Category: Motherhood

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Age Appropriate Chores for Kids

mowing the lawn, lawn mowing

Face the facts folks, we did not have children for the enriching joy, wonder and awe they bring to our lives. We had children to make certain aspects of our lives easier. Who needs to load and or unload the dishwasher anymore when you have kids. Who needs to mow the lawn anymore. Trash and recycle, done, with kids. They are cheap, affordable laborers. Why not create chores for your kids that are age appropriate. Engage your children in engaging in the family responsibilities.

Children by nature desire order, a sense of belonging and responsibility. They desire rules and engagement. While they may seem unruly and incorrigible in regard to rules and engagement, children are merely testing the boundaries and edges of those rules, assessing the grey area. When I had the twins I found two additional little people who really wanted to help and be part of our family unit. Since they are a team of their own I also discovered how competitive they were to each others actions and activities.

In order to curb their restless, and sometimes competitive nature, I found a way to engage them to teach them responsibility. We created chore boards to help validate their feelings of belonging to the family structure by giving them responsibility to their own rooms, areas of the house and specified chores that support the family. Additionally, certain chores apply to each of my kids. Since we have a five year range between the oldest and the youngest we were able to spread out quite a bit of small and large responsibilities.

chore boards, kids chores, age appropriate choresThe chore boards were super simple to make. I bought three cookie sheets with a lip and smooth base, three cans of different colored spray paint, 1″ flat round wood discs, 1″ square magnets (or a roll of magnet tape one inch wide) and choice or stickers or stamps and adhesive. Ribbon, decorative rope or other decorative tie to create a hanger for the boards to dangle. Create a “DONE” section so that the kids can move their magnets to this section when their task is complete.

I had my kids pick out their own stickers and pictures that would represent their chores around the house. The process committed them and heightened their interest in helping the family.My kids also added their own personal touches, Jeep stickers, ballerina emblems and karate emblems. We also made chores to pass around, taking out the trash, recycling and taking out the compost.

Since making these my kids have added more personal touches. Personal stickers, knick knacks and more are how my kids have defined their crowning glory of making chores fun.

Here are some suggestions for chores for kids in various age ranges:

Ages 2-4

taking out the trash, trash bag, trashToddlers are especially tricky but tons of fun for assigning chores. We found the most constructive tasks for our two-some happened to be loading our dishwasher. Giving them flatware to load into the basket and plastic dishware instilled a gratifying sense of accomplishment and when they completed, the reward of pressing the start button was comparable to winning the toddler lottery.

Other easy tasks that my short people love to do are feed the dog, put away groceries and set the table. Since we taught them at an early age they have continued to help out the family through habit. Another easy chore for these little tots is checking the mail; mine used to run to the mailbox just to see what was inside.

Ages 5-9

What a great age to help with chores. Now that my twins have crested into this age range they are tremendous help, especially with two of them. Continuing to load and unload the dishwasher but with more responsibility, they can actually handle glass dishes. Laundry is also a great chore as I have my kids sorting their laundry into the color bracket baskets we have setup in our washroom and they can take their clean laundry and put it away in their dressers. Taking out the trash and recycle have been made easier as well with two more helpers that are big enough to take on larger chores.

Ages 10+

mowing the lawn, lawn mowingWhen my oldest hit the double digits I watched him really grow and mature with his desire to want more from life and more responsibility. One spring afternoon we experimented and had him give a go at mowing the lawn. From that day forward we never looked back. Cleaning the pool, taking the trash and recycle cans to the curb. Some other inside chores are vacuuming floors, dusting and mopping.

These are just a few ideas for chores for your kids, in addition to keeping their rooms clean and picking up their toys. Creating age appropriate chores for your kids helps to build responsibility, accountability, and helps the parental units around the house. Make the activity fun and not a drag. I found that getting my kids’ input on what chores they felt they should be doing around the house really made a difference in their cooperation. Are you struggling to get your kids to help? Maybe they are willing to help, what other chores do you assign to your kids in your household?

