DotMoms

Cracks

By Lana

I've been racking my brain trying to think of something to write this week -– some light, humourous or insightful little story about my life as a new mother. But words haven't come easily to me lately as there's one thing weighing heavily on my mind these days: the state of my marriage.

In all my childcare books, there's a little section on how to cope with this drastic change in your life, plus tips on keeping it all together. I read these sections before our son was born, thinking that these problems couldn't possibly happen in our relationship, since we were solid and communicated quite well even with our cultural differences.

I was wrong.

Since the birth of our child in January we've somehow slipped into a 1950s relationship time warp where he's the cold and distant dad and I'm the harried mom. My husband's away a lot working, and when he's home it seems he'd rather be alone. I tell him about little milestones our baby reached that day and he seems uninterested. I've learned that if I want my husband to do anything with the baby –- play, hold, etc. -– I have to ask, which makes me feel like a nag.

Every weekend I look forward to spending time together, and every weekend I'm left feeling disappointed because there's always something that comes up, some work emergency, the cell phone ringing, obligations to our extended family. I suppose I should be happy that I'm married to such a responsible man, and I do understand that he's under a lot of stress being the sole income provider this year, but these thoughts do little to ease my mind. I feel I've lost the loving, caring man I married and I'm scared. I'm also scared of myself and what I feel I'm turning into: a nag, a victim and, well, not a very fun person.

We had a good talk about last weekend and I felt that we'd resolved some things and released a lot of tension. But then on Sunday, his only day off, he announced at 10:45 a.m. that he had to go out for a meeting at 11, and I closed my eyes and watched all of the understanding we'd built up over the past week crumble away.

I'm feeling so much joy as a mother but at the same time I'm saddened because I feel that my partner is not sharing in this joy. I'd like him to tell me where I'm failing, and what he thinks we need to do to preserve our new little family, but he's not talking. I don't have the answers either.

We've fallen into a hole and I'm not sure how we'll dig ourselves out of it.

Nuggets of truth

By Jennifer

Mother's Day has really gotten special since my older two are at the ages where they can communicate in ways other than grunts and blinks. They are both in school now and they can make cards and write me notes. They bring home some pretty neat stuff from school, but my favorite so far has to be the "our moms" book that they do in pre-kindergarten.

It's a book of drawings of each of the mommies by their child and then a paragraph of answers to questions such as "How old is your mommy?", "How much does she weigh?", "What would you find her doing around your house?", "What TV shows does your mommy watch?" and "Why do you love her and she you?".  Mary did the book last year and Chuck and I sat in bed giggling for an hour at all of the drawings and answers. Some mommies liked to watch soap operas, others drank wine and liked to lay in their beds.  One mommy yelled all the time. I was apparently busy cleaning a lot (anyone who knew me well got a good laugh out of that one) and we were all about 100 years old and weighed around 40 pounds. 

The drawings, which the teacher put all together on the last page in a collage, are really spectacular -- a mishmash of pig noses and long sleazy earrings. Some had mohawks, others fangs. One mom's face was just a jumble of squiggle lines. I've been looking forward to Kate bringing home her book this year.

Everyone gets a copy so we all get to be both embarrassed and entertained at the same time. This year I was pleased to see that Kate put that I only watched "Dragon Tales" and she thinks I love her because she has "shiny hair" and "pretty eyes." Two things I tell her on a regular basis and it makes my heart sing that she takes those compliments in. I was in the clear again this year! My sister-in-law, not quite as lucky. 

Kate and my nephew Hunter are in the same class, and he is what we like to call a "character." He's funny, and he and his brother like to torment their poor, innocent little mommy. While we all know that most of the information is not wholly true -- like the fact that some mommies just snuggle in their beds all day -- we do assume there is probably a little nugget of truth (she probably snuggles in her bed a lot on Sundays).

Well, Hunter decided to COMPLETELY make up about 80 percent of his answers. He got right that my sister-in-law likes to clean the kitchen and living room, but he then decided to inform the teacher that she liked to watch "scary shows where the skeletons come out of the walls and the good guys have fire." This one statement has been the source of endless laughing for not only me, but my entire family. It's so hilarious because Joey (my sister-in-law) is the biggest ninny there is and would never in a million years watch a scary movie, much less let her 5-year-old watch one. She is completely mortified that people are going to think she watches horror movies with her children every night. 

