playgroupsarenoplaceforchildren

Carson and Ella will both be in preschool two days a week this school year. They start Thursday.

I am BEYOND EXCITED.

Tate doesn’t understand my excitement at all. “You’ll miss them when they’re gone all day, you know that, right?” He’s said this to me on more than one occasion.

The truth is, I’m not going to miss them while they are at school. They’ll only be gone for a total of twelve hours each week. Out of the approximately 72+ awake hours a week I will continue to spend with them, I think those twelve hours while they are at school will be a long awaited blessing.

My excitement is so much less about being away from them, but instead it’s about being able to accomplish things without strategic, long term planning. It’s been almost five years since I’ve been able to make plans completely on my own. Every thing that I’ve done since having kids has either been when Tate is available to watch the kids, or I’ve had to plan errands and exercise around the kid’s meal and nap times.

I’m going to make hair, dentist, doctor, and eye appointments without having to clear the appointment time with Tate or find a babysitter.

I’m going to go to the grocery store without packing my purse full of snacks, Capri Suns, toys, and a change of underwear for Ella.

I can run errands at lunch time, instead of between the hours of 9:30 and 11:00.

I’m going to browse shops with fragile items.

I’m going to eat my lunch in peace, sitting down for the whole meal instead of getting up to refill someone’s milk cup or clean up spills.

I’ll be able to hop out of the car and just run in (to the grocery store, the liquor store!!!, the convenience store, anywhere I want!) I won’t have to unbuckle one kid from his carseat, then run around to the other side of the car and unbuckle the other kid from her carseat, then hold little hands, and slowly make our way.

I’m going to go for a run without pushing Ella in a stroller and keeping Carson from falling off his bike as he follows me.

I’m going to take a shower without an audience.

I’m going to do it on my time.

I’m going to putter.

I’m going to breathe.

I can be independent again, even if it’s only for twelve hours per week.

And in my independence, I think I can become me again. And when I’m me again, I’m going to love my children even more and be the very best mom I can be.

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Speaking of the kids going to school, check out their new back to school duds courtesy of TJ Maxx/Marshalls over here!

When I met Tate twelve years ago I vividly recall him telling me that he was laid back.  Of course now I know that this was a bald-faced lie.  Laid back is exactly the opposite of how I’d describe him.  His complaining and pessimism are legendary, so much so that while most couples fight about money or sex, we regularly fight about his constant complaining and pessimistic outlook on life.

He’s quit using phrases like, “this is a disaster!!”, because I’ve threatened to run away from home if I he ever uttered it again.

I’m by no means (completely) perfect, but I do try to look at the bright side of things.   I try very hard not to complain too much, I try to stay positive.  I’m practically Miss Merry Sunshine!

That’s why I feel so awful about what I’m getting ready to complain about.

My vacation could have been better.

It pains me to even utter those words.  SERIOUSLY.  Poor me!  Me and my first world problems!  ¡Que terrible!  It must be so awful to get to go on vacation and have it not be perfect.  So many people in the world without food and my beach vacation “could have been better.”

So yeah, I feel ridiculous complaining about my vacation.  Nonetheless, I can’t help myself.

1.  My children acted like total a-double-s-holes for the vast majority of the time.  They freaked out over things like getting Sprite instead of chocolate milk when we went out to eat and having to ride on a horse drawn carriage through Savannah.   What horribly deprived children!  The constant need to correct their behavior ON VACATION where we were supposed to be having FUN completely drained me.

2.  Ella and I got stung by jellyfish the very first day of vacation.  We then learned that August is prime jellyfish season on Tybee Island and this year has been particularly bad.  Perfect!

3.  Our vacation rental wasn’t exactly what I thought it would be.  The “summer house” with a bed in the backyard was really an unairconditioned shed with a cot from 1940 that held a moldy thing on top masquerading as a mattress.

4.  Despite the beach house being advertised as “fully stocked,” we ran out of toilet paper less than 24 hours after arriving. (It REALLY pains me to complain about that, yet there it is.)

5.  MOSQUITOES the size of Montana.

6.  The sheets on our bed were satiny and stuck to our feet like velcro.

7.  The water tasted like what I’ve always imagine dirty feet to taste like.

I’m so ashamed by these petty complaints.  If I were a priest, I’d assign myself 4,000 Hail Mary’s and an order to volunteer my time at a homeless shelter or donate the equivalent cost of the vacation to a women’s shelter.

I’m no longer a practicing Catholic.  I guess I dodged that bullet.

Instead, as soon as I download and edit the bajillion pictures I took while on vacation, I’ll repent by writing about the good things.

