As a mother, I pray every single day for the safety of my son. When I drop him off at school and give him a kiss good-bye, I pray that God will watch over him and keep him safe while we're apart. I pray that God looks after Wesley and all the children at his school so that they may all be returned to their families safely at the end of the day. These are prayers not unlike, I'm sure, the millions that are prayed every day for all children everywhere, the prayers of mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers, aunts and uncles.
And that is why the tragedy of Friday resonates with me. Even though I am physically far removed from Newton, CT, my heart is a mother's heart and it has broken into a thousand pieces for all the victims at that school. It is a horrible irony that such a terrible event should happen at this time of year, when Christmas lights twinkle in windows and every store is playing Christmas songs while customers shop. This is not the time for sorrow and grief but a time of joy and peace, or so it should be.
But someone forgot to check the calendar, and so this time of childhood wishes and sugarplum dreams is marred by an all-too real violence that has left in its wake broken innocence and tiny caskets. The world got mean on Friday, life got mean on Friday, and this most wonderful time of year has been, for some, forever changed. The Devil played his hand, and like the Grinch, has tried to steal Christmas from us by turning our green and red wreaths into black ones.
I cannot imagine what those families in Connecticut are going through right now, nor do I want to. I have cried for two days, refused to turn on my computer for fear of reading the horrible stories, ignored my Facebook and Twitter accounts so I would not have to read the sympathetic posts, and have tried to find some peace with what has happened. Finding peace has been important, for this is the story that broke me. Unfortunately, school shootings are much too commonplace in today's society, and I have wept and prayed through far too many of them: Columbine, the Amish school, Virginia Tech. Then there are events like the Aurora, Colorado movie theater and, of course, September 11th, which was violence to the nth degree, but it was this one in Newton that broke my heart. It could be due to the fact that the victims were mostly between the ages of 5 and 10, or it could be the time of year, or it could be a combination of both. My son will be 4 in March, so this terrible moment in time struck a chord with me, this great day of sorrow during what should be a joyous time.
And yet, I've come to believe that the Devil in playing his hand has erred greatly. He forgot to check the calendar. He has tried to steal Christmas from us all by striking us where it hurts the most--at the children. And he has most certainly left a great gaping wound that even those of us who are physically removed from Newton can feel. But he has erred. Evil has snuck in to this time of year when love should dominate, but evil cannot win.
Because Christmas is coming.
This is what I have reminded myself over and over the last few days. Christmas is coming. It cannot be stopped, possibly delayed, but not stopped. Christmas is coming, and it will bring with it as it always does the gift of hope and love absolute. No evil can stop it. It is God's gift to us, and it cannot be stopped no matter how many times the Devil strikes. A great evil took some precious children from this world and everyone, including God I'm sure, wept at the senselessness and cruelty of it, but Christmas is coming. And there will be one child born in a manger whom the Devil will not be able to strike down, no matter what he does.
They say that when life gets cruel, that is when you need Christmas the most. My prayer for the people of Newton is that they reach a point where they are able to find Christmas again. I know for many of them, this season will never be the same. How can it be? Yet I pray that the peace and hope of this season will find them very soon, if not this year, then perhaps next year. For the rest of us, the ones who are able to hold our children in our arms and kiss them and tell them we love them, let us do so. And let us remember that though our hearts are broken right now, though we weep with and for the families in Connecticut--let us remember the hope that is a little baby boy is coming, and in this can we find our greatest comfort.
The day of tragedy will not defeat the season of hope. God loves us, each and every one, and Christmas, His gift to us, is coming.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Halloween Treats
This year for Halloween, we decided to forego the trunk-or-treat at church and let Wesley go on an actual trick-or-treating spree with his cousin Ryan. Now I know that this holiday is really all about the kids, but I honestly had the best time Wednesday night watching my son experience his first doorbell-ringing adventure. I don't even remember having this much fun when I was the one bringing home a bag full of Smarties and SweetTarts.
