Trials and Triumphs

Toddler Madness

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There are certain days my patience runs thin.  My son is approaching his second birthday.  He is in the beginning of the throws of what I am calling toddler madness.  This might prove to be the hardest period for us, as his communication skills are still sparse.  He says words, yes.  But his ability to actually convey specific wants is unhoned, especially the more frustrated he gets.  My failure to understand him just adds to his frustration and before I know it, he is in full on the floor tantrum mode.  There is no reason or logic to this.  It is absolute madness.  Hence, my categorical name for this period we are forging into full speed ahead.

Rationally, I know there is usually some reason for these outbursts.  He most likely isn’t even aware himself what it might be.  And the speculation is vast.  It could be that he is hungry.  Thirsty.  Perhaps his two year molars are giving him a hard time that day.  Maybe his shirt is uncomfortable.  Maybe….the list goes on.  Or, where the real madness comes in, the outburst has no cause.  It is not the reaction to anything at all, except the moment hits him and he decides to throw himself on the floor, kick and scream a little, and then, perhaps, get on with his day.  Come to think of it…I feel like doing that sometimes. Maybe it’s not so crazy, after all.  Hmm.

My pediatrician suggests no parental reaction.  She always says, “Don’t encourage any behavior you don’t like by reacting to it.”    I’m actually pretty good at being calm in the midst of his storms.  Most of the time.  It’s the days when the outbursts are mixed with incessant whining, that tax me the most.  It’s hard not to react to the whining, though I give it my best shot.  At home, I actually walk into another room.  I also redirect his attention when he is calm enough.  It becomes the hardest to deal with in the car.  Both of us trapped in a small space.  I can only turn the Hamilton soundtrack up so much.

Mothers who’ve been there…mommys on the same battlefield, I ask you.   What do YOU do?  And if you had a child who never threw tantrums or whined, keep it to yourself.  I don’t even want to know that children like that exist. There isn’t enough Skinny Pop or Two Buck Chuck to get me over that.  Thanks. I know every kid is different, but there must be some common thread for how to proactively deal with this “stage of development.” My saving grace at this point is that I am, in fact, an older mom and I have a degree of patience I never would have had 20 years ago.  I’m not saying younger Moms can’t have patience.  I just know I didn’t have it when I was younger.

The most ironic thing about this stage of “toddler madness,” is how fleeting the madness can be.  I can have a morning like today, where the crabby-ness,  whining and foot stomping outbursts seemed to have such succession it almost became rhythmic.  And then 20 minutes before his nap, my child decides to lovingly stop time.  He sits next to me on the couch, lays his head on my shoulder and lets me stroke his hair.  For a whole 20 minutes! He may have actually purred.  Just when I was ready to give up for the day, he indulges me in his sweet side.  Sneaky.  Unpredictable.  All part of the glorious wonderful madness that is only just beginning.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks so much for reading! Xo

A Mother’s Day

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I’ve never been one for holidays created by greeting card companies.  Valentine’s Day is the worst.  My husband and I have vowed to never make a big deal of such a day.  We believe all our days should be reflective of our love and commitment, and not for one set day because Hallmark dictates it.  I know Mother’s Day falls under the same sort of quasi-holiday category, but I have to admit, I feel a bit different about it.  To give it equal due, I feel different about Father’s Day, too.  So hear me out.

I am not looking for what the advertisers or the media suggest I want.  There is no bauble, gadget, or knick knack I am longing for.  I don’t want all sorts of money spent on me.   I don’t want a day at the spa or a day all to myself to be pampered.  I don’t want a weekend away, a maid service to clean the whole house, or some cheesy overpriced greeting card written by some stranger.   It’s so much simpler than that.  What I would like to celebrate and have acknowledged, is the fact that I try every single day not to ruin the amazing child that by some natural miracle ended up in my care.  I’d like a Mother’s Day.

