This post first appeared at Coffee and Crumbs on October 17, 2018 

Hollowed Out

“Moooommmmy! I want to listen to my music!” my six-year old daughter whines from the backseat of the car. I keep my hands on the steering wheel, debating whether or not to change the station to appease her, when I hear the debilitating phrase that’s taken residence in my mind:

You don’t matter.

I sigh and give in to my daughter’s demands, pressing the buttons on the radio to select her music. She stops whining and the car is filled with the overpowering voice of Moana declaring how far she’ll go.

It’s as if there is an invisible monster within me, reminding me of the truth I believe. He ruthlessly claws his way to the surface of my thoughts and berates me. It doesn’t matter what you want. I feel the monster settling into his comfortable spot in the forefront of my mind, stretching out in complete control as I grip the steering wheel.  

***

A few years ago I resigned from teaching to stay home with my children. I didn’t have a clear plan of what staying home meant, just that I wanted to focus my time and energy on growing and nurturing my kids. I imagined vignettes with my children playing happily with their dolls or Legos, visiting local museums and cultural exhibits, learning and exploring and creating within and around the walls of our perfectly arranged home.

However, in visualizing what life would look like as a stay at home mom, I had forgotten to picture myself.

You don’t matter, a new gravelly voice whispered after I resigned from my position and decided to put my energy into being the perfect mom. Your job now is to sacrifice.   

You’re right, I pragmatically agreed. Fueled by Pinterest images and the latest Instagram posts, I vowed to make my house and home mirror what was shared on social media, to put myself last as I catered to the needs and wants of my husband and children.

I didn’t consciously invite the monster into my mind, yet he burrowed his way in like a parasite, feeding and growing on my insecurities: I wasn’t putting enough effort into taking care of my children, or preparing them for school, or serving them the right foods, or giving them enough stimulation. He told me I was being selfish when I sat down to read or write or listen to music that I preferred, or didn’t drop everything to cater to every interruption.

You don’t matter, he yelled at me, moving from my mind to shove aside a rib and sink his claws painfully into my chest. His voice grew louder and larger and uglier as he chiseled out more room for himself. Over time, the monster’s mantra became my constant companion.

On the outside, I smiled and continued to pour into the lives around me. But the small, twisted creature I had allowed in sank his disfigured heels into my heart and reared up to proclaim compelling reasons for his deprecating words: I had chosen to forfeit my career and stay home. It was my choice to keep the house clean, traipse the children to the museum on a whim, drive them to the beach for the day, arrange playdates at the park. I was living a vacation, or as much as I could, while corralling three children. I didn’t matter.

Unwittingly, too weary to speak up for myself and overwhelmed by taking care of the wants and needs of everyone else, I gave the monster a home in my head and a place inside my soul.

Years into this life I am angry, run down, and oh so tired. I don’t like how I feel and have lost my usual joy and energy. I can feel the monster salivating, ready to pounce and claim any small piece of me that is left. If I submit and allow him to completely scrape and hollow out even more room for himself, to let his harsh words chip at what’s left of the brittle walls, I will shatter.

***

Listening to Moana describe her inner turmoil, I have a moment of clarity. Is this where I want to be? Do I want to be a martyr for my family, empty and depleted, berated by a ruthless internal monster for the choices I make, constantly erasing myself from the picture? Is this the example I want to set for my children and their future? The answer is clear and I know I need to change that inner voice if I want to take a different path.

My children sing along in the background, oblivious to my struggles. I think of them and the life I pictured as I gather the courage I need.   

“I matter.” I say audibly, trying it out. I matter. I dare to speak life back into the dark recesses within me. The monster howls in response, offended that I take such a stance against his words. Yet, with trepidation and the sweet taste of a renewed sense of self, I persist. Tentatively, I reach into the murk and fog of my mind, numb to the claws of the monster fighting to keep his authority. I sift through the pieces of myself that have been torn down and ripped apart and examine the edges to see what once fit together.

I narrow my thoughts and remind myself that I once presided over classrooms and tried new ideas and had fun. With every memory, every realization that I do matter, I scream back at that monster from within, prying its claws out and filling the space that it has inhabited. I push it up and out as I deprive it of its crippling hold on me.

