Moms: The Cockroaches of Emotional Warfare

I know, catchy title.

But when you think of it, aren't we, as women, just about the hardest creatures on Earth to crack? Are we not the human equivalent of cockroaches when it comes to getting back up when there should be no possible way that we could or should?

From the get go, there is drama. I see the difference between my boys and the little girls we are in contact with. With girls, everything is about the drama. I think it is a warm up exercise to what we go through as adults. And while this might sound cynical, I am truly not mocking.

I think that women, particularly mothers, put themselves aside for the well being of others. And often, it is more than any heart should have to bear.

Broken hearts. Everyone has a couple of these lurking around. Whether it is puppy love or a bitter divorce, women converge to help the afflicted along. Armed with Ben and Jerry, a bottle of vodka or both, your girlfriends, sisters, etc. will be there to hold you up, tell you are justified, to you to just F*** Him. Just what we need, in the right dosage.

Friendships betrayed. This drama usually finds its peak in middle school and high school. Intrigue and soap opera antics never fail to deliver the bemoaning and the fledging alliances. But sometimes, these new friendships will pass the test of time, and more often than not, they will be the ones that support you through some of the hardest stuff you will encounter in life.

Messed up families. How do you reconcile relatives that often make you wonder how on God's green Earth you could possibly be related to them? You love them, but can't expose yourself or your kids to their ways, bringing sadness, denial, unwillingness to accept. But the ability to look at a situation truthfully, and be able to walk away without regrets takes some serious gumption.

Work related drama. Both yours and your spouse's. If it is heart-wrenching to experience it first hand, it is even harder to hear about it happening to your spouse. The conniving evil that some people spout off is just unbelievable. I often wonder why some people choose to make so much trouble, cause so much harm. What's wrong with them?

Motherhood. Nothing piles up the emotional arsenal like motherhood. The hormones, the sleep deprivation, the worry. Am I doing it right? Are they okay? Will I mess them up too much? Motherhood breaks your heart like nothing else. After all, these children are a piece of you. Your body grew them and sheltered them for nine months. The first two years of these children's lives are spent assuring their survival, marveling at their growth and newfound skills. Their elementary years are filled with making sure they know right from wrong; their adolescent years spent making sure that they practice it. Then, they leave. As they must. And with them, they take a piece of you. If you've done your job right, you get to enjoy them in a different capacity.

I think that the common thread here is that women have hope. They have hope when the odds are stacked against them. They have hope when everyone else in the world is ready to call the game and head home. That hope is born from love. Love of our families, love of our friends and love for making sure that wrongs are righted, that justice prevails, that the happy ending happens. In spite of the odds, is spite of the difficulties.

Rest assured, when an emotional holocaust is omnipresent, there will be a group of women who lead the way, to help support those who need some wind in their sails, to hold the hand and comfort those who need it, to tell a raunchy joke and alleviate the tension. In spite of a broken heart. Finding the strength where there might be none. Because it is in our nature to be indestructible like no other creature.

We are there.

The cockroaches, and us.

Saying Yes -- To Me

There are many things on this Earth that require an incredible amount of faith, of taking an enormous leap and just jumping into the thick of things. Marriage, parenting, friendship, faith in ourselves. All of them require an affirmative answer to unasked questions: Yes.

When you marry, inevitably, a question gets asked; an answer is given. But before that question and answer, there are many moments that clearly define where you are going, what you are sharing, what you are seeking. And in gestures, in nonverbal acceptance, the yes comes. Yes to creating a life and home with someone. Yes to maybe going to bed angry once in a while, but knowing that the anger will subside, the cheeriness will return and all will be well. Yes to piles of chores and things to do, but always with companionship.

In parenting, the yes begins with the incredible leap from two to the thought of baby makes three (or 4, right Emily?) In the positive pregnancy test. In the delivery and congratulations that new babies bring. Afterwards, we walk around in a cloud of positives and a sleep-deprived state. And many decisions. Yes, we want the best for our offspring, but the no's come in rapid succession. Sometimes, we could have easily said yes, and we wonder why we don't more often...

Is it that we are afraid that they will become accustomed to having their way? Or are we afraid that they will not know how to handle when things don't go their way?

In friendship, we say yes to helping, supporting, enjoying each other's company. We lean on one another when situations call for it, hold hands when things are difficult, share in celebrating the joyous occasions that life brings.

But how many of us say yes to ourselves?

