We have been getting an earful of whining, tattling, grumbling, and bawling this weekend. Between on-the-go Kelsey who cries at the drop of a hat (at seeing her dinner plate--never mind she's the non-picky child; at us persuading her to go to the bathroom, because her socks aren't on right, whatever the un-rational reason may be), and Averey who whiiiiiines incessantly ("I'm hungry, thirsty, bored", "Kelsey's hitting, punching, looking at, breathing on me!"), we've had them both in a time-out chair this weekend. I've had to separate them twice (which made them both cry, even though they weren't in trouble), and we've had to ask them to clean up their messes for the umpteenth time.
If I felt like bundling (and un-bundling) them in their snow clothes, I have half a mind to send them out in the snow just so they can fuss and whine outside!
But oh, I am hating the snow. I'm tired of cold weather. I can't stand my winter clothes anymore. I want to wear sandals. I need some fun spring clothes and shoes. I need a haircut and highlights. I want someone to come through our house and not comment on the low ceilings. I want someone to actually put an offer on our house. I want that bigger kitchen in THE house we've placed an offer on. I want...
Oh, was I complaining about my children whining? Hmm.
Perhaps we all need a lesson on not whining: Philippians 2:14 "Do everything without grumbling or arguing..."
I know my circumstances are great. I am thankful for so much in my life. Sometimes I just let those trivial things get in the way. And above all, I thank God for Jake, who is able to deal with all of this feminine whining without whining himself. Well, he may grumble a bit... but I think he's earned it. He is sinking in this sea of estrogen after all.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Trying to Escape the Neon
Shopping has always been a favorite pastime of mine. When I can clothes shop for my girls by myself, I am happy as a clam. Yesterday, I set foot in Gymboree, to browse and select Easter-y clothes for my trio. With the coordinating colors and outfit decisions, it is a haven for a mother of three girls like myself (and pure torture for my husband). I finally settled on one of the new spring lines with lilac, buttery yellow and green. The outfits, classic and able to be worn again (I don't believe in buying fancy Easter dresses: completely impractical for my girls' wardrobes), passed down from girl to girl, and (thankfully) my girls loved the choices I made (but they have yet to complain about anything I bring home).
Since I had some time to myself at the mall, I checked out a couple of other stores, and then I headed into Justice with much trepidation. I've heard Averey mention Justice a couple times this school year; since I go to the mall typically by myself, I've purposefully avoided it. But the sales looked incredible, and surely I could find something suitable for Averey.
I walked into perpetual neon, lace, animal prints and peace sign barf. I know sequins and glitter are fun, and I wore my fair share of shiny, glittery, obnoxious clothing in high school and college. I know my middle school wardrobe had its fair share of neon too. I just can't say there would be much in there I would feel good about my 7-year-old wearing to school... especially because they go up to size 16. And in browsing in a couple of other department stores too, the neon was overpowering, and honestly, a lot of it just looked trashy. (Since when did skulls become "cute"?)
So either I just have good taste or I am out of style. I'm going out on a limb to say it's the former rather than the latter. Thankfully, Jake and I share the same view on clothes, so he doesn't usually mind my Gymboree sprees.
I know the day is coming when I won't be able to shop for my girls' clothes without them in tow, and I know they'll be giving their opinions. My hope is that I've dressed them well and modestly enough while they're young so they make wise clothing choices when they're older. For now, I'll just find solace in the non-neon environment of Gymboree (and a couple other select stores).
I can see it now: as teenagers, they'll probably be wearing some obnoxious clothing, and I'll tell them that they will laugh at those clothes when they're older (just like my mom told me), and I will be hopelessly out of style (even if I know I am still in style). Fashion and motherhood share a vital characteristic: everything comes full circle.
Since I had some time to myself at the mall, I checked out a couple of other stores, and then I headed into Justice with much trepidation. I've heard Averey mention Justice a couple times this school year; since I go to the mall typically by myself, I've purposefully avoided it. But the sales looked incredible, and surely I could find something suitable for Averey.
I walked into perpetual neon, lace, animal prints and peace sign barf. I know sequins and glitter are fun, and I wore my fair share of shiny, glittery, obnoxious clothing in high school and college. I know my middle school wardrobe had its fair share of neon too. I just can't say there would be much in there I would feel good about my 7-year-old wearing to school... especially because they go up to size 16. And in browsing in a couple of other department stores too, the neon was overpowering, and honestly, a lot of it just looked trashy. (Since when did skulls become "cute"?)