Hunter also told the teacher that he "doesn't know why my mommy loves me" and that he loves her "because she cooks food for me." This is funny because she avoids cooking like the plague. 

I reassured her that everyone would have to know he made the movie stuff up and I think she believed me. I believed me, until I got a phone call from another mommy in our class. We were laughing about the book when she asked "what is that movie that Joey watches where skeletons come out of the walls?!" 

Don't believe everything you read...

Message from man's land

By Cooper

In an effort to provide a dad's perspective, today's post is an interview with Rick, my husband of 10 years.

Me: OK, I am going to interview you for DotMoms.

Rick: But I am looking at your back, do you have to type?

Me: Yes, I have to type, come over here and you can sit on the corner of my desk.

Rick: But, I'm really liking this chair.

Me: Fine, I will turn around when we talk and then I will type.

What is the most important thing to you about being a dad?

Rick: Making my kids happy. Inspiring them. Passing on virtues and goodness and giving them strength to face bumps in the road.

Me: What is the difference for you in raising girls versus raising boys?

Rick: It is a hard question to answer because our girls are older than the boys and they are tomboys, which I really like, so it is harder to compare. I actually don't see a lot of difference. But, if you think back to when the girls were the age of the boys now there seems to be less negotiation with the boys. I would stop there because I am afraid someday one of our kids will find this and not be comfortable with it.

Why don't you ask me what I admire about you as a mother?

Me:  No, because it is too self-promoting. Why don't you talk about what you admire about motherhood in general?

Rick: Well, mothers in general? I truly admire the daily balancing act most mothers do between raising a family, contributing to the world through work, community service or education and, on top of it all, finding time for themselves somehow. I think women have a better handle on how to care for the outcome of this world than men, because they are mothers. They care for things, they nurture. Guys, in my experience, have a tendency to be more nomadic, selfish, driven, yes, but it is more about competition and less about sustaining. So, I guess that it is more about what I like about women than men. That transfers to mothers too. There are exceptions on the guy thing, of course. Lots of the dads who blog, for instance, seem to get it.

Next question?

Me: Alright, then, any message for me directly?

Rick: (laughing) I could go one route, but I won't.

Me: Good. My mother might read this.

Rick: How about this, is it really necessary to clean up every night?   

Me: Um, yeah. Can you pick up that crumbled Ritz Bit?

So, did you feel prepared for fatherhood?

Rick: I would say, did we feel prepared for parenthood? Did nine months get us in that frame? I think it is important to appreciate -- as parents for the first time -- the necessity for drastic change in your life. I think the thing that got me most prepared for parenting was our strong bond and that we wanted to share that with a child. There is a sense that it is the next logical step if we are so happy and understand each other and relate to each other on so many levels. I think you have to have that understanding.

Me: OK. Do you think we knew what we were doing?

Rick: No. But I will say life changed forever when you found out you were pregnant that first time. Well, every time for that matter. And we had a lot of family cheering us on.

Me: Do you have any moments that stand out in your eight years as a dad so far?

Rick: The four times you gave birth to our children. Each time I was completely blown away by the magic of childbirth and miracle of childbirth and how lucky I felt to be there. I will never forget it.

Me: Anything else?

Rick: Well, those definitely stand out. But something less heavy would be teaching our kids to ride two-wheeler bikes for the first time, watching the first step, performing on stage the first time and taking their first bow, scoring their first soccer goal, first days of school. When our 3-year-old said, "You're a good daddy."

Me: Any regrets?

Rick: No. Maybe a little less TV, less time at work and more time at home.

Me: In summary, as a representative dad, what would you like to say to DotMoms readers?

Rick: I am starting to see some marriages fail because I think many men don't understand what their wives' interests, goals or passions are. Try to find a balance so that you as a mother can explore a life that doesn't relate to motherhood. Communicate it. Help men, who often don't get the big picture, understand what shakes your tree and what will get you through this madness. Men need to be more like women, women don't need to be more like men.

Other than that I would say this: Moms are miracle makers.

