Every Monday, I'm a little bit sad that the weekend's over and Jeff has to go back to work. Actually, I'm a lot sad. It seems like we just never have enough time together!
I was thinking about this a lot a couple weekends ago when Jeff was in Birmingham to take his two-day engineering test. He was gone for two nights, and it just wasn't the same around here. I know a ton of people spend a lot of time apart, to travel for their jobs, to get away, to visit friends or family separately, or to just change things up a little. I could only come up with a couple times that Jeff and I have spent the night apart in the almost-three years that we've been married: I was away for two roller derby bouts and once to visit my mom, and Jeff was away for a baseball game and a golf outing. There might be a couple other times in there, but I can't remember. But we're not those people who need time away. We spend all our time together, but still we don't get tired of each other. (Even on vacation. You know that's love, when you can spend almost every minute of a whole week together––and like it.)
Back when I was in college, my roommate and I always talked about how we thought we'd know it when we met the guys we would marry. We thought a pretty good indication would be to date guys we liked more than they liked us. It seems true. Before meeting Jeff, I definitely didn't date anyone I was just crazy about; their affection for me seemed unreal in its intensity, since I could never quite return it. It all kind of seemed silly (easier to say in retrospect, of course, but still true). I feel pretty certain that the depth of my love and appreciation for Jeff exceeds anything I'd previously imagined or thought possible.
When we were engaged, all the time people were telling me how Jeff and I would have all these horrible, epic newlywed fights that would bring us closer together. Ha ha ha! We've maybe had a couple times where we've had some annoying miscommunication resulting in both of us being ticked off...but still waiting on those fights. (Tip: Don't try to talk to each other when you're in different rooms. It's hard to hear and easy to not catch all the words. Tip, part two: Don't try to talk to each other when the baby is screeching loudly. Wait till he's a little quieter.)
Once we were married, all the time we said, "Ha ha! We're married! How great is that! We're such grownups!" It was great eating supper together and then not having to have one of us drive home. We were already home!
Now we say, "Ha ha! We're married! We have a baby! A baaay-bee! Best baby in the world! We're such grownups!" And what a great excuse to hang out together at home even more. It makes me think of that Alabama song: "She and I live in our own little world, don't worry about the world outside. She and I agree, she and I lead a perfectly normal life. Ah, but just because we aren't often seen socially, people think we've got something to hide. But all our friends know we're just a little old-fashioned. Oh, ain't it great, ain't it fine to have a love, someone that others can't find. Ain't it wonderful to know all we ever need is just the two of us, she and I."
One of the things that I like best about Jeff is that he's always the same. Every day, I know I can count on him. Plus, he says witty things. And knows what I'm talking about even if it wouldn't make sense to anyone else. And he's not overly emotional. Some people might like their men to be more emotive, but stoic works well, too. Yay for manly men. Also, he's good at grammar, so grammar jokes are usually not lost on him. (These are important points.) His faith is strong. But so, so important is that Jeff is the same as when we met; he's always there and always dependable.
I'm so thankful that God has given us each other and kept strengthening and deepening our love for each other. But I'd really like extra weekends, too!
Monday, April 23, 2012
Friday, April 13, 2012
Easter weekend
Last weekend was great, and it felt like it lasted a week. Friday I got to go to the Good Friday church service, thanks to Matt's bedtime of 6:30 p.m. and church start time of 7. This was a good follow-up to Maundy Thursday church, which I also got to attend.
On Saturday, we went to an egg hunt for babies and toddlers at someone's house. Matthew "found" two eggs with Jeff's help, and I drank delicious iced coffee. That's saying something, since I usually dislike cold coffee, even if it's intentional. We admired all the other babies and tried to keep them from pulling each others' hair and whatnot while chatting with some other parents. Then Matt napped, Jeff studied, and I had some lawnmowing fun. Mowing the lawn is pretty much the best chore ever, other than raking leaves, but we don't have many leaves, so...
Then Sunday was Easter! Best holiday ever! Jesus has saved us! What could be better? (Nothing! That's the answer. Nothing can be better.)
The church service was great, as always. Matthew was less screechy than usual, which was nice for us. After church, he roamed free, crawling around. Unfortunately, his pants and diaper also fell down, so a bunch of people saw baby butt in church. Oops. That's what happens, I suppose, when we put him in a disposable diaper instead of the bulkier cloth but still dress him in his usual size pants.
After church, I wanted to go for a bike ride while Jeff was studying and Matt napping. But, of course, argh! My nemesis - bike maintenance - struck again! For some reason, my bike's back tire was flat, though I'd just fixed it not too long ago and hadn't even ridden it since then. AND, the bike trailer had a flat tire, too. Changing bike tubes is my least favorite thing ever. It's really the worst. I know what to do, and I know how to do it, I'm just really, really terrible at the execution of it. It takes me forever and hurts my fingers and generally is frustrating. Also, I snapped one of those little plastic prying tool thingies. So with tears in my eyes, I told Jeff I was giving up on biking and never going again and feeling pretty sure that it would be worth it to give up biking to never have to do any type of bike repair again. But...