So either I just have good taste or I am out of style. I'm going out on a limb to say it's the former rather than the latter. Thankfully, Jake and I share the same view on clothes, so he doesn't usually mind my Gymboree sprees.
I know the day is coming when I won't be able to shop for my girls' clothes without them in tow, and I know they'll be giving their opinions. My hope is that I've dressed them well and modestly enough while they're young so they make wise clothing choices when they're older. For now, I'll just find solace in the non-neon environment of Gymboree (and a couple other select stores).
I can see it now: as teenagers, they'll probably be wearing some obnoxious clothing, and I'll tell them that they will laugh at those clothes when they're older (just like my mom told me), and I will be hopelessly out of style (even if I know I am still in style). Fashion and motherhood share a vital characteristic: everything comes full circle.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Sleep in Heavenly Peace
Let me run my disclaimer here: I honestly can't say I'm sleep deprived, or have suffered from much sleep deprivation during my 7-year career as a mother. My girls have been (mostly) awesome sleepers as infants, toddlers, preschoolers. Also, don't take that as bragging either. Because some nights are better than others...
Like last night, for instance.
Jake is ready to be rid of the baby monitor in our room. However, I am hesitant to let it go (even though I can't remember the last time I got up to comfort Jacey in the middle of the night) simply because her room is at the front of our house, and I fear that if she does need me during the night, I won't hear her. I'm not sure that she needed me last night, but oh, did I hear her. Between the babbling and fussing, she was making her presence known on the monitor.
Sandwich that between my cracked-out vivid dreams (I thought those were supposed to end with pregnancy, and NO I am NOT pregnant!), finding myself in a position with my arms above my head (and one arm falling asleep) and Kelsey yelling out because of a bad dream, I don't know if I caught any ZZZs between 3 and 5:15.
Kelsey needed some comforting (thankfully in her own bed), her blankets, her lovey and her sleep mask. I fumbled around for these items in the dark until she remarked, "Turn on the night light mommy." Even a night light was going to blind me, but I had to make sure I could find that darn lovey. Averey awakens to say, "It's another lovey mystery!" We seem to go on a mad witch hunt for lovey on a daily basis, which baffles me because it's her thumb-sucking companion. You think she wouldn't let it out of her sight!
The desired sleep articles were found, and I crawled back in bed. I'm not sure how much time elapsed, but probably not enough since I sat straight up when the girls' door cracked open. This time it was Averey. "I can't fall back asleep." Instead of guiding her back to bed and comforting her, I snapped, "Well, I can't fall back asleep either because you girls keep waking me up!" My curtness must have done the trick though, because I had to wake her up at 7:15.
I realize that as a mother (and father, as Jake has had his fair share of nights awake when the girls come to his side of the bed) that I won't sleep as well as I did in a former life. And as I'm sleepy again and haven't even started my work day yet, I try to maintain a sense of thankfulness that this is not a nightly occurrence. I sympathize for those moms out there who truly are sleep-deprived zombies.
When I do catch the girls sleeping, they do look absolutely angelic: thumbs hanging on Kelsey's and Jacey's lips for dear life, a lump of Averey underneath her blanket somewhere, and Jacey arched into a frog position (how is that even comfortable?). Through their contorted positions, tossing and turning, they still sleep better than me.
If we get a new mattress here soon, maybe I'll be sleeping just as well... just in time for them to have a nightmare and want to sleep in our bed.
Like last night, for instance.
Jake is ready to be rid of the baby monitor in our room. However, I am hesitant to let it go (even though I can't remember the last time I got up to comfort Jacey in the middle of the night) simply because her room is at the front of our house, and I fear that if she does need me during the night, I won't hear her. I'm not sure that she needed me last night, but oh, did I hear her. Between the babbling and fussing, she was making her presence known on the monitor.
Sandwich that between my cracked-out vivid dreams (I thought those were supposed to end with pregnancy, and NO I am NOT pregnant!), finding myself in a position with my arms above my head (and one arm falling asleep) and Kelsey yelling out because of a bad dream, I don't know if I caught any ZZZs between 3 and 5:15.
