Some people say that being a stay-at-home mom is one of the hardest jobs in the world.
I disagree. I mean, I know of a lot of harder jobs out there. For example, I'd take stay-at-home mom over big-city-firefighter or police officer any day. I know, I know, there's all these jokes about firefighters sitting around in recliners watching TV and about police officers eating donuts all day long, but really. Would you want to be a firefighter and march right into a burning building? Would you want to be a police officer and run toward gunfire rather than away from it? Or how about a human resources person who has to lay off people they really care about, who are depending on their jobs? No thanks.
Anyway, I don't think stay-at-home mom is the hardest job in the world. It takes more patience than some jobs, and sometimes it's frustrating. And it is hard work, because it's so constant.
Here's an example:
Yesterday my mom and I took both my kids to the mall to buy a birthday present for a friend. Big Boy had a meltdown when I made him get off the toy cars so we could leave. I was carrying him and he was throwing a tantrum and slapping my face repeatedly. I'm sure any parent, stay-at-home or not, has dealt with something like this.
Then MrDartt called and said he probably would not be home for dinner. So I fed Big Boy some pizza (I know, not the healthiest meal ever) at the mall. And then my mom asked if I wanted to go to dinner with her and my dad on the way home. I REALLY wanted to. But I couldn't because Little Boy had been crying off and on for the whole mall trip and Big Boy's disposition hadn't improved too much since the slapping my face repeatedly incident. So then, I had to head home. I dropped my mom off so my dad could pick her up, and then Big Boy screamed, at the top of his lungs, the rest of the way home. Screamed. Why?
My point is that sometimes it would be so much easier to put my own needs and desires first. And sometimes I do, like just now, Little Boy was crying in his bedroom (just woke up from his nap) and I was just going to finish my blog first. But MrDartt said that wasn't very nice. So I went and got him while MrDartt finished up what he was doing. Then he took Little Boy so I could blog.
As a stay-at-home mom, my schedule is based around the kids' schedules, like eating and naps and stuff. So I can't get on Facebook or my e-mail and send messages to my friends in the middle of the day, because then I'd be ignoring my kids. I can't just schedule a lunch date with a friend -- I have to decide what time will work for naps, what place is good for strollers, high chairs and kids, or what place has a good kids' menu.
But I'm not out in the work world, having packed up my kids early in the morning, then going to lay people off, or stand outside in the heat directing traffic, or dealing with other people's sick kids all day, or telling my patients that they have cancer and probably will die within a year, or opening up someone's skull to cut a tumor out of their brain.
I think saying stat-at-home parenting is one of the hardest jobs in the world is kind of cliche. I enjoy it (even though it's frustrating), and I think it's fun to get to teach my kids all the lessons of the world -- like to say "excuse me" if you want to go down the slide and someone's sitting at the bottom, or, as one of my old friends had to do the other day -- convince her two-year-old not to pick her poopie up out of the potty to show off that she'd finally pooped on the potty. You can't beat that!
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Mother's Day
Of course we just celebrated Mother's Day, and I can't let the holiday pass without a little post about Mother's Day. It's the journalist in me.
Here are some things I love about being a mother.
1. I love how it has made me understand and appreciate my own mother even more. I still tease her about the same old stuff (isn't that what kids do to parents?). But she's the first person I turn to for advice if MrDartt and I don't know what to do with Big Boy and his strange behavior. She can listen to me and my dumb stories without judging, and we have become friends as I've grown up and she's gotten cooler (you know what I mean -- she was always cool but my outlook has changed).
2. I love it when my baby sees me and smiles and his little legs kick and he is obviously very excited. What I love most about it is that babies' emotions are true emotions. They don't know how to fake a smile. So when he hasn't seen me all morning because I slept in and he's just now seeing me for the first time in hours, and he's grinning so big and making that happy squealing noise, it just melts my heart.
3. I love how my 2.5-year-old will chase me to the door, yelling, "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" when I am leaving for work.
4. Most of the time, I love how my 2.5-year-old will imitate things his dad and I say or do. Not when he mutters, "God damn it," when his sandwich falls apart for the umpteenth time, or spits on the ground because he says that's what daddy does (although I'm not sure if he's really seen daddy do that), but when he says, "Mommy, do you have any idea where my book is?" Or when he says, "That was really nice of you to make me lunch, Mommy," or, "Ooh, nice pants, Mommy!" or "Those bracelets look really handsome on you, Mommy." And even cooler is when they come up with their own silly stuff -- tonight Big Boy didn't want his corn on the cob cooked. He took a bite of it raw, and said, "Yep, I like it fresh. I want to eat it fresh, Mommy."