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Being a Good Parent: Practicing Parenthood and Humanity

This week The Chad traveled yet again for work. A trade show in Tampa, really rough gig; shaking hands and kissing babies to the various vendors and clients. While this week is really no different from any other time he travels I personally am feeling rather “under the weather” to say the least, call it a funk. So in true fashion of a funk, my loving children have decided this is the week to test every boundary, push every limit, skirt every envelope. At the end of the day I just don’t have anything left. I hit the bed at 8:30 every evening and praise the Lord for that moment. Quiet. In that quiet I contemplate what am I doing wrong in raising my children, I judge myself in my solitude. Am I not stern enough? Hard to believe, I am a ball buster….or maybe I’m not with my kids. Maybe I am not nice enough? Should I raise my voice? I am not a screamer or one to yell, but maybe I could raise my tone another octave, that should do it right? Am I really being a good parent?

kariewithak, Karie HerringStruggling on where I am going wrong, I dismantle my parenting, myself and judge my ability. Even though I have small winning moments where I think I am doing things right when my children pray before dinner, thanking God for the nourishment of the food, thanking Him for their siblings, parents, grandparents, great grandparents; they show the most amazing kindness and love for strangers, exuding a strength in their quest for equality, standing up for what is right. All to be toppled upon by the simple act of defiance and disrespect towards me, I judge myself harshly in that moment. Am I really doing parenthood right?

Looking at professional fields, they seem to provide some form of training and formal education. Becoming a doctor is an arduous task with over eight years of schooling, then residency, all before landing at a local health facility. Annual training, certifications, re-certifications, more conferences, more training; I am always amazed at level of education and continuing education provided to professional fields. We often judge the accomplishment of a practicing physician based on their training and accolades, awards scattered throughout the office. One professional field I believe is always the most neglected is the parent. Scoff all you want, however I feel that this career path, because this is a lifelong career, provides the least amount of resources yet is judged and evaluated the most harshly. I stumbled across an article this week about how inhumane parents are to let a child cry themselves to sleep and learn to self soothe. When I hear inhumane I often think of the ill treatment of pets and not the ill treatment of children, to which I would correlate the word abuse as opposed to inhumane. I suppose someone was trying not to upset their readership. Why do we have such intense training and rigorous standards for the paid career paths but we lack proper training and education for the job of parenting, the basis for the future of humanity. We judge and criticize the ability to parent as if there is some grand handbook and training we are provided before, during and after birth.

At best, my first round of training came from a deaf nurse who groped my breasts shortly after I birthed my oldest son to show me how to properly feed my child and that if I didn’t breast feed I was a failure. Spectacular. Bar one had been set in my quest for perfect parenthood. Along came many other milestones, coaching from others who were clearly far more superior in their parenting, strangers in parking lots, Costco’s and even friends who had yet to rear children. All of which afforded me nothing, but more feelings of failure and made me question my ability as a parent, was I really going about this all wrong?

Where did the criterion for perfect parenting come about? Basic common sense tells me that we want the best for our children. Treat them with love, respect, no malice; we want to comfort them and ensure their safety, encourage their growth and development mentally, emotionally, physically. Somehow we don’t provide any basic training to parents on their emotional involvement of parenthood. At 25 when I became a first time mother I can look back now and think of how unprepared I was for the spirited toll to raising a child, a strong intelligent child, then add strong, intelligent twins later in life. The true meaning of double trouble. Our society has reared an ugly head in recent days that certain actions could be perceived as abuse, even called out for such actions when no harm or malice was displayed to the child.

twins, jailed children, Karie HerringTake for instance the new phenomenon of children who are left to play outside by themselves without adult supervision. Apparently this is the newest form of child abuse, to let your older children roam their neighborhoods on bikes and on foot to explore and play with their friends. The application of imagination is completely devoid, we must hold our children hostage to our homes. The daft choice of letting a child under the age of six (more specifically age two) roaming neighborhoods and parks unattended, this is unacceptable and a result of poor education, poor choices, and an invitational extreme where other parents (or people) take a singular event and are applying house arrest to all children. Even children who understand right and wrong and who have been afforded such freedoms to be about their neighborhood are at risk of confinement. Myself, I have let my children run like a gang of hellions. Each armed with their bicycle, helmet, and knowledge of our neighborhood and its inhabitants, their imagination the fuel for such adventure.