Kelsey needed some comforting (thankfully in her own bed), her blankets, her lovey and her sleep mask. I fumbled around for these items in the dark until she remarked, "Turn on the night light mommy." Even a night light was going to blind me, but I had to make sure I could find that darn lovey. Averey awakens to say, "It's another lovey mystery!" We seem to go on a mad witch hunt for lovey on a daily basis, which baffles me because it's her thumb-sucking companion. You think she wouldn't let it out of her sight!
The desired sleep articles were found, and I crawled back in bed. I'm not sure how much time elapsed, but probably not enough since I sat straight up when the girls' door cracked open. This time it was Averey. "I can't fall back asleep." Instead of guiding her back to bed and comforting her, I snapped, "Well, I can't fall back asleep either because you girls keep waking me up!" My curtness must have done the trick though, because I had to wake her up at 7:15.
I realize that as a mother (and father, as Jake has had his fair share of nights awake when the girls come to his side of the bed) that I won't sleep as well as I did in a former life. And as I'm sleepy again and haven't even started my work day yet, I try to maintain a sense of thankfulness that this is not a nightly occurrence. I sympathize for those moms out there who truly are sleep-deprived zombies.
When I do catch the girls sleeping, they do look absolutely angelic: thumbs hanging on Kelsey's and Jacey's lips for dear life, a lump of Averey underneath her blanket somewhere, and Jacey arched into a frog position (how is that even comfortable?). Through their contorted positions, tossing and turning, they still sleep better than me.
If we get a new mattress here soon, maybe I'll be sleeping just as well... just in time for them to have a nightmare and want to sleep in our bed.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Accidental Potty-Training
Accidental potty-training? you ask. I am well aware there are plentiful accidents in potty-training, but yes, you can accidentally potty-train your child.
Take Kelsey, for instance. We started training her in November of 2011 when we found out I was pregnant. Actually, we learned her cues and promptly sat her on the pot. She was a harder sell than Averey (potty-trained in one weekend, and then in underwear at night four months later--seriously), but she got it. Eventually.
By spring, she would wake up dry occasionally. I figured we were in the home stretch. Jacey's birth negated all of that progress. But since the new year (a resolution on her part?), she's been waking up dry every morning.
Yesterday morning at 6:30, she entered the bathroom as I'm exiting the shower. She wanted to sleep in our bed, but I had already made it. She choked out a few crocodile tears, and then stopped as she realized something. "Mommy! I slept in my underwear and I'm dry!" I patted her bottom, and sure enough, there was no Pull-Up. Whoops. Jake and I failed. Again.
Post-bath, we put her in underwear until bedtime, because more than once, she has decided it's appropriate to pee in her Pull-Up. A couple months ago, we forgot the Pull-Up and got lucky. Same story Wednesday morning. With my towels wrapped around me, I made my way to the phone to tell Jake the good news. Kelsey emphatically told her daddy she slept in underwear and stayed dry, and Jake said to me, "Well, we dodged another bullet."
Last night, Jake rolled the dice and left her in underwear, and we both were clapping for Kelsey at 6:30 this morning in the bathroom when she was dry. A sight to behold, I'm sure.
There are many thrilling moments you get to experience as a parent. I just never expected to be so enthusiastic over dry underwear... at 6:30 in the morning... in the bathroom... just after I've showered.
Take Kelsey, for instance. We started training her in November of 2011 when we found out I was pregnant. Actually, we learned her cues and promptly sat her on the pot. She was a harder sell than Averey (potty-trained in one weekend, and then in underwear at night four months later--seriously), but she got it. Eventually.
By spring, she would wake up dry occasionally. I figured we were in the home stretch. Jacey's birth negated all of that progress. But since the new year (a resolution on her part?), she's been waking up dry every morning.
Yesterday morning at 6:30, she entered the bathroom as I'm exiting the shower. She wanted to sleep in our bed, but I had already made it. She choked out a few crocodile tears, and then stopped as she realized something. "Mommy! I slept in my underwear and I'm dry!" I patted her bottom, and sure enough, there was no Pull-Up. Whoops. Jake and I failed. Again.
Post-bath, we put her in underwear until bedtime, because more than once, she has decided it's appropriate to pee in her Pull-Up. A couple months ago, we forgot the Pull-Up and got lucky. Same story Wednesday morning. With my towels wrapped around me, I made my way to the phone to tell Jake the good news. Kelsey emphatically told her daddy she slept in underwear and stayed dry, and Jake said to me, "Well, we dodged another bullet."
