DotMoms

Finding your Silent Night

By Amanda

Every year as Christmas approaches I get increasingly anxious. It's the combination of having to do everything holiday along with having to work and continuing to take care of my family. But more and more, it's my growing concern that Christmas represents "getting" to my children instead of "giving."

They are inundated by commercials on television, bright catalogs in the mail featuring the latest toys, and their friends on the playground who talk about scooters, Game Boys and The Cheetah Girls. Santa only brings three gifts per child at my house (grandparents bring 700 of course), but as my oldest pointed out the other day: "He brings three really good gifts."

I'm not a Scrooge, but I don't like what Christmas has become. In December, two of my dearest friends turn 40. As a result, we are missing some Christmas parties, and to be honest, I'm thrilled.  Celebrating my friends' birthdays is more important to me because it is a night of real fellowship without Christmas sweaters, eggnog and unrealistic sentiments that we can't seem to live up to the other 12 months of the year.

I know what you're thinking. Adopt a family, pitch in at a charity, and donate money instead of buying gifts. These are all good ideas, and things that we do, but it's not enough. I feel like Christmas is a carousel spinning out of control, and I want to get off. We've talked about going away for Christmas, just the immediate family, no gifts, just togetherness. We didn't plan far enough in advance this year, but next year may be the year I make it happen.

In the meantime, I heard a story this weekend that gave me some hope. A man from church said he and his wife (who is in retail) had been working long hours and were exhausted. He said he was taking  out the trash Saturday night and there were literally a thousand things running through his mind. When suddenly, he noticed something: silence.

He looked up and saw an almost-full-moon illuminating long, wispy, white clouds that filled the sky. For that moment he said his worries drifted away as he took in the peacefulness and the beauty of the setting. The moment was so powerful for him he said he felt like waking up his young daughter and sharing it with her. At the end of his story the room full of adults was literally speechless (counting me) as he wished that we all might find our Silent Night amidst the noise of the holidays. 

Amanda lives in North Carolina with her husband and two daughters.       

Tradition trumps technology

By Amanda

It's amazing how so many things change, and yet some things stay the same. Important things.

When we were growing up we didn't have the Internet or laptop computers. We didn't have iPods or cell phones. We had three television channels and rabbit ears that didn't always work. To watch a movie we actually had to go to the movie theatre. To learn things we had to go to the library and read books. 

But one thing we did have was Indian Princesses. It's a social organization run by the YMCA that bonds fathers and daughters. Not unlike Girl Scouts, the group teaches children values and requires them to demonstrate certain skills. I was an Indian Princess, and now, 34 years later my daughter is an Indian Princess.

The truth is I don't remember too much about the experience. I know we earned feathers for performing good deeds. I know if the group met at your house you got to beat the drum to begin the meeting. I vaguely remember the occasional camping trip. But what I remember best is that feeling of importance it gave me to have my father, who was usually working, dedicate that time to me. It made me feel special.

When I listen to Blowing Horn (my husband) and Running Horse (my daughter) talk about the group it reminds me how some things do stay the same. The hostess and her father make and deliver handmade invitations to the meetings. In our chaotic, fast-paced world, e-mail would obviously be a much easier way to accomplish this. But it reminded me of how important traditions can transcend even our intense technological universe.

My daughters will likely never need rabbit ears or a pay phone, but hopefully, with a little help from their parents, they might find there are some things that never go out of style.  

Amanda lives in North Carolina with her husband and two daughters.         

Finding the magic

By Amanda

We started something recently with my 3-year-old that we are already regretting. She announced to us that she was going to be a magician. First she dons a pink cape that she calls her "magic cape." Then she hides an object -- a small toy, a teacup, a ball, beneath a straw hat on the floor. She closes her eyes and waves a broomstick (the poor man's wand) above the hat.

"Abracadabra, Alakazam, make the toy disappear," she says repeating a line no doubt from a cartoon.

Quickly one of us, usually myself, or my older daughter, takes away the object and hides it behind our back. 

"I did it," she screams, "I really did it. I'm magic!"