5. I love that just because I'm a mother, I get a special day when my husband will fold laundry for me as a nice surprise.
Of course there are some drawbacks to motherhood -- you have to get up at least six times during each meal to get something for someone, and if someone wakes up crying in the middle of the night you can't just go back to sleep -- but come on, that stuff is tiny compared to watching your little boy use the hose to fill his watering can, all the while tipping his watering can so that it's emptying faster than he can fill it.
Even though I'm a couple days late (wouldn't fly in the daily newspaper biz), Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers out there whose kids like fresh corn and other weird stuff.
Here are some things I love about being a mother.
1. I love how it has made me understand and appreciate my own mother even more. I still tease her about the same old stuff (isn't that what kids do to parents?). But she's the first person I turn to for advice if MrDartt and I don't know what to do with Big Boy and his strange behavior. She can listen to me and my dumb stories without judging, and we have become friends as I've grown up and she's gotten cooler (you know what I mean -- she was always cool but my outlook has changed).
2. I love it when my baby sees me and smiles and his little legs kick and he is obviously very excited. What I love most about it is that babies' emotions are true emotions. They don't know how to fake a smile. So when he hasn't seen me all morning because I slept in and he's just now seeing me for the first time in hours, and he's grinning so big and making that happy squealing noise, it just melts my heart.
3. I love how my 2.5-year-old will chase me to the door, yelling, "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" when I am leaving for work.
4. Most of the time, I love how my 2.5-year-old will imitate things his dad and I say or do. Not when he mutters, "God damn it," when his sandwich falls apart for the umpteenth time, or spits on the ground because he says that's what daddy does (although I'm not sure if he's really seen daddy do that), but when he says, "Mommy, do you have any idea where my book is?" Or when he says, "That was really nice of you to make me lunch, Mommy," or, "Ooh, nice pants, Mommy!" or "Those bracelets look really handsome on you, Mommy." And even cooler is when they come up with their own silly stuff -- tonight Big Boy didn't want his corn on the cob cooked. He took a bite of it raw, and said, "Yep, I like it fresh. I want to eat it fresh, Mommy."
5. I love that just because I'm a mother, I get a special day when my husband will fold laundry for me as a nice surprise.
Of course there are some drawbacks to motherhood -- you have to get up at least six times during each meal to get something for someone, and if someone wakes up crying in the middle of the night you can't just go back to sleep -- but come on, that stuff is tiny compared to watching your little boy use the hose to fill his watering can, all the while tipping his watering can so that it's emptying faster than he can fill it.
Even though I'm a couple days late (wouldn't fly in the daily newspaper biz), Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers out there whose kids like fresh corn and other weird stuff.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Annoying Cute Kid stories...sorry!
It's so funny what a parent finds endearing about her own children. And probably kind of weird.
Example: the other morning when Big Boy got up, he came out of his bedroom (I heard his door close) and he was calling me. I walked to the top of the stairs -- his room is downstairs -- and he was standing at the bottom of the stairs, holding his giraffe and elephan-ant, wearing his sunglasses. He had this little sneer on his face, where his lips are kind of pursed but one side of his upper lip is up. He has that little sneer every time he wears his sunglasses, I think, to hold them on. Think Sylvester Stallone, three feet tall, with spiky strawberry blond hair, Superman pajamas, a huge stuffed elephant and a swaddled giraffe (yes, ever since we had Little Boy, the giraffe must be swaddled full-time). I saw my little boy down there, and he was just so cute, tears sprung to my eyes and I just wanted to run down and squeeze him.
Here's another one. The pediatrician told me to start letting Little Boy eat Cheerios. So since I'm a paranoid freak about choking, I give him half-Cheerios. He has finally learned to pick them up off his high chair tray, and knows they're supposed to go in his mouth, but can't figure out how to do that. So he picks them up and puts his whole little fist in his mouth. Then he sits there, fist in mouth, ears sticking out, looking at me like, "Now what?" It's just so cute!