Last night, Jake rolled the dice and left her in underwear, and we both were clapping for Kelsey at 6:30 this morning in the bathroom when she was dry. A sight to behold, I'm sure.
There are many thrilling moments you get to experience as a parent. I just never expected to be so enthusiastic over dry underwear... at 6:30 in the morning... in the bathroom... just after I've showered.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Who Let the Fat Out of the Bag?
I know every child is different. But Kelsey never ceases to amaze me, break the mold, or make my face burn with embarrassment (or frustration).
Averey never uttered anything worthy of public humiliation. But alas, as Kelsey is our wild middle child, who is never afraid to express her thoughts, let a terrible faux pas slip from her lips the other day.
I decided to take Kelsey and Jacey to Averey's school to have lunch with her on her birthday. Kelsey, in her great excitement, said hi to every person walking down the hall, telling them her name and that she's in preschool. Of course, in Kelsey-speak, the passers by probably could not interpret her stats.
That was, until, one lady walked down the hall. Kelsey exclaims in a friendly voice, "Hi! You look like you're fat!"
Well, color me mortified! I think the not-so-fat lady chuckled, but unfortunately, there could be no misinterpretation. I didn't know what else to do but give Kelsey's cheek a little flick. She cried, and I told her that she could not say that word to anyone. It's an unkind word, and we can't tell people they're fat.
I couldn't even think of a time we used it... until I recalled Kelsey calling her daddy fat, to which we all laughed. Whoops.
This morning, she struck again, calling my mother fat. (To which she is not, of course.) I did not flick her cheek, but once again calmly explained to her that she could not use that unkind word, and she still cried. But it seemed the point had been drilled into her head.
After church, I picked her up from her classroom, to which she gleefully said, "Mommy! I didn't say fat!" (To which she told her daddy, "The word left my head!")
Hmm. Perhaps we'll have to try another trick in the book. What that trick is though, I'm just not sure.
What I do know is that the next time I want to have lunch with Averey, I'll be going by myself.
Averey never uttered anything worthy of public humiliation. But alas, as Kelsey is our wild middle child, who is never afraid to express her thoughts, let a terrible faux pas slip from her lips the other day.
I decided to take Kelsey and Jacey to Averey's school to have lunch with her on her birthday. Kelsey, in her great excitement, said hi to every person walking down the hall, telling them her name and that she's in preschool. Of course, in Kelsey-speak, the passers by probably could not interpret her stats.
That was, until, one lady walked down the hall. Kelsey exclaims in a friendly voice, "Hi! You look like you're fat!"
Well, color me mortified! I think the not-so-fat lady chuckled, but unfortunately, there could be no misinterpretation. I didn't know what else to do but give Kelsey's cheek a little flick. She cried, and I told her that she could not say that word to anyone. It's an unkind word, and we can't tell people they're fat.
I couldn't even think of a time we used it... until I recalled Kelsey calling her daddy fat, to which we all laughed. Whoops.
This morning, she struck again, calling my mother fat. (To which she is not, of course.) I did not flick her cheek, but once again calmly explained to her that she could not use that unkind word, and she still cried. But it seemed the point had been drilled into her head.
After church, I picked her up from her classroom, to which she gleefully said, "Mommy! I didn't say fat!" (To which she told her daddy, "The word left my head!")
Hmm. Perhaps we'll have to try another trick in the book. What that trick is though, I'm just not sure.
What I do know is that the next time I want to have lunch with Averey, I'll be going by myself.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
What Can Happen in 7 Years...
"Can I be in the delivery room with you when you have this baby?" my mom pleaded.
This request somewhat repulsed me throughout my pregnancy. I had imagined the moment of bringing my firstborn into this world with my loving husband beside me, encouraging me to push, and then upon seeing our child, tears would emerge from our eyes. A movie moment, if you will. Having my mother there was NOT part of that plan.
Yet at 2:42 a.m. on January 24th, 2006, my mom was holding my leg, my dad was at my head, and a loving husband was nowhere in sight. There were no tears when Averey Monica made her grand entrance; just smiles and pure joy. Not how I pictured the moment, but it is just the beginning of our story.