The song ends and I hear a different child whine from the backseat. “Moooommy! We need to change it to my music!” It is the four-year-old who has learned from her older sister.

“No, not right now, sweetheart.” I call back. “It’s Mommy’s turn.” I smile, a genuine smile, as I continue to drive, one hand lightly on the steering wheel, the other turning the knob to my station on the radio.

***

I would like to say the story ends there, but that would be another lie. The simple choice I made that day was the first of many to reclaim the space the monster had hollowed out. Even with time, he hasn’t disappeared completely. I can hear him shrivel and crack, shrink and run out of room whenever I put myself first. His voice still lives in the back of my mind, trying to remind me of the lie I once believed.

I am working hard to prioritize and make room for me, to read and write and choose to purposefully enjoy life. I am finding and connecting with other moms who have similar feelings. Most importantly, I am refusing to feel guilty for putting myself into the picture.

Sometimes the monster will lift a claw and try to find a vulnerable spot, but his voice is getting dimmer and smaller, and I’m able to ignore it most of the time. As I find that I don’t have to sacrifice myself to be a stay at home mom, that my children will be better nurtured if they don’t have a shell of a mother, I tell myself the truth:

I am a mother and I matter.

---

Guest post written by Beth Robinson. Beth resides in Northern California with her husband and three children. She was a teacher before becoming a stay-at-home mom. Her children will tell you her favorite things are Reese’s peanut butter cups and her family, most likely in that order. She can often be found reading, writing, gardening, or traveling. She has written for BabyCenter, Parent.co, Tribe Magazine, and spontaneously blogs at My Pregnancy and Beyond.  

Photo by Lottie Caiella.

Addicted to Reading

Isn't it funny how you see your kids do something, but it's something you would do too (or have done), so sometimes you give them a free pass to get away with it? One of those "do as I say, not as I do" moments.

Maybe I should explain,

I am an avid reader. I always have been and I don't see that changing anytime soon. If there is something with print in front of me, I will read it. My favorites are dramatic novels, such as murder mysteries or love stories or something with a plot that just grabs and holds my attention so that I don't want to put it down. I feel like I might read a bit more than the average bibliophile, but I'm also somewhat speedy, so I can go a little quicker than most.

Anyway, my oldest daughter has recently taken off with her reading. When I say taken off, I mean she is soaring. Second grade has given her literary power. She is devouring piles upon piles of juvenile fiction (she's 8, so I'm making sure it is still age appropriate), but she is flying through book after book after book.

I initially had plans of reading novels together with her. Not necessarily read-alouds (we do those too), but more like our own little book club of two, each reading the book on our own time and then discussing the characters and plot and setting and how it relates to us or things in the world.

Well, she went through a couple American Girl books and passed them on to me. I read the first one and haven't had time to get to the next. Then she read another. And another. And moved on to a different series. Now my pile of books to read to catch up to her is growing probably much faster than I can keep up with.

We go to the library about once a week. She loves books in a series (me too! who doesn't enjoy falling in love with characters and reading about their adventures over and over again?) and we are constantly putting in requests for the next book in the series she is reading.

I couldn't be more proud or excited to share my love of reading with my daughter.

However, all of the reading comes at a cost. Basically at the cost of everything: food, chores, sleep, etc. I'm constantly telling her to put the book down and tend to her responsibilities. We have a "No toys at the dinner table" policy and I've had to apply that to books now. She will bring a book to read while she plays outside. She will try to multitask cleaning her room, holding a book in one hand and absent-mindedly grabbing things with the other (not very effective, just so you know).

I love how engrossed she gets in a story. I mean, I can completely relate. Those characters get stuck in my head and I find myself thinking about them long after I've put the book down. But at some point I have to take the book away and remind her to focus on the current task at hand. The book isn't going anywhere.

The latest battle has been bedtime. Isn't bedtime always a battle? She will curl up with a book and set to reading. I'll remind her when to turn lights out. I'll set her timer and double check that she knows when it goes off, it really means lights out. Then I come back to her room a little bit later, after the timer has gone off, and she'll beg me to be able to finish the last few pages of a chapter, or just read one more page to find out what happens to the character.