Here's another one. (I know I'm doing that thing moms do where they talk about how darn cute their kids are, and I apologize, but they ARE!) The other night before bed, Big Boy wanted to read this one book, "The Word Book" that has all these pictures in it. Naturally, they're pictures of things a kid should know about, like "door," "potty," "soap," "house," etc. He calls it "The Potty Book." When we read it, I make up stories depending on the words/pictures on the page, so I'll talk about how Big Boy went to the park and saw his friends there and they looked at the pond and there was a duck on the pond and they fed the duck some bread but the duck wanted their soda or whatever. Anyway, he loves reading that book. So he wanted to keep reading it, and I said we were done reading but we could read more in the morning. So he pointed out all the pictures on the cover that he wanted to read about in the morning. He went to bed. The next morning, I hear his door open, and then I hear all this thumping. Then he starts crying. Then he's yelling, "Mommy! Mommy! I need help!" So I go downstairs and he's crying, trying to get through the door with his huge elephant, his giraffe, and that darn book, all of which he's dropped on the floor. First I hug him and say, "It's okay, I'll help you. That's a lot to carry." Then we gather up the stuff and I carry him upstairs to the couch. I just thought it was so cute that he remembered we were going to read that book, and then he remembered which order he wanted to read the stories in.
Last example: I took both boys to Home Depot yesterday because I wanted to buy some flowers. Spring Fever and all that. Since MrDartt wasn't there (driving his mom and her hubby to the airport), I put both boys in the seat of one of those car carts they have. Little Boy has never sat in one of those before; usually he's just getting carried or is in his infant carrier. So he's sitting there, all proud, with his hands on the steering wheel. Then he's getting bored, so he's reaching over and touching Big Boy. He's touching Big Boy's shirt, his seatbelt, his steering wheel. Then he's reaching down to touch Big Boy's leg, to grab onto his pants, whatever. Then, suddenly, he turns around, looks at me, and bursts into tears. Guess he wasn't ready for the big time. So I carried him the rest of the way and pushed that darn car cart (it's HUGE!) with one hand. Normally I run the hard line and the kids stay in the cart or their seats while we're shopping (give an inch, they take a mile, right?). But Little Boy was just so cute, I couldn't resist.
Okay, that's it for now. I'll give you a break from my cute kid stories.
Example: the other morning when Big Boy got up, he came out of his bedroom (I heard his door close) and he was calling me. I walked to the top of the stairs -- his room is downstairs -- and he was standing at the bottom of the stairs, holding his giraffe and elephan-ant, wearing his sunglasses. He had this little sneer on his face, where his lips are kind of pursed but one side of his upper lip is up. He has that little sneer every time he wears his sunglasses, I think, to hold them on. Think Sylvester Stallone, three feet tall, with spiky strawberry blond hair, Superman pajamas, a huge stuffed elephant and a swaddled giraffe (yes, ever since we had Little Boy, the giraffe must be swaddled full-time). I saw my little boy down there, and he was just so cute, tears sprung to my eyes and I just wanted to run down and squeeze him.
Here's another one. The pediatrician told me to start letting Little Boy eat Cheerios. So since I'm a paranoid freak about choking, I give him half-Cheerios. He has finally learned to pick them up off his high chair tray, and knows they're supposed to go in his mouth, but can't figure out how to do that. So he picks them up and puts his whole little fist in his mouth. Then he sits there, fist in mouth, ears sticking out, looking at me like, "Now what?" It's just so cute!
Here's another one. (I know I'm doing that thing moms do where they talk about how darn cute their kids are, and I apologize, but they ARE!) The other night before bed, Big Boy wanted to read this one book, "The Word Book" that has all these pictures in it. Naturally, they're pictures of things a kid should know about, like "door," "potty," "soap," "house," etc. He calls it "The Potty Book." When we read it, I make up stories depending on the words/pictures on the page, so I'll talk about how Big Boy went to the park and saw his friends there and they looked at the pond and there was a duck on the pond and they fed the duck some bread but the duck wanted their soda or whatever. Anyway, he loves reading that book. So he wanted to keep reading it, and I said we were done reading but we could read more in the morning. So he pointed out all the pictures on the cover that he wanted to read about in the morning. He went to bed. The next morning, I hear his door open, and then I hear all this thumping. Then he starts crying. Then he's yelling, "Mommy! Mommy! I need help!" So I go downstairs and he's crying, trying to get through the door with his huge elephant, his giraffe, and that darn book, all of which he's dropped on the floor. First I hug him and say, "It's okay, I'll help you. That's a lot to carry." Then we gather up the stuff and I carry him upstairs to the couch. I just thought it was so cute that he remembered we were going to read that book, and then he remembered which order he wanted to read the stories in.