Jeff to the rescue! He doesn't really like biking, and he hasn't really done any bike things, but he still saved the day. He's the new bike maintenance guy in our household. He fixed my tire by the time I got home with a new tube for the bike trailer, then fixed that. All while Matthew was still asleep. Success! So the three of us got to go for a spin around the neighborhood before finishing off the day with a delicious Easter feaster of ham and potatoes and green bean casserole, etc, that I whipped up pretty much at the last minute.
On Saturday, we went to an egg hunt for babies and toddlers at someone's house. Matthew "found" two eggs with Jeff's help, and I drank delicious iced coffee. That's saying something, since I usually dislike cold coffee, even if it's intentional. We admired all the other babies and tried to keep them from pulling each others' hair and whatnot while chatting with some other parents. Then Matt napped, Jeff studied, and I had some lawnmowing fun. Mowing the lawn is pretty much the best chore ever, other than raking leaves, but we don't have many leaves, so...
Then Sunday was Easter! Best holiday ever! Jesus has saved us! What could be better? (Nothing! That's the answer. Nothing can be better.)
The church service was great, as always. Matthew was less screechy than usual, which was nice for us. After church, he roamed free, crawling around. Unfortunately, his pants and diaper also fell down, so a bunch of people saw baby butt in church. Oops. That's what happens, I suppose, when we put him in a disposable diaper instead of the bulkier cloth but still dress him in his usual size pants.
After church, I wanted to go for a bike ride while Jeff was studying and Matt napping. But, of course, argh! My nemesis - bike maintenance - struck again! For some reason, my bike's back tire was flat, though I'd just fixed it not too long ago and hadn't even ridden it since then. AND, the bike trailer had a flat tire, too. Changing bike tubes is my least favorite thing ever. It's really the worst. I know what to do, and I know how to do it, I'm just really, really terrible at the execution of it. It takes me forever and hurts my fingers and generally is frustrating. Also, I snapped one of those little plastic prying tool thingies. So with tears in my eyes, I told Jeff I was giving up on biking and never going again and feeling pretty sure that it would be worth it to give up biking to never have to do any type of bike repair again. But...
Jeff to the rescue! He doesn't really like biking, and he hasn't really done any bike things, but he still saved the day. He's the new bike maintenance guy in our household. He fixed my tire by the time I got home with a new tube for the bike trailer, then fixed that. All while Matthew was still asleep. Success! So the three of us got to go for a spin around the neighborhood before finishing off the day with a delicious Easter feaster of ham and potatoes and green bean casserole, etc, that I whipped up pretty much at the last minute.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Roller derby!
Woohoo! I can't wait for practice tonight! So I rejoined roller derby last week after getting the all-clear from the surgeon, and I'm so excited about it. I practiced last Sunday and Monday. Sunday was an easy outdoor skate. Monday––scrimmage! What? I know! I went through my basic skills successfully, then right into scrimmage! First time hitting people since September 2010, by my best guess.
Some things I learned:
I am not afraid of getting hit. Or hitting. You'd think this is something that a person would fear after so much time away. I was a little nervous at first, but it all came back quickly.
I am super slow. Keeping up with the pack is tough after months of inactivity.
Taking a year and a half off scrimmaging made me feel like I'd never played before in the sense that it's so fast! All the action is happening at once! So many places to look!
Oh, how I love my teammates. Practice was so focused. It felt very goal-oriented and "team-y."
New skates don't break themselves in.
Only five more hours!
Some things I learned:
I am not afraid of getting hit. Or hitting. You'd think this is something that a person would fear after so much time away. I was a little nervous at first, but it all came back quickly.
I am super slow. Keeping up with the pack is tough after months of inactivity.
Taking a year and a half off scrimmaging made me feel like I'd never played before in the sense that it's so fast! All the action is happening at once! So many places to look!
Oh, how I love my teammates. Practice was so focused. It felt very goal-oriented and "team-y."
New skates don't break themselves in.
Only five more hours!
Monday, April 2, 2012
Not going to work, miscellaneous
I feel like I have some more to say on the topic of not going to work that doesn't fit nicely with the last post.
When Jeff and I were engaged, we weren't sure yet where we'd live or work. We decided that whoever got the higher-paying job would probably be the one to keep the job if we had kids. The other one would stay home. And he got a job first, so...
I do still work. Having a job that pays me for what I do rather than for the hours I put in and that I can do at home on my own schedule, within deadlines of course, is ideal. I like it a lot. So in that sense, we're doubly blessed because I still have something to do that's just for me, that keeps me from getting super bored when Matt's sleeping, and I get paid.