What made it so great was my son's natural enthusiasm for (1) finally getting to wear that Buzz Lightyear costume that had been hanging for a month in the closet, (2) going to see Ryan, and (3) the idea of all that candy. Even though Spider-Man and the Transformers (very small action figures and coloring books only) have been creeping into Wesley's web of heroes, Buzz Lightyear still reigns supreme. The first night the costume arrived, I let him try it on and the only way it came off was through careful compromising that he could wear his wings whenever he wanted, but the costume itself had to hang in the closet until Halloween. This worked wonders and kept the enthusiasm alive for the big night when he was able to sport it proudly alongside Ryan, who would save the night from terrorists as Captain America.
Watching those two little boys race--and I do mean that literally--around the neighborhood is something that quite possibly could have won us the grand prize on America's Funniest Videos as the night went something like this:
"Buzz Lightyear to the rescue!" Ring doorbell. "Happy Halloween" (instead of the usual "trick-or-treat"). Bucket out, candy in. Zoom! "Buzz Lightyear to the rescue!" And so the cycle begins again.
Laughter is always good for the soul, and I certainly had plenty that night as I watched Captain America run from house to house with his shield held in front of him and Buzz Lightyear, wings and arms out, chase after him. Even better was the stop two doors down from our final destination, where Ryan rang the doorbell and then both heroes sat on the porch swing, worn out, to await their treats.
There is something to be said for goblins and ghouls on All Hallow's Eve, but there's even more to be said for the excitement such a night brings to children and parents alike. Even after they had dumped out their pumpkin buckets to examine their treasures, Buzz and Captain America battled it out on the living room rug with wrestling matches any hero would be proud of. Needless to say, the space ranger costume came off only with the promise of pajamas and sleep, something Wesley has learned to appreciate after a full day. Now Buzz runs through the house at his leisure, practicing flying, firing lasers at Zurg, and driving big trucks over the playroom rug.
Halloween is over, but the fun is still being had. Who knows if that costume will last through the holiday season?
And really, who cares?
What made it so great was my son's natural enthusiasm for (1) finally getting to wear that Buzz Lightyear costume that had been hanging for a month in the closet, (2) going to see Ryan, and (3) the idea of all that candy. Even though Spider-Man and the Transformers (very small action figures and coloring books only) have been creeping into Wesley's web of heroes, Buzz Lightyear still reigns supreme. The first night the costume arrived, I let him try it on and the only way it came off was through careful compromising that he could wear his wings whenever he wanted, but the costume itself had to hang in the closet until Halloween. This worked wonders and kept the enthusiasm alive for the big night when he was able to sport it proudly alongside Ryan, who would save the night from terrorists as Captain America.
Watching those two little boys race--and I do mean that literally--around the neighborhood is something that quite possibly could have won us the grand prize on America's Funniest Videos as the night went something like this:
"Buzz Lightyear to the rescue!" Ring doorbell. "Happy Halloween" (instead of the usual "trick-or-treat"). Bucket out, candy in. Zoom! "Buzz Lightyear to the rescue!" And so the cycle begins again.
Laughter is always good for the soul, and I certainly had plenty that night as I watched Captain America run from house to house with his shield held in front of him and Buzz Lightyear, wings and arms out, chase after him. Even better was the stop two doors down from our final destination, where Ryan rang the doorbell and then both heroes sat on the porch swing, worn out, to await their treats.
There is something to be said for goblins and ghouls on All Hallow's Eve, but there's even more to be said for the excitement such a night brings to children and parents alike. Even after they had dumped out their pumpkin buckets to examine their treasures, Buzz and Captain America battled it out on the living room rug with wrestling matches any hero would be proud of. Needless to say, the space ranger costume came off only with the promise of pajamas and sleep, something Wesley has learned to appreciate after a full day. Now Buzz runs through the house at his leisure, practicing flying, firing lasers at Zurg, and driving big trucks over the playroom rug.