Then she repeats the process and we return the object beneath the hat. She is equally delighted when she removes the hat and sees that the object is back in its original place. The only caveat is that when we're not in the room and she tries to do it, she gets extremely frustrated.

"It won't work Mommy!" She yells from her bedroom. 

This immediately guilts one of us (usually me) into running from the kitchen back into her room and assisting in the process. After all, I can't bear to see her heart broken. Of course I am very careful and quick with my hands so that she does not uncover the ruse.

The other day the magic trick was on me. Apparently, I wasn't quick enough  or her eyes were not shut tightly, and she saw me remove the object.

"Mommy," she scolded. "You got to be faster. You can't let me see you do it or you will ruin the magic!"

The real magic here is that she fooled of all of us into believing she believed and in the process made us do what she wanted us to do. This is the mark of a true magician.

Amanda lives in North Carolina with her husband and two daughters.

No more hugs

By Amanda

My 6-year-old informed me recently that there are to be no more hugs, no more kisses, no more public declarations of love in front of her friends.

Silly me, I thought I was boosting her self-esteem when I gave her a bear-hug and shouted "I love you!" as I dropped her off at day-camp everyday. Apparently, I was doing just the opposite. I was embarrassing her! 

At first, I have to admit I was a little hurt by her not wanting me to show affection anymore in front of her friends.

So I asked her if I could hug and kiss her in the hallway before we enter the room. She said no. I asked her If I could hug and kiss her in the parking lot before we entered the building. She said no. Apparently, there was a chance that someone might see us in one of these locations. So I turned the question around and asked her where I might be able to show her a little affection before we part. She answered without hesitation: in the car.

Our new ritual in the morning is to exchange hugs and kisses and "I love you"s in the car before we get out. She's even a little bit hesitant about this since my Volvo does not have tinted windows.

I'm trying to respect our new mother-daughter boundaries, and I'm sure they will continue to change as my daughter faces the challenges of navigating her peer group.

Even still I sometimes lean in as she is walking away from me into the classroom and whisper "I love you" as softly as I can. She gives me a nod and a half-smile to let me know that she is still my little girl.

Amanda lives in North Carolina with her husband and two daughters.

School bus blues

By Amanda

Riding the school bus is a rite of passage that for some reason every generation of children looks forward to. My daughter, who is in first grade, is no exception.

When she was in kindergarten we would get behind the big, yellow bus with its bright flashing lights and she would inevitably say: "Mommy, when can I ride the bus?" Truth is I never really wanted her to ride the bus. 

All I can remember is the time Tommy Newcomb threw chewed bubble gum at me and it landed in my hair. My mother cut it out, and for months I had a piece of hair sticking straight up on my head. Needless to say Tommy Newcomb then teased me mercilessly about my new look. But after a year of hearing my daughter's whining and having no real excuse except for the bubble gum incident and a slew of  bad words that I learned on the bus, I gave in.

The first day of school she marched proudly to the bus stop with her backpack firmly in place so that she would be ready to get on at a moment's notice. She stood side-by-side with her best friend, the little boy next door, talking about how exciting their bus adventure was going to be. Unfortunately, like many buses on the first day of school there was a "mix-up." It never came. Despite fierce protests, I threw my daughter and her friend in the car and raced to school. In the afternoon her bus arrived home one hour and fifteen minutes after school was dismissed. Understanding that we live just two miles from the school, I made several panicky phone calls to the school office to assure myself that my daughter was not lost.

To be honest, I was fed up. The bus seemed like it was going to be trouble all around, trouble that I don't need. Even though the driver and principal told me the issues would be worked out by the second week of school, I didn't want to deal with the hassle. My daughter heard me talking about the situation to another mother and started crying.

"But Mommy I really want to take the bus, can't you work it out?" She pleaded.

At that moment I looked into her big brown eyes and decided, yes, somehow I would work it out. As long as Tommy Newcomb isn't on her bus, she can ride it.

Amanda lives in North Carolina with her husband and two daughters.