I was just thinking recently how parenting is getting so much BETTER as they get older are farther away from babyhood.  In the past few weeks, I’ve actually been able to reason with Ella.

“Ella if you behave, I’ll give you a cookie.”

“Okay!  I be good, Mama.”

And guess what?  She WAS good.

I walked around feeling like I had finally gotten this parenting thing down pat.  “I’m pretty good at this parenting thing!” I thought to myself and out loud to Tate.

“You know, Tate, I feel like our kids have gotten so easy.  They REALLY listen to me!  It’s been like, a whole week and neither child has been in time out!”

He looked at me like I was an alien with a palm tree growing out of my chin.  “What about that time you called me last week when they were wreaking havoc?  Or this morning when you told me that you had to put them in their rooms for their own safety?”

So maybe it had only been about six hours, but SIX WHOLE HOURS of my children behaving feels like a week.

It seems like we get on a roll where the kids are behaving, or at least their misbehavior isn’t that damaging to my psyche that I’m left scarred for months afterwards.  Right now, though, we’re on the Deluxe Triple Salchow of OUT OF CONTROL BEHAVIOR roll.  Damaged psyche ahead!

It’s awesome, as I’m sure you can imagine.

The mall and it’s germ-infested play area is where the downward spiral first began.  Ella, being Ella and very much three-years-old, threw the tantrum to end all tantrums.  It was the type of tantrum that had all the perfect parents judging me with their evil looks and perfectly behaved children.  She was screaming and thrashing and I was sweating and silently screaming the f-word in my head.

I wanted to ask the perfect moms, “How do you propose I get her to stop screaming?  Seriously!!  I’m politely asking her, I’m threatening to take away everything that was or ever will be meaningful to her, I’m kicking myself for failing to pack duct tape.  What can I doooooooo?!?”

Carson, who is four and who I was certain had passed the fall on the floor tantrum stage, threw his own mega tantrum within a few hours of Ella’s.  Luckily it was in the privacy of our home, not in front of other’s prying eyes.  BUT STILL, it was a tantrum that no amount of reasoning, ignoring, redirecting, or any other textbook behavior management technique worked to just make him stop.

It’s been like this for about two weeks now, with only a few hours respite and sunshine in between their outbursts.  I’m starting to believe there is something really wrong with my children.  Surely it’s not just my kids that act this way???  Please?

They are thisclose to getting shipped off to a far away land that’s FAR AWAY.

And I vow to never verbalize or even think any thoughts where I extol the virtues of my parenting skills ever again.

I still wear my maternity jean skirt.  I haven’t been pregnant in three years.

Other confession:  I’d still wear my super cute maternity jeans but they no longer fit because they are TOO SMALL.

We just returned from a whirlwind trip visiting family, family, and more family.

I’m kind of family-ed out.  I’m particularly in need of a break from two small humans named Carson and Ella.  For a better part of the week we were gone, they drove me insane with their whining and crying and generally unruly, albeit typical, three and four year old behavior.

Now that we’re back home, I’m working on getting back to that mellow, grateful place where I don’t feel like locking them in a closet for a few hours.   As they kept acting like jerks last week and I grasped at the the tiniest thread of patience that remained, I kept thinking to myself, “I’m a much better parent when…”

I’m a much better parent when they aren’t sleep deprived.

I’m a much better parent when I’m not sleep deprived.

I’m a much better parent during the day than I am at bedtime, particularly when very tired children refuse to go to sleep.

I’m a much better parent when my children aren’t hopped up on fast food.

I’m a much better parent when the kids aren’t fighting.

I’m a much better parent when it’s not 1000 degrees outside.

I’m a much better parent when my children aren’t whining.

I’m a much better parent when I haven’t been in a car for nine hours.

I’m a much better parent when I haven’t listened to the same Thomas & Friends video for seven hours straight.

I’m a much better parent when I haven’t slept in the same bed with one of my children for six out of seven nights.

I’m a much better parent when I haven’t taken a foot to the face in the middle of the night.

I’m a much better parent when I’ve had a few hours to myself.

Well, enough of this whining.  I have 27 loads of laundry to wash.  I also have 42,354 photos to edit, you know, to remind me of how happy and great my life is.  Ahem.

By December, I have to have completed 30 hours of continuing education to maintain my national certification as a Speech-Language Pathologist.  I’ve had several years to complete this, but since I’ve not worked since before Carson was born and conferences are quite expensive, I have NO hours completed.