What is that you ask? Well, hold onto your yoga pants.  It’s a day where I can sleep uninterrupted for 8+ hours (without having to go to bed at 8pm the night before).  I can take a long luxurious bath instead of a quick shower.  I would be able to have a bowel movement…all by myself….in peace…uninterupted.  Without Thomas the Tank Engine.  Or whilst reading The Little Engine That Could.  It’s a day that for a whole 24 hours I am NOT the person who touches or cleans up another person’s feces.  (To be fair to my husband, he takes on the dirty diapers like a champ when he’s around.)  And, most importantly, it’s a day that my husband showers me with words of encouragement and love from his heart.  Oh, and he makes me breakfast, lunch and dinner. Now these last two requests actually happen on a regular basis in our home, but they are such a nice part of our day that it only makes sense to include them.

Now I realize that as simple as this day seems in theory, the actual execution of these requests may prove more than difficult.  (Lucky for me, my husband is a rock star!) But, perhaps it might seem impossible for some mates.  Hence, the bauble or some fancy high priced item.  The mate thinks, “how can she be upset with me if I give her _______?” And she won’t be.  I mean who gets mad at jewelry or a Coach bag?  The retailers are surely happy.  Hubby is happy because he dodged a mega parenting bullet.  But most likely, it isn’t what she truly wants on this day.  If she is anything like me, it most certainly is not.

So Hallmark, Zales, Pandora and all you other retailers and tall tale fabricators….you aren’t on my radar.  I could care less about what you have to offer.  I don’t know that any woman who stays home everyday with her toddler really wants what you are peddling. As I looked around the library today at story time, I saw the faces of other mothers that seemed to need what I am in need of.   We all most likely just want to remember who we actually are.  To have a moment to acknowledge our own worth unattached to the non stop job of caregiving.  To have a few moments to think of/and for ourselves, all the while knowing that our most precious possession is being cared for by our most precious partner.   It’s that simple.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight.  And remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Hope you get to have a rockin Mother’s Day.  Xo thanks for reading!

If The Shoe Fits

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I was getting X-rays done at the dentist yesterday.  Carol, the dental assistant who cleans my teeth and takes said X-rays, was making chit chat.  Of course, when you have a toddler who is in the waiting room with Daddy, the small talk tends to be about your child.  In this case, O’s presence in the office seemed to bring up some nostalgia for Carol.  She started to tell me, as most people do, how fast it all goes.  How he will be 21 before I know it.  And then she said, “What I wouldn’t give to hold my son as that little infant again.”  She cradled her arms and for a second I could see her newborn baby right there in her mind’s eye.  She said it was her favorite time of being a mother.  I assured her I was enjoying each moment with O….and just smiled.  But, I’ll be honest with you, my heart was aching a bit.

I wanted to be able tell her that I could relate.  I wanted to say, ” I know the feeling.”  But I didn’t know the feeling.  When O was a newborn, I couldn’t stop crying.  I would hold him in my arms and cry.  A lot of that time is truly a blur to me.   I had an impulse to share with her my bout with post partum blues, but I didn’t want to rain on her memory and make it about me.  I just smiled.  But inside I knew I missed something apparently very special with my son in the first several weeks of his life.  Something I’ll never get back.  Hence, the ache in my heart.

Now I’ve talked a lot about post partum depression and shared most every detail of my story with my readers.  So you know that my situation was short lived (thank God).  And I am certainly not harping on the past.  What’s done is done.  I can’t change any of it and I can’t get that time back.  I have not beat myself up over it for quite some time now.  But, it is important to me that I acknowledge the feeling of loss, however minute it may be perceived to be.  With out acknowledging the darkness I was in, I can’t fully appreciate the joy and light I am basking in now.  Does that make any sense?

My conversation with this woman was such a sweet memory for her and a true reminder for me to be grateful for where I am presently.  I think back to that time and I feel like a completely different person now.  It was like I didn’t know how to even walk in the shoes of that new mother.  I just hobbled along, stumbling (and crying). And now, I feel so sure footed….like I am sprinting through fields of gold.  It’s as if these Mommy Shoes were meant for me.  Like they were in my wardrobe all the time, I just didn’t realize it.  I guess that is a lot of shoe references.  I can’t really even tell you how I wound up here in this amazing place, except that I had the unending support of my husband and I kept putting one foot in front of the other. One day at a time.