What can I say? I try to hold firm. I give all the reasons: bedtime is important. Her body needs its rest. She'll be tired for school tomorrow. Often I cave in and let her read just a tiny bit more, and then a tiny bit more. Or I'll ignore her light on because I know exactly what she's doing. Eventually I have to hold firm and make her put the book down, though.

Honestly, I can't resist the literary plea to find out what happens myself. Far too often I stay up much later than I should just to finish what I'm reading. I might be exceptionally tired the next day, but it is so worth it. I know she feels that way too, so sometimes I look the other way when she is reading, feeling the pride that comes with watching my child enjoy something I do too.



 

A Tale of Two Cars

A Tale of Two Cars

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the period of constantly fighting and constantly making up, it was the age of wanting it all and not getting it all, it was the era of mine, mine, mine and give me that, it was the season of quiet and the season of loud, it was the summer of fun and the winter of tedious, they had everything before them and nothing before them, they were all going straight to bed, they were all going to stay up forever - in short the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted upon its being received with the utmost exasperation of superlatives.

-Above quote heavily mangled from A Tale of Two Cities

Seriously, we have so many ups and downs throughout the day that my head is constantly spinning. The three children are seven, four, and two, and sometimes they deliberately antagonize each other for what appears to be no reason other than to antagonize each other. Every day is a surprise, as I never know how they are going to interact with each other. Will they play together nicely and share their toys and use polite words? Or will they throw things at each other and knock over each other’s towers and fight over that one toy that really isn’t all that special anyway?

This particular time was a lot like any other. I was working in the kitchen while the two younger children were playing peacefully by the hearth (not really, but it sounds like a nice way to set up a scene. Honestly they were just playing on the hardwood floor of the living room, no hearth nearby), vrooming their cars and building their towers. One would vroom and one would build and all was well. Until it wasn’t.

“It’s mine! Give me that!” said a loud, childish voice, most likely belonging to a two-year old.

“No, that’s mine! I was playing with it!” said an even louder, childish voice, most likely belonging to a four-year old.

I hesitantly peeked around the corner of the hearth (read: I poked my head out of the kitchen and into the living room) to see the commotion revealed before me.

There, with both hands clutching a matchbox toy car, a little blond-haired boy was fighting off a little blue-eyed girl, also using both of her hands to attempt to pry his hands off the car. He had a mischievous, determined smirk, and she had an annoyed, angry expression.

Photo courtesy of Canva

“What’s going on?” I asked. I wasn’t too sure I wanted to know, but I knew from experience that if I sat back and ignored it, physical violence would escalate.

“He took my car! I was playing with it!” I look at the pile of cars in front of the four-year-old, thinking she probably doesn’t need that one car.

“Are you sure he can’t play with that one? It looks like you have other cars to play with,” I offer.

“NO!” I get in response. How dare I even suggest such a thing? I mean, the gall.

“Ok, can we come to an agreement on the car, then?” I’ve been trying out different parenting strategies. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t. This time we’re testing out compromises and agreements.  “What do you think about taking turns?”

“I want a turn first!” “No, I do!” Oy vey. I take away said car and tell them that they can’t have it back until they figure out a solution to their problem.

I hear some frantic whispering, some possible extortion, who knows?

“Mommy, we figured it out. I’ll hold onto it for now and he’ll play over there with these cars.”

“Okay, great! Here’s your car.” Woo hoo for positive parenting or whatever it is when parenting works out. I think that’s positive.

Yet, not two minutes later, the scuffling begins again. I had patted myself on the back too soon.

Envision a repeat of earlier conversation with children, then the taking away of said car again. Lots of begging and pleading and me wanting to uninvent cars all together. Wouldn’t we all just like a nice horse and buggy?

Anyway.

I text my husband at work. Hey, remember that extra car we bought for the cousin? Is that still upstairs? Do you think it would be terrible if I opened it and gave it to the kids?

Your call, Babe, he says. He’s so helpful, I know.

Some time passes. Repeat fighting over car again and again. These kids are stubborn, I tell ya. I think about the car upstairs. Maybe it will solve all of my problems and we can go back to the peaceful hearth scene again.

I text my husband, I’m going to do it.

OK, he replies. He's very supportive.

I run upstairs and take the other, identical car out of the packaging. I make my grand entrance downstairs, sweeping in regally, excited that I may have finally solved today’s dilemma.