How many of us do for ourselves like we do for our spouses, our children, our friends? How often do we drop everything when we feel sick? How many of us call in sick to work when our child is running the slightest temperature, but will drag ourselves, half dead to work, on an ongoing basis?

We often short change ourselves with respects to parenting skills, too. We sometimes falter in the day to day stuff of parenting and worry that we are screwing up our kids. But, aren't we doing the best we know how, with our hearts in the wrong place? Don't we provide them with a clearly defined support system? Don't we encourage them from the very start? Don't we soothe them when they are upset?

Why don't we do it for ourselves?

It has taken me a long time to realize that yes to me means not being too hard on myself when I goof up, giving myself a little more credit than I usually do, and not feeling guilty when I do something that is just for me. Because, when I say yes to myself, I am happier. I am a better partner to my husband. I am more likely to say yes to my kid's non life-threatening request to doing something that will bring them happiness. I am a better friend to those who bring me happiness. I am a better me.

Saying yes to my needs and wants is just as important as saying yes to my husband, my kids, my friends. Saying yes to me helps me renew me, makes me someone others want to be around.

As I see it, there are enough martyrs in the world. I am not cut out to be something that I am not. However, I do believe in improving myself.

And really, who could say no to being better company for others, and more importantly, yourself?

We Don't Live in a Pig Sty!!!

For the last few weeks, it feels as though that phrase is all that comes out of my mouth when I look around my home. There is clutter, of course, because we have three children. But apparently, the clutter, much like it's amorous neighbor, laundry baskets, likes to get frisky and multiply.

I am sick of picking up after people. I realize that I have a long way to go in this never-ending race; but seriously, I feel as though I am living in a frat house. No one cares if things are growing on the bathroom floor, the garbage is overflowing or whether or not you can walk on the floor. And it would be really cool to make a wall entirely of empty milk jugs...All we need is a toga party to be right up there with Animal House...

I get it. Boys are messy. They smell if not reminded to bathe and practice personal hygiene. They like to grow hair and nails (on both their hands and feet). But what about having some dignity? And the whole messy house thing? I cannot deal with it. I work a full day. I come home to homework and making dinner. Sometimes, I would like to go for a walk or read a book. But, I ignore the clutter like I ignore the laundry and it debilitates me.

I glance from corner to corner, wondering why people send my children gifts, wondering if they will ever understand that I cannot (and will not) jump over book bags, lunch boxes, binders and other junk in order to walk from one end of the house to the other.This evening, when I walked into one of the boys room to put away some of their stuff, I found clothes on the bed, hangers on the floor, shoes everywhere, and the drawers in the dresser bulging open. When I opened said drawers (or tried to) I couldn't. The shirts and whatnot were so crammed in there, I had to take everything out and re-fold them. And I was angry.

Because I think a little neatness can go a long way. Because a little neatness can make my life a lot easier. Because there are children that are old enough to go through their things, get rid of the stuff that they no longer use or need. They can use things, and then put them back where they belong after they no longer need or want them.

But they are not entirely to blame. Perhaps it is my own fault. In an effort to be efficient, I have always gotten restless waiting for the kids to finish picking up. And I jump in to do it. Or, I tell them that the way they were doing it was not the "right" way. And so I would show them, and end up doing it myself. So, I guess that the saying , "You reap what you sow" is really true.

So now, it's time for this little piggy to pick up his towel. And this little piggy to pick up his shoes. And this other little piggy to pick up toys and put them in right place. So that we don't live in a pig sty.

Hey, do you want some WHINE with that??

At my house, whine is something that it served up on a daily basis, and there is no need to wait until Happy Hour, because it never comes...

My children are never without Whine. Whine appears at daybreak, with complaints of waking up too early, of not having anything good to eat for breakfast (code for: why can't we eat a pound of bacon and chocolate chip pancakes with chocolate syrup and whipped cream?), of having to share the bathroom sink, of not finding the water bottle.

Miraculously, Whine disappears at school. Regardless of what is expected of them or assigned for class work, there are no complaints. Why is that the minute they walk in the door at home, Whine picks up like a paused movie. It is usually accompanied by its constant companions, Jab and Poke.

Jab and Poke are not allowed on the school property, so they hang out in the house all day plotting new games to play while I am cleaning, making dinner, on the computer..... Jab and Poke have taken up a permanent residence in our home. They are constantly on the prowl, and it is nearly impossible to determine who came first, Whine or Jab and Poke.

