DotMoms

Mothering without a mom to guide me

By Jenn

My mother and I were always close.  My sister and I?  Not so much.  I always knew I would be a mom and that my own mother and I would be close and have a great mom-to-mom relationship. My sister and I? Not so much. There would be lunches and shopping days for me, my mom and my daughter. (Of course I would have a daughter.  That was how it was supposed to be.) I would turn to my mom for advice and support. My sister and I? Not so much.

Funny how things actually turn out. Nothing like how I thought it would be. It is nothing like it was "supposed" to be. In fact, the only thing that happened as I expected was that I did have a daughter.

My idea of how I would depend on my own mother as a guide for being a good mother myself never came to pass. More than a decade ago, my mother was diagnosed with a chronic disease that robbed her of her mobility and more devastating to all of us, her personality. Her memories of mothering small children and her logical thinking on how to help have been replaced with frustration and confusion on her part.

I never imagined being a mother without the help of my own mother. Suddenly, I felt alone traveling this terrifying journey called motherhood. How would I ever manage this without someone who had been through it and could help me? Who could I turn to who has always been there and would never leave me if I messed things up?

My sister.

Only 4 years older than I am, she somehow has managed to step in and be there when the pressures of motherhood just become too hard to deal with alone. (And trust me, that happens more often that I ever dreamed it would!) 

Without a mom to turn to or a mother-in-law to seek for support, I turn to the one person who knows me best and knows exactly what it was liked to be raised in the same home as I was.

I feel for the women who have to struggle through motherhood without the help of anyone who loves and supports them. A few years ago, I felt that I was alone. I felt cheated out of the entire "right" I thought I had to be able to turn to the generation before mine for support and advice. Once I got over my selfishness, I realized I wasn't as alone as I thought I was.

I have a sister who is also a mother -- a woman who may not be a generation older than I am, but who loves me unconditionally. I am thankful that I can share the trials and tribulations (as well as the successes) with my sister.

I hope that every mother has someone (if not her own mom) that she is able to travel with along the road of motherhood. If you do, thank her. Today. If not, look me up.  The women in your life may be unavailable. My sister and I? Not so much.

Same phase, different age

By Jenn

When your children's ages range from 3 to 11 years old, you tend to be in more than than one phase of parenting at the same time. There are times, however, when things align in such a way that you are going through the same phases, but at different levels. For instance, right now, two of my children are both struggling with the desire to assert their independence. Both stages of this phase have their own set of difficulties and both are making me crazy!

My 11-year-old son Brandon is at an age when he wants to start going places (such as the movies or the mall) alone with his friends. As in, no parents around. At all.

My problem is not whether I trust my son. I do. With ever fiber of my being I trust that boy. But some of his friends? Not so much.

In fact, just last night Brandon's friend asked him to go to a movie with him again. I told Brandon that I didn't think it was a good idea because of my lack of trust in his friend. Then left it up to him as to what to do. (I always tell the children that they can use me as an excuse anytime they feel caught and don't know how to get out of situation.)

The next thing I knew, I heard Brandon telling his friend that he would rather not go to the movies because he didn't want to be put in a position that would give his parents any reason to distrust him. I cannot begin to tell you how proud of him I was in that moment.

Now, the other little person trying to gain more independence is my little three-year-old daughter Gabriella. Suddenly, she feels that she no longer needs help with ANYTHING. And by anything, I mean she does not want help with ONE SINGLE THING. The only problem with that is that she cannot actually do the things that she insists on doing on her own.

These range from tasks that she has not mastered, such as tying her own shoes, to tasks that are just too dangerous for her to do alone. I am not about to hand over a jug of milk and a cup and point her toward the microwave quite yet.

I am also so very mean as to not let her cross the street alone, climb on the counter to get her own snack and won't even let her go outside to check the mail alone. (I know. You are shocked and appalled at the level of inhumane treatment I bestow upon her. I hear you!)

She gets very frustrated when this happens, so I usually make whatever it is she wanted to do alone into a game in order to gain her cooperation. Sometimes it works. Sometimes I am treated to the EVIL TODDLER EYE OF DEATH. (That is most often the case.)

So here I have two children eight years apart in age both battling with me over the same basic yearning for independence.