“Children, look what I have! Now you can each have your own car! And they are exactly the same, so you don’t have to fight over it.”

“I want the new one!”

“No, I want the new one!”

Needless to say, my plan did not go according to plan. They continued to fight over the new car, even though the cars were exactly the same. I even did the whole mix things up behind my back so they can’t tell the difference and each pick a hand game. It didn’t work. The new (or old, I couldn’t tell) car had invisible marks on it only visible to eyes less than five years old. It must have been pretty special.

So what is the moral of the story I am telling? I have no idea. Maybe it’s that the kids are going to find something to fight about no matter what and next time I shouldn’t open the present we were going to give to the cousin. (Although if you must know, we did find another car-the same one- to give to him, so he is none the wiser.) Perhaps it’s that I should have been more creative in my squabble-squashing strategy. Or that I should have played on the floor with them and modeled how to share (It’s this one, I know it is). Tell me, dear reader, what would you have done?    

Life Lessons from Disneyland

Disneyland is part of the heartbeat of our family. Before you even walk into our house, you can find hidden Mickeys and a Disney welcome mat outside. Enter our house and Disneyland decor is tastefully displayed on the walls and bookshelves. If you look carefully enough, you might even find the doorknob from Alice in Wonderland peeking out at you from one of our doors.  

My husband has fond memories of vacations there as a child and is intent on imparting similar memories to his children. We recently returned from a four-day trip and I’ve realized that while trips to Disneyland are fun and exciting, they also teach my children important life lessons in a safe and   forgiving environment. Here are the top 5 that come to mind: 

1.Patience.

This is pretty obvious. Mention Disneyland and after imagining characters and a giant castle, the next thing that jumps into someone’s mind are the crowds. Squeezing a double stroller through hundreds of people will give you an anxiety attack. Bonus points if you manage not to ram the back of someone’s leg. Anyway, because of so many people flocking to the Happiest Place on Earth, we spend a lot of time waiting:

Waiting for our turn to meet a character. Waiting in a 45-minute-long line to ride a 2-minute ride.  Waiting for a show to start. Waiting for the parade to come by. Yes, it can be exhausting and trying, but the children learn that eventually they will get to where they want to go. If they have patience, the waiting is even easier to manage. They learn how to be creative with what they can do while waiting. They play clapping games with each other, word games, do some mental math problems, observe and comment on their surroundings, and excitedly discuss the trip thus far. Patience is one of the most important lessons learned in Disneyland, and this can translate well to other aspects of life. Patience is one of the most important lessons learned in Disney, and this can translate well to other aspects of life.     

2. Restaurant Manners

Disneyland caters various types of meals for its visitors. There are quick-service meals, which are just walk-up to a counter and order, or there are sit-down restaurants. These restaurants are obviously accustomed to serving children (hello, we’re at Disneyland), but at the same time they   are the type of establishments that can be found anywhere. Patrons are given menus, servers come by to fill drinks and take orders, and everyone is expected to sit at the table to eat.

The children learn how to use inside voices, read menus, communicate effectively to the servers, and sit and eat politely at the table with proper utensil use and napkin placement. Disneyland is a safe space to learn these skills because we aren’t given rude glares if one of the children spills a drink or excitedly gets a little too loud because the children at the next table are most likely screaming and running around anyway. I hope the servers get large tips.  

3. Theater Etiquette

We love seeing theater shows. The characters and costumes and music enthralls my children (ok, me especially), and the acting and singing is of a high caliber. The children learn proper theater   etiquette when we are there as they are expected to sit and watch the show, react with clapping   and laughter at appropriate times, and remain seated for the duration of the show. We can also point out the kids who are misbehaving and tell our own what angels they are, really reinforcing that positive behavior. Competition to be the best is strong in the children 

4. Money Management

Our children have a weekly allowance, plus they earn money in other creative ways. They are allowed to bring their money on our trip and budget it according to what they want. On this last trip, my younger daughter managed her money nicely and opted to buy two different toy sets. My older daughter spent much of her time analyzing the items for sale and comparing prices. Much of what she wanted was out of her price range. Instead of opting for a cheaper item that she didn’t truly want, she decided she would rather save her money than spend it. It also helps that she’s good at cajoling her little sister into sharing her purchases, so she didn’t feel too let down that she couldn’t afford what she wanted.

