Binkytowne

Mother May I

Welcome to the May blog exchange. The following was written by Mayberry Mom. I'm writing there today so read this and then come by and check me out on her blog:  Mayberry Mom.

These posts are part of our May Blog Exchange on the theme Mother May I. Click around to read some of the other posts: Nancy, Vicki, Julie, Chase, Stacy, Christina, Jen, Mabel, TB, Mel, Izzy, Mayberry Mom, Amy, and Laurie. If you’d like to participate in the June Exchange, please email Kristen at kmei26 at yahoo.com. Enjoy!

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My mom has given me lots of things over the years: nice blue eyes, the ability to read really fast, a gorgeous wedding gown that I never would’ve shelled out for on my own, Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends when I got sick on vacation at age 8, at least 75% of my children’s wardrobes, and so much more.

But one of the things I’m most grateful for is my ability to be comfortable in my own (mostly unpimpled and unwrinkled, thanks for that too Mom) skin. I wasn’t particularly laid-back as a child, but I’ve become so as an adult. I’ve just learned that worrying is a waste of time, and what mom has extra time lying around to waste? Neither my mom nor I are fretful mothers, hovering over our offspring just waiting for an accident to happen, spinning out worst-case scenarios in our heads. My son may have the bruises to prove it, but at least he is a happy, self-confident explorer. I’d rather he fall down a few (hundred) times than never even try to conquer a flight of stairs or scale the side of the bath (he may be only two feet tall, but he can hike his bitty little leg all the way up to the edge of the tub, ‘cause he wants to get in that bad).

My mom blazed a trail for me. She had a job and a career at a time when so many other mothers didn’t. And in spite of a strong dose of judgment and tsk-tsking, she and my dad raised three happy, successful children. Now that I’m the one with little kids, I don’t feel like I have to ask permission to do what I do. Mother may I work “outside the home”? Mother may I send my kids to day care? Mother may I serve chicken nuggets for dinner once in awhile? Sure. Fine. Yes. Everything will be fine. What better role model could I want than my own mom? (And besides, I learned a lot of important working-mom lessons from her: Outsource the stuff that’s not worth your time. Teach kids to help around the house early. Hire good caregivers. Order pizza a lot.)

What’s more, I know she’d support me if I decided to stay home full-time with the kids instead. This despite the large amount of dough she and my dad put up for my Ivy League education. They both have doctorates. Their three children have more tattoos (4) than advanced degrees (1) among us, and that one is my brother’s master of fine arts … not exactly an MD. And they couldn’t be more proud of us all.

I hope my own confidence isn’t misplaced, and that I never am so cocky as to think I have this mothering thing down pat—I most certainly know I have plenty more to learn, and always will. But I’ll try my best to give both of my children the gift I’ve received from their grandmother: the ability to know myself, and to like myself both because of, and in spite of, what I know.

Mother May I

Welcome to the May blog exchange. The following was written by Mayberry Mom. I'm writing there today so read this and then come by and check me out on her blog:  Mayberry Mom.

These posts are part of our May Blog Exchange on the theme Mother May I. Click around to read some of the other posts: Nancy, Vicki, Julie, Chase, Stacy, Christina, Jen, Mabel, TB, Mel, Izzy, Mayberry Mom, Amy, and Laurie. If you’d like to participate in the June Exchange, please email Kristen at kmei26 at yahoo.com. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My mom has given me lots of things over the years: nice blue eyes, the ability to read really fast, a gorgeous wedding gown that I never would’ve shelled out for on my own, Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends when I got sick on vacation at age 8, at least 75% of my children’s wardrobes, and so much more.

But one of the things I’m most grateful for is my ability to be comfortable in my own (mostly unpimpled and unwrinkled, thanks for that too Mom) skin. I wasn’t particularly laid-back as a child, but I’ve become so as an adult. I’ve just learned that worrying is a waste of time, and what mom has extra time lying around to waste? Neither my mom nor I are fretful mothers, hovering over our offspring just waiting for an accident to happen, spinning out worst-case scenarios in our heads. My son may have the bruises to prove it, but at least he is a happy, self-confident explorer. I’d rather he fall down a few (hundred) times than never even try to conquer a flight of stairs or scale the side of the bath (he may be only two feet tall, but he can hike his bitty little leg all the way up to the edge of the tub, ‘cause he wants to get in that bad).

