You are currently browsing the Soapbox category
The other day as Emme and I were going to school to pick Ty up from kindergarten, she decided that holding my hand in the parking lot was not going to work for her. Fine, I said, then I am going to carry you. This, however, was not to her liking either. She then proceeded to throw an I will-be-two-in-almost-5- months type of fit. I walked her into the school, took her to a carpeted corner away from the masses of parents and let her cry. I stayed by her. Usually my kids’ fits don’t both me ( I do mean usually here, I am not superhuman) and this one was more amusing to me, actually, as it was quite dramatic from Emme wrapping herself into the frontal fetal position (bum in the air) with both hands over her eyes etc etc. It was one of those time when I was pretty okay with the fit — afterall, I had had enough coffee that morning, the sun was out, and I was pretty darn convinced of my parental stance of hand-holding in the parking lot .
BUT THEN I looked up and saw a mom look at us, roll her eyes, and give “the look” to another mom and say, “Somebody is upset…” in reference to Emme. And let’s just say the tone was not, um, supportive. You can hear it, can’t you?
The incident with Emme got me thinking about just how fast we moms are to judge other moms and to judge ourselves in relation to other moms. When I was a baby, my mom had a neighbor with a child, Emily, who went to sleep on time and sat on a blanket for hours playing with a book. And my mom had me. My mom felt terrible and like she was a bad mom because I didn’t act perfectly — like Emily — all the time… or really… ever.
And then I started to feel really bad. I am sure I have stomped on someone’s feelings when I thought I was being insightful or even supportive - when really I was being stupid and insenstive.
But I think its even worse when we purposely take steps to judge each other’s mothering. When instead of offering Grace to each other, we offer judgement. And, believe me, I am not perfect here. But being a fellow-mom should be permission to uphold, to uplift, to edify, and to be compassionate rather than the opposite.
As Emme was crying another mom came over and smiled at me and said, “You don’t look bothered one bit! Little does Emme know you have been through this before and you have it figured out!”
That’s what I am talking about, sister. Oh, and I have it ALMOST figured out.
I’ve got a bone to pick with George Vernon Hudson, the man who first suggested Daylight Savings Time. He made this suggestion, mind you, so he would have more daylight hours in the evening to study bugs. Yup. B.U.G.S.
George Vernon Hudson (Wikipedia)
But I think the night we spring ahead is just about the the worst night of the year.
I hate that night.
It is the night that the “powers that be” punish sleep-deprived mothers in favor of…. well, I am not sure what we are actually supposed to gain from SKIPPING an hour ahead. (See? Just saying that… writing it… feels wrong.)
I know what I gained.
First, my baby is totally thrown off her sleep schedule. Ya know, the one we carefully crafted and molded into something we could all tolerate. Yeah, well that nano-moment of bliss is over.
Next, I am pretty sure I overdosed on caffeine Sunday morning. Resulting in the jitters. Which resulted in a lot of pacing around. Which hurt my foot. So, now I have a hurt foot. Well, to be fair, my foot already hurt. But now it hurts more.
The whole day reached confusing levels when we kept using the terms “body clock” and “actual clock” back and forth in an attempt to decipher what time it really was.
And how should we refer to this day? As a “holiday? Well, as far as holidays go, this day is really lacking. Really, FLAG DAY is better than Spring Ahead day. Even LABOR DAY which is a day dedicated to, well, labor, is better that losing that precious hour. In fact, I am pretty sure this day ranks below NATIONAL CROCHET WEEK and NATIONAL BUBBLE WEEK — which were both last week. I kid you not. In fact, here are a bunch of holidays in the month of March that I am sure I would rather celebrate than losing that precious hour of sleep.
March 1 – National Pig Day. Who doesn’t love bacon?
March 6 – Dentist’s Day (and you all know how I feel about dentists…)
March 9th – Be Nasty Day. This one actually sounds good, if you can pull it off. I pretty much honor this day each morning in the minutes between waking up and my 8th cup of coffee.
March 10 – Middle Name Pride Day. Mine is “Lynn.” Woo-Hoo… Go LYNN!
March 13 – Ear Muff Day, strategically positioned the day BEFORE Spring Ahead.
March 23 – National Chip and Dip Day. Now we’re talking!!!
March 31 – National Bunsen Burner Day. Dave will love this. It’s a chemistry teacher’s dream come true!
But my favorite day, the day I most look forward to (and my husband will attest to this) is the day we FALL BACK. Now, that’s a day I can fall in love with.
Please tell me that I am not the only one out there who tilts their head and says “huh?” when their husband does something the “wrong” way.
I mean, okay, I will stipulate that I need to chill sometimes. Micromanagement is a genetic disorder in my family (yes, mom, you have it, too…).
But sometimes I am simply stunned into silence (well, not really…) at the things that Dave does.
While making lunch: ”You did NOT just put syrup on the kids’ peanut butter sandwiches?!”
While helping with the baby: “Are you actually going to change the baby’s poopie diaper while she is STANDING UP?”
While sorting laundry: “How did you confuse my t-shirt (or stranger still, my underwear…) with Jade’s?”
I am very lucky to have a husband who helps, but sometimes… no, no… most of the time, I just don’t get it.
A while back at a dinner party an acquaintance said that she felt sorry for kids in large families, because the older kids “gave up their own childhood” to help raise the younger kids.
I could not disagree more.
While it is true that in large families the parents become less of a focus. Mom and dad can’t do everything or even as much as parents of 1 or 2 kids. If we tried, we would turn into gelatinous blobs of goo and the kids would be on their own anyway. But what does happen is that a tribe mentality develops. Everyone chips in and, most importantly, we all take care of each other. Now, I am not talking about a democracy… hell no! In this tribe there are chiefs! But there is also the reality that we ALL make this family work.
That means that the oldest kids sometimes read the bedtime stories to the youngest or cook dinner one night or babysit so mom and dad can go out for coffee or just get a private conversation with each other. This is not a bummer for anyone. Not even that older kid. What they get in return (beyond the skills it takes to do these things) is trust, responsibility, and a relationship with their younger siblings that goes beyond bickering or vying for attention. I know Jade would throw herself in front of a bus to save her little sister. And that kind of love does not always come naturally when you are 13! The oldest(s) get the best hugs. They get to be the favorite. They get to be the heroes.
When they score a goal at their soccer games, they get the sloppy wet kiss of a 4 year old. They get to see their little sister snatch up their hand-me-downs like they are gold so she can imitate them. They get tackled the moment they get home from school and, sometimes, sometimes, they get to rock the baby to sleep. It is through these experiences that they actually hold on to their childhood. They get to build legos longer, play dress up more often, and watch cartoons without excuse.
The love that flows between these oldest and these youngest and all the ones in between is not for us parents, us adults, to understand and certainly not to judge. But we do get to enjoy it. And occasionally we get a night “off” as a result of it.
Ty (4) hugging Jade (13) after his preschool graduation!
« Older Entries