But... I would definitely give that up if it required me to make other arrangements for Matthew during the day. It would be worth it to not work at all. Even without a second income, I keep thinking about all the money we're saving by not having to pay for: childcare, transportation to work for me, work clothes for me, formula and associated supplies, and disposable diapers (apparently most childcare places insist on that).
I'm not sure it would be worth it to spend more to make more. Money is so overrated. I've had a couple people (chiropractor, acquaintance, random other person I met) tell me that I should get someone to watch Matthew or put him in daycare for a day or two a week so I can work more. I just politely smile and thank them for their suggestion, then feel thankful that we don't have to do that. I'd rather cut back on buying some stuff or increase the number of years we'll be paying our mortgage than cut back on the time I get to spend with my baby.
A saying that's alternately inspiring and infuriating comes to mind: "You always have time for the things you put first."
When Jeff and I were engaged, we weren't sure yet where we'd live or work. We decided that whoever got the higher-paying job would probably be the one to keep the job if we had kids. The other one would stay home. And he got a job first, so...
I do still work. Having a job that pays me for what I do rather than for the hours I put in and that I can do at home on my own schedule, within deadlines of course, is ideal. I like it a lot. So in that sense, we're doubly blessed because I still have something to do that's just for me, that keeps me from getting super bored when Matt's sleeping, and I get paid.
But... I would definitely give that up if it required me to make other arrangements for Matthew during the day. It would be worth it to not work at all. Even without a second income, I keep thinking about all the money we're saving by not having to pay for: childcare, transportation to work for me, work clothes for me, formula and associated supplies, and disposable diapers (apparently most childcare places insist on that).
I'm not sure it would be worth it to spend more to make more. Money is so overrated. I've had a couple people (chiropractor, acquaintance, random other person I met) tell me that I should get someone to watch Matthew or put him in daycare for a day or two a week so I can work more. I just politely smile and thank them for their suggestion, then feel thankful that we don't have to do that. I'd rather cut back on buying some stuff or increase the number of years we'll be paying our mortgage than cut back on the time I get to spend with my baby.
A saying that's alternately inspiring and infuriating comes to mind: "You always have time for the things you put first."
Not going to work is great
I've been thinking about how last year at this time, I was getting ready to quit my part-time quality control testing/technical writing job. I feel like I'm finally settling in to the fact that I'll probably not be going to an office to do work for a long time. And it's finally starting to not feel weird. A year ago, I was typing up lists of all my job duties and descriptions of how to do them for whoever replaced me. My boss was forwarding resumes for me to sort through and almost daily bemoaning how they'd never be able to find someone to take my place and do as good a job. And as much as I liked to hear that, it really also made things a lot more difficult later on. And from the state of those job applications and the unintelligible phone calls I answered (though the ad said No Phone Calls), I could believe it. And I sure liked my coworkers. It was probably my favorite job just because everyone was so great: efficient, polite, friendly, and funny! So I was sad to be leaving.
But a few months later, Matthew was born! Yay! And then how I wished so hard I could just go to work some days. It would have been so much easier, so much more restful, than staying home with a tiny baby with mysterious wants and needs and erratic behaviors, including all types of crying and little noises and naptimes and diaper messes. And it was just so boring being at home. Boring + exhausting. I wished so much I could just not have to be in charge. Someone else could do such a better job! And they neeeeeddded me at work! They did! I'm so good at tasks! Give me a list, and I can do all the things! I can do them all better than you! But taking care of a baby... ugh. No lists there. I think I made some lists, actually, that said things like, Feed Matthew. Change Matthew. Cuddle Matthew. Wash diapers. Eat lunch.
Really, I thought all the time how I was failing at taking care of Matt––not physically, not failing him in any way, but just failing at being a mom in general because it was so boring and I wanted to be somewhere else. I don't think I spent a single hour gazing at him adoringly or counting his tiny fingers and toes or dressing him up in one cute outfit after another––you know, all the things that new moms are allegedly supposed to do because they are just so in love with their tiny baby and enjoying every minute. (Ha ha. That phrase is a joke in itself.) But of course, I did love staying home with him every day at least part of the time. Who can resist hanging out with a baby all day? And how great it was when Jeff got home at the end of the day or when people came over to visit!
But still, it was hard to feel any type of satisfaction since my whole life I've been evaluated, and to some extent validated, by the quality of my professional work. I mean, I went to school for a reason, right? People just don't put the same value on the work that parents who stay home with their kids do as that produced in the workplace, and if they do, I've certainly not heard about it myself that often. Especially before having a baby. Measures of success in our society, as widely discussed, are generally work related. (Brief example: A lot of female students at Auburn in the freshman composition classes that I and other grad students taught openly stated that they were at college to meet a guy, settle down, and start a family. Oh, the scoffing that ensued from the grad students on this topic. To be fair, if a guy said he aspired to start a family and settle down rather than excel in whatever profession he chose, he'd probably be scoffed at, too, possibly as sexist––or lauded for being so honest and caring, I suppose.)
