

Because if momma’s balls aren’t happy, ain’t no balls happy.

What about you? What do you do with all those balls?

Do you make time for your own balls? (Who’s drunk?)

Help! I’m trapped in a minivan!

And I mean literally. Those sliding doors! While borrowing my friend’s minivan for the week, I realized that there is an art to opening those things. I never mastered it. It took me a good 5 minutes of pushing buttons and lots of screaming before my children were released from their backseat prison.

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But really what did I expect? The car has the word “van” in the title. Generally speaking, if there is a van involved, an escape plan should be devised.

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(Exhibit A)

I don’t quite “get” the minivan.  If I’m going to spend most of my day in something, I want to look good in it!  Let’s face it, the minivan does not scream style. Ok, maybe the minivan delivers more room than my SUV, but not by much. Besides, I don’t really want to be the car that can fit 5 kids and 5 bikes in the back. Not having space is actually an easy way to get out of more carpool duties!

Bottom line: Many things in my life scream “MOM”……

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(Exhibit B)

I’d rather not have my car scream it too.   Especially when all my little mom indicators have been dropped off somewhere and I’m wearing lipstick!

So I’ll go back to my SUV with the doors I can open myself.  Happily accepting the looks of admiration I get when I am pretending to be just a girl around town.

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(Exhibit C)

No offense to you minivan moms out there. I can’t pull it off. I’m sure it looks great on you…..

Suddenly….this summer!

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Camp enthusiasts

I sent my three California kids (along with their cousin) to the Hill Country of Texas for two weeks.( My husband said I was shipping them to Camp Hell for 10 days because of the heat and humidity.) But let’s face it, kids are resilient. Heat doesn’t bother them. “Pain don’t hurt.” ~to quote from the amazing movie Roadhouse.(yes I said it was amazing.)

I’m a Texas native and wanted to give my kids a meaningful connection to my home state. They had never been to sleep away camp and they were excited.  I too was excited. I had 2 full weeks without kids, without dogs, without any responsibility except to see old friends and eat and drink myself silly. I mean, I had to be in Austin in case there was “an emergency” at camp. That’s just good parenting. 😉 My husband was kind enough to pretend to believe that reasoning.

On the 2 hour drive from Austin to camp, my kids and their cousin, discussed the exciting things they would be experiencing. (Canoeing, Horseback riding, Archery, Campouts, the Guadalupe River, and of course…NO PARENTS!)  I gave them a thumbs up code so I could get a sense of how they were doing in camp pictures. (2 thumbs up~ awesome time, 1 thumb up~ ok, no thumbs….miserable)

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Needless to say every day I’d go to the camp websites and scroll through the pictures. Not one kid adhered to my thumbs up code. And only one of 3 wrote consistently to let us know they were a- having a great time, b- were a little homesick, and c- needed money, sunglasses, and Minecraft books.  But I could see from the huge grins on their faces (and the charges made at the Canteen)…they were having a blast.  In a world where kids can’t play in their own front yards much less be free to roam their neighborhoods, sleep away camp gives them the freedom that we all took for granted.

And let’s not forget my freedom! Freedom to sleep in until 9am! Freedom to eat chips and salsa for breakfast, lunch and dinner! Freedom to have marathon couch viewings of Netflix series. Ahhh I love sleep away camp!

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Lord knows we moms need a break from our rewarding yet challenging 24 hour 7 days a week full time mom gig.  I was instantly reminded of that when we got home and I opened my daughter’s suitcase to find a broken bottle of BBQ sauce drenching every article of clothing. And again the next morning when I was driving to the pediatrician’s office after being up all night with my son as he coughed and wheezed.

As I complete my millionth load of laundry, dole out meds, and answer the constant question, “what are we doing today, Mommy?”, I make a mental note to do the early bird sign up for next summer’s sleep away camp…and look into the 4 week session option. You know, for the kids.

“It happened one summer
It happened one time
It happened forever
For a short time…” ~The Motels (Suddenly Last Summer)