O is napping.  I sit here in my favorite writing spot in the house.  The skylight above me allows the sunshine to stream in onto my lap.  There are toy trucks and cars strewn about the sectional.  And outside I can hear bees buzzing and buds opening.  I’m not missing a thing.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks for reading.  Always. Xo

My Name Is Mommy

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I am continually discovering on this journey of motherhood.  Even at my “advanced maternal age” I learn something new about myself everyday.  I constantly have those moments when I go,” Aha! That is why Moms do that!”  Things I used to roll my eyes at now make sense.  This constant learning curve certainly keeps this mother humble.

One of the things that used to make me cringe, was a husband and wife calling each other Mommy and Daddy.  I have always thought that was really ridiculous.  It reminded me of baby talk in a way, and I just couldn’t stomach it.  Well this is the perfect case of having to go through it to understand it.

Last week little O walked up to me and said, clear as day, “Hey Mare!”  I thought to myself “huh?”  He said it again (in case I missed it) and turned and walked away in search of a truck.  My 22 month old son was calling me by my nickname.  Like a little version of my husband.  “Hey Mare!”

Now I shouldn’t be shocked.  Of course he hears my husband call me Mare.  But then it dawned on me.  THAT is why parents call each other Mommy and Daddy!! Hello, Mommy!?  Duh! It’s not because there is some weird baby talk fetish at work….it’s because a toddler will repeat EVERYTHING he hears, including inappropriate expletives and, of course, our first names.

Let me tell you, try as hard as you may to mind your P’s & Q’s, a toddler will undoubtedly pick up the words you absolutely don’t want him to hear.  It will be the ONE time you slip because shards of fiber glass are shooting into your fingers while you are carelessly throwing something away and your toddler sits watching in his wagon.  Doesn’t everyone say “Fudge You!” to inanimate objects?  Except I didn’t say Fudge, did I?  Nope.  If only.  Hang out with us enough, and the actual phrase can be heard coming from my son.  He really captured my inflection perfectly, I might add.  We decided at first not to acknowledge it and now we pretend he is saying “vacuum” (stress on the second syllable).  I kid you not.

The point is, my name is now Mommy.  My husband is Daddy.  My Mother-in-law is Grammy and so it goes.  Every day the ridiculousness of parenting becomes more and more my norm.  Spelling things out absolutely happens in our house…you can’t say the word s-n-a-c-k until it’s actually happening.  No one needs that kind of melt down.  I tell you,  I get it now.  It’s all out of necessity.  And we are not alone in it.  People with kids around O’s age or a bit older are all in the same boat.  The same leaky boat. We are  patching up the holes with chewing gum, scotch tape, or whatever we can find to make due, to survive the day.   The scary part is that we are only just entering the toddler trenches. The combat has only begun.  This M-O-M needs a N-A-P.  Signing out.  Over and out.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember that behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks for reading! Xo

Mommy vs Trump

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As I look out the window, there are snow flurries falling. The existing snow is peaceful and reverent, reminding me that there are, indeed, four distinct beautiful seasons where we live. We are so fortunate. My bowl of wasabi peas and taro chips helps my mind crunch around today’s topic. I wanted to avoid being political. Lord knows, my husband wishes I would. Poor guy.  Invariably, our dinner conversation turns to the latest debate (or circus act) or, as of last night, primary results. I take in so much information every day and have no one but my 20 month old to discuss it with. So obviously, my husband walks through the door and is usually bombarded with my thoughts on the presidential race. Sexy, right?

Alas, I cannot abstain from a somewhat political post this week. Who am I kidding, it’s full on politico. It consumes my thoughts at the moment, and the best way to alleviate that is to write about it. So….warning: You may not agree with me. And that is fine. But I need to ask some serious questions of people. Because WHO becomes president of our United States DOES matter. Not just to us who are old enough to vote, but to our children and our grandchildren. It matters a great deal.