Every few weeks when I get my national orgazination’s newspaper, I suddenly remember those incomplete hours, panic, then get distracted by the dishwasher or screaming children and promptly forget all about it until a few weeks later when I get the mail, and there sits my national organization’s newspaper.

Before the kids were born, I always said I’d go back to work once the kids were in school.  I’d work in a school and be gone the same hours they would be gone, it would be easy!  There are two more years before Carson and Ella will be in school five days a week and I’m not really sure I even want to work as an SLP again.  I’m not really sure I want to work at a traditional job, away from home, having to take sick days and do laundry in the evenings.

I can’t decide if I should get those continuing education hours completed just in case.  What if I make the wrong decision and regret not maintaining my certification?   I would feel guilty for the potential waste of my hard-earned and expensive (thanks Mom and Dad!) Master’s Degree.

Last February I attended Blissdom in Nashville and left there completely inspired to start my own business.  I told everyone who would listen that I was starting a business.  As soon as I got home, I bought the domain name for my business, set up a twitter account, made lists, and spoke with a few contacts.   I started doing some research regarding business set-up, legal issues, and business accounting procedures.  Reality set in that my really great idea would take work, it would take money, and I became overwhelmed and scared.

I have done nothing to see my business come to fruition since those few weeks after Blissdom.  Voices of self-doubt have filled my head.  “You could never really do this, you know.  You have no business sense.  You’ll fail.”

I don’t know what it is that I want to do, other than I know that I want to do something with my future.  Even when my kids are in school, I’ll always be a mother and have those responsibilities to fulfill, but I know that I want to do more.   It’s just that knowing all the work that will go into getting those 30 hours to maintain my certification or starting my business has left me paralyzed and unable to even get started.

Blog Nosh Magazine is currently hosting a carnival, Celebrate the Heart and Art of Motherhood.  The carnival was inspired by the founder of Pepperidge Farm, Margaret Rudkin, who faced her son’s food allergies and started a business as a result.  I’ve read every post submitted and I’ve been inspired all over again that I really could start a business or maybe even think out of the box in terms of continuing as an SLP.   Maybe I could even overcome my fears enough and do something with my love of photography.  There are so many things that I could do, because like all the carnival writers, I’m creative and industrious, determined and bright.

I need your help and inspiration.  I hope you’ll consider writing your own post for Blog Nosh Magazine’s carnival and tell me what lit your fire and inspired you.  So many of you out there reading, I know that you’ve somehow managed to weave motherhood and work together, some of you have started businesses, donated your time.   I know you have done wonderful things.  Come on people, light my fire.  (Please excuse the cheesy Doors reference, I couldn’t resist.)

Have I ever told you about the time I was stung by a bee when I was in third grade?  Well, when I was in third grade, I was stung by a bee.  The bee stung me on my pinky finger at recess, and my teacher Mrs. McMEANASCANBE said to me when I came crying to her, “Jenny, you are acting like a kindergartner.”  Rude!

It’s only been within the last few years that I’ve forgiven her for calling me a kindergartner when I was clearly in pain and I most certainly was not a kindergartner, but a a very mature third grader.

Now that I have kids, I try not to act like a giant sissy when I see a stinging insect ready to attack.   I probably deserve a trophy or monetary reward for my ability to remain calm in front of my kids, even with giant wasps and bees staring at me from behind their creepy hiding places.  My initial response is to run away, screaming with my arms flailing, but I don’t.  I act like an adult for the sake of Carson and Ella.

Unfortunately last summer, Carson was stung by a bee, oddly enough, on his pinky finger.   This has put a major cramp in my quest to create non-sissified children.

“BUG!” Carson screams like a girl, with genuine fright.  It’s a gnat, but he doesn’t care.

I have tried to reason with him, and have explained that he’s probably already received his quota of bee stings for a lifetime.

“Carson, SERIOUSLY.  I’ve been stung only once in my WHOLE LIFE and I’m really OLD.  I’m thirty-five!  You’ll probably never be stung again!”

We’ve been spending more time outside since it’s been so warm and I’ve probably had this conversation with the kids nearly everyday for the past few weeks.  It’s exhausting because there are bugs everywhere.  Most of these bugs are so minuscule NO ONE ELSE ON EARTH has ever even seen most of these bugs, except for my eagle-eyed, sissy children.

Today I was stung on my stomach by a bumblebee that somehow got stuck in between the layers of my shirt. (How random is that?  A bumblebee inside my the layers of my shirt???)

“So…,” Carson eyed me, obviously considering this very rare attack, “Now you’ve been stung twice, huh?”

If I ever plan on us going outside again I’m going to have to come up with some new material to reason with Carson now that statistics are no longer on my side.