Whereas the youngest can be placated with a game or a compromise and the issue is forgotten, my older son has bigger consequences at stake if I misjudge the situation. If I give my daughter a bit more independence when she craves it, the consequences are probably mild. (Never cry over spilled milk.) However, giving my son more freedom than he is ready for could lead to problems that change his life forever.

How do you know when to give a little more slack in those apron strings and when to keep them right where they are? Do you ever know?

No "Mommy trading" here

By Jenn

Apparently, the newest thing in reality television is the concept of families "Switching Moms." Someone, somewhere thought it would be a good idea to take two moms and uproot them from their families and drop them into a family that is the polar opposite of their own. There are actually women who want to do this.

I have a confession to make. I was actually approached by a producer of one of these shows back before the first episode aired. They asked if I would be interested in participating in a new reality show. After they explained the premise, I had no trouble turning them down. Perhaps faster than they expected. I am also relatively sure they had not yet heard laughter as an initial reaction, either.

Were they kidding me?

You see, I have my family trained. And by trained, I mean they know where the lines are and they know not to cross them. My kids know what buttons to push and which ones to avoid at all costs. In fact, my children are pretty great at reading my mood and adjusting their chaos accordingly.

But a new family? A family that I have no history with and that I know nothing about? I think not!

I shudder to think about how I would handle a husband who has not had the benefit of 17 years with me. You see, even when it comes to babysitting other people's children, I am just not cut out for an extended "tour of duty" unless it is family or a close friend. I just don't do well with the idiosyncrasies of other children.

"What do you mean Little Johnny stuffed a Fruit Loop up his nose? Why in the world would he do that?" You see? Total lack of compassion for poor Little Johnny. Just annoyance that he did something so totally bizarre.

I will admit I was eager to see how this show would turn out. I watched both of the shows that are based on this premise. My conclusion? I couldn't be more thankful that I turned them down. Why? Because I really think after a 14-year marriage and 11 years as a mother, I am just not cut out to try to take over anyone else's children. Not even for a week.

One show asks, "Is the grass always greener...?" My answer? Not in my book.

What would you do if you were given the opportunity to switch families?

But that's not how I do it

By Jenn

Before I became someone's mom, I had preconceived ideas of motherhood. I'm sure most women did at some time in their pre-motherhood days.

I dreamed of nice afternoons at the park with my little angel playing happily with the other children while I looked on adoringly. Okay, first of all I live in the South. We have perhaps five afternoons in an entire year in which a day at the park is "nice" and not a hot, humid outdoor sauna-fest. Secondly, when talking about my actual children, I do believe that the adjective "angelic" is only used when they are sleeping.

The point is that I had ideas about what life would be like when I became a mother. Ideas that were naive and far from reality. Not to say that there aren't days where it far exceeds anything as wonderful as my imagination created, because those days are plentiful. I am just saying that it is not all sunshine and roses. There are thorns and "fertilizer" thrown in as well.

But this really isn't about motherhood being harder and more complicated than I ever imagined. (Any mother can tell you that!) This is more about preconceived notions about how life would be once I became a mother. For instance, I looked forward to the bonds that would develop when I was around other moms. Surely, since they were in the same situations as I was, they would be able to relate. We would share our trials and tribulations and offer each other advice and support. Certainly with all of that support, it would make childrearing easier.

What I didn't count on was the "But That Isn't How I Do It" clause. You can take any mothering issue and tell me how you handle that situation in your home and I will find you a mother who can and will be able to look at you and say, "But that isn't how I do it."

Sometimes you are lucky enough to find other mothers who can say that and still support your chosen methods of childrearing. Unfortunately, you will also find mothers who will say, "But that isn't how I do it so you must be wrong." I have to admit that was one of the biggest surprises of motherhood. (Well, that and the incredible amount of dirty diapers a baby can create.)

At the very least, we are all trying to do our best when it comes to mothering our children. I have yet to meet a mom who wants to be the worst mom possible. I have met many who will point the finger at their peers and think that is true, though.

Don't misunderstand me. I am not trying to lecture anyone about the virtues of loving your neighbor and agreeing on how to raise their children. What I am saying is that I think all mothers and their children would benefit if we gave each other the benefit of the doubt when parenting philosophies differ.