Dreaded germs

By Amy S.

We did pretty well all winter. While other children were dropping like flies, we made it through relatively unscathed. And then came March. First, stomach flu. The only good news about the stomach flu -- or so we thought -- was that at least it was behind us, we wouldn't have to worry about it again. Then three weeks ago, a mysterious fever/rash virus came along and resulted in a complete week of missed day care and work.

And now, the stomach flu, part deux. It was worse this time. She prayed to the trashcan every 15-30 minutes from 7 p.m. one night through 10 a.m. the next, and a few more times after that. This was most certainly the rotovirus -- the very one that savaged its way through the family when Olivia was an infant. Steve and I are skittish to say the least. We could be its next victim.

Undoubtedly, the worst part was following the doctor's instructions. Essentially she said to "starve" the virus until Olivia had stopped vomiting for two hours. She vomited for more than 12 hours -- so she was incredibly thirsty. When we finally were "in the clear" to start giving her liquids, the doctor said to give her a teaspoon of liquid every 10 minutes. As far as Olivia was concerned, we were torturing her. Of course, no explanation of why she couldn't have more to drink was going to work for a two-and-a-half year old. Thankfully, she kept most of it down and we were finally able to offer her a true drink.

There's nothing worse than helplessly watching your child throw up over and over. The stomach flu should be listed as one of the levels of hell. Even as Olivia recovers, we are cranky from lack of sleep and the dread of knowing we may be next. (My husband dilligently lines the trashcan near our bed with a plastic bag each time the stomach flu hits Olivia  -- just in case one of us succumbs to its typically middle-of-the-night arrival.)

Plus, we've been watching the stinkin' 1984-produced CareBear cartoon videos over and over. Now we know why they throw them in for free when you buy CareBears -- because they're really, really bad. But for whatever reason, Olivia adores them. Bad storylines and all.

Has your household been bitten by the stomach flu this season?

The clean-up toddler

By Lauri Jon

Maricella is amazing. Earlier this week, after paging through five books, she put them all back in their proper place in the basket by the couch.

Her tidiness doesn't stop there -- when she eats, if a small fragment of food is stuck to her hand, she'll hold it up so I can clean it off.

And the thing that floors her father about the whole thing is, if there's a tiny piece of paper on the floor or a pebble tracked in from outside, she'll pick up the rogue material and hand it to one of us. (You think she could teach her father to notice errant pieces of paper?)

She seems to have caught my "a place for everything, and everything in its place" philosophy. It's a great thing, and I know she'll probably rebel against it as a teen. So I think I'll do a little "chaos training" to help prevent a major future rebellion.

I think I need to set aside a few "messy hours" each day where we play intensely and clean-free. A sort of "neat-freak" safety zone.

I'll spread our large sheets of paper and spill (did I just say spill?) spill all the Crayolas out of their box. Then we'll draw, doodle and color outside the lines, if you please.

After that, we'll go outside and try finger-painting -- and NOT care if we also paint our clothes in the process!

I want to make sure Maricella has as much fun getting dirty as she does getting clean. And show her that a little bit of mess can be a lot of fun. But for now, I'll enjoy my clean-up toddler.

What kind of messy activities do you do with your toddler?

Bring on the muumuu

By Kris

Last fall, after pulling out my collection of hideous maternity clothes -- mostly work clothes purchased in one ill-fated shopping spree at Dan Howard Maternity -- I decided to go shopping. I spent an evening online, and realized any single cute item would cost me $20 to $80. Then I realized I needed lots of pieces, this being my first summer baby. Then I remembered, I'm broke.

So I went to eBay and, after a week of due dilligence, made my move on one lot of clothes. It had 11 short-sleeve and sleeveless shirts, five pairs of shorts, plus stylish jeans, capris and yoga pants. I got it for under $100 and figured I'd be all set.

But here I am, 34 weeks pregnant at the end of May, and local temperatures continue to hover between 45 and 60 degrees. I love this, but it prevents me from wearing my new summer clothes.