So all that to say that I struggled so hard to think that the "work" I was doing at home taking care of Matthew was equal to the work I could be doing writing technical documents and mailing packages and editing user manuals and testing laser equipment. But now! Gah! What was I thinking?! (Double punctuation: you know it's serious.) My old company didn't nnnneeeeeddd me, no matter how much they said so, no matter how good of work I produced. My replacement may not be great, or may be much, much better, but certainly I'm replaceable either way. It's not going to matter at all if the next user manual goes out with bunches of typos or a ridiculous numbering system. If quality control doesn't catch something, the customer will just have to send the system back in for repair. No big deal.
But Matthew. He's a whole different story. I'm not replaceable to him. He could, of course, get used to having someone else take care of him all day, or for parts of days, or at least for a couple hours sometimes during the week. And since kids are so adaptable, he'd be fine. But now I realize––and fully accept––that no one else will do as good a job as I am (or as Jeff would do) since he's our baby! He's ours! Yay! And I get to hang out with him and teach him things and try to think of games that will make him giggle. (Of course, it's much easier to say this now that he's fun and not just a cute, immobile baby lump who eats, sleeps, pees, and cries.)
I'm glad I've made it past those first couple months where it seemed so much easier to go back to work and get someone else to do this hard work taking care of a baby. It's so rewarding now, even when it isn't. Even when it's boring or difficult or maddening, I'm still happy to be here, at home, to keep making it through to the rolling-on-the-floor-laughing-at-nothing moments.
But a few months later, Matthew was born! Yay! And then how I wished so hard I could just go to work some days. It would have been so much easier, so much more restful, than staying home with a tiny baby with mysterious wants and needs and erratic behaviors, including all types of crying and little noises and naptimes and diaper messes. And it was just so boring being at home. Boring + exhausting. I wished so much I could just not have to be in charge. Someone else could do such a better job! And they neeeeeddded me at work! They did! I'm so good at tasks! Give me a list, and I can do all the things! I can do them all better than you! But taking care of a baby... ugh. No lists there. I think I made some lists, actually, that said things like, Feed Matthew. Change Matthew. Cuddle Matthew. Wash diapers. Eat lunch.
Really, I thought all the time how I was failing at taking care of Matt––not physically, not failing him in any way, but just failing at being a mom in general because it was so boring and I wanted to be somewhere else. I don't think I spent a single hour gazing at him adoringly or counting his tiny fingers and toes or dressing him up in one cute outfit after another––you know, all the things that new moms are allegedly supposed to do because they are just so in love with their tiny baby and enjoying every minute. (Ha ha. That phrase is a joke in itself.) But of course, I did love staying home with him every day at least part of the time. Who can resist hanging out with a baby all day? And how great it was when Jeff got home at the end of the day or when people came over to visit!
But still, it was hard to feel any type of satisfaction since my whole life I've been evaluated, and to some extent validated, by the quality of my professional work. I mean, I went to school for a reason, right? People just don't put the same value on the work that parents who stay home with their kids do as that produced in the workplace, and if they do, I've certainly not heard about it myself that often. Especially before having a baby. Measures of success in our society, as widely discussed, are generally work related. (Brief example: A lot of female students at Auburn in the freshman composition classes that I and other grad students taught openly stated that they were at college to meet a guy, settle down, and start a family. Oh, the scoffing that ensued from the grad students on this topic. To be fair, if a guy said he aspired to start a family and settle down rather than excel in whatever profession he chose, he'd probably be scoffed at, too, possibly as sexist––or lauded for being so honest and caring, I suppose.)
So all that to say that I struggled so hard to think that the "work" I was doing at home taking care of Matthew was equal to the work I could be doing writing technical documents and mailing packages and editing user manuals and testing laser equipment. But now! Gah! What was I thinking?! (Double punctuation: you know it's serious.) My old company didn't nnnneeeeeddd me, no matter how much they said so, no matter how good of work I produced. My replacement may not be great, or may be much, much better, but certainly I'm replaceable either way. It's not going to matter at all if the next user manual goes out with bunches of typos or a ridiculous numbering system. If quality control doesn't catch something, the customer will just have to send the system back in for repair. No big deal.
But Matthew. He's a whole different story. I'm not replaceable to him. He could, of course, get used to having someone else take care of him all day, or for parts of days, or at least for a couple hours sometimes during the week. And since kids are so adaptable, he'd be fine. But now I realize––and fully accept––that no one else will do as good a job as I am (or as Jeff would do) since he's our baby! He's ours! Yay! And I get to hang out with him and teach him things and try to think of games that will make him giggle. (Of course, it's much easier to say this now that he's fun and not just a cute, immobile baby lump who eats, sleeps, pees, and cries.)