My mom blazed a trail for me. She had a job and a career at a time when so many other mothers didn’t. And in spite of a strong dose of judgment and tsk-tsking, she and my dad raised three happy, successful children. Now that I’m the one with little kids, I don’t feel like I have to ask permission to do what I do. Mother may I work “outside the home”? Mother may I send my kids to day care? Mother may I serve chicken nuggets for dinner once in awhile? Sure. Fine. Yes. Everything will be fine. What better role model could I want than my own mom? (And besides, I learned a lot of important working-mom lessons from her: Outsource the stuff that’s not worth your time. Teach kids to help around the house early. Hire good caregivers. Order pizza a lot.)

What’s more, I know she’d support me if I decided to stay home full-time with the kids instead. This despite the large amount of dough she and my dad put up for my Ivy League education. They both have doctorates. Their three children have more tattoos (4) than advanced degrees (1) among us, and that one is my brother’s master of fine arts … not exactly an MD. And they couldn’t be more proud of us all.

I hope my own confidence isn’t misplaced, and that I never am so cocky as to think I have this mothering thing down pat—I most certainly know I have plenty more to learn, and always will. But I’ll try my best to give both of my children the gift I’ve received from their grandmother: the ability to know myself, and to like myself both because of, and in spite of, what I know.

15 months

Dear Sweet Pea: Who is such a big boy? I don’t know, do you know? This morning Papa asked me a question and I put my hands up and shrugged my shoulders, tilting my head to one side. From your highchair where you were eating your daily morning waffle you did the same. You are more entertaining than anything or anyone I know. I never know what to expect but you always deliver.

The Easter bunny came and brought you bubbles and a plastic truck full of goldfish crackers (your favorite snack in the world). We would blow bubbles for you and you would squeal in delight trying to smash them and ask for more when we stopped. We spent Easter with all your cousins and even though they are older and faster than you, you were happiest when you were right in the center of the action.

It’s the month of the molars! The first one arrived and the other three followed close behind.The new teeth seem to be improving your eating habits. One night this week you ate ham, french fries and some of an apple. Three new things in one night. That’s a record! You are also perfecting the art of brushing your teeth at night. You brush your teeth, stick out your tongue and clap when we’re done.

Spring has finally arrived and you love to be outside. Each day when I take you out of the car you stand in the garage and point at the birds (big-birds) and squat down so you can see them better. You love wagon rides and buggy rides. You are getting very good at letting me know what you want when you want it and you always want to sit in your wagon.

Baby steps are starting to happen! On our first warm night of the year we had you dressed down in your onesie, no shoes or even socks and you realized you could stand up all by yourself, then hang out for a minute, then with much much coaxing, take your first steps. Ever since then you have wanted to walk with assistance everywhere we go. We’re trying very hard to get you to realize you can do it yourself but you aren’t quite ready yet. I want you to walk because I want to know that you are hitting that developmental milestone but I love walking with you holding your hand. It’s one of those mommy moments that I pictured when you were just a tiny baby in my arms that I’ve been able to realize. Thanks for that.

Because you were sick and off milk for a few days anyway we decided to stop your bottles. Because you protested so vehemently I caved in and went back to one bottle in the morning, but we no longer sit in your rocking chair in the dark before bed with a bottle. I miss that moment of connection, the time to process that the day is done, but I know it’s time. Each month you took up more and more of the rocking chair and my lap and I became more aware that you are not a baby anymore. Actually it was easier for me not knowing that the last night time bottle really was the last and you didn’t seem to mind so I followed your lead.

For each thing that goes away, something new and amazing emerges in it’s place. In order for you to grow I need to be able to let go, so that’s what I’m going to do. But don’t worry, I’ll hold your hand for now.

15 months

Dear Sweet Pea: Who is such a big boy? I don’t know, do you know? This morning Papa asked me a question and I put my hands up and shrugged my shoulders, tilting my head to one side. From your highchair where you were eating your daily morning waffle you did the same. You are more entertaining than anything or anyone I know. I never know what to expect but you always deliver.

The Easter bunny came and brought you bubbles and a plastic truck full of goldfish crackers (your favorite snack in the world). We would blow bubbles for you and you would squeal in delight trying to smash them and ask for more when we stopped. We spent Easter with all your cousins and even though they are older and faster than you, you were happiest when you were right in the center of the action.