Yesterday, the state of New Hampshire gave the Republican primary win to the most severely unqualified (not to mention uncouth, and unkind) candidate on the ballot. Am I shocked? I suppose I am. Am I dismayed? Absolutely.  Am I sort of sickened? Well, yes, I am. What does this say about us as a country? I mean, holy cow, this is for REAL, people. What does it say to our children when the brash, bigoted, foul mouthed bully rises?

I make no secret that I consider myself a liberal democrat. But if I happened to be a republican, how could I vote for the likes of a Donald Trump? He isn’t really a republican. In fact, he is pretty much killing the party and everything being a true republican stood for. He, of course, wouldn’t know the difference, because he hasn’t educated himself with the history of the party, nor does he seem to care about it. But if you are a republican, how do you vote for a candidate with no content to his character and no actual plan to “make America great again” whatever that means? The demagogue/buffoon has no place as the leader of the free world. This isn’t for entertainment. It puts in jeopardy people’s lives and the credibility of our nation.

People want to blame President Obama for their hardships, but it’s those same American people who elected a Republican controlled Congress who would not work across the aisle. And they are angry? At what? Their lack of foresight? Did they not think this political gridlock would become the norm? It seems to me that Trump’s appeal is based on anger and fear. His entitled, thug-like bullish behavior somehow resonates in people who are seeking a quick fix to their problems but who don’t want to shoulder any responsibility or take any part in being part of the solution. In my opinion, Mr. Trump embodies everything dark and dirty in the cliche of the Ugly American.

You really failed, New Hampshire. I’m just grateful my O isn’t old enough to ask questions about this election. The election process was always something I was proud of, as an American.  I remember watching the inaugural ceremony when President Obama was sworn in the first time. I remember my father being so moved, he wept. I remember thinking, “Wow, we’ve come a long way!” I remember feeling proud to be an American. Not today, New Hampshire. Not today.

Until next time, when I swear I’ll talk about lotion making or fluff sandwiches, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thanks for reading. Xo

Top 10 Occupational Hazards of a SAHM

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I have been realizing more and more, there are several alarmingly real, and often truly gross, occupational hazards of being a Stay At Home Mom.  I am sure as my boy gets older, the list will evolve and grow, as he does.  But the list for the parent of a toddler is pretty robust, to say the least.  I have said it before and I’ll say it again, this is the toughest job in the world….and not for the faint of heart.  I’m sure everyone’s  list has variations…but here’s my top 10.

# 1.  You will get sick.  Be it the cold your LO got from this week’s play date or the stomach bug that flew through the entire story time group….you will come down with whatever your LO gets.  It’s just the way it goes.

# 2.  You will wear your toddler’s food on occasion.  Whether it splatters by mistake or your LO decides it would look better on your shirt than on his spoon…you will wear it.

# 3.  You will become disconnected from your friends without children.  It doesn’t mean it’s forever.  But it just happens.   When you find yourself with a free moment, you’ll realize that you couldn’t possibly call them right now, as it’s only 5 am where they live.

# 4.  You will be tired.  You will fall in love with bed.  Sleep becomes the highest priority after taking care of your LO.  You will dream of sleep while you are sleeping.

# 5.   You will get thrown up on.  It’s not pretty.  Nor does it smell nice.

# 6.   You will get poop on some part of you or your apparel. Whether it be a leaky diaper, or a diaper change gone wrong, it will happen.  If you are lucky enough to have a boy….you will, at least once, get pee in your face.  Again, not pretty nor fresh smelling.

# 7.   Your nice things will not remain nice.  Your brand new carpet will get soiled and your $4000 couch will become a Kleenex for your toddler’s runny nose.  It’s just stuff.  Get a good protection plan.

# 8.   Everything you say will be repeated.  Everything.  Choose your words carefully.  Oh, shit!

# 9.    You will feel like you are failing.  Often.  Rest assured,  if you care that you are, then you most likely are not.

