The one where I force my kids to love me

Now that I’m working full time hours out of the house, I have this overwhelming desire to hold on to every moment I get with the little ladies.

The little ladies don’t always feel the same way.

Anyway, smothering aside… I find that when I am with the girls – I really notice everything about them.

For example, Lauren’s brand new top teeth are the first things I see whenever she smiles or opens her mouth.

Anna’s new little haircut comes into the room first when she gets up in the morning.

And Anna’s latest gems are always top of mind. For example, here’s an excerpt from one of our most recent conversations:

Me: Do you want to watch Max & Ruby or Bubble Guppies?
Anna: ***pause***
Me: Anna? Max & Ruby or Bubble Guppies?
Anna: I’m THINKING, Mommy!

Or, when I came home on Valentine’s Day the other night, Anna wished me a “Happy Valentine’s Daddy”.  And she told me she loved Valentine’s because it meant she got to paint and wear a smock at school. (Yet, she refuses to wear her smock at home. Naturally.)

On a side note, Andrew and I seemed to be the ONLY parents who sent their kid to daycare without Valentine’s Day cards for everyone. And I forgot to get the daycare teachers a Christmas present. I am REALLY awesome at this Mom thing.

I also overheard Anna saying “Oh come on, guys!” in a very exaggerated tone (to nobody in particular) and my Mom found her “disciplining” her little sister:  “I’ve had enough of this, Lauren!”

Again – I am the best Mom in the universe! Wee!

Thankfully, Lauren can’t talk yet. But if she could, I feel like she would only utter things about how interesting she finds me.

Ma, tell me that story again... That one about that grande latte you ordered one time, but it was too much for you, so you couldn't finish it? Yeah... that one. The story that had no point to it.

Reaching for the moon

“Look, Mommy! The MOON!”

I listen to my happy toddler exclaiming excitedly from the back seat of the car.

“Let’s try to touch it,” she says.

“Okay,” I say. “You go first.”

I hear Anna grunting. I look in the rear view mirror and watch her flailing her arms, trying to “reach” the sky.

“Now your turn, Mommy!”

So I flail my arms about in a silly way and say in an exaggerated voice, “I can’t reach it!”

She laughs. I laugh with her.

I enjoy the simplicity of our conversation. How easy it is to make her smile. How excited she is by something as simple as the moon in the sky.

And I try to remind myself to remember this. To hold onto it tightly. I know moments like this won’t last forever.

Anna is a typical 3 year-old. She’s curious. Inquisitive. Loves to “search for clues” with anything from a toilet paper roll to the top of her see-through sippy cup. The way she looks at the world constantly amazes me. Her imagination makes me smile.

But she tests me. Oh my goodness, can she test me.

On another recent car trip, she was grouchy, had a temper tantrum and screamed the entire way home from Grandma and Grandpa’s house.

The biggest, brightest moon in the world wouldn’t have brought her back from where she was. And it was all I could do not to scream back at her.

So on nights like this, when she is excited by the universe and everything in it, I try hard to remember her. My true Anna.

I try to mentally catalogue every cute thing she says and every funny thing she does.

I want to tell her about it one day.

When she’s a teen, and is undoubtedly testing me again, I want her to know all about how much fun we had together. How I could be silly, too. How easy it was to enjoy each other’s company.

I want her to know about yesterday morning, when she jumped into bed to wake me up, then insisted we hide under the covers because she could hear a “jungle bear” coming into the room.

Or the time last week, when she danced around the kitchen and instructed me to say “Woo hoo!” each time she completed a little move.

I can’t avoid the moments when I feel tested and grouchy and exhausted by her moodiness. But I promise to both myself and to Anna to remember the fun, happy, easy times.

I glance at her in the rear view mirror again, a giant goofy grin plastered on my face.

It’s times like these I vow to remember.

This is my life

So what’s up ladies? What’s been going on?

I have no real excuse for being absent other than that the usual “I’m so busy” story. It’s a lame excuse, I know. But it’s So. Very. True.

Life with 2 kids is busy. And dirty. And exhausting.

But why am I telling you this? You know this. You live this. Your fingernails are encrusted with this.

And while I love mostly every minute of it, I’m still a firm believer in the idea that something has to take a back seat. You just can’t do it all.

(We all know this – I know this is nothing new to you. But the real question is – what takes the back seat? How do you decide?)

Your personal trainer will tell you that you have to make working out a priority, and your dentist will tell you that your teeth have to be the priority, or your hairdresser will tell you that you can’t let your hair get all “Mom-ish”, and EVERYONE on your social media feeds will remind you that your blogging and tweeting and general social media savvy can’t go by the wayside…

But something’s gotta give.

And so I find myself just getting the bare minimum done.

I do the laundry, I tidy the house, I go to work, I play with the kids, I snuggle my baby to sleep, I bathe them and put them to bed. And then I start all over again the next day.