In short, if you and I are sitting in rush hour traffic side by side and you notice that I am listening to pop radio while allowing my shoeless daughter to eat ice cream in the car whereas you are listening to Barney while your Gymboree-clad daughter eats an apple, let's make a deal: You don't frown at me thinking to yourself that I am a bad mother and I won't laugh at you for voluntarily listening to a Barney CD. Then, maybe if we ever do meet up again, we can share what we have each learned and both become better mothers in the long run.

Is it a deal?

Mother-daughter bathroom bonding

By Jenn

In the days before my daughter was born (when I was a mom to only boys) I used to have ideas about how a mother and daughter would bond. All I knew to that point was bonding with boys. It consisted of watching and playing sports, racing the coolest Hot Wheels on the makeshift track set up in our living room and various disgusting and loud bodily functions. Not only did I grow up with a brother, but also all of my closest friends were boys. I knew boys and how they operated. I was neither intimidated nor appalled by anything that was labeled "all boy" by other people. (Truth be told, I loved it!)

Then, I found out I was pregnant with a girl. A girl? I knew nothing about girls! Oh, sure, I was actually biologically female, but I was definitely not a girlie-girl. A certain degree of fear set in. I knew nothing about how to bond with a girl. I never enjoyed playing with Barbies. (I always thought that G.I Joe was cooler because he had that awesome Kung-fu grip.) I was never into all of the latest fashions and fads. Comfort was key for me. After all, you couldn't kick a soccer ball in sandals. My point is I had preconceived ideas on how a mother would bond with her daughter.

I imagined that Gabriella and I would bond over girlie-girl issues. We would shop together for girlie-girl clothes or we would talk while I painted her toenails. I imagined sitting on the floor playing with her dolls, growing closer as a result of this playtime together.

I was wrong. Do you want to know where a mother and daughter bond the most? In the bathroom.

I have spent more time in various bathrooms with this toddler than I think I have spent in any other room with her. We have visited almost every bathroom in the D/FW metroplex, most of the ones along Interstate 45, a fair share of the bathrooms in the west Houston area and about half of the ones in Bryan/ College Station. To hear the words "I have to go to the bathroom" from Gabriella is actually her way of sending up a battle-cry loudly announcing, "I want your undivided attention RIGHT NOW, Mommy!" She knows it is the one place that only I will take her and that she will have me all to herself.

Once in the bathroom, she talks. And talks. And talks. She talks about everything from what she sees in the bathroom to issues that may be bothering her at that moment. Then there are the times when she just makes observations about the similarities between the two of us and the obvious differences. (That makes for some very humorous eavesdropping for other bathroom patrons, I am sure.) Other times she simply wants to discuss the current state of affairs in Iraq. (Okay, that last one hasn't happened, yet, but I am waiting. I would not be surprised.)

Why is it that no one ever told me that the true bonding with a girl is not over the things you see on Disney movies or have created in your mind, but rather in a dank little bathroom stall at Moe's Shell station on I-45?

Did you ever have any preconceived notions about how you would bond with your kids? Were they accurate or were they way off base like mine? I would love to know I am not alone in this. Tell me about your experiences.

Tell me I didn't just hear that

By Jenn

There are few things that I can hear from my children that can send an icy chill up my spine and make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Want an example? Here's one:

"Uh-oh"
*silence*
"Don't tell Mom."

Seriously, no matter what I am doing, that will stop me in my tracks. Being the "experienced" mother that I am, my first thought is, "Do I really want to know what just happened?" (The answer to that is obviously no.) Therefore, my next question is, "Do I need to know what just happened?" (The answer to that is obviously yes.)

Yesterday, after begging and pleading with my older boys to keep an eye on their little sister so I could take a shower, I am in my bathroom getting dressed when I hear those words.

I freeze.

I can honestly tell you that I really did not want to go investigate. I just didn't think I had the energy to go see what caused not only the "uh-oh" to be uttered, but more importantly, what necessitated the "Don't tell Mom" to be voiced.

Since I knew I had to go find out what had happened, yet was not really ready for the answer, I finished getting dressed, dried my hair, and said a little prayer before exiting the bathroom.

You're wondering what I found, aren't you? Are you nervous for me? Did your stomach clench up just a bit? Are you more than a little thankful that it was my children and not yours? Well, you should be. When I emerged from the bathroom and entered the playroom, there before my eyes was the most colorful display of imagination I had ever seen.