#10.   You will not be prepared for the amount of love you possess for your child.  Nor will you imagine how it keeps growing exponentially.    It often takes your breath away.  Get an inhaler.

Until next time, keep smiling, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks for reading! Xo

Worried Mommy

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I have to be honest with you.  I worry about my child.  There is this little nagging voice in my head that rears itself every once in a while…and it happened again today.  I was at story time today at the library.  It wasn’t going too well for O.  He didn’t want to sit and listen.  The craft was WAY beyond him (He’d rather eat the glue stick) and he was yawning before we even got there.  I should have known it wasn’t going to go smoothly.   Sure enough, it proved to be a difficult outing.  I know there are days like this.  But some days his lack of engagement and conformity fill me with worry.

I wonder how much is his personality.  Everything since his birth, has been on his time and his terms.    Heck, he didn’t come out on his own.  We had to go in there and get him!  Every milestone so far has been accomplished when HE was good and ready.  OR… is there perhaps some sort of problem or delay? At this age (20 months) it can be very confusing.  I only notice things when he is around other children.  Because normally, I have nothing to compare him to.  And I know, I know, we aren’t supposed to compare our children.  But it just happens.  You see other kids who are around the same age and you are wondering why do they sit still and listen to the story?  Why do they follow directions?  Why won’t my child?  There are days when he does….but they are few.  I always feel like socializing is one step forward and two steps back, with my O.  He is also VERY attached to Mommy.  Which makes socialization that much harder.  He will engage with me happily, but he has very little interest in new people….even other children.  Maybe I’m doing it all wrong?

I am trying to assess where my worry regarding O is coming from.  Is it the winter doldrums? Is it us being cooped up in the house these past weeks due to sickness?  Is there any merit to my worry?  Does every mom worry? Do moms of advanced maternal age worry more?  And am I worried more because he is my only child?  Already pangs of guilt are entering my mind because he doesn’t have a sibling.  Not for lack of trying to give him one.  But, thus far, it doesn’t seem to be in the cards.  I can see the links on this worry chain will continue to accumulate if I don’t get it in check.

I was telling my husband the other night, that being at home with O is by far, the hardest job I have ever had….and the most important.  I just don’t want to screw it up.  And yet, everyday, I feel that somehow I am letting this child down.  You know my tagline.  “Behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.”  It’s soooo true.  And some weeks, it’s truer than others.  And it’s so hard not to be hard on myself.  I feel like it’s all on me sometimes.  What if I miss something? What if he is having a delay and I don’t get him the help he needs?  It’s my fault.  Maybe I baby him too much? Well, I know that’s true.

You know, I really feel that I owe O everything.  In some Miracle of Life creation, this glorious soul picked us to be his parents! The joy and meaning he brings to both my husband and I is beyond anything, I think, either of us could have ever imagined.  It’s powerful and its profound.  It is heaven made.  But.. we also have to live day to day on the earth, with our feet on the ground, taking each step, one foot in front of the other.  I think I just solved my own problem.  It is so so easy to let the magnitude of this job, that has been entrusted to us, take over.  It is, at times, overwhelming.  But our child is who he is. It is already determined.  Will it all reveal itself in time? Yes.  Will we deal with each hurdle and each triumph, as they come…one day at a time?  Of course, because that’s what we as parents do.  The worry is futile.  It is wasted energy.

I thank you from the bottom of my humble and sometimes worrisome heart.  Confiding in you has let me find my way off the latest parental ledge.  It’s not easy stuff.  Sometimes having someone to bounce things off of, be it a real person or a cyber friend, makes all the difference.  Knowing we aren’t alone is everything.

Until next time, thanks for reading, and remember (it’s the TRUTH) behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Xo

 

Here It Comes

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Well, there is snow on the skylight.  I’m under a faux fur blanket and my luxurious long underwear are certainly getting some “wear time.”  I’ve been avoiding writing this post, like I do many…but this one in particular seems to be my hardest thus far.  You see, I’d like to lie to you.  I’d like to fill the screen with fibs and fantasy. But that wasn’t our agreement.  No.  I promised to honestly examine what it is like to be a new mother of advanced maternal age.  So here it goes….or should I say, here it comes?