Call me reckless but I see a great joy and freedom for my children to be about their community, that the neighbors know my children, we have an understood respect for one another that in the event one of our children is injured or in need we would call to come to their aid. Not call the authorities. Humanity.

So why do we judge parenthood and create such unobtainable standards when we have no apparent bar for metrics? If we do have a temperature why is it that when I Google “parenting classes” and “education on becoming a parent” each result yielded advocacy, abuse prevention and my personal favorite, consultation. Not a single result offered simple classes on dealing with emotional tolls, psychological tolls, coping skills or even basic diaper changing. As a parent I judge myself with the utmost harshness, the last I need is some other parent with similar, or less than adequate coping skills determining my quality as a parent.

I berate myself on how poor of a job I must be doing as I compare myself to some imaginary standard. I tear myself down that I am not doing enough. I don’t volunteer enough in class. I don’t provide sushi in their box lunches on Fridays. I do not always read to my children. I do not always save my children, aid and abet them in a time where they need to learn for themselves how to complete a task and understand the value of singular or team effort. I guess I am not doing this mothering thing right. I must be a horrible mother for subjecting my twins to the walk in cooler at Costco when they were infants, in order to purchase organic milk, because I should have left them with the strange woman who accosted me before entering. I must be a horrible mother for loving my children unconditionally, no matter what choices they make and guiding them with love as they struggle emotionally. I must be a horrible mother by limiting screens in their lives and forcing them to play outside. I must be a horrible mother for wanting more for my children. I must be a horrible mother for waking early each morning to make my children’s lunches because I choose not to subject them to the poor food standards of public schools. I must be a horrible mother for enforcing rules and issuing personal restraint to not yell, scream, or inflict physical or emotional harm.

God help me that I am broken. God help others that they are broken too.  By no means am I perfect, while I strive for parenting, sad baby girl, tough parenting, pouty face, Karie Herring, the Five Fishimprovement everyday, raising my children a different way than my parents, raising the imaginary bar. Parents, even people who are not parents, should be reminded that we are doing the best we can with the tools in which we have been provided. Some have become parents way before their intended time and were not even prepared for adult life let alone the responsibility of a child as they were still a child themselves. Others are dealing with truly unique situations, because parenting is not a one-size fits all standard. We tend to blanket or umbrella the imaginary parenting standard across anyone who has taken on the role as parent, blinded by the individuality that may exist and applying our standards or the imaginary standards to everyone.

Sometimes I wonder if we should apply the career of physician to parenting. Practicing medicine; practicing parenthood. Doctors do not always have the answer, nor are they the utmost authority. As technology and information progresses they[physicians] conduct themselves in an improved manner. Maybe parents should be gauged in the same fashion. As information is shared and provided in a manner that is loving and helpful we can continue to practice to be better, ending previous cycles of bad operations, seeking enlightenment and not entitlement. Instead of prancing around in a demonstrative manner of our accomplishments.

Being a parent is not easy. Issuing myself mental lashings to be feared by the most nefarious villains. How different parenting would be if we banded together as a community. Lifting each other and speaking life into one another and supporting each other as opposed to applying our personal judgment of the other. Unbeknownst to their battle, their struggle, their situation. Being a good parent is not something we learned before we had children, I am finding being a good parent is something I work at each day, with no manual, no formal education, no training. So the next time  you think to judge a parent, consider what tools, education, training you received or maybe the ones they did not receive. Maybe offer that parent a moment of assistance or a friendly smile, pay forward practicing humanity instead of practicing judgment.

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Saving Giants – Talking with Tweens

Talking with tweens is just another job moms carryout in our career. Nanny, maid, personal chef, short order cook, educator, project manager, team leader, manager, chauffeur, accountant, and double agent also come to mind on the short list of multifaceted careers as a parent. Double agent only came to mind as I crept into my six year old son’s room, like a thief in the night. Ever so carefully to not eek out a sound, plastering myself against the flat surface of a wall as not to be seen; which is ridiculous anyway when you have boobs and bright blond hair. All in the name of swapping a snarly tooth for various coins in an effort to challenge his knowledge and counting abilities. Alas I am the Tooth Fairy. I digress on the double agent job, if only it were sexier with firearms and thigh high stockings. Yet this is one of the the many careers we hold as parents.