Halloween is over, but the fun is still being had. Who knows if that costume will last through the holiday season?
And really, who cares?
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Sweet Milestone
This weekend Wesley spent his first night away from home sans Mommy and Daddy. Charlie and I have been waiting for the right time to encourage this particular milestone moment, and I think we timed it just right. At three-and-a-half years of age, Wesley is constantly trying to assert his big boy independence. This weekend just happened to be the weekend that his cousin Ryan (age 5) was staying at Nanny and Pap's house, so it seemed as good a time as any to try a night away from home.
Boy, was it ever!
Wesley and Ryan played beautifully together Saturday morning at Adventure Island and Saturday afternoon at Nanny's. Baseball, golf, and the sandbox were all part of a bonding experience between two little boys who just happen to be the same size. Bathtime with army men, old matchbox cars, and little plastic airplanes (and lots of sand from Ryan's hair) created lots of giggles and imaginative play. When it was time for this mommy to bid good-night and drive home, I guess I was expecting a few tears and I was preparing mentally to pack up everything I'd brought over, son included, and head home for bedtime.
I was barely given a hug good-bye. Humph.
There was so much excitement generated by this very big boy venture - and if there is one thing my son inherited from me, it's the ability to get happily excited over every little thing - that I drove home not at all worried. I did keep my phone on my bedside table just in case, but when the report came in that everyone under the age of six was happily slumbering, I knew that my baby boy had taken another step towards true big boy status.
Sunday he had a birthday party to go to at a pumpkin patch. The theme? Thomas the Train. He was gone for 4 1/2 hours (I was at writer's group, so he went with Daddy) and returned happily dirty with cake-and-ice-cream-face. After bathtime, during which there was many a train wreck over the side of the bathtub, he eagerly asked me if it was my turn to put him to bed. This was something of a surpirse as he had gone Friday and Saturday without his daddy, who had gone to West Virginia to attend the funeral of his friend Duane's dad, and more times than not I end up low man on the totem pole. However, it warmed my heart to see that he had missed me so, so I agreed that it was my turn and we happily climbed into bed for storytime.
My favorite part of the whole weekend? When my sweet big boy rolled over, placed his still little hand in mine, and fell asleep.
Big Boy status lingers on the horizon, which makes for a happy fella, yet remains far enough away that it makes this mama breathe a sigh of relief.
And I can eagerly anticipate the next milestone moment, which I'm pretty sure is just around the corner.
Boy, was it ever!
Wesley and Ryan played beautifully together Saturday morning at Adventure Island and Saturday afternoon at Nanny's. Baseball, golf, and the sandbox were all part of a bonding experience between two little boys who just happen to be the same size. Bathtime with army men, old matchbox cars, and little plastic airplanes (and lots of sand from Ryan's hair) created lots of giggles and imaginative play. When it was time for this mommy to bid good-night and drive home, I guess I was expecting a few tears and I was preparing mentally to pack up everything I'd brought over, son included, and head home for bedtime.
I was barely given a hug good-bye. Humph.
There was so much excitement generated by this very big boy venture - and if there is one thing my son inherited from me, it's the ability to get happily excited over every little thing - that I drove home not at all worried. I did keep my phone on my bedside table just in case, but when the report came in that everyone under the age of six was happily slumbering, I knew that my baby boy had taken another step towards true big boy status.
Sunday he had a birthday party to go to at a pumpkin patch. The theme? Thomas the Train. He was gone for 4 1/2 hours (I was at writer's group, so he went with Daddy) and returned happily dirty with cake-and-ice-cream-face. After bathtime, during which there was many a train wreck over the side of the bathtub, he eagerly asked me if it was my turn to put him to bed. This was something of a surpirse as he had gone Friday and Saturday without his daddy, who had gone to West Virginia to attend the funeral of his friend Duane's dad, and more times than not I end up low man on the totem pole. However, it warmed my heart to see that he had missed me so, so I agreed that it was my turn and we happily climbed into bed for storytime.