I'm glad I've made it past those first couple months where it seemed so much easier to go back to work and get someone else to do this hard work taking care of a baby. It's so rewarding now, even when it isn't. Even when it's boring or difficult or maddening, I'm still happy to be here, at home, to keep making it through to the rolling-on-the-floor-laughing-at-nothing moments.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Not guilty
So I like to read a variety of blogs by people I barely know or don't know at all. It's mainly a way to pass the time when the baby's settling down to sleep and I'm trying to transition into editing mode. Rarely do I think about the posts a second time, but occasionally I like to comment. Almost never do I even remember what I've remarked. But, oh man, I'm feeling pretty fired up this morning! (Note: Well, and this afternoon. Didn't get this all written during morning nap.)
One of my favorite bloggers recently wrote about how she sometimes feels "mommy guilt." From what I gather, this is the feeling that people get when they *gasp* sometimes put their own needs or wants above those of their kids. Or when they have to go to work instead of staying home with kids. Or when there's just not enough time in the day to spend as much time with the kids as desired. Or any other combination of things in which they perceive they are slighting their kids in some way.
I can understand how a person would feel that way. I know a lot of people who put pressure on themselves in various ways and whose unrealistic expectations, once unfulfilled, could morph into guilt. And most of them are, admittedly, female with children. In fact, Jeff would tell you, and I would usually agree, that I am definitely a person who expects too much of herself and gets into slumps when not able to accomplish everything I want to. My disappointments don't translate into guilt, though, so much as into actual disappointment, sadness, and discouragement.
For example, say I do about 99% of washing dishes and laundry. And I take care of Matthew all day. (I can't really include that in the "work" category, since we play most of the time, but it is still difficult at times.) When he's awake, he gets at least 80% of my attention at all times. As much as I'd like to just stick him in the doorway bouncer thingy or the exersaucer for a while and do something else, it's not going to happen (maybe I avoid that type of "mommy guilt" triggers unconsciously?) And say I also try to put in time for my paying job and for writing letters to my relatives I don't get to see very often. Occasionally I do some of the cooking. Most of the time this is all very doable. Sometimes not. And if I'm really tired and haven't gotten everything done I want to, sure, I'll feel some sort of negative emotion. But again, not guilt.
The original blogger wrote: "I wrote a post this week at CafeMom to discuss my parenting philosophy of experiences/education vs. stuff and to talk about how that soothes my Mommy Guilt and .. and I was genuinely surprised at the responses. The OVERWHELMING MAJORITY of commenters 1) have no guilt whatsoever, 2) didn’t quite grasp the concept of Mommy Guilt being self-imposed and 3) made the assertion that it’s brought on by my working outside of the home.
HOW INCREDIBLY FREEING, TO FEEL NO ACCOUNTABILITY! I CANNOT FATHOM."
I fall into the first category, scoff at the readers who fall into #2 (reading comprehension amongst commenters, apparently not so good), and feel it's a bit presumptuous for people to assert #3 when that's not their experience.
But then, I begin to feel a little angry. That last quoted sentence, all caps in the original, seems just reactionary. I know this is the internet and all, and people blog precisely to say how they feel––as I'm doing now––but it strikes me as unfair to assume that all people who do not share a common experience with you are immediately wrong. Or irresponsible. Or unaccountable for their actions.
Not feeling guilty ≠ no accountability.
Not feeling guilty ≠ "freedom" per se.
We each make our choices. Here's where the post gets boring and philosophical. I think a lot. I had a hard time as a teenager. My mom is an alcoholic. It was rough. But in the end, I'm a lot more "me" for having had that experience. Let me explain.
I've learned a lot: We can't choose how other people are. We can only choose how we are. This relates to "mommy guilt" being self-imposed. I went to Al-Anon for a couple years, where I mainly napped and ate cookies while old ladies talked about their husbands' drinking problems. But a good thing was reading the "The Twelve Steps of Al-Anon," (into which, incidentally, I don't place much stock. But I find them good to think about). Step 4 is "Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves." I think people should do this regularly. Then follow it up with Steps 5-9. (You'll have to Google here if you're actually that interested.) And then, presto! What's there to feel guilty about?
Another thing: Some other time that I found difficult, I was reading the Bible. I got to Matthew 22:39: "Love your neighbor as yourself." And I thought, Oh, that's so difficult. How can I love my neighbor as myself if I don't love myself? It was the proverbial lightbulb over the head, and I realized I had to take care of myself first, to be able to love others.
So this is what I try to do. Take care of myself (with Jeff's reminders, because really I do have a hard time just relaxing and not doing something every single minute). Then take care of Matthew and Jeff. Then do other stuff.
But we still haven't gotten to the part that makes me angry! (It's like politics. All these people take the narrow view that everyone who disagrees is an idiot for whatever reason. We all have different experiences! Different priorities! Different struggles!)