Anyway, this rewarding career I currently hold as mom. I never really wanted to become a parent; mostly because I was a spiteful child to my mother’s threats of “just wait until you have your own kids,” I thought depriving my mother of the joy of becoming a grandmother was the way to go. I’m glad I was a bonehead and figured that dumb-ass move in my twenties was not a wise choice. Now that I am a parent, I really could not imagine life without my kids. My eldest just crossed into the tween years this year as he turned 11. Being at home again, I am really learning more and more about my kids and the people they are, who they are becoming. I am in full amazement and awe as these small individuals evolve, learning so much about life from them; learning a bit about myself on our journey as well. G as a now 11 year young man is like taming a giant, or a rhino,  sometimes both depending on the day.

The Gazing GiantThe boy is massive in every respect. He is a lean, muscular kid, who lacks solid coordination but makes up for it with the heart of a hero. Like I said, MASSIVE, even his heart. G has always been a sensitive boy; my family has no shortage of emotions, we wear them like badges of honor to a four star general, exposed on our sleeves, loud and proud. The Chad, while he will deny such accusations, is also a sensitive man; though the harsh reality of society and family of origin issues we all succumb to suppressing such humane gifts.

So last night when I cornered the boy to have him finally sit down and write out his thank you notes to friends and family for his birthday gifts, I saw the twinge of tween. The boy got a little snappy at me, call it attitude. I don’t do attitude. But I’m a parent, this is not about being right and this is not about me. Strapping on my sweet mommy voice that would charm any viper, but with the stern assertiveness of a Clydesdale I fired back. “Dude, why am I getting attitude, what’s wrong? Do you have something bothering you?”

THAT.

In that simple question a world of opportunity opened for any adult to see what they were like at 11, remembering fifth or sixth grade, saving a giant of emotions. We huddled around the kitchen island as I pressed harder, like any good investigator (check, add that to the resume) and created a safe bubble for my son to share what he was experiencing. Free of expectation, I let my gentle giant unleash a barrage of daggers;

“I don’t feel accepted. I don’t want to be at school. I don’t want to be at home. My friends are good, my family is good. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Sweet Jesus. How DOES one explain this. So I went backwards, we initiated the discussion with the topic of his friends. No bullying, nothing alarming that would require an educator intervention, no name calling. Got it. Friends equal solid. Now onto the family unit. The Chad is good, twins…well they are who they are, and that’s all good, he is good with me. Solid. Home? Home is good, he wants to be here but something is nagging at him. Listening to his voice I fought back a rage of tears. When your kid is hurting you hurt. I don’t give a damn who you are; a pain sets off in you that causes your jaw to clench, your eyes burn with tears that you wish your inner super hero could dry away, and the muscles of your bottom lip curl and flex to maintain the stoic power of parent.  Cue super hero music,I always think of the margarine commercial, Parkay. Now that we have excavated into the bowels of emotion, I clawed at my own scars when we addressed acceptance.

By this time my inner 11 year old girl was a blubbering mess. Recalling the pain of that age. The emotional turmoil. I watched the giant fall before me into tears as he rebuked his intelligence, his self-worth and his overall being based on grades he had received in his class. I felt my soul fall to her knees. Tears pour down my face now, but that moment they only welled in their ducts and I exercised parental stoicism to continue to listen to my boy, this young man, struggle with new emotions. New feelings. The new person he was evolving into, I couldn’t do anything to make this rite-of-passage into mid-adolescents any easier for him.

Coaxing my giant out from behind the island I hugged him with all I had. Pushing my love from my soul as it radiated into his arms and back, encapsulated him like a bubble, and smothered him until his tears had faded away. Sharing with him my timely story about failure, I related to him how I purposely failed pre-algebra. My parents were officially divorced, I now had a one year old half brother and newborn half sister to contend with, puberty that was very unkind to me with acne and school acquaintances that took great pleasure to lambast me at any opportunity. I reassured him that his “A minus” that he was so distraught over was a soaring accomplishment, his “D” that he received was not his lack of ability but his lack of interest to put forth solid effort and he failed to follow directions his instructor set out in the assignment. By no means do grades define who you are as a person.  Constructive feedback is done lovingly, knowing his teacher, she knew he could rope the moon, she was giving him the lasso to do so. Reassuring G that he is intelligent, smart, talented, loving, able-bodied, and I could not be more proud of him.

