Category Archives: Honest Mothering

Did I already mention last week was a long one? Well, in case you missed my previous post, my girls were sick early in the week so I spent a lot of time playing nurse and cleaning up after everyone. By Thursday night, we were sorely in need of a trip to the grocery store because the cupboard was pretty bare. I considered dragging my recovering two year old out to buy a few things but she was so tired, I just couldn’t do it. An early nap won.

Maybe I made the wrong choice because things sorta went south from there. I knew my husband had a producing gig that night and I planned to make dinner early so he could eat and run. When I took stock of the bare cupboards, I found carrots, potatoes, parsnips, greens and a little leftover hamburger. Perfect. Pot pie would probably work. I had just enough butter for a crust. So, I made the crust, popped it in the fridge and started working on the veggies.

But, when I took out the back of potatoes, which I’ve always kept in a cool, dry cupboard (like my mom did), I found a roach running around in the bag. Now, girls and boys, I’m pretty cool in a real crisis – like the time our car was stolen from behind our house and we watched it drive away. But put a roach in front of me and I will totally l-o-s-e it. Which is exactly what I proceeded to do, especially because I’d already put-my-hand-in-the-bag when I found the roach! AAAAHHHHH!!!!

What if the roach had POOPED on my potatoes? The potatoes had to go. Since I didn’t want the creepy little crawly to escape and run into the dark reaches of my cabinets, I stood there holding the bag for a few seconds while doing a terrified dance around the kitchen – shrieking for my four-year-old to come help me. That’s right. I’m admitting it. My four year old had to rescue me from my own ludicrous terror.

“Mom!!! What is it?!!” shouted my little would-be-savior.

“Ah!! A roach is in the potato bag! A roach is in the potato bag!!” (eloquence disappears when terror hits)

AH!!!” responded an equally freaked out four year old.

“Quick, open the garbage can!” I shouted.

She opened the can and I threw the potato bag inside the garbage, tied the larger garbage bag around it and ran for the door so I could put it outside for Rob to deal with when he came home. Very unfeminist of me.

Then, we slammed the door (like the roach was going to tunnel through two plastic bags and come after us) and stood there huffing and puffing excitedly while we danced around shrieking.

“I hate cockroaches!!”  I shouted. I felt like there were roaches crawling all over me.

“Me too!” she shouted back. And she danced around like she felt the same way.

After we calmed down, I went back to the kitchen, looking around me for any signs that cockroaches were going to come pouring out of my cupboards. Then, I realized I was acting insane and resumed cutting up the veggies that hadn’t been pooped on by gross bugs. Then, it occurred to me that I really needed those potatoes for my pot pie. My uber-frugal grandmother and mother would have been horrified to see me throw out a partially full bag of potatoes. After all, they grow in the ground, where bugs crawl all over them before they even get to my pantry.

I wish I could say I went outside, saved the potatoes and made a killer pot pie. Because potatoes would have balanced the carrots and parsnips perfectly. Instead, my worn out brain said, “Nope. I’m sure parsnips, carrot, onion and meat pie will be just fine.” Meanwhile, my girly emotions said, “This pie is going to suck.” Then, my two year old woke up and decided to use me as a jungle gym from which she could grab at the pie dough (which I was simultaneously trying to roll out). Between the roach dance and the pie grabbing, I realized there wasn’t enough time to back a full pot pie so I switched to empanadas.

Have you ever tried to roll out empanadas with a two year old grabbing the dough straight off the cutting board? I confess I lost my cool at this point. I was so tired from taking care of everyone else without a break for so long. I could barely stand. I still had the creepy feeling that cockroaches must be roaming my kitchen freely if I found one in my potatoes. I felt incompetant because I hadn’t planned my grocery menu better (an unreasonable expectation since I’d not left the house in 4 days!) and hated that I was too cowardly to face the cockroach to rescue my potatoes. My little monkey was grabbing the few bits of food I had left on the board for our dinner and considering I didn’t actually want parsnip pie for dinner anyway, I can honestly admit I really didn’t want snotty parsnip pie for dinner.

My patience reached its end. I am ashamed to admit I shouted, “NO!!! Stop grabbing the dough!!” At a two year old. Who wanted to “help” mommy.

She burst into tears. And so did I. I gave up on the pie, picked her up and sat down with her, both of us blubbering profusely. She – because I hurt her. Me – because dinner was going to suck and most of all – because I was being a jerk.

It was this amazing reality that my cyclist husband rode into that evening. A partially made (sure-to-taste-crappy) dinner and two of his girls in complete emotional disarray.

He quickly rescued us by taking our two year old on an adventure to the water store while I finished making dinner and pulled myself together.