They especially like to come and play at quiet places, like the doctor's office, restaurants, church, and any time I am on the phone on serious grown up business, like fighting with the insurance company.

It used to be that Max was the resident interpreter for Whine. Being the middle child, I am sure that it is his God-given right to complain about every blessed thing. Ryker is now very fluent in Whine as well. I know, he is so young, but Max has taught him well. But you know what? I. CAN'T. STAND. IT. ANYMORE.

It's all the time, without rhyme or reason, and frankly, Whine needs to move the hell out and find another family in the Exchange Program for Parenting Hell. Andrew is the keeper of Jab and Poke. These three have become fast friends and are not afraid to prey on Max, who will immediately resort to invoking Whine at increasingly higher decibels, depending on how present Jab and Poke are at that particular moment.

Then, the Ghost of Not-Me (of Family Circus cartoon strip fame) claims all responsibility. Wherever Whine and Jab and Poke appear, Not Me is sure to follow. Not Me likes to switch sides fairly often, which makes it incredibly difficult to corner Whine, Jab and Poke. Not Me is by far the worst of The Fab Four, as I like to think of them, and truly needs to move on as well.

Now, I understand that my children are finding their voices. That Whine, Jab, Poke and Not Me appear where they feel safe and secure (although, really, if they knew the visceral reaction I have to The Fab Four they would not come around anymore!) and I should feel as though I am doing something right, because my children invite The Fab Four to come hang out at the house. But I have a pretty good hunch that the psychologist and behavioral specialists who wrote those theories didn't have these troublemakers as permanent residents in their own homes.

And I really am beginning to think that these four have been responsible for many a mother just going off the deep end and winding up in a padded room, quietly whispering to herself for the rest of her life. So, I guess I have to lay some ground rules here.

I can be glad that my home is such an inviting place that The Fab Four have decided to stick around for a while. I guess that it is to be expected, given the amount of testosterone that exudes from my home. But The Fab Four need to settle down. I can accept that they are going to squat for a while, but they gotta play by my rules. They can only come out to play when we are home, and they need to stay away from the dinner table, no exceptions. When I am doing official grown up stuff, they need to keep a lid on it. NO INTERACTIONS IN THE CAR OR AT CHURCH WHATSOEVER. Just a couple of rules to keep things on the up and up.

But I guess that what really has me so upset is the reality that these four are really here to stay for a while. They had made sporadic appearances for the last couple of years, but nothing really permanent. And now, here they are, a fixture that is truly an eyesore. And a headache.

And another thing. Didn't their mothers teach them any manners? Don't they know that you always bring the hostess a bottle of Pepsi as a gift? Maybe then, after a glass or two, The Fab Four and I can become friendly, you think?

Don't Postpone Joy.....

I saw this on a bumper sticker on my way home from work yesterday. The message is so simple, but oh, so hard to put into practice.

As women, as mothers, we are ALWAYS putting ourselves last on the list. And really, when we wonder why we aren't appreciated, thanked, valued the way that we want or deserve, it is because all too often, we have taught others how to treat us. Although times have changed mightily and we enjoy the choices and freedoms our mothers, grandmothers and great-grandmothers struggled to secure for us, we are rarely content with ourselves.

It is not that we are not happy, we are overwhelmed. With the choices we must make to help our families stay afloat, with being torn into a million different pieces, with the multitude of roles we must fulfill in one given day. And all too often, we are too tired to try to find some joy within our days. Some days, it is all we can do to fulfill our job requirements to a bare minimum, come home, be mothers to our children: feed them, supervise home work and baths, tuck in bed. Then be wives to our husbands: lending an ear, holding a hand, comforting.

We never stop to think that we CANNOT do these things for them, yet, repeatedly, we DON'T do this for ourselves. How many of us have ever stopped our husbands mid-story and said, " I just need you to listen to me." How many times have we sacrificed our children's needs for our own...we are just not programmed that way.

And I am NOT saying that our joy, our comfort for ourselves should come at sacrificing our children and spouses, but that we should also take the time in our day for ourselves...Because we ARE important.

If you think of it, so much is balanced on these shoulders of ours. We need to be on our game for the other people who desperately depend on us. Our children, spouses, elderly parents. How can we give when we ourselves are spent? And what do we tell ourselves each day?

"Tomorrow I will...When I am done with this task, goal, whatever, I will..." Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, months into years. We postpone our joy. Daily, constantly, decidedly, without compassion.