I will always treasure the memories of my friends and co-workers being so supportive. My BF Steph hung out in my delivery room for several hours, another friend Heather stopped up after her shift (just in time for the nurse to break my water), and the big-brother-I-never-wanted, Deuane, was there to greet me on the maternity floor at 4:30 in the morning when I arrived with Averey. Later that morning and throughout my stay, many of my co-workers flooded my hospital room to visit, and it still brings a smile to my face.
But it seems like another lifetime so far away. I am constantly humbled by my life now, knowing the turmoil I was in during that time. I have recently read my journal entries from that stage in my life, and it was like a long, drawn-out episode of "The Jerry Springer Show": husband cheats on pregnant wife, husband shacks up with girlfriend with four children of her own, estranged wife left to be a single mother. Yet through all of the insanity, the bizarre phone conversations, and at times, being made to be the villian in the whole train wreck, I can look back and forever be thankful. He unknowingly did me a huge favor.
The idea of single motherhood scared me, but being a first-time mom and going it alone (only alone in the sense that Averey and I lived together in an apartment) was a pleasant surprise... and it helped she was an incredibly placid baby!
I know friends, family and co-workers were concerned for me. Some expected that I would leave Harrisburg and return home with my parents. Thankfully, my parents fully supported me staying in Harrisburg. I was 26, had a decent paying job, health insurance, and a nice apartment in a quiet area. There was no reason for me to leave and start over back home. I already had to restart my life as a single woman, and a new mother to boot; why change my location if that's the one steady port in the storm swirling around me?
And Averey. Oh sweet Averey. She had captured my heart, and I knew she was dependent on me for EVERYTHING. I ultimately had to trust that God would take care of us. Not only did we survive, we thrived. We were loved, and many people, known and unknown, prayed for us. In the atypical matters of my maternity leave (i.e. filing for child support, hiring an attorney), Averey's presence made it all worth the hassles. I reconciled I'd be dealing with an unfavorable situation for the next 18 years, when suddenly, he decided it wasn't worth it. I was never so relieved.
Seven years later, I have a bright, bubbly, quizzical girly girl who has a flair for drama (much like her mother); a sweet girl who is a doting big sister (even though Kelsey gets the brunt of her frustrations); a silly lass who giggles when she burps on command and ekes out farts (that's my girl!). I never imagined our life would turn out this way: two younger sisters for her and a daddy who, while they don't share DNA, loves her beyond comprehension (and can handle her when she spazzes out like, well... me), and for those who don't know our story would never know the difference.
I have been incredibly blessed over these past seven years, and I eagerly await to see the young lady she'll become in the next seven years. (Although it doesn't have to go as fast, does it?)
This request somewhat repulsed me throughout my pregnancy. I had imagined the moment of bringing my firstborn into this world with my loving husband beside me, encouraging me to push, and then upon seeing our child, tears would emerge from our eyes. A movie moment, if you will. Having my mother there was NOT part of that plan.
Yet at 2:42 a.m. on January 24th, 2006, my mom was holding my leg, my dad was at my head, and a loving husband was nowhere in sight. There were no tears when Averey Monica made her grand entrance; just smiles and pure joy. Not how I pictured the moment, but it is just the beginning of our story.
I will always treasure the memories of my friends and co-workers being so supportive. My BF Steph hung out in my delivery room for several hours, another friend Heather stopped up after her shift (just in time for the nurse to break my water), and the big-brother-I-never-wanted, Deuane, was there to greet me on the maternity floor at 4:30 in the morning when I arrived with Averey. Later that morning and throughout my stay, many of my co-workers flooded my hospital room to visit, and it still brings a smile to my face.
But it seems like another lifetime so far away. I am constantly humbled by my life now, knowing the turmoil I was in during that time. I have recently read my journal entries from that stage in my life, and it was like a long, drawn-out episode of "The Jerry Springer Show": husband cheats on pregnant wife, husband shacks up with girlfriend with four children of her own, estranged wife left to be a single mother. Yet through all of the insanity, the bizarre phone conversations, and at times, being made to be the villian in the whole train wreck, I can look back and forever be thankful. He unknowingly did me a huge favor.
The idea of single motherhood scared me, but being a first-time mom and going it alone (only alone in the sense that Averey and I lived together in an apartment) was a pleasant surprise... and it helped she was an incredibly placid baby!
I know friends, family and co-workers were concerned for me. Some expected that I would leave Harrisburg and return home with my parents. Thankfully, my parents fully supported me staying in Harrisburg. I was 26, had a decent paying job, health insurance, and a nice apartment in a quiet area. There was no reason for me to leave and start over back home. I already had to restart my life as a single woman, and a new mother to boot; why change my location if that's the one steady port in the storm swirling around me?