And in between, if I can find time for personal relationships, returning a few emails, getting the odd run in and getting my eyebrows shaped – I am feeling f’n golden.

Is this enough?? When will I feel on top of my game again?  Will I ever look at my laundry basket and see the bottom of it?? Will I ever be able to walk by my tea-stained kitchen sink without feeling my eye start twitching?

Fellow control freaks – do you feel this way as well?

I was so used to feeling organized. On top of everything. Task-oriented. Clean. But now I just can’t get to it all. Which is REALLY hard for me to accept.

And, therefore, I reach out to you – my wonderful community of Moms who seem to have their shit together.

Any tips? Advice? Suggestions? Commiserations?

Help me Obi Wan(s)… you’re my only hope.

"I'll take over the task of covering the baby's forehead with stickers, Mommy."

Such a helpful toddler.

Ungrateful?

This morning, I woke up grouchy.

I'm still irritable at almost 3 in the afternoon. Tired. Worn out. Blah.

Almost everything Anna does today annoys me. I've yelled directly at her several times already, once causing her to be startled and ask me, "What's wrong, Mommy? You sad?"

Did I also mention I've felt guilty pretty much all day, too?

Why does this happen to me? To us Moms? (I'm hoping some of you feel this way, too?)

I have two good, healthy, happy children. I have a really great husband. I've even got an extremely helpful Mom who lives nearby. I'm not alone.

And yet, I'll have these "oh, woe is me" days where I just feel like laying in bed. But there's no reason for it. And I hate complaining about my lot in life because I know I sound selfish.

So... what the hell? (For lack of a better term). What the hell is wrong with me?

My husband and I chatted about the possibility of me returning to work full time. I was leaning towards returning to an out of the home full time job more than I was staying at home and working part time. But I waver back and forth from day to day.

"People envy what you have, Heather. They want the life you've got" he said to me.

I know it. I know. I know. I know.

I've got it good. I've got it so good. Which is why I can't figure out my bad mood. I should be sitting here counting my blessings, not annoyed by the fact that I'm sipping tea in my lovely bright kitchen while the girls nap.

Is this a "the grass is always greener" case?

Do I just need to shut up and give my head a shake?

Sigh.

Wish I knew.

From the neurotic files...

So, I realize I'm neurotic.

But I think I've reached an all new level of crazy. Allow me to explain.

I was telling a girlfriend the other day about how I'm not sure if my baby loves me.

(Oh lord, I'm rolling my eyes right now because I KNOW I'm crazy. I know it! But I can't seem to help it.)

It's very clear to me that Anna loves me. She's very attached to me. She wants Mommy to hug her and kiss her and help her get dressed. Only I can calm her down when she's reaching her nuclear meltdown point. She's always been this way since she was a wee babe. Everyone else is great, don't get her wrong... but Mommy? Mommy frickin rocks, people. Mommy is the best! Mommy wipes her bum, sucks boogies out of her nose and STILL thinks the sun rises and sets out of her arse.

On the other hand, when it comes to Lauren... The jury's still out on whether or not she feels that intensely about me.

Don't get me wrong - the kid obviously LIKES me. I mean, she smiles and giggles for me. She tolerates me dressing and changing her. But am I like the best thing that ever existed in the entire history of the universe?

Meh. Not so sure about that one.

Case in point: When Grandma comes to visit, Lauren smiles and reaches for Grandma. If Grandma leaves the room (AND I'M STILL IN IT), Lauren cries.

When I try to smother her in kisses - she pushes me away. When I wrestle her into a bear hug just to be close to her? She cries.

That's right. My caresses make my child weep, folks.

It's starting to give me a wee bit of a complex. I'm used to being the center of my daughter's universe. I'm used to being able to do no wrong. I'm used to being considered pretty awesome just by getting up and getting the kid a bowl of cereal.

Looks like I'm going to have to work a bit harder to earn little Lauren's affection.

And all I can think about is how Moms and daughters have weird relationships. Some daughters hate their Moms. They love their Dads and think their Moms are crazy and annoying and nag too much.

Add to that the fact that I know I'm not the easiest to like all the time. (I'm blunt and to-the-point and get taken the wrong way. I'm not all nicey nicey. It's just not in me.) Plus, I have mood swings and I'm not afraid to yell at my kids. I rock! Weee!

Anyway, add that all up, and all of the sudden I can picture grown-up Lauren exasperated with me and irritated by my very presence and wondering why I'm weeping to myself in the corner, rocking back and forth while cradling her baby clothes and whispering "Why don't you love me?? Why???"

So yes. I think I've very clearly demonstrated my ridiculous level of crazy. But there seems to be not much I can do about it.

Which is why I'm just going to keep smothering Lauren with kisses and hope for the best.