The original blog states at the end, summarizing the writer's struggle between staying with her sick kid and meeting her running group, "So .. according to most of those readers, I should’ve shoved my kid off and gone off to run without thinking a second thought about it. Yeah. Sorry, I’m just not that mom."
THAT'S THE THING! We AREN'T all saying that! Some people may be. I am just asking for my experience to be validated. Not agreed with necessarily but just accepted for as it is. I, personally, would not choose exercise over sick kid. Some people might. And that's their prerogative. They may need that run to be able to continue. When Matthew was a newborn, I often chose hot, sound-muffling shower over trying to comfort fussy (not-hungry, I should clarify) Matt in the late evening when Jeff was home. (Incidentally, is there "daddy guilt"?)
And then I get really angry. First let me preface it by saying that I know blog commenters often write things to make the person posting feel better about him or herself or to feel a sense of support. But still. Here are the lowlights of the comments:
My summary of quasi-personal attacks for not feeling "mommy guilt," based just on the comments above (the worst of the worst, admittedly):
Now I've written and I'm over it. What's your experience? What are your thoughts? And, if you're a dad, how's that the same or different?
One of my favorite bloggers recently wrote about how she sometimes feels "mommy guilt." From what I gather, this is the feeling that people get when they *gasp* sometimes put their own needs or wants above those of their kids. Or when they have to go to work instead of staying home with kids. Or when there's just not enough time in the day to spend as much time with the kids as desired. Or any other combination of things in which they perceive they are slighting their kids in some way.
I can understand how a person would feel that way. I know a lot of people who put pressure on themselves in various ways and whose unrealistic expectations, once unfulfilled, could morph into guilt. And most of them are, admittedly, female with children. In fact, Jeff would tell you, and I would usually agree, that I am definitely a person who expects too much of herself and gets into slumps when not able to accomplish everything I want to. My disappointments don't translate into guilt, though, so much as into actual disappointment, sadness, and discouragement.
For example, say I do about 99% of washing dishes and laundry. And I take care of Matthew all day. (I can't really include that in the "work" category, since we play most of the time, but it is still difficult at times.) When he's awake, he gets at least 80% of my attention at all times. As much as I'd like to just stick him in the doorway bouncer thingy or the exersaucer for a while and do something else, it's not going to happen (maybe I avoid that type of "mommy guilt" triggers unconsciously?) And say I also try to put in time for my paying job and for writing letters to my relatives I don't get to see very often. Occasionally I do some of the cooking. Most of the time this is all very doable. Sometimes not. And if I'm really tired and haven't gotten everything done I want to, sure, I'll feel some sort of negative emotion. But again, not guilt.
The original blogger wrote: "I wrote a post this week at CafeMom to discuss my parenting philosophy of experiences/education vs. stuff and to talk about how that soothes my Mommy Guilt and .. and I was genuinely surprised at the responses. The OVERWHELMING MAJORITY of commenters 1) have no guilt whatsoever, 2) didn’t quite grasp the concept of Mommy Guilt being self-imposed and 3) made the assertion that it’s brought on by my working outside of the home.
HOW INCREDIBLY FREEING, TO FEEL NO ACCOUNTABILITY! I CANNOT FATHOM."
I fall into the first category, scoff at the readers who fall into #2 (reading comprehension amongst commenters, apparently not so good), and feel it's a bit presumptuous for people to assert #3 when that's not their experience.
But then, I begin to feel a little angry. That last quoted sentence, all caps in the original, seems just reactionary. I know this is the internet and all, and people blog precisely to say how they feel––as I'm doing now––but it strikes me as unfair to assume that all people who do not share a common experience with you are immediately wrong. Or irresponsible. Or unaccountable for their actions.
Not feeling guilty ≠ no accountability.
Not feeling guilty ≠ "freedom" per se.
We each make our choices. Here's where the post gets boring and philosophical. I think a lot. I had a hard time as a teenager. My mom is an alcoholic. It was rough. But in the end, I'm a lot more "me" for having had that experience. Let me explain.
I've learned a lot: We can't choose how other people are. We can only choose how we are. This relates to "mommy guilt" being self-imposed. I went to Al-Anon for a couple years, where I mainly napped and ate cookies while old ladies talked about their husbands' drinking problems. But a good thing was reading the "The Twelve Steps of Al-Anon," (into which, incidentally, I don't place much stock. But I find them good to think about). Step 4 is "Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves." I think people should do this regularly. Then follow it up with Steps 5-9. (You'll have to Google here if you're actually that interested.) And then, presto! What's there to feel guilty about?
Another thing: Some other time that I found difficult, I was reading the Bible. I got to Matthew 22:39: "Love your neighbor as yourself." And I thought, Oh, that's so difficult. How can I love my neighbor as myself if I don't love myself? It was the proverbial lightbulb over the head, and I realized I had to take care of myself first, to be able to love others.