Lifting the fog

By Amanda

Mothers, whether they work or stay home, all have moments where the stress of being responsible for young lives sends us into a fog. I liken it to the G-force pilots experience in fighter planes when they simply “gray out.” They are lightheaded. Their vision becomes cloudy.  Simple tasks become impossible.

My girlfriend who stays home with her two children called me at the office the other day.

“How’s your day going?” I asked.

“Terrible!” she exclaimed.

“Why, what’s wrong?” I responded.

“I have one hour to go to the grocery store, exactly one hour. The kids are at home with a babysitter. I jump in the car, I race to the store (which is 15 minutes away), and when I pull into the parking lot I realize I don’t have my purse or wallet. Now I’m fighting traffic to get home so I can pay her and she can leave. I don’t even have milk in the house!” She finished with a deep,resigned sigh.

I called back later to see if she convinced the babysitter to stay so that she could go back to the store. She had, but in all of her rushing she fell in her driveway with her grocery bags sending everything rolling down the hill including the eggs.

I was in Target the other day and I picked up a white purse. My three-year-old pulled it out of the cart and started playing with it.  When I went to check out it was gone. I re-traced my steps; it was nowhere to be found.

“Tell Mommy where you threw the purse,” I said to her at first in a kind tone and then in a more agitated tone. We walked in circles.

“Please tell Mommy where the purse is,” I pleaded. She just looked down at her feet, a scowl on her face. Other shoppers kept eyeing the crazy woman yelling at her child in the cart.

Finally, full of frustration, I picked her up and took her to the car leaving everything else in the cart in the middle of the aisle. I lectured her on the way to the car about how we would now have to go to another store because that was the only white purse on the shelf. As I was buckling her in the car-seat I felt something hit my side. I looked up and noticed the white purse was on my shoulder. I immediately scooped her up in my arms and apologized for my tirade for about five minutes with lots of kisses and hugs. Because I didn’t want to be a bad mother and a shoplifter, I quickly returned to the store to pay for the purse.

When the fog lifted I realized just how quickly it can envelope you.  And when it happens you need to put on your low-beams and drive slowly…

Amanda lives in North Carolina with her husband and two daughters.

Finding Joy Again

By Amanda

Joy is something that is at the core of a child’s being. Unlike adults, they wake up everyday thinking about what will make them happy. They don’t think about work or bills or petty annoyances. They think about having a good time, pure and simple.

This past weekend we went to the beach with several families who all have small children. My girls literally ran around for forty-eight hours with a gaggle of kids and constant, toothy grins. They didn’t play with toys - in fact, none of us brought any.  Instead, they swam, played tag, hide-and-go-seek and ate popsicles in the shade.  They ran, belly-laughing, falling to the ground, and climbing on one another. At the end of each day they were sunburned, salty, sweaty and ready to collapse. But even in their exhausted state, they managed to curl up in their sleeping bags with big smiles permanently fixed on their little red faces.

My daughters are now six and three and as I look at them, I wonder at what age we lose the joy? I’m sure it doesn’t happen all at once. It is more likely a slow process, a leeching of our positive karma into the adult world where responsibility and anxiety go hand-in-hand. I don’t mean to be a cynic, but I think once it’s gone it’s hard to get back, but maybe if we try we can get back little pieces of it.

I think we all need a day when we do nothing but run, laugh and get dirty. I’m not sure how to make it happen, but I know a certain 6-year-old and 3-year-old who would be happy to show me the way…

Amanda lives in North Carolina with her husband and two daughters.

The List

By Amanda

My 6-year-old daughter gave me an inspired list of reasons tonight why she doesn't want me to work. They include the fact that we wouldn't have to rush in the morning, she wouldn't have to go to before-and-after-school-care, she would be able to make swim team practice and most importantly, I could come to lunch every single day at the elementary school cafeteria.

My list for why I won't quit work is probably not as inspired, but the reasons are just as important to me as my daughter's reasons are to her. I explained to my daughter that a big part of me is what I do for a living, that it helps define me and makes me who I am, that without it I would be a different person, a person she might not like, and more impotantly, a person I might not like. This is not an easy concept for a 6-year-old to understand. Honestly, it's not an easy concept for a 40-year-old to understand, but it's the closest I've been able to come to defining why I struggle to balance work and family when I could make a different choice. 