My favorite part of the whole weekend? When my sweet big boy rolled over, placed his still little hand in mine, and fell asleep.
Big Boy status lingers on the horizon, which makes for a happy fella, yet remains far enough away that it makes this mama breathe a sigh of relief.
And I can eagerly anticipate the next milestone moment, which I'm pretty sure is just around the corner.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Growing "To Infinity and Beyond"
One of the great things about childhood is the ability to play without care and imagine worlds of your own. Wesley is three and has inherited some of his mama's creative genius, which in this day of i-pads, video games, and everything technological makes me one happy mama.
Trucks rule supreme in this house; Wesley has every type of truck that has been invented, everything from fire trucks (pumper and platform!) to garbage trucks to construction trucks: dump trucks, excavators, front end loaders, bulldozers, and a cement mixer. There are big trucks and little trucks, trucks for the bathtub, trucks for the sandbox; there are even remote control trucks, not to mention his ridable John Deere, which is, of course, a tractor, but we also have a few of those in our house as well. The beauty of these trucks is watching what Wesley can do with them. He loves to get down into the floor and pretend it's trash day or there's a kitty stuck on a roof that has to be rescued. His construction trucks are always building something, even if that something is in his mind, although he also doesn't mind using blocks to erect a castle or a "big" building.
Recently he has discovered the world of Buzz Lightyear and Woody, a world he loves to live in. He enjoys the DVDs and hearing stories of Buzz's adventures with Not Nice Bear (Lotso from TS3), but he also enjoys acting out his own Buzz Lightyear adventures. These tales may mimic the DVDs, but more often than not Wesley has Buzz rescuing Woody, who is stuck down a "hole" (Daddy's laptop bag), battling Zurg, who often ends up as a companion to Woody, or flying to help rescue the kitty who just can't seem to stay off the roof. Sometimes Buzz and the trucks work together or Buzz has to save a truck from going off the cliff. Sometimes, too, Buzz does save the train with the fervent cry "I glad to catch the train!" (Okay, so it's paraphrased - he's three, after all.) And not only is there Big Buzz (action figure), there's also Fluffy Buzz (a loofah with a Buzz head) and Straw Buzz (the top to a cup), who battle Batman for bathtub supremacy. (Buzz is always the winner.) Finally, there's Little Buzz, who makes the occasional trip to school and usually ends up swimming in the pool when he's not trying to reach "Tar Command."
My brother made a recent observation during a trip to his house. Wesley found the fire trucks and Slinky Pup, and it was pretty much all over after that. "It's funny watching what toys kids gravitate towards," Johnny said. "With Wesley, it's trucks and now Toy Story. With Ryan (his son), it's balls." He's right. It doesn't matter where we are; if there's a ball of any kind, Ryan is excited and apt to exhaust himself hitting, dribbling, or putting. On the other hand, if there's a truck of any kind around, Wesley will spend an entire afternoon in make-believe bliss.
There's a lot to be said for playtime. Heroes are born out of the imagination of children, and my son has quite a few hereoes. There's nothing more exciting than watching a ditch digger work beside the road - "Mommy, that ditch digger is noisy!" - or driving past an excavator digging a hole - "Mommy, that excavator is working hard!" He views the "big machines" as living creatures - "Mommy, that bulldozer's not working. Is he sleepy?" - and gives the same qualities to his own trucks - "Mommy, that dump truck was not being nice to Buzz. Put him in time out!" And, of course, Buzz has now moved right up to the top of the list, yet there's a certain care Wesley takes with Woody even when he leaves him behind - "Mommy, is Zurg gonna look after Woody?" Through his play, he is learning the art of story-telling. He is learning about compassion and justice, and he is learning to see all the possibilities ... to inifinity and beyond.