So this is what I try to do. Take care of myself (with Jeff's reminders, because really I do have a hard time just relaxing and not doing something every single minute). Then take care of Matthew and Jeff. Then do other stuff.
But we still haven't gotten to the part that makes me angry! (It's like politics. All these people take the narrow view that everyone who disagrees is an idiot for whatever reason. We all have different experiences! Different priorities! Different struggles!)
The original blog states at the end, summarizing the writer's struggle between staying with her sick kid and meeting her running group, "So .. according to most of those readers, I should’ve shoved my kid off and gone off to run without thinking a second thought about it. Yeah. Sorry, I’m just not that mom."
THAT'S THE THING! We AREN'T all saying that! Some people may be. I am just asking for my experience to be validated. Not agreed with necessarily but just accepted for as it is. I, personally, would not choose exercise over sick kid. Some people might. And that's their prerogative. They may need that run to be able to continue. When Matthew was a newborn, I often chose hot, sound-muffling shower over trying to comfort fussy (not-hungry, I should clarify) Matt in the late evening when Jeff was home. (Incidentally, is there "daddy guilt"?)
And then I get really angry. First let me preface it by saying that I know blog commenters often write things to make the person posting feel better about him or herself or to feel a sense of support. But still. Here are the lowlights of the comments:
- Oh lord. LIARS. Seriously. I don’t know ONE mother who hasn’t at ONE point broken down because they felt the mommy guilt (whether it be go to work, go exercise, go – heaven forbid – take time for themselves…what have you). [...anecdote about commenter's own guilt...] Again I say, Liars. If your child is your world (which for most moms is the case) then you’ve felt at least SOME mommy guilt at some point.
- I honestly believe that Mom Guilt is simply Us Wanting To Always Be Better. If people like you and I – who want to always be better – are SAHMs we would feel guilty. Working Moms: Guiltly. Millionaire Moms with Perfect Children: GUILTY. Because no matter how perfect we may be living our lives, we always want to be BETTER. And the side effect of that is guilt. And I think it’s an okay trade off. If you’re not trying to be better…then you’re stagnant and I’m glad our children grow up with role models like us who never accept things as they are and always want them to be better. Even if sometimes that leaves us with irrational guilt.
- There are plenty of moms who live without the burden of mommie guilt. They leave their kids in the car in 100+ degree heat and think it is fine because the locked the doors and rolled the windows up to prevent anyone from kidnapping their babies. They lock their kids in the closet while they go have a drink and watch a movie and feel good because their children can’t get hurt with anything inside the closet. I could tell hundreds of true stories of how guilt-free parents “take care” of their kids, but most of them haven’t been to court yet and can’t be discussed.
My summary of quasi-personal attacks for not feeling "mommy guilt," based just on the comments above (the worst of the worst, admittedly):
- You're a liar. Your child is not your world.
- You must not want to improve your life. You're not such a good role model.
- You think it's okay to threaten your kid's life and emotional well-being to do whatever you want (back to the not-guilty ≠ lack of accountability).
Now I've written and I'm over it. What's your experience? What are your thoughts? And, if you're a dad, how's that the same or different?
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Boundaries
This baby is testing his boundaries. I think he thinks he's going to outlast me. Little does he know that I have about, oh, 28 years of practice in stubbornness. I won't be worn down.
Specifically, Matthew really really wants to chew on the toilet seat. Also pull down the DVD player and anything else attached to cords near the tv. And there's one other table he's not allowed to touch, too, with a bunch of stuff on it. So we've entered that years-long phase where he has to learn the meaning of no.
It's funny because he'll just be playing in the livingroom when he gets this look in his eye. Then he crawls at top speed (which is remarkably fast) toward one of the three things he's just not allowed to put his grubby little hands (or teeth) on. He stops, looks around for me, and reaches out his hand (or face). Sometimes after the first "no" and removal from the area, he decides it's not worth it. But sometimes he just has this little defiant look on his face, like, "Hmm, is she going to stop me this time? I think I can get to it. Going for it!" So we repeat the whole thing. After about four times of me moving him away and saying no, Matt will start crying––what I think as his exasperated crying––and then still keep doing the same thing! Eventually he gives up, once he realizes he should bide his time for a better opportunity, I suppose, and crawls away to do something else.
Babies are so transparent. I can practically see Matthew thinking, "Maybe I can get it this time. Or this time. Or this time. Ahh, fine, maybe not."
When I read things on the internet, it just makes me laugh and cry. I'm going to go ahead and judge other people now: It drives me crazy when on message boards people say things like how you should never tell your kids no, and babies can't learn things or understand anything, and you should babyproof your entire house so your kids can have the run of the place. After all, they're just babies. They're only little once. Let them do whatever they want, because they're just curious and don't know right from wrong.