And Averey. Oh sweet Averey. She had captured my heart, and I knew she was dependent on me for EVERYTHING. I ultimately had to trust that God would take care of us. Not only did we survive, we thrived. We were loved, and many people, known and unknown, prayed for us. In the atypical matters of my maternity leave (i.e. filing for child support, hiring an attorney), Averey's presence made it all worth the hassles. I reconciled I'd be dealing with an unfavorable situation for the next 18 years, when suddenly, he decided it wasn't worth it. I was never so relieved.
Seven years later, I have a bright, bubbly, quizzical girly girl who has a flair for drama (much like her mother); a sweet girl who is a doting big sister (even though Kelsey gets the brunt of her frustrations); a silly lass who giggles when she burps on command and ekes out farts (that's my girl!). I never imagined our life would turn out this way: two younger sisters for her and a daddy who, while they don't share DNA, loves her beyond comprehension (and can handle her when she spazzes out like, well... me), and for those who don't know our story would never know the difference.
I have been incredibly blessed over these past seven years, and I eagerly await to see the young lady she'll become in the next seven years. (Although it doesn't have to go as fast, does it?)
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
It's Not a Competition
It started with this picture:
My cousin posted this on facebook, and I "liked" it. As a working mom, sometimes I feel I have a lot more on my plate than my stay-at-home-mom counterparts. This picture did not cause a firestorm of angry comments or anything, it just started swirling the thoughts around my brain. I have actually had the best of both worlds, so I feel that I have the experience to back up what I'm about to write. (At least, I hope I do.)
I wrestle with being a work-outside-of-the-home-mom on a daily basis. When I started meeting friends who have the privilege of staying home (yes, I said privilege), I began to notice the sympathetic tone I received when I said I had a job, albeit part-time (only in the sense that anything below 35 hours is part-time, which I think is a load of you-know-what). I know that's not what's conveyed, but then I do feel slightly defensive about working. Sometimes, I just want to give all the reasons why I work:
Because I was too stupid to save money and plan ahead of time.
Because I married the wrong guy the first time around.
Because I started off as a single mom and didn't have a choice.
Because we rely on my income!
Thankfully, my SAHM friends are super-cool, so I've never felt like I'm less of a mom because staying home isn't really an option. Oh sure, I've seen the pinterest pins and blog headlines: "Our family of 8 lives on less than $30,000 a year!" "How we went from 2 incomes to 1!" I'm sure that somehow, some way, a huge sacrifice could be made that our family of less people could live on a salary larger than that. I understand that a lot of moms don't hold an outside job because their wages would mainly be paying for child care, which really negates their salary. However, I made a vow to myself when Averey was born that I would not put my child(ren) in a day care setting. It is the one promise I've held fast as a mother. I've been blessed from the get-go to have wonderful SAHM moms to watch my girls in their (and our) homes, only paying for the days they are sitting, and thus, saving us money, and often times from illness. Since Jake and I have been married, his mother chips in to watch the girls, get Averey off the bus, and save us a bundle of money! For us, we are still making money on top of child care.
I've also been fortunate enough to hold jobs that give me days off during the week, the ability to cut back to "part-time", and spend three months home at a time because of maternity leave. I've been able to have somewhat of a SAHM experience (because the weekends don't count). I will admit that my perception of stay-at-home-motherhood is an easier job FOR ME (speaking for no one else here, I promise!), but that's because I've been working all along. Thus, I appreciate my time home, and while I can't keep my house clean, I at least feel I have the upper hand on most tasks, and I am able to handle the meal planning a bit better. Yet I know that staying at home is no easy job either, and I have great respect for my friends who only know motherhood by being at home with the screaming, fighting children running around like banshees (and all of the wonderful moments that go along with it too, of course).
It seems there are a lot of loud opinions out there about what's better for your children, whether you stay at home or work outside of the home. I think there's advantages to both situations. But because I may say that my children have never (or very very rarely) had separation anxiety, that may not have anything to do with my working; I could just have girls who could care less when I leave the room!