Unfortunately, the canvas was my daughter. What color technique was used? My hot pink nail polish. It was all over her hands. All over her feet. Some in her hair. All over a pillow. Pretty little circles on the floor. And, yes, even some on her once-white sundress.

Remember when I said I was an "experienced" mother? This came into play. The part of me that was "experienced" knew that the best course of action was to turn, walk back to my bathroom and wait. Wait until I could take a breath that wasn't shaky. Wait until the frustration of not being able to take a shower without this happening left me. And wait until the urge to laugh left me.

I admit it. The guilty look on the boys' faces and the pride on my daughter's face about did me in. I thought it was funny. (The humor left after the first 30 minutes of trying to clean it up, however.)

What do you hear from your kids that will stop you in your tracks and send a chill up your spine?

Mom's hideout

By Jenn

Many houses have different rooms that are designated for a particular family member. For some men, their private hideaway is their garage. (My brother-in-law would be a great example of that. In fact, to see him in the house is almost shocking. He just spends that much time in the garage. Granted, he does have a sweet little set-up, so who could blame him?) My husband has our home office. We all can go in there (and do) to use our computers, but if he closes the door, it means stay out. We know this. We stay out and leave him alone. Short of there being a fire or other such emergency, it is as if he isn't even home. For my children, it is their own bedrooms. If they go into their rooms and close their doors, it means they want to be alone. We all have learned to respect that. (Okay, we have all learned what a closed door means, but we don't always respect it.) The point is there is a place for each of us to go when we want to be alone. Completely alone.

What? You say didn't see my private room listed? Well, it took me a long time to stake a claim to my hideaway room. You see, my bedroom wouldn't be a good choice. I share it with my husband and wouldn't feel right about kicking him out of it. Not to mention the fact that the kids will pretty much just stand there knocking or just shouting through the door for whatever it is they want, anyway. Unless I am sick and threaten to breathe on them, they can't (or won't) take a hint that I want to be alone if I go to my room. The kitchen is out. I mean, seriously, who wants to be in there anyway if they don't have to be? The family room is out merely by the very nature of the name of the room. The "family" room isn't a place to go to be alone. (Feel free to laugh if you have already figured out what room I was left with.)

Yes, my friends, this mom's hideout room (the mom sanctuary) is none other than the bathroom. I'd love to tell you that it is a huge bathroom with a gloriously large sunken whirlpool tub with music piped in to soothe and relax me. I would love to say that I have expensive aromatherapy candles that calm the nerves and relax the body. In fact, I would be thrilled to mention the plush rug and heated floors that keep my toes all cozy in the winter. The truth of the matter is that it is a tiny little room. There is no sunken tub. There is no tub at all, just a shower. The rug is actually carpet that has been worn down to next to nothing. And the wallpaper and cabinets? Let's just say they aren't my style. It isn't the atmosphere I seek. It is the solitude.

I have the basic necessities. Reading material to keep me busy for hours if need be. (It isn't like I have to worry about what I will do if I have to pee!) I have every bath and body lotion known to man. (Some they don't even make anymore.) I have hair care products that can take me from frumpy to sleek in just minutes. (At least they claim they can.) I can give myself a pedicure and manicure if I want to take the time. I can even redo it if I don't like the color when I am finished. In fact, I can give myself an entire makeover from head to toe. Granted the most glamorous wardrobe change would be into my very cozy, fleece robe from Old Navy, circa 1997.) I have all I need in there. I can stay locked in indefinitely.

Or until they find me. And they usually do. However, I do have my own hideaway where, for at least a few glorious moments, I am able to be by myself. Without an audience. Behind a locked door. Alone. You may not find it very glamorous or exciting, but trust me, my hideout is private, secluded and not somewhere that anyone else wants to be. However, if you come over to my home and the little people here drive you nuts, all you have to do is ask me, and I just may let you hide out there, too.

Do you have a hideout in your house? Tell me about it!

What is in a name?

By Jenn

We have reached a new stage in our household. It is the stage where you suddenly go from "Mommy" to "Mom." My oldest son is 10 (going on 16) and has been trying out this new title for me. Let me just be honest here. I don't like it. Not at all. It just sort of makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Mom, where is the phone? I have a call to make."

"Will you help me with my homework, Mom?"

"You just don't understand, Mom."