And, when Dad and baby returned, she’d forgotten all about my horrible moment of rudeness and laughed and played with me.

The empanadas tasted weird but Rob ate them valiantly and pronounced them delicious. I knew he was lying because the girls wouldn’t eat them. They ate bread and jam for dinner. Yep.

I know there will be days like this. There are a few things I need to learn. Like how to keep my cool when I’m tired and things aren’t going my way. I hate hurting the people I love.

One thing, for sure, I will do differently.

I’m keeping my potatoes in the fridge from now on.

Last weekend, we went to Rob’s cousin’s house for New Year’s Day and had a wonderful time. I love both sides of Robert’s family because they are all lovely people – but this side of his family reminds me a little more of mine. They are just sort of “down home” people, you know? Warm and welcoming, give-you-the-shirt-off-their backs kinda people – the kind I hope my girls grow up and emulate.

I think because my own mom and dad are gone, I am even more grateful for family connections like these ones. And, while we were there I got to spend some time with Aunt Pat. I’ve loved Aunt Pat since the first day we spoke. When we met, I felt I’d found a rare kindred spirit – and and it’s my good fortune that she loves me right back!

While we caught up, she told me that she recently mentioned me to someone who doesn’t know me and said, “I wish you knew my Monna. She is a wonderful mom and does a great job loving her kids and having fun with them.”

On some occasions we receive genuine words of love and kindness that reach straight into our hearts. This was one of those occasions. Something about that possessive, “my Monna” left a lump in my throat. I batted back some tears so I could maintain some sense of self possession while we finished talking. But when I got to the car and told my husband about it I found tears streaming down my face.

It’s really rare for me to hear compliments like this these days without my mom around to give them. I felt loved – and reassured of my mothering value. My confidence had taken a plunge in December with the crazy schedule, excess amounts of sugar and sleep deprived kids who were way less responsive than usual. Even more than the boost of confidence, Pat’s words left me feeling that I belong to my chosen family. That is a good feeling.

The little exchange got me to thinking. When was the last time my words gave someone else a sense of belonging? A real genuine word of encouragement – that reminds someone they are good at what they have chosen as their life’s work?  Today, I’m going to find someone who needs a word like that and pass on a little of the love I’ve received…

Blessings.

When you’re parenting preschoolers, you often feel like a broken record playing the same phrases over and over. For example….

“It’s never ok to hit your sister. She is always more important than a toy.”

“Please put your shoes on NOW!” (after three requests!)

“Please do not leave your shoes on the floor.” (I’ve stopped counting)

“Girls, please put your toys down. We need to leave now or we will be late.” (um, every time we need to go somewhere – no matter how early I started prepping)

“No, we’re not buying a toy just because we’re in a store that has them.”

(Note to self – Stop being so picky all the time!)

Maybe it’s just me but everything with preschoolers seems infinitely slow – like herding cats. And, I really do wonder if anything I say penetrates the space in their consciousness so fully occupied with imagination – princes and princesses, horses, Star Wars (yup, they like that too!) and Barbies.

This weekend, I got confirmation that my oldest has been listening. I felt gratified and not a little amazed.

Lately, after my youngest crashes out (no drifting for her, she runs till she falls over!), my 4 year old and I have been cuddling close – giggling and having a delightful time together. I almost feel like a kid myself staying up past bedtime with her and she clearly loves it.

So, there we were – snuggling and giggling when she asked me to tell her the story of her birth. So, I proceeded to tell her the story in detail, including the part about how it was in a hospital, it was really long (over 28 hours!) and how the doctor offered me Pitocin, a drug that stimulates labor. She interrupted me to ask, “But, mom, you didn’t take the drugs did you?” After all, she is Organic Mama’s daughter.

At our house, we frequently talk with our kids about how food and herbs do a lot to keep us healthy and that more focused medicines like prescrips should only be a last resort. The conversations started over food and extended to prescription drugs because my girls kept seeing CVS and Walgreens and wanted to know if they were Trader Joe’s. It opened up the opportunity to talk about drugs – both prescription and non – with my kids.

So, you can imagine I was a little taken back by her question. I paused for a moment before saying, “Yes. I did sweetie.”

Oh the depth of disappointment and shame (for me!) she infused into her short response! She dramatically shook her head and lay it on my arm as she said, “Oh no, Mom.”

I stifled a chuckle. But inside, even as I told her that I’ve learned a lot since then – and finished my story, I felt the warmth of encouragement. There may be days I feel like my words are bouncing off the insides of my house, but I know that some of them are finding their way straight into my daughters minds and their hearts. I bet it’s the same at your house…

(second note to self – stop being so hard on me!)

p.s. you can read my oldest’s hospital birth story here…and my youngest’s homebirth here.