Because that's our job! That's what parents are for! As far as I know, there's not some magic age where babies suddenly begin to understand everything, know what they can and can't touch, and just simply learn appropriate behavior in different circumstances. We have to help them learn! Right now!
I mean, if Matthew can remember that there are patches of sunlight in the guest room that he likes to play in and crawls in there to see them, though he hardly ever goes in that room, he can certainly remember that the toilet is off limits. If he can remember that there are fun doorstops behind the doors, which are normally out of sight, he can remember that he's not supposed to touch the DVD player.
And babyproofing is good, to a point. Sure, we have outlet covers in all the outlets, and I wrapped a blanket around one sharp-edged piano leg, where Matthew is particularly prone to falling, but not everything can be made 100% safe or 100% accessible. And I don't think it should be. The world isn't babyproofed. I don't want Matt to grow up thinking that he can and should be able to touch every single thing that he wants to.
I'm not suggesting that rigidity in teaching correct behavior is the best option, either. We played with some junk mail for a long time the other day, crinkling it and throwing it. I let Matthew take risks appropriate to his age and development. He can touch the grass if he wants to, even if it's a little intimidating. He can climb on his little playhouse, though if he falls, it probably will hurt. He can open and close drawers, and even though he might pinch his fingers sometimes, I'm going to let him do it so he can learn (though not when he's tired because then he does pinch his fingers and cries, and it's sad). I let him stand outside of the exersaucer and play with the things, even though the base is wobbly when he pulls it with all his strength.
But I'm not going to back down and let him be in charge of everything. It would be easy to move the stuff off the end table or put the DVD player and other electronics where a baby can't reach them, but that's not really the point.
I think we've struck a good balance.
Specifically, Matthew really really wants to chew on the toilet seat. Also pull down the DVD player and anything else attached to cords near the tv. And there's one other table he's not allowed to touch, too, with a bunch of stuff on it. So we've entered that years-long phase where he has to learn the meaning of no.
It's funny because he'll just be playing in the livingroom when he gets this look in his eye. Then he crawls at top speed (which is remarkably fast) toward one of the three things he's just not allowed to put his grubby little hands (or teeth) on. He stops, looks around for me, and reaches out his hand (or face). Sometimes after the first "no" and removal from the area, he decides it's not worth it. But sometimes he just has this little defiant look on his face, like, "Hmm, is she going to stop me this time? I think I can get to it. Going for it!" So we repeat the whole thing. After about four times of me moving him away and saying no, Matt will start crying––what I think as his exasperated crying––and then still keep doing the same thing! Eventually he gives up, once he realizes he should bide his time for a better opportunity, I suppose, and crawls away to do something else.
Babies are so transparent. I can practically see Matthew thinking, "Maybe I can get it this time. Or this time. Or this time. Ahh, fine, maybe not."
When I read things on the internet, it just makes me laugh and cry. I'm going to go ahead and judge other people now: It drives me crazy when on message boards people say things like how you should never tell your kids no, and babies can't learn things or understand anything, and you should babyproof your entire house so your kids can have the run of the place. After all, they're just babies. They're only little once. Let them do whatever they want, because they're just curious and don't know right from wrong.
Because that's our job! That's what parents are for! As far as I know, there's not some magic age where babies suddenly begin to understand everything, know what they can and can't touch, and just simply learn appropriate behavior in different circumstances. We have to help them learn! Right now!
I mean, if Matthew can remember that there are patches of sunlight in the guest room that he likes to play in and crawls in there to see them, though he hardly ever goes in that room, he can certainly remember that the toilet is off limits. If he can remember that there are fun doorstops behind the doors, which are normally out of sight, he can remember that he's not supposed to touch the DVD player.
And babyproofing is good, to a point. Sure, we have outlet covers in all the outlets, and I wrapped a blanket around one sharp-edged piano leg, where Matthew is particularly prone to falling, but not everything can be made 100% safe or 100% accessible. And I don't think it should be. The world isn't babyproofed. I don't want Matt to grow up thinking that he can and should be able to touch every single thing that he wants to.
I'm not suggesting that rigidity in teaching correct behavior is the best option, either. We played with some junk mail for a long time the other day, crinkling it and throwing it. I let Matthew take risks appropriate to his age and development. He can touch the grass if he wants to, even if it's a little intimidating. He can climb on his little playhouse, though if he falls, it probably will hurt. He can open and close drawers, and even though he might pinch his fingers sometimes, I'm going to let him do it so he can learn (though not when he's tired because then he does pinch his fingers and cries, and it's sad). I let him stand outside of the exersaucer and play with the things, even though the base is wobbly when he pulls it with all his strength.
But I'm not going to back down and let him be in charge of everything. It would be easy to move the stuff off the end table or put the DVD player and other electronics where a baby can't reach them, but that's not really the point.
I think we've struck a good balance.
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