Trucks rule supreme in this house; Wesley has every type of truck that has been invented, everything from fire trucks (pumper and platform!) to garbage trucks to construction trucks: dump trucks, excavators, front end loaders, bulldozers, and a cement mixer. There are big trucks and little trucks, trucks for the bathtub, trucks for the sandbox; there are even remote control trucks, not to mention his ridable John Deere, which is, of course, a tractor, but we also have a few of those in our house as well. The beauty of these trucks is watching what Wesley can do with them. He loves to get down into the floor and pretend it's trash day or there's a kitty stuck on a roof that has to be rescued. His construction trucks are always building something, even if that something is in his mind, although he also doesn't mind using blocks to erect a castle or a "big" building.
Recently he has discovered the world of Buzz Lightyear and Woody, a world he loves to live in. He enjoys the DVDs and hearing stories of Buzz's adventures with Not Nice Bear (Lotso from TS3), but he also enjoys acting out his own Buzz Lightyear adventures. These tales may mimic the DVDs, but more often than not Wesley has Buzz rescuing Woody, who is stuck down a "hole" (Daddy's laptop bag), battling Zurg, who often ends up as a companion to Woody, or flying to help rescue the kitty who just can't seem to stay off the roof. Sometimes Buzz and the trucks work together or Buzz has to save a truck from going off the cliff. Sometimes, too, Buzz does save the train with the fervent cry "I glad to catch the train!" (Okay, so it's paraphrased - he's three, after all.) And not only is there Big Buzz (action figure), there's also Fluffy Buzz (a loofah with a Buzz head) and Straw Buzz (the top to a cup), who battle Batman for bathtub supremacy. (Buzz is always the winner.) Finally, there's Little Buzz, who makes the occasional trip to school and usually ends up swimming in the pool when he's not trying to reach "Tar Command."
My brother made a recent observation during a trip to his house. Wesley found the fire trucks and Slinky Pup, and it was pretty much all over after that. "It's funny watching what toys kids gravitate towards," Johnny said. "With Wesley, it's trucks and now Toy Story. With Ryan (his son), it's balls." He's right. It doesn't matter where we are; if there's a ball of any kind, Ryan is excited and apt to exhaust himself hitting, dribbling, or putting. On the other hand, if there's a truck of any kind around, Wesley will spend an entire afternoon in make-believe bliss.
There's a lot to be said for playtime. Heroes are born out of the imagination of children, and my son has quite a few hereoes. There's nothing more exciting than watching a ditch digger work beside the road - "Mommy, that ditch digger is noisy!" - or driving past an excavator digging a hole - "Mommy, that excavator is working hard!" He views the "big machines" as living creatures - "Mommy, that bulldozer's not working. Is he sleepy?" - and gives the same qualities to his own trucks - "Mommy, that dump truck was not being nice to Buzz. Put him in time out!" And, of course, Buzz has now moved right up to the top of the list, yet there's a certain care Wesley takes with Woody even when he leaves him behind - "Mommy, is Zurg gonna look after Woody?" Through his play, he is learning the art of story-telling. He is learning about compassion and justice, and he is learning to see all the possibilities ... to inifinity and beyond.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
The Cureless Bug
At this very moment, I am being plagued by a most unkind bug. This bug I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, yet I know there are moms out there who struggle against this very same creature daily, maybe even hourly, and sad to say, there is no magical cure that can be bought from the pharmacy to "cure all your mommy blues symptoms."
Guilt. Not a friend of those with rigid morals, sensitive consciences, or children. Why do I, as a mom, feel guilty? I am doting, attentive, and aware of my son's needs 24 hours a day. I can read his moods as if they were tattooed on his forehead. I know what foods he likes, what his favorite nursery rhymes are, and that anything done outdoors will make him happy. His naptime and bedtime are strict and his daily routine structured; he is one of the happiest, most well-adjusted children out there. He gets unconditional love from his parents, discipline when its needed, and positive reinforcement almost continuously. He is healthy and extremely affectionate. I couldn't ask for more.