No one really wants to talk about it.  Certainly not me.  How I have escaped it up til now, I don’t know. Some women deal with it much earlier, so I’m thankful at least for that.  Oh, God, Mary, just say it!  Ok! Ok! Perimenopause.  There I’ve said it.  In simpler terms it means the beginning of “the change.” Right now all it means to me is night sweats at certain times of the month.  Icky, cruddy, soaking pajama top night sweats.  Night sweats suck.  Just getting that out there.  But for some it can include many more symptoms like daily hot flashes, loss of sex drive, pain during intercourse…among other fun things.  Ugh.  Good times, eh?

I am actually having a difficult time accepting this upcoming change in my body.  I don’t like it.  My doctor says I can still get pregnant, so that isn’t what is bothering me.  It’s just the fact that finally my body is telling me that I am getting older.  I always felt like I could defy it, at least within reason.  But this onset can’t be avoided with clean eating, more crunches at the gym, or more miles logged on the treadmill.  It can’t be hidden by creams, serums, or Botox.  It’s the real deal.  It’s the beginning of a bridge taking you to the next phase of your life.  As much as I talk about wanting to age gracefully, I feel like I’m on the one side of that bridge….resisting going forward….but the bridge is actually a moving walkway…it doesn’t stop because I wish it so.  It is just like Time always proves to be…relentless.  There is no spanner to throw in this wheel to stop it spinning.  It is all how nature intended.  I just thought Mother Nature and I had a special understanding. Ha.

Yesterday at story time at our local library I looked around at the other adults in the room.  It was either young moms or youngish grandmothers.  It occurred to me that I fall somewhere in between these groups of women.  I made  friends with some of the moms, and realized that, although we can relate through our children, I can’t actually relate to them on a personal level.  Not really.   And the same goes for the older women there.  I find myself on my own plane.  Running after my toddler waiting for a hot flash to zap me.  It’s bizzaro world.  Does that make any sense?

I know, I know. I’m ungrateful. I’m superficial. I’m whining about something that happens to every woman, eventually. How dare I be annoyed at Mother Nature when she has really been so good to me. I should be so thankful that I am healthy. That I rocked a bikini up until I had O at 44! That I have escaped so many things that can afflict us. And mostly, I should be grateful that the powers of life, let me conceive and give birth to a beautiful healthy son. And I am!! So very grateful. I’m just whining…and maybe feeling some of those mood swings that can also hit you during this time.  Most of all, I’m feeling sorry for myself. Like my wise Mother-in law tells me, time and time again…this too shall pass.

Until next time, I’ll keep battling through my own personal Bikram Bedtime.  Keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks for reading.  Xo.

P.S. I Can’t Do It All

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As if I needed to declare this.  As if I assumed you thought otherwise….Nope.  It is most official.  I CANNOT do it all.  There are some things better left to others….anyone else, to be frank.  I have experienced an epic fail today in my quest for home improvement/beautification.  It is an important lesson I have learned.  Me, drills and drywall don’t mix.  I should stay far far away from anything having to do with said drywall.  In my effort to surprise my husband by hanging a hand towel rack in our newly renovated master bath, I have created a bigger headache for him than having to install it in the first place.  I know he hates hanging things, especially towel racks, etc.  I thought, “how hard could it be?”  Well, apparently for me, it’s pretty freakin hard.  There is now a hole the size of a small coin and a drywall anchor that has pushed through the wall with the screw still attached….what a mess.  I have given up trying to rectify the situation, as every time I attempt, the problem (and hole) gets bigger.  Oye.

If there is one thing that really irks me, it’s when I can’t do something.  I’m now feeling like a total failure.  If I had potato chips I’d be chomping on the big bag trying to crunch out my frustrations.  Instead, I downed 2 Oreos.  So not the same.  As I begin to come to my senses and get over myself, I wipe the crumbs from my face and realize there is another lesson to be learned here beyond staying away from drills and drywall.