Last example: I took both boys to Home Depot yesterday because I wanted to buy some flowers. Spring Fever and all that. Since MrDartt wasn't there (driving his mom and her hubby to the airport), I put both boys in the seat of one of those car carts they have. Little Boy has never sat in one of those before; usually he's just getting carried or is in his infant carrier. So he's sitting there, all proud, with his hands on the steering wheel. Then he's getting bored, so he's reaching over and touching Big Boy. He's touching Big Boy's shirt, his seatbelt, his steering wheel. Then he's reaching down to touch Big Boy's leg, to grab onto his pants, whatever. Then, suddenly, he turns around, looks at me, and bursts into tears. Guess he wasn't ready for the big time. So I carried him the rest of the way and pushed that darn car cart (it's HUGE!) with one hand. Normally I run the hard line and the kids stay in the cart or their seats while we're shopping (give an inch, they take a mile, right?). But Little Boy was just so cute, I couldn't resist.
Okay, that's it for now. I'll give you a break from my cute kid stories.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Big Boy's Pocket
Today, two things happened: Big Boy put his own socks on for the first time – yippee! – and later, in the car, he told me he had time in his pocket.
The quick consecutive occurrence of these two things got me thinking. I often feel rushed and frazzled as I move through each day. I’m a regular laundry-washing-and-folding conveyer belt, carpet vacuumer and a toy picker-upper. I’m scheduling appointments while I’m scribbling bill payments. I’m nursing an infant while making pb and j for a toddler.
So today, after Big Boy had finally succeeded in getting his socks on, we were driving (in a rush) to the grocery store. He spotted a restaurant that has an indoor play area and asked if we could go there.
I told him, “Maybe later, if we have time.” He squirmed around in his seat, digging his hand into his pocket, and then pulled out something neither of us could see.
“I have time, Mommy,” he said, holding his hand up for me to see. “Right here! We can go! I have time!”
For some reason, I suddenly felt very sad. Nobody can just pull time out of his pocket. So while I’m rushing to and fro, trying to keep the house clean and the laundry done, my little boy is learning to put on his socks and make a very tall block tower.
But I can’t get this time back. He’ll never be 2 again, struggling to get his shirt on right and his undies on frontwards, and rejoicing in getting his sock on over that darn pinky toe. Sure, 10 years from now, he will have different challenges and successes. But he’ll be in school and at sports practice and I won’t have a front row seat to these things that happen in his life.
So I have resolved to spend more time focusing on my boys and the little, yet amazing things they accomplish each day, whether it’s getting socks on or sitting up. That other stuff can wait (as long as we have clean underwear). And when somebody figures out how to get more time, I just might start to worry about the dishes.
The quick consecutive occurrence of these two things got me thinking. I often feel rushed and frazzled as I move through each day. I’m a regular laundry-washing-and-folding conveyer belt, carpet vacuumer and a toy picker-upper. I’m scheduling appointments while I’m scribbling bill payments. I’m nursing an infant while making pb and j for a toddler.
So today, after Big Boy had finally succeeded in getting his socks on, we were driving (in a rush) to the grocery store. He spotted a restaurant that has an indoor play area and asked if we could go there.
I told him, “Maybe later, if we have time.” He squirmed around in his seat, digging his hand into his pocket, and then pulled out something neither of us could see.
“I have time, Mommy,” he said, holding his hand up for me to see. “Right here! We can go! I have time!”
For some reason, I suddenly felt very sad. Nobody can just pull time out of his pocket. So while I’m rushing to and fro, trying to keep the house clean and the laundry done, my little boy is learning to put on his socks and make a very tall block tower.
But I can’t get this time back. He’ll never be 2 again, struggling to get his shirt on right and his undies on frontwards, and rejoicing in getting his sock on over that darn pinky toe. Sure, 10 years from now, he will have different challenges and successes. But he’ll be in school and at sports practice and I won’t have a front row seat to these things that happen in his life.
So I have resolved to spend more time focusing on my boys and the little, yet amazing things they accomplish each day, whether it’s getting socks on or sitting up. That other stuff can wait (as long as we have clean underwear). And when somebody figures out how to get more time, I just might start to worry about the dishes.
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