It’s the month of the molars! The first one arrived and the other three followed close behind.The new teeth seem to be improving your eating habits. One night this week you ate ham, french fries and some of an apple. Three new things in one night. That’s a record! You are also perfecting the art of brushing your teeth at night. You brush your teeth, stick out your tongue and clap when we’re done.

Spring has finally arrived and you love to be outside. Each day when I take you out of the car you stand in the garage and point at the birds (big-birds) and squat down so you can see them better. You love wagon rides and buggy rides. You are getting very good at letting me know what you want when you want it and you always want to sit in your wagon.

Baby steps are starting to happen! On our first warm night of the year we had you dressed down in your onesie, no shoes or even socks and you realized you could stand up all by yourself, then hang out for a minute, then with much much coaxing, take your first steps. Ever since then you have wanted to walk with assistance everywhere we go. We’re trying very hard to get you to realize you can do it yourself but you aren’t quite ready yet. I want you to walk because I want to know that you are hitting that developmental milestone but I love walking with you holding your hand. It’s one of those mommy moments that I pictured when you were just a tiny baby in my arms that I’ve been able to realize. Thanks for that.

Because you were sick and off milk for a few days anyway we decided to stop your bottles. Because you protested so vehemently I caved in and went back to one bottle in the morning, but we no longer sit in your rocking chair in the dark before bed with a bottle. I miss that moment of connection, the time to process that the day is done, but I know it’s time. Each month you took up more and more of the rocking chair and my lap and I became more aware that you are not a baby anymore. Actually it was easier for me not knowing that the last night time bottle really was the last and you didn’t seem to mind so I followed your lead.

For each thing that goes away, something new and amazing emerges in it’s place. In order for you to grow I need to be able to let go, so that’s what I’m going to do. But don’t worry, I’ll hold your hand for now.

Plate techtonics

Yesterday I ran into an acquaintance. She was a cashier at the grocery store that I frequent. After I had my baby she whispered across the conveyor belt to me that she was pregnant but hadn't told her co-workers yet. Not long after she left her job and I had not seen her since. We bumped into eachother over my lunch hour. She had her baby in January- she's almost 4 months old.

Her eyes lit up as she told me ALL ABOUT her labor and breastfeeding problems. For a moment I was taken aback- why is she telling me this? I didn't ask if she needed the epidural at 7 centimeters. Oh yeah, then I remembered. This is what you do right after you have a baby and your modesty quotient plummets to the basement. You talk to women you hardly know about your nipples during the middle of the day in a crowded place. You swap battle stories because you can't believe you actually gave birth and you think the only other people in the world who can possibly understand you are women who already gave birth. You look for any shred of commonality in experiences. You search their faces wondering what is it? What do they know that I don't know that I really need to know? Did I do that? Oh yes, I sure did. Not that long ago.

When did that shift occur that I no longer felt the need to ask every mother at my workplace when she weaned from the bottle, how they got their baby back to sleep at night, what they did for crabby teething babies? I don't know, but it did. I didn't notice until I talked with her. I still ask questions and ask for advice but it's more for reference and a "hmmm that's a good idea" as opposed to a "please help me and a I've got to try that!". Slowly but surely I've grown more comfortable in my mommy skin. It's happened one moment at a time. So quietly I didn't even notice such a dramatic shift was occuring around me.

My baby is 15 months tomorrow. I hardly remember when he was 4 months old. I barely recall those first few weeks after we came home from the hospital. I do, but it feels like it happened to a different me a long long time ago. If you look at photos you can see the resemblance but the change in him from 4 months to 15 months is nothing short of mind blowing. The same goes for me.  

Plate techtonics

Yesterday I ran into an acquaintance. She was a cashier at the grocery store that I frequent. After I had my baby she whispered across the conveyor belt to me that she was pregnant but hadn't told her co-workers yet. Not long after she left her job and I had not seen her since. We bumped into eachother over my lunch hour. She had her baby in January- she's almost 4 months old.

Her eyes lit up as she told me ALL ABOUT her labor and breastfeeding problems. For a moment I was taken aback- why is she telling me this? I didn't ask if she needed the epidural at 7 centimeters. Oh yeah, then I remembered. This is what you do right after you have a baby and your modesty quotient plummets to the basement. You talk to women you hardly know about your nipples during the middle of the day in a crowded place. You swap battle stories because you can't believe you actually gave birth and you think the only other people in the world who can possibly understand you are women who already gave birth. You look for any shred of commonality in experiences. You search their faces wondering what is it? What do they know that I don't know that I really need to know? Did I do that? Oh yes, I sure did. Not that long ago.