And if she ever comes up to you one day and complains about me? Please tell her that I love her and I mean well.

The kids are alright

I'm laying in bed.

I'm thinking instead of sleeping again. I'm thinking about how late it is. Thinking about you. And you.

I turn over and stare at a strong, quiet face - covered in stubble. It's a peaceful face. Sound asleep. It's one of your most favourite faces in the world.

I marvel at how the brain inside that head has the ability to be so carefree. I wonder if he ever lays awake thinking about every little thing that happened that day. Would sleep ever take a backseat to the worry that he didn't do good enough today?

I doubt it.

And thank goodness. We need one normal one in the family, right?

I smile to myself. I'm joking. I know I'm normal. I know you think I'm normal. I know millions of other Moms are just like me. I know millions of other Dads are just like the stubbly sleeper next to me.

But it doesn't ease the buzzing in my head. The over-thinking. The wonder.

Will your little 2-year old self remember that I lost my cool and yelled at you? Will you remember the morning we played on your bed for over an hour - kissing and hugging, then laughing... hiding under the covers, giggling and rolling around.

Will you, my sweet little 10-month old, have happy memories growing up in our new house? Playing in the court outside, running and biking and picking up leaves and insects.

Will you love our holiday traditions as much as I did growing up? Will you think I took enough pictures of you? Will you talk about our family vacations with fondness when you're grown?

What does it take to do it right? What do I need to do? What do I need to say?

Of course, I realize, for the most part I just need to be. Be present. Be here for you. Kiss your boo-boos. Hug you each morning. Tell you how happy I am to see you when you get home from school. Just be me.

Because "me" is someone who loves you intensely. Who can't quite remember being someone other than your Mom.

Someone who will always do things like smile and laugh with an incredible amount of pride because you blew out your 2nd birthday candle all by yourself. Or play peek-a-boo with you in the middle of the grocery store because I love seeing your 10-month old gummy smile.

And as you get older, as I make different choices - like putting you into daycare, like contemplating returning to work - I'm learning. About you, and me, and the decisions I have to make as a parent.

There's no script to follow. I can't answer the question "what does it take to be a good Mom". There are no rules for everyone to obey.

But, I do know that it doesn't matter if we stay at home with them or work, have one child or have six, if they've got special needs or not, if we believe in attachment parenting or if we're laissez-faire. We all have the same worries. The same feelings. The same questions.

And we all love like we've never loved before.

Remember that, my girls. Remember that I love you.

Remember that, Moms. Remember that you love like you've never loved before.

And for that reason, the kids are going to be alright.

Everything's going to be alright.

The one where I compare Anna to Doogie Howser

I shouldn't be allowed to carry on with this blog anymore. One post every few months is annoying to all dedicated readers. (That being said, Facebook keeps informing me with a huge red arrow pointing down next to "your reach" on my Facebook page that I've lost all my dedicated readers by now.)

Alas. I shall write anyway.

I shall write despite the fact that I'm sitting on the floor and my toddler is standing on my thigh and using my hair for balance.

I shall write despite the fact that my baby is grunting and grousing in an attempt to let me know that she is unhappy and if she could move, she would be out of here. Stat.

I shall write despite the fact that I should be showering, getting the baby down for a nap, packing for our move that is just DAYS away, tidying the kitchen floor (damn you, last night's dinner of shredded cheese) or playing something with my kids instead of letting them watch Bubble Guppies. (I find it increasingly annoying that the Bubble Guppies R&B tune "Come on puppy say arf" is stuck in my head. Just saying.)

So anyway. Yesterday Anna told me she was standing in a square. I looked down and saw her pointing to the square tiles on our kitchen floor. Impressed, I asked her what shape the clock was.

"Round like a circle!" she exclaimed.

Now, I know I totally sound like a Mom here... but that's sort of impressive, isn't it?? She's only 2 and a half. I instantly started imagining that she would be some sort of Doogie Howser-like genius at school, telling me what a trapezoid was by the age of 4. Informing me that pi equals 3.14 blah blah blah by age 6.

Then she said, "Mommy, I see my shadow!"

"Oh yeah?" I smiled.

"My shadow wants a popsicle."

Which confirmed that she's smarter than I really know. She used her insane cuteness to get what she wanted, knowing I couldn't say no to her shadow. (I'm lucky her shadow didn't want a pony.)

So, yeah. Much like most Moms out there... I truly believe I have a genius child.

Of course, my genius child doesn't mind sitting in her own poop and refuses to use the potty. She also thought a picture of Jake Gyllenhaal was Daddy (maybe she really does know how to get that pony) and she likes to skip numbers 5 through 7 when counting to 10.

Yet to me, she's pretty darn perfect.

I may sit in my own poop, but that's cause I prefer it when you wipe my butt, woman. Who'd give up that sweet deal??