Perhaps it is not one big to-do that must happen to fill us with joy. Perhaps it is changing our expectations. I would rather a year's worth of silly or quiet moments with my family than a big blowout of a celebration for a few hours in one day and then 364 days of nothing.

I find that opening myself up to the beauty of each day: the gift of molding my children into the adults I would like to see, the gift of having a job that I somewhat enjoy (on most days), that I live with a man whom I so love and respect; I prepare myself for the joy that the day will give me. Because the joy maybe disguised in many ways.

It may not be flamboyant. It might be that a particularly difficult day has finished with no one worse for the wear. It might come from a kind word from an acquaintance or the knowing smile of a stranger. The gift is unexpected, but there. Or it might be something that I give to myself. That at the end of the day, the joy comes from knowing that another day has come and gone, that progress of some sort has been made. That I have crossed the finish line.

The reward of joy might be a cup of tea, a few pages from a magazine that has been sitting abandoned for weeks, soaking a warm bath, clearing the slate for the next day; but something; something that is just for me, must happen. However small, that daily offering to this weary domestic goddess must be made. So that she can continue to exist in balance...and joy.

Warts and all

Last night, after my son had been complaining about his brothers, we talked about how families are...that we love each other, "warts and all," I said. He looked at me with this puzzled face and I went on to explain...

"When we love someone entirely, in spite of their faults and we still like being around them, we love them warts and all."

Many of us are raised with the notion that because someone is a family member, you should automatically feel something for this person...Not always so. Shared lineage does not a family make. We don't really get to choose who ends up in our families, we just have them.

We sometimes cannot reconcile the fact that they are indeed sharing the same genetic codes, and in spite of that, we have to distance ourselves. We don't like who we become when we are around them, we don't like the many arguments, (besides those that occur at the dinner table over which way food should be passed), too many hurt feelings, too much bad drama.

You can tolerate being in their presence for brief, highly controlled situations, and then move along. You take one for the team, to keep the peace, but there is no allegiance.

Families usually start when a boy meets a girl, they have babies, their babies have babies, and so forth...but families are cultivated with love, history, shared stories and concern for one another.

And that often includes people we choose to include, that don't necessarily share Granny's ability to touch the tip of her nose with her tongue! Bird of a feather, flock together kind of thing...and that sometimes means taking the good with the bad.

And isn't this especially true of marriage. After the wedding dress is preserved and stored, after the monotony of daily life sets in (because it does), the warts really start to appear. They are very easy to spot on our spouse, but every once in a while, we see shadows of our own warts staring us in the face. When you really love someone, you can acknowledge all the warts (his, hers, ours), all those imperfections that make us, at times, intolerable, and still love them and the person they are attached to.

It is not that you are blinded by your love for this person, you just love them enough to look past it, and they return the favor. And if you are really lucky, you might even get a running joke out of one or two of them.

Warts and all is the cornerstone of parenthood, I think. We love our children desperately...we give up sleep, sick days, our waistlines, sanity, and bank accounts because of our love for them. But that love does not diminish our abilities to see our children as they are. At least for me, that love gives me a sense of clarity when I look at my children as a whole. I can see their imperfections, and as their mother, perhaps I can help them fine tune those that need tuning.

Our warts shouldn't be a barrier or something that prevents us from the love of another. They are there to remind us that we are constantly in need of improvement within ourselves. That there is always the opportunity to improve those things in us that seem to make us uncomfortable. That if we love ourselves enough, we can really make those changes. And maybe, just maybe, if we can diminish our own warts, we might just be the inspiration for someone else to do the same for us.

After all, there is always more to love without the warts...

The Best Day Ever

This past Saturday was a date I will remember for the rest of my life. A day that has been 5 years in the making. A day I sometimes lost faith in the fact it would ever happen.

It was the day my two oldest boys were baptised, and became members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. It was the day my husband was worthy to be the one to perform these baptisms and confirmations.


My oldest son, Andrew, is now 13 years old. He could have been baptised several times over the past five years.....but he wanted to wait until his dad was able to do it. And in a way, I'm glad he waited. It made a wonderful day all the more special.

The weather wasn't ideal, and unfortunately it kept a lot of family members from being able to come; but the ones that were there made the day all the more special.

Grandma Kate and Uncle Tim gave fabulous talks. The spirit was there in abundance. The music was great, the missionaries were great, the video presentation was great. The day was just....well, great.

I am so glad that my boys have made the choice to be baptised and to live their lives according to the Gospel. It's just one more step in our family's journey to eternal life.