When did that shift occur that I no longer felt the need to ask every mother at my workplace when she weaned from the bottle, how they got their baby back to sleep at night, what they did for crabby teething babies? I don't know, but it did. I didn't notice until I talked with her. I still ask questions and ask for advice but it's more for reference and a "hmmm that's a good idea" as opposed to a "please help me and a I've got to try that!". Slowly but surely I've grown more comfortable in my mommy skin. It's happened one moment at a time. So quietly I didn't even notice such a dramatic shift was occuring around me.

My baby is 15 months tomorrow. I hardly remember when he was 4 months old. I barely recall those first few weeks after we came home from the hospital. I do, but it feels like it happened to a different me a long long time ago. If you look at photos you can see the resemblance but the change in him from 4 months to 15 months is nothing short of mind blowing. The same goes for me.  

I am a...

Benevolent Director

What does that mean you ask? Nothing really. But I think the label is brilliant. THIS is my new title when people ask me what I do. What is it you do? I'm a Director of Benevolence. Its hard work but the benefits are fabulous....

This takes a few minutes but if you have time and you like personality test types of things you may enjoy it. It was entertaining and free and it said nice things about like how I have a keen eye for style. Imagine that. (Shhhh. Don't tell these survey people that as I type this I'm still wearing my work clothes and old raggedy fuzzy big bird looking sweater.)

 

 

   

I am a...

Benevolent Director

What does that mean you ask? Nothing really. But I think the label is brilliant. THIS is my new title when people ask me what I do. What is it you do? I'm a Director of Benevolence. Its hard work but the benefits are fabulous....

This takes a few minutes but if you have time and you like personality test types of things you may enjoy it. It was entertaining and free and it said nice things about like how I have a keen eye for style. Imagine that. (Shhhh. Don't tell these survey people that as I type this I'm still wearing my work clothes and old raggedy fuzzy big bird looking sweater.)

 

 

   

Mama needs some new moves

Yesterday was a hard day. A stressful day - the kind of day that makes me look forward to going to work instead of feeling guilty about it. My little man has a cold, has three molars coming in at once and decided to only take two-thirty minute naps all day yesterday between the hours of 5:30AM and 8:00PM. I tried everything to please him - I pulled out all the stops and the Motrin, I at least know to do that, and I was just plain unsuccessful in making him happy.

Even though he knows plenty of words and all the basics in baby sign language (thank you very much day care) all day he chose to express his displeasure by grunting and using the kind of non-verbal communication that could easily be mistaken for a championship WrestleMania SMACKDOWN. Who told him that he can physically resist me and not just complain if he doesn't agree with me or what I want for him at that particular moment? Like when I am grabbing him as he is heading head first from the deck to the concrete sidewalk below? I've got a big bag of Mama Diva headlocks and pile-drivers for whoever gave up that info because now I'm in some trouble.

His moves yesterday ranged from the subtle to the painful:

The slime: This is where he soundlessly left a slimy trail of technicolor green snot across me. Could be my shoulder, pant leg or god help me, my cheek.

The chuck: I'm used to him taking bites of food he doesn't want and playfully dropping them over the side of the highchair. Not yesterday- I was pelted with big handfuls of bananas being chucked across the dining room to the lovely sounds of 'ugh ugh UGH UGH'

The elbow: This is very effective. If he doesn't want to be held, he sticks his elbow in the center of my neck and twists his body. The pain, combined with the shifting center of gravity as he is wiggling out of my arms makes it very difficult to hold on to him. If I manage to keep my grip, he throws in a high pitched scream directly into my ear. Game over.

The bitch-slap: This is not a new move, but I have to say he does it with pizazz. I strapped him in his car seat yesterday and leaned in for a kiss. I was greeted with a shower of smacks on the face. I held on to his hands, firmly told him this was not OK. We don't hit. Stared him down for a few seconds for emphasis and waited for my sheepish and obligatory kiss. I got slapped again.

The cheekbone slam: Administered while he was sitting on my lap reading My little ambulance for  the 17,569Th time. I don't know if he objected to my intonation or my lack of enthusiasm when making the siren sound, but he threw his head (his big head) back full force and slammed into my face.