So why do I feel guilty? I have no need to; I'm a working mom, a fact that was very much solidified during the year I stayed home with him. I enjoy working, I need to work to stay balanced, and really, I don't care what anyone has to say about that. I know myself, and I know that in order for me to be the best mom I can be, I need to have balance in my life as well. So where is the guilt coming from?
Summer. Summer is here, and my vacation has started. I have projects lined up, my to-do list made out, and time is much more my friend now than at any other time of the year. I have a manuscript to complete by August, crafts that need assembling, a junk room that needs organizing, and pictures to compile, organize, and put away in books and frames. Not to mention, I have my summer reading list to catch up on, submissions to critique so I can stay in the good graces of my writers' group, and a husband to hang with in a couples' fashion. All of this can be achieved this summer because Wesley will be attending daycare.
And therein lies the source of the guilt.
What kind of mom sends her child to school over the summer? What kind of mom puts her needs before those of her child? What kind of mom would look forward to a few blessed hours of independence (freedom really feels like much too harsh a word) in which she can focus on herself?
Mommy guilt says a selfish one.
I know that's unfair. I know it all the way to my core, and yet I can't help feeling that my sanity is hanging by a thread. All the justifications have been examined, repeatedly so: Wesley needs the social interaction at school that his daddy and I can't give him here. He needs the consistency of routine. He doesn't need to get out of the habit of going to school because, for him, the readjustment period would be too unsettling. And it's not as though Charlie and I ignore him. Sometimes he gets dropped off later at school, sometimes he gets picked up early. We always have a plan for the afternoon - Adventure Island, the Y, the library, our own backyard. Once he's with us, he's got our undivided attention until bedtime. How is that selfish?
Maybe because of the fact that parents do need time to themselves. My husband has pointed out numerous times that summer break for me isn't really a break. I use the time to perfect my writing, something that I really am hoping to one day make a solid career of. And then there's something Samantha, one of the incredibly intelligent and talent gals in my writers' group, said one time as we sat around eating lunch. I made a comment about being tired (fatigue is pretty much my sidecar companion nowadays), and she said, "Well, anyone working three full-time jobs would be." It took me a moment to comprehend because I'd never thought about it that way before. Teaching, writing, and mommying are all full-time jobs. Each one requires 100% of my attention, 100% of my devotion, and 100% of my energy if I'm going to do any of them well. Not to mention all the other aspects that make life worth while - time with family and friends, travel, the occasional nap - and suddenly, time, no matter how much is offered, is no longer a friend.
I have to say that when they tell you becoming a parent changes your perspective on EVERYTHING, they weren't lying. I finally understand my sister so much better, why she moves with non-stop energy taking her children to every destination within a 50 mile radius every day. She is exposing her children to everything she can, yes, but she also is doing it for herself. Sitting at home with one child is enough to make an adult ansy at best, but with three? Sheesh. Parents need that socialization as much as the kids, and there's nothing wrong with that.
And I also understand my brother much better, why he and his wife send their son to daycare during the summer. Yes, they have paid for it, but it goes much deeper than the money. It's all about routine, socialization, and giviing Ryan what he needs that is beyond their ability to give him. It's about finding time and space to be themselves, independently as well as a couple, and there's nothing wrong with that, either.
Being a parent is hard enough. Your life really is no longer your own, yet I've come to see that doesn't mean you have to lose yourself. It's a constant struggle to balance all sides of my personality, to make sure I'm nurturing myself as much as I'm nuturing my son.
And I have to remind myself we all do the best we can with what we've got, and in that regard, moms never have anything to feel guilty about.