Oh, yes, that last one breaks my heart. Somehow, hearing it phrased with "Mommy" tacked onto the end makes it easier to stomach. For instance:

"You just don't understand, Mommy. I just can't put on my own shoes."

I can help with that. I am needed with that one. I do in fact understand. Somehow, when it goes from "Mommy" to "Mom", he is right. I don't understand.

I know that this is just the first of many signs that he is growing up and moving away from me being the center of his world. He has been for a long time. Yet, when I would hear him call me "Mommy" it still felt like he was my baby boy. Now, he sounds like a kid who is growing up. Right on schedule.

Honestly, I cheer for him that he is finding his independence and trying new things on for size. Inside, I must tell you that it is hard for me to see my baby boy becoming a preteen and moving step by step away from his Mommy Mom.

Do your kids call you Mom or Mommy? Do you even have a preference?

My favorite child

By Jenn

When I was a little girl, I remember asking my mom if I was her favorite. I was convinced that she would either agree that, yes, I was indeed her favorite, thus providing me with excellent fuel for fights with my brother and sister or she would say no, which of course would devastate me. I knew Mom would never devastate me. However, she had an answer all ready for me.

"I have no 'favorite child.' I love all of you equally, but in very different ways," she said.

What? Even as a child I knew that was a crock. Surely, one of us stood out among the group. Yet, Mom never gave me any other answer than that. (My brother and sister later confirmed that they, too, had heard that same answer when they tried to ask her that question.)

I promised myself I would come up with something better for my kids. Better yet, I would love each of them so much and with such passion, they would never think to ask the question. (Naivety is cute, isn't it?)

Fast-forward my life about 25 years. My son and I are snuggling, and he leans over and whispers in my ear, "Mom? Am I your favorite?"

I freeze and play deaf.

"Mom? Who is your favorite kid?" he says a bit more forcefully.

I run through my possible answers. I hear my mother's answer blaring in my head. No! I won't say that! I have had 25 years to come up with an answer. You'd think I would know what to say. So I look into my darling firstborn son's eyes and reply...

"Well, you know that Conner kid from down the street? He rocks! Honestly, I think he is my favorite kid."

Silence. And a stare that says he doesn't appreciate the humor.

Quick. Think. Think. What do I really feel? Well, I think to myself, I love each of my children so much more than I could ever put into words. Each one of them holds a special place in my heart that belongs to them alone. I don't love one of them more than the other. I love them all equally. Only, it is different with each one of them.

Then I hear myself say, "Sweetie, I have no 'favorite child. 'I love all of you equally, but in very different ways."

I guess Mom knew what she was talking about after all. (Just don't tell her I said that!)

That look has power

By Jenn

When my boys were younger, I was convinced that they had some mysterious power in their "I didn't do it" and "pretty please" faces. I knew for sure that their "I didn't do it" face was one for the record books. It just was not possible for me to be immune to such adorable looks. When they would flash these looks at me, I would cave.

I did not mean to cave. Before I knew what was happening, I was looking at them adoringly and forgiving whatever transgression they happen to have committed. They were mommy's little boys. Surely, there was no child who could equal the power in my boys' stares. I was wrong.

Enter my daughter, stage right. The looks my boys gave me were completely amateurish in comparison to the ones that my daughter can give me. This girl has not only mastered the technique, but has elevated it to an art form. She is especially good at her "I didn't do it" look. I mean seriously, this girl should be in the running for an Academy Award.

For instance, when I walked into the playroom recently, she and her friend were jumping on the couch. I told them in my "I-am-the-mom-so-you-better-listen" voice to stop it. Then came ... the look. "I didn't do it" was written all over her adorable three-year-old features. I was rendered helpless. I actually wondered if maybe she hadn't done it.

Wait! What was I thinking? I watched her jumping on the couch. I saw it with my own two eyes. Her looks hold a mighty power.

I certainly expected this sort of thing to happen with my husband. I knew that with him, his little girl would be able to get away with too much simply because she was Daddy's little girl. Well, I was a Daddy's Girl, too. I know how to play the game. There was no way I would fall for these little tricks that girls play. I have been there and done that and I would be immune. Never have I been so wrong. I have met my match in my daughter.

Of course, this makes me wonder. If she has already mastered the fine art of using her expressions now, what do her teenage years hold for me? I shudder to think of it!