5. Gratitude

One of my biggest concerns as a parent is that my children will grow up to be entitled humans who feel they deserve things even though they haven’t earned them. Yes, my children do go to Disneyland quite often, but we try to instill in them a sense of gratitude for what they have and are able to do. They realize not everyone chooses to go to Disneyland like they do. They are very excited when they get the chance to go and grateful for the experiences they have when they are there. They remember the rides they go on and the characters they meet, which have a lasting impression on them. We also frequently discuss how the rides came to be, how much work and imagination went into doing the decorations and atmosphere, and how we can be thankful that somebody came up with these things for them to enjoy.

Disneyland is fun and exciting and we see many more trips in our future. It’s nice to know that my children are learning life lessons at the same time they enjoy the magic.

Relief Not Regret: Saying Goodbye to the Baby Things

Photo Credit:Pixabay.com

I've slowly been purging all the baby things as the Little Guy outgrows them. He's child number three and child number last. When he was able to sit on his own and didn't need the Bumbo anymore, I gave it away. When my friend was pregnant and going to need a baby swing, we passed it right on. The Little Guy was getting too big for it anyway (and I mean he was probably a year over the age limit on it, but it seriously put him to sleep in no time. My friend was going to need that magic).

As soon as he started protesting the high chair at the table and wanted to sit like one of his older sisters (albeit he was on his knees and balanced precariously with none too few falls), we passed it on to the newest cousin. The moment he outgrew any clothes or hats or shoes or clothing item, off it went to the donation station.

It felt good to get rid of things that we didn't need anymore. They had been through three kids and were well-used. After each child outgrew an item or a toy or a something, we would usually pack it away until the next child came along and could use it.

But not this time.

This time we are done, and done for good. No more holding onto baby things to save for the next little bundle. No more swings to store in the garage with the hopes of rocking another baby to sleep. No more bassinet that was only ever used as a changing table anyway. No more high chairs, no more bottles, no more tiny baby onesies (except the ones I'm saving to someday turn into a teddy bear. Have you seen those? They look so cute!).

We recently sold the baby crib, one of the last baby items we've had in the house. It had been one of our first major decisions as pre-parents: deciding what decor we wanted in our baby's room that would welcome our first infant with a safe and loving environment. We chose a cherry wood finish convertible crib. It would start as a crib, then convert to the toddler bed with a side rail, and finally to a full-size bed. We thought we were planning ahead, acquiring something that would grow with our child. Unfortunately, we didn't foresee that the size of the bed and the size of the room that we would put it in were not quite compatible. Thus, the crib was only ever transformed into a toddler bed and never made it to full-size. Instead, we listed it for sale and it was gone within the week.

I thought I might feel some regret over getting rid of that first parenting purchase we made, but I really don't. I am relieved to have it gone, to not feel it holding space for another child. It was a huge part of the past eight years, and I will have many memories of babies laying in there (although they hardly ever slept in it), or screaming at me while gripping the side rail, or jumping up and down in furious defiance of sleep while wailing "MAMA" at the top of their lungs at two o'clock in the morning. Yep, I am perfectly fine saying goodbye to that.

I look at infants now and only feel appreciation for the tiny human just entering the world. I don't experience the desire to have my own newborn that I had experienced in the past upon glimpsing a peacefully sleeping infant. I am happy to hold someone else's baby, but really, I don't want that experience for myself again. I am relieved that I don't have to try new tricks and ideas to calm a colicky baby, or worry that he or she is gaining enough weight, or experience another diaper blowout in the middle of the grocery store, or get woken up multiple times throughout the night to try to figure out why the baby is crying this time.

Will I miss the tiny baby snuggles and newborn sounds? Absolutely. But they are precious memories that I can look back on, and instead, right now, I can hug my growing children and hold intelligent conversations with them (although truth be told we talk a lot about poop).

I am enjoying the phase of life I am in, the phase where my children are growing and learning and questioning and exploring and giving me glimpses into what they will be like as adults. I look forward to the years to come with excitement and wonder, relieved the baby years, and things, are in the past.