Guilt. Not a friend of those with rigid morals, sensitive consciences, or children. Why do I, as a mom, feel guilty? I am doting, attentive, and aware of my son's needs 24 hours a day. I can read his moods as if they were tattooed on his forehead. I know what foods he likes, what his favorite nursery rhymes are, and that anything done outdoors will make him happy. His naptime and bedtime are strict and his daily routine structured; he is one of the happiest, most well-adjusted children out there. He gets unconditional love from his parents, discipline when its needed, and positive reinforcement almost continuously. He is healthy and extremely affectionate. I couldn't ask for more.
So why do I feel guilty? I have no need to; I'm a working mom, a fact that was very much solidified during the year I stayed home with him. I enjoy working, I need to work to stay balanced, and really, I don't care what anyone has to say about that. I know myself, and I know that in order for me to be the best mom I can be, I need to have balance in my life as well. So where is the guilt coming from?
Summer. Summer is here, and my vacation has started. I have projects lined up, my to-do list made out, and time is much more my friend now than at any other time of the year. I have a manuscript to complete by August, crafts that need assembling, a junk room that needs organizing, and pictures to compile, organize, and put away in books and frames. Not to mention, I have my summer reading list to catch up on, submissions to critique so I can stay in the good graces of my writers' group, and a husband to hang with in a couples' fashion. All of this can be achieved this summer because Wesley will be attending daycare.
And therein lies the source of the guilt.
What kind of mom sends her child to school over the summer? What kind of mom puts her needs before those of her child? What kind of mom would look forward to a few blessed hours of independence (freedom really feels like much too harsh a word) in which she can focus on herself?
Mommy guilt says a selfish one.
I know that's unfair. I know it all the way to my core, and yet I can't help feeling that my sanity is hanging by a thread. All the justifications have been examined, repeatedly so: Wesley needs the social interaction at school that his daddy and I can't give him here. He needs the consistency of routine. He doesn't need to get out of the habit of going to school because, for him, the readjustment period would be too unsettling. And it's not as though Charlie and I ignore him. Sometimes he gets dropped off later at school, sometimes he gets picked up early. We always have a plan for the afternoon - Adventure Island, the Y, the library, our own backyard. Once he's with us, he's got our undivided attention until bedtime. How is that selfish?
Maybe because of the fact that parents do need time to themselves. My husband has pointed out numerous times that summer break for me isn't really a break. I use the time to perfect my writing, something that I really am hoping to one day make a solid career of. And then there's something Samantha, one of the incredibly intelligent and talent gals in my writers' group, said one time as we sat around eating lunch. I made a comment about being tired (fatigue is pretty much my sidecar companion nowadays), and she said, "Well, anyone working three full-time jobs would be." It took me a moment to comprehend because I'd never thought about it that way before. Teaching, writing, and mommying are all full-time jobs. Each one requires 100% of my attention, 100% of my devotion, and 100% of my energy if I'm going to do any of them well. Not to mention all the other aspects that make life worth while - time with family and friends, travel, the occasional nap - and suddenly, time, no matter how much is offered, is no longer a friend.
I have to say that when they tell you becoming a parent changes your perspective on EVERYTHING, they weren't lying. I finally understand my sister so much better, why she moves with non-stop energy taking her children to every destination within a 50 mile radius every day. She is exposing her children to everything she can, yes, but she also is doing it for herself. Sitting at home with one child is enough to make an adult ansy at best, but with three? Sheesh. Parents need that socialization as much as the kids, and there's nothing wrong with that.
And I also understand my brother much better, why he and his wife send their son to daycare during the summer. Yes, they have paid for it, but it goes much deeper than the money. It's all about routine, socialization, and giviing Ryan what he needs that is beyond their ability to give him. It's about finding time and space to be themselves, independently as well as a couple, and there's nothing wrong with that, either.
Being a parent is hard enough. Your life really is no longer your own, yet I've come to see that doesn't mean you have to lose yourself. It's a constant struggle to balance all sides of my personality, to make sure I'm nurturing myself as much as I'm nuturing my son.
And I have to remind myself we all do the best we can with what we've got, and in that regard, moms never have anything to feel guilty about.
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