Perhaps we are not meant to be able to do everything.  If you think about it, isn’t that how the best partnerships are born? People who complement each other in their talents and skills.  Well, that’s my husband.  He’s the ying to my yang…or the yang to my ying…either way, you get what I’m saying.  We are so opposite in so many ways….but yet we are aligned perfectly when it comes to important things like love and family.

Maybe it’s ok that I don’t possess the strength and skills to use a power drill effectively.  Because he’s pretty great at it.  I think it’s good that I have patience for the tedious projects in the house (like painting the woodwork) because he doesn’t.  I have no doubt there is some woman out there who is able to put a drywall anchor and screw in just fine.  Power to her! It’s just not me.  So perhaps I’m blowing smoke up my own tush, trying to make myself feel better for my failure.   Maybe I’m the only woman on earth who can’t seem to handle this seemingly easy task.  Whatever the case may be, I like being the ying to his yang.  I like compromising.  I like meeting him half way.  I like knowing there are things he can do better than me.  And in turn, there are things I do better than him.  I like being part of a partnership.  I like keeping each other in line.  I like being accountable to someone else.  Who’d have thunk?

So there you have it.  My epic fail has evolved into a revelation of gratitude.  My craving for chips has passed.  Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Xo

Flying Solo

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I am sitting in the airport awaiting my flight to West Palm Beach. I am flying solo. That isn’t just a cute quip. I am actually by myself. No husband. No child. They are staying home, having a boys weekend, holding the fort down. I will be readying my house in Florida for my snowbird renter. A quick jaunt, but I’ll be away, nonetheless. I don’t know why I feel the need to give you the details of why I am going. Maybe I don’t want you to think I’m leaving my child for a wild girl’s get away or an “all about me” spa weekend. Although, I wouldn’t judge you if YOU went away for a little fun in the sun or some R&R. I’d probably be jealous. Ha. I know I’d be jealous.  Always digressing.

The reason I am sharing this with you, is because this is significant for me. It will be the first time I will spend a night (let alone two nights) away from my O. I have been with him everyday and every night since the day he was born. I understood that I would be away from him when I made these arrangements. At times, I even looked forward to the little “break.” But the moment I had to walk away from him was harder than I expected. I’m just being honest. I’d like to say I walked away with the wind in my hair and the smell of freedom calling me. But instead, I felt like I was leaving a chunk of my own heart in New England. Say it….”Get a life, Mary!” Well, for 18 months and 4 days, he has been our life. Perhaps I am more of a Mommy than I realized.

It’s funny, because I keep telling my husband that I am ready to leave O with Grammy and be whisked away to Puerto Rico or some un-named island in the Caribbean at a moment’s notice. He is the one that is skeptical of leaving O overnight anywhere. He feels he is too young still for that. I tell him I would have no problem leaving O in her quite capable hands for a little weekend (or more) holiday with my husband. But, now I wonder……is that the truth? Could I stand being away from him for that long? Well, I guess I will see how I do first with two nights.

It’s not like I am worried about O. I am sure he will be quite happy to have Daddy take over the reigns of his day. My beloved is MORE than capable. He is truly Daddy of the Year. He will be silly and say things like, “I don’t know where his clothes are.” Or, ” I don’t know what he eats for lunch!” But the truth is, he can take care of O just as well (or better) than I can. Yes, haters…my husband is amazing in all ways. Suck on that.

My trip has only begun and I am missing both my boys something fierce. Logically, I know it’s a quick and necessary trip. I’ll be home before I know it. I was telling my husband on the way to the airport, that it’s actually good for me to go away on my own. It’s important for me to re-visit my independence every now and then. I truly believe that. It was a huge part of who I was before O. And I’m sure it will be again, when he is a bit older. But the pang in my heart when I left them still shocked me. After a life of travel and adventures, home is where I want to be. It is who I am now. It is my happy place. And boy, do I feel lucky to say that.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thanks for reading! Xo