The kickstand: This is fun stuff. This is where he insists on being picked up but only wants to be picked up for .00001 second before he starts to wiggle his way down, only he doesn't really want to go down, so as soon as his feet touch the floor his legs start kicking and he starts dancing, refusing to keep both feet on the floor at any given moment but still clutching on to your arms. 

The final blow: First I pick him up because he's crying and holding up his arms. He slimes me on the way up then gives me the elbow once I get him there. The kickstand goes in full effect when I try and put him down and I barely escape the bitch slap when my back goes out and I just lay him on the floor to have his tantrum there instead of in my face.

This is where I gave in like a chump and put on the PBS kids channel. Realizing that he plain and simple walked - no ran -all over me but being too tired to give a damn. This is not a pattern I want to establish. I think I've hit a new developmental phase. Any mothers of young sons out there? Any pearls of wisdom? Any good moves of your own you'd care to share?

I used to feel grateful that I had a son so as not to have to worry about this but I honestly didn't think I was going to be battling this.               

 

   

    

Mama needs some new moves

Yesterday was a hard day. A stressful day - the kind of day that makes me look forward to going to work instead of feeling guilty about it. My little man has a cold, has three molars coming in at once and decided to only take two-thirty minute naps all day yesterday between the hours of 5:30AM and 8:00PM. I tried everything to please him - I pulled out all the stops and the Motrin, I at least know to do that, and I was just plain unsuccessful in making him happy.

Even though he knows plenty of words and all the basics in baby sign language (thank you very much day care) all day he chose to express his displeasure by grunting and using the kind of non-verbal communication that could easily be mistaken for a championship WrestleMania SMACKDOWN. Who told him that he can physically resist me and not just complain if he doesn't agree with me or what I want for him at that particular moment? Like when I am grabbing him as he is heading head first from the deck to the concrete sidewalk below? I've got a big bag of Mama Diva headlocks and pile-drivers for whoever gave up that info because now I'm in some trouble.

His moves yesterday ranged from the subtle to the painful:

The slime: This is where he soundlessly left a slimy trail of technicolor green snot across me. Could be my shoulder, pant leg or god help me, my cheek.

The chuck: I'm used to him taking bites of food he doesn't want and playfully dropping them over the side of the highchair. Not yesterday- I was pelted with big handfuls of bananas being chucked across the dining room to the lovely sounds of 'ugh ugh UGH UGH'

The elbow: This is very effective. If he doesn't want to be held, he sticks his elbow in the center of my neck and twists his body. The pain, combined with the shifting center of gravity as he is wiggling out of my arms makes it very difficult to hold on to him. If I manage to keep my grip, he throws in a high pitched scream directly into my ear. Game over.

The bitch-slap: This is not a new move, but I have to say he does it with pizazz. I strapped him in his car seat yesterday and leaned in for a kiss. I was greeted with a shower of smacks on the face. I held on to his hands, firmly told him this was not OK. We don't hit. Stared him down for a few seconds for emphasis and waited for my sheepish and obligatory kiss. I got slapped again.

The cheekbone slam: Administered while he was sitting on my lap reading My little ambulance for  the 17,569Th time. I don't know if he objected to my intonation or my lack of enthusiasm when making the siren sound, but he threw his head (his big head) back full force and slammed into my face.

The kickstand: This is fun stuff. This is where he insists on being picked up but only wants to be picked up for .00001 second before he starts to wiggle his way down, only he doesn't really want to go down, so as soon as his feet touch the floor his legs start kicking and he starts dancing, refusing to keep both feet on the floor at any given moment but still clutching on to your arms. 

The final blow: First I pick him up because he's crying and holding up his arms. He slimes me on the way up then gives me the elbow once I get him there. The kickstand goes in full effect when I try and put him down and I barely escape the bitch slap when my back goes out and I just lay him on the floor to have his tantrum there instead of in my face.

This is where I gave in like a chump and put on the PBS kids channel. Realizing that he plain and simple walked - no ran -all over me but being too tired to give a damn. This is not a pattern I want to establish. I think I've hit a new developmental phase. Any mothers of young sons out there? Any pearls of wisdom? Any good moves of your own you'd care to share?

I used to feel grateful that I had a son so as not to have to worry about this but I honestly didn't think I was going to be battling this.