If anything, I've just learned that I love walking in the door when I get home from work to see my girls, even if it's chaos. I still manage to get the laundry done, the bills paid, the grocery lists made, and I've even been able to pass off the grocery shopping to Jake (apparently Giant is dead on Friday nights)! Yes, it can be overwhelming at times, and trying to get everyone ready on a Monday morning is not my idea of fun (you think I'd have it down pat by now). My hope is that someday my girls will appreciate the sacrifices we've made with me working, and even cutting my hours to have a little more time at home, because that's the best we can do for now.
No matter what your situation, one thing is for sure: we're in this mom gig together, and everyone has to make a choice about what's best for their family. As far as I know, there are no medals or prizes for what we choose. The happy, sweet, funny kids are our rewards. And you can have those regardless of whether you work or stay home. (At least, they have those characteristics most of the time.)
My cousin posted this on facebook, and I "liked" it. As a working mom, sometimes I feel I have a lot more on my plate than my stay-at-home-mom counterparts. This picture did not cause a firestorm of angry comments or anything, it just started swirling the thoughts around my brain. I have actually had the best of both worlds, so I feel that I have the experience to back up what I'm about to write. (At least, I hope I do.)
I wrestle with being a work-outside-of-the-home-mom on a daily basis. When I started meeting friends who have the privilege of staying home (yes, I said privilege), I began to notice the sympathetic tone I received when I said I had a job, albeit part-time (only in the sense that anything below 35 hours is part-time, which I think is a load of you-know-what). I know that's not what's conveyed, but then I do feel slightly defensive about working. Sometimes, I just want to give all the reasons why I work:
Because I was too stupid to save money and plan ahead of time.
Because I married the wrong guy the first time around.
Because I started off as a single mom and didn't have a choice.
Because we rely on my income!
Thankfully, my SAHM friends are super-cool, so I've never felt like I'm less of a mom because staying home isn't really an option. Oh sure, I've seen the pinterest pins and blog headlines: "Our family of 8 lives on less than $30,000 a year!" "How we went from 2 incomes to 1!" I'm sure that somehow, some way, a huge sacrifice could be made that our family of less people could live on a salary larger than that. I understand that a lot of moms don't hold an outside job because their wages would mainly be paying for child care, which really negates their salary. However, I made a vow to myself when Averey was born that I would not put my child(ren) in a day care setting. It is the one promise I've held fast as a mother. I've been blessed from the get-go to have wonderful SAHM moms to watch my girls in their (and our) homes, only paying for the days they are sitting, and thus, saving us money, and often times from illness. Since Jake and I have been married, his mother chips in to watch the girls, get Averey off the bus, and save us a bundle of money! For us, we are still making money on top of child care.
I've also been fortunate enough to hold jobs that give me days off during the week, the ability to cut back to "part-time", and spend three months home at a time because of maternity leave. I've been able to have somewhat of a SAHM experience (because the weekends don't count). I will admit that my perception of stay-at-home-motherhood is an easier job FOR ME (speaking for no one else here, I promise!), but that's because I've been working all along. Thus, I appreciate my time home, and while I can't keep my house clean, I at least feel I have the upper hand on most tasks, and I am able to handle the meal planning a bit better. Yet I know that staying at home is no easy job either, and I have great respect for my friends who only know motherhood by being at home with the screaming, fighting children running around like banshees (and all of the wonderful moments that go along with it too, of course).
It seems there are a lot of loud opinions out there about what's better for your children, whether you stay at home or work outside of the home. I think there's advantages to both situations. But because I may say that my children have never (or very very rarely) had separation anxiety, that may not have anything to do with my working; I could just have girls who could care less when I leave the room!
If anything, I've just learned that I love walking in the door when I get home from work to see my girls, even if it's chaos. I still manage to get the laundry done, the bills paid, the grocery lists made, and I've even been able to pass off the grocery shopping to Jake (apparently Giant is dead on Friday nights)! Yes, it can be overwhelming at times, and trying to get everyone ready on a Monday morning is not my idea of fun (you think I'd have it down pat by now). My hope is that someday my girls will appreciate the sacrifices we've made with me working, and even cutting my hours to have a little more time at home, because that's the best we can do for now.
No matter what your situation, one thing is for sure: we're in this mom gig together, and everyone has to make a choice about what's best for their family. As far as I know, there are no medals or prizes for what we choose. The happy, sweet, funny kids are our rewards. And you can have those regardless of whether you work or stay home. (At least, they have those characteristics most of the time.)
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