Guilt comes with the territory. You're always where you are not supposed to be. You're in a meeting when you're supposed to be at the holiday party at school. You're home with a sick child when you're supposed to be in an important meeting. But somehow it works- not always smoothly, but it works.

I reminded my daughter that if I didn't work I would be home with her 3-year-old sister every day. She thought about that for a moment and said: "Well that's okay, but you definitely can't do anything fun without me, and you especially can't go to the pool without me."

I told her if I wasn't allowed to do anything fun I really didn't want to stay home. She agreed it was a bad idea and gave me permission to keep working. But she did make me promise to rush less, come to school more often for lunch and try to figure out how we could work swim team into our busy lives. Now that's a list I can handle... 

Amanda lives in North Carolina with her husband and two daughters.

Here Comes the Sun

By Amanda

I stretched my arms over my head and rolled over lazily pulling the overstuffed pillow into my body. I opened one eye and suddenly I noticed unusual peeking through the bedroom curtains- light. I panicked and grabbed the clock on my bedside table pulling it in closer to my sleepy eyes. It read 7:30 a.m. - I jumped up and threw the covers in a pile at the end of the bed. My heart was racing. I tried to focus my foggy brain. 

Clearly, something had happened to the children. They never slept this late on my day off from work. My two-and-half-year old had a childproof handle on the inside of her door so that she couldn’t wander around the house unattended. When she woke up, usually around 6:15 a.m., she would knock on the door and call my name.  My six-year-old would come to the side of my bed and tell me she was ready for breakfast. But on this day, there was no wake-up call, just glorious silence.

I ran into their bedrooms. Their beds were unmade, covers tossed aside, stuffed animals perched atop their pillows. And then I heard something, the tinkling of spoons against the edges of bowls, and something else, low, quiet talking and laughter. I ran into the kitchen not knowing what to expect. It took me a moment to interpret what I saw- there at the table sat my two girls, each with a full bowl of cereal and milk, a spoon and a cup of juice. They were eating breakfast without me.  Obviously, the older one had taken charge and served the meal. Sure, there were little milk puddles around the edges of the bowl and some stray cereal pieces swimming around on the table top, but to me it was a beautiful sight.

I got down on my knees and hugged and praised my six-year-old like she had just won an Academy Award or an Olympic Gold Medal. And believe me this was not about me being proud- this was about me realizing that I actually might get to sleep some mornings until the sun comes up. I felt like a P.O.W. coming out of the jungle after six years in the trenches. Finally, I had arrived. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and it felt good.

Amanda lives in North Carolina with her husband and two daughters.

The Big 4-0

By Amanda

Well, it’s finally here. I knew it was coming, but now I’m staring it down. In less than three months I will turn forty-years-old.

I’ve never been a person who thought much about age. I always felt like I was “young at heart.” My mantra in the last five years has been “children keep you young.”  I don’t look old. I don’t feel old. Inside I’m still the same person I was when I was sixteen, except for the fact that I’m hopefully a little wiser. After all forty is the new thirty, but for some reason it’s starting to get to me.

Clearly there is much more I want to do in my life, including raising my children and helping them to live up to their full potential.  But I feel like I’m looking down the other side of the mountain, that time is no longer something I have a plethora of, but instead, is a precious commodity, something I can no longer afford to squander. I find myself wondering what my purpose is in life, what my legacy will be, and wondering will I have time to make it all happen?

At my office I work with a lot of younger women, women in their thirties and twenties.  When they find out how old I am they say: “You look great for your age!”  This is not exactly what I was going for. It’s like saying “You look great for a pregnant woman.”  You know what I mean. Truth be told I feel better than I ever have in my life, inside and out. I am more confident, more centered, and more self-aware than I was in my twenties and thirties. 

One of my favorite quotes is from Erma Bombeck. She says, “When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, ‘I used everything you gave me.’”

My goal from forty on is to use it all up…

Amanda lives in North Carolina with her husband and two daughters.