Meanwhile, maternity pants have become my nemesis. My stretch jeans, which have an elastic band across my lower abdomen, are tight enough to cut off circulation to my legs (since I refuse to stop eating for one single second). Also, they keep falling down. Not in the "these pants are so loose they keep falling down" sense. No, in the "too much sausage squeezed into the casing" sense.

My other jeans have a regular zipper and button with a partial stretch waist. This worked OK early in my second trimester. But now, wearing them feels like I have a metal bar across my stomach that will sever my placenta if left in place one moment longer. They also fall down and, as of this weekend, no longer fit around my belly.

In April, I tried the capri pants. They were so comfortable! Playing with my kids in the back yard, I envisioned myself wearing them every day for the rest of my pregnancy. But after an hour-long honeymoon, they fell down too. Not in the "inching down until they force you to stop what you're doing and pull them up" sense. No, they fell down in the "around my knees with my white doughy butt hanging out for all to behold" sense. Thank God I was on my back deck when it happened.

Any hopes I had of being a stylish pregnant woman, with fitted tops hugging my basketball belly and trendy pants suggesting still-slim legs, have vanished. Instead, I'm fighting my pants while having nightmares about wearing shorts and sleeveless tops in public. I just want to walk without yanking my pants back up every three steps. I don't want hunks of cellulite hanging out.

I want to be comfortable. Do I want to look cute? I'll answer that with a question: Do you know where I can find some low-priced muu-muus?

Continuing education, eventually

By Kelly

I have to admit that the life of a mother isn't enough of a life for me. That's one of the reasons I continue writing for DotMoms. It's why I garden so extensively, and read at least a book a week, knit, sew, cook, and write some more. Mothering and partnering weave all of the aspects of my world together. I've been wrestling with how to parlay my interests into a career, but I have no idea how to point myself in a particular direction and hit a target.

That's why I've decided to go back to school. Not this year, and maybe not even next year, but sometime in the distant future, I'm going to finish my BA in writing, and Goddess willing, go on to an MFA program. Someday.

Having even this much of a plan in my mind has helped me to focus on what's right in front of me. In this moment it's a toddler still in her pajamas, wearing an inside-out ladybug sunhat, and sorting beads into containers on the floor by my feet. She's finally stopped her my eyes are being burned out with hot pokers hour-long, post-nap-whining routine, and I'm rushing to get this post out of my head and into a file.

I'm not going to think about how much crazy money I'll need to come up with to finish my formal education. The desire to do this has hung on me like a wet wool blanket for the past 10 years, weighing me down with the bulk of the part of my life I set down and forgot to pick back up again. I'm also not going to think about how to realistically carve out at least 20 hours a week to commit to a distance learning program. Not yet.

Right now I'm just going to think about getting dinner on the table at a decent hour, getting my seeds in the ground sometime before July 4, learning how to ask Tyler good, leading questions about his reading assignments, keeping Lila engaged, and giving Chris something more fulfilling than a hurried kiss goodbye on his way out the door.

I'll pore over the admission packages as they arrive, even though I think I know what program is a good fit for me. I'll fill out the FAFSA because I'll need some financial aid, thank you. I'll play around with admissions essay ideas, and maybe speak with a faculty advisor to see if the school's promise to help me create my own course of study is as flexible as they say.

If they're telling the truth, then I just might be able to weave writing, reading, sustainable food and farming practices, community, family, marriage, and self-healing into a new blanket called a career.

Moms' night out

By Elizabeth L-B

Last weekend, I had dinner with the mothers of about half of Daniel's preschool classmates -- no kids or husbands allowed. In theory, it was a book club meeting, but we only spent about half an hour discussing "The Namesake" and about two hours just catching up. It was a beautiful evening, so we sat outside and talked and talked.

There was lots of talk about houses and construction; we seem to be the only ones not moving or renovating. We discussed what it would mean that all five of the kids not returning to the school next year are girls. We talked about movies, and whether Jim Carey is a real actor and whether Brad Pitt is sexy. We talked about what elementary schools we were zoned for, and what we had heard about the principals, and our opinions of year-round schools. We talked about how the kids pick up everything they hear, and trying not to curse in front of the kids, and where did they pick up the phrase "stinky salami" anyway? We talked about TV and movie ratings, and how we're a lot more worried by the violence than by boobies. I preached the wonders of TiVo for avoiding advertising, and confessed that we were the ones who had let our son watch "Star Wars."

It was a lot of fun, but I also think it was important. This is a network that I'm generally not part of, as I don't do the pickups or dropoffs at school, don't bring in the muffins for our turn at family snack. I go to parent-teacher conferences, and took a half-day off to chaperone a field trip in the fall, but otherwise these are all my husband's responsibilities.

Tony does a terrific job as a stay-at-home parent, and does many things that I wouldn't think of (Daniel tells everyone he meets about the lemonade stand they ran), but he's not so good at tapping into the mom network. He's totally uninterested in going out for coffee with the other parents after morning dropoff, and even when he chats with them at playdates, he doesn't relay the news to me. Dinner with the moms helps me feel connected and reassures me that I'm not missing out on anything crucial.

I'm really appreciative that one of the other mothers set up this "book club." I think I'm the only one who works full time outside the home. Several of the mothers work for pay, but they have somewhat flexible schedules, so they're able to be at preschool more often. It would be easy for them to only meet during weekdays, while the kids are at school. But they made a choice to be inclusive, and I'm grateful.

Do you belong to any mom groups?

The summer of 9

By Suzanne

When I was 9 years old, summer meant grass between my feet, ants moving from anthill to breadcrumb and back again, pools to swim in, books to read, and time to blow. Hot sun, long days, laughter.

Today, summer means.... ACK!!!! My kids are home and they are under my feet all day and they're begging to DO THINGS THAT I DON'T HAVE TIME TO DO.

Why can't I be 9 again? I want summer. I want grass between my feet, time to watch ants scurry across the sidewalk, cold pool water as I dive in, and nothing, nothing, nothing to do. I want my mom to be baking chocolate chip cookies when I come inside and I want to go watch "Petticoat Junction" for the umpty-hundredth time and dream about marrying hottie pilot Steve.

For the past several years, or okay, for as long as I can remember right now, I've had so much work to do all summer that all I could do was put my automatic pilot on September and tell it to get there because my nose was going to be down, on the grindstone.

This summer, I have no work. No deadlines. Well, one teensy one, but it's only for the first few weeks of summer. After that, I have deliberately avoided all obligation. I am going to the pool. I am watching ants. I'm reading books, blowing time, baking chocolate chip cookies, and if I can find "Petticoat Junction" on Nick, I'm watching it.

I'm going to be 9, just like my daughter. I can't wait.

What are you doing this summer?

Rush hour

By Christine

The old lady sauntered from side to side, age pressed deep into her bones like a sea shell in the sand. I found myself walking fast so as not to be late to pick up the children from kindergarten. Puffing like a steam engine, I barely took note of the woman as I impatiently passed her.

She stepped off the sidewalk to let me zip by, taking off her head scarf to reveal a thick bun and grey-streaked hair.

"I'll just let you go ahead of me," she smiled. Her charm made me stop in my tracks. I knew this lady. She was the grandmother of my daughter's best friend. I strode back to where she was standing, wanting to have what she had in ample supply: calm.

"You know, I walk too fast. No matter what I do, I always seem to be in a hurry. I'd really like to walk with you. May I?" She nodded in agreement. The woman crossed the street with me in silence. As we made our way up the steep incline to the schoolyard, I expected her to complain about the weather or at least about her aches and pains. Instead, she asked how it was living in Germany as an American. She seemed very interested in my point of view and praised me for raising my children in two languages. Her openness astounded me. I mentioned how I missed my homeland for its vast expanse and incredible energy and belief that anything is possible.

"We Germans are so strict," she said as we reached the kindergarten door. Once again, I was taken aback by this woman's wisdom. Judging by her age, she must have suffered through some parts of World War II. Nonetheless, she embraced me with such fairness. I felt ashamed for having almost passed her by in the first place.

When I picked up my two children, my daughter caught me smiling.

"Why are you so happy?" Sophia asked curiously. I gave her a big squeeze and said nothing.

"Come on, Mom. Let's race!" she suggested as she and her brother bounded down the hill the old woman and I had just climbed.

"No, thanks," I said, half to myself. "Today I'm going to take it just a little more slowly."