My giant began to wield his rhinoceros style strength again as the tears melted into his cheeks and his sweet dimples appeared again. We both exposed our vulnerability, more so mine as a parent, relating to his struggles. Struggles I still encounter to this day as a grown woman. Part of me today ponders of the outcome had we not had this discussion after school, had I not taken the opportunity to talk to my tween. Had I been busy making a life for myself, engrossed in the delusional and empty corporate career path, I might have missed a career making opportunity of a lifetime talking with my son. Pondering other kids, who maybe lacked the emotional support of a parental unit/figure in their lives, to just ask, “how are you?” We forget how powerful our words impact lives, children and adults. How profound a simple, loving, truly genuine question like “how are you” can unlock a garden a vulnerability in anyone. How are you today?

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Whos guffawing over the detachment parent

Maintaining the wild giggle to myself of the faded memory of the TIME magazine cover I too shake my head in misunderstanding of the critical judgment passed by parents and non-parents alike. I wonder why we “freak out” to see that a parent so chooses a path to nurture and bond with their child that may be socially out of norm, albeit unacceptable to a vast majority. Yet the parent that lets their child run the streets, is unaware of any retardation they may experience that puts them at a huge disadvantage among other children, and lacks the parental attachment necessary to provide basic loving care is ignored. Not even a huff, snort, or pissy remark given to this form of action and behavior.

I am talking about a parent that has no nurturing qualities whatsoever. I am speaking to a parent that lets their child leave the house and is unaware of their disappearance and is not in the least bit concerned to their childs whereabouts. I am speaking to a parent who has fully admitted the only reason the child is in their life is to save their marriage.

And we thought breastfeeding a kindergartner was preposterous.

Copyright of Sarah Maizes Moms.Today.com

What I find most appalling is the fact that this parent ADOPTED their child. They CHOSE this child. They CHOSE to bring a special needs child into their home. They CHOSE this life. Call me callous, but this is like adopting a dog. Now when faced with the challenges that childhood brings with this child and the struggles of social growth and cognitive skills they seem to think that this behavior is the norm and ignore the fact their child has greater needs that some parents do not have the capacity to work with, through, or have any experience in the matter. They seem to brush the kid under the rug like he or she is the everyday norm, run of the mill standard kid with no special needs.

I struggle with this parent daily due to our close proximity. I have struggled to not write on this subject because of the damning effect. I struggle as I watch this parent spend more quality time with the family dogs on her daily constitutional than she does quality time with her child. I fight the urge to tell her to fuck off when her child randomly leaves their home and she is unaware of his disappearance, or maybe she is aware and does not exude concern, and the child shows up at my house, unannounced, unwanted, as the child stands at my doorstep entitled to come in and spend time with our family. I find pity and concern and anger with this situation that the child finds solace and acceptance in my home despite my hidden anger, concern, and lastly my pity.

This child acts as an ape in my home, climbing on counters, standing on counters and other household items that are not meant for this type of behavior. Pulling my window coverings from their bases in the walls leaving gaping wounds in my drywall needing to be repaired due to his feral behavior. I had patience and understanding in the beginning, knowing his situation. At first I made excuses that the child needed to know the boundaries in our home, to understand our rules and so we discussed healthy boundaries and rules.

Out the window….like their coverings.

I tried to reason and explain to the parents what his behavior entailed so as not to have a repeat offense.

Ignored.

Now, as the child visits my home on an almost every weekend basis I am faced with a rage I can no longer bridle from this parent who lacks any form of attachment, love, or concern for her CHOSEN child. The child is very special needs and quite frankly I am not equipped to deal with this sort of child that is not mine. I do not have the skills to entertain him on the days that are MINE to spend with my flesh and blood. To relax and enjoy my children because I am too spun and wound tighter than a drum because THIS child invades my home. Call me selfish, I can. Not my kid. You are probably thinking: “Don’t let him in,” “Send the child home,” all warranted responses to which I say, I am not the one letting him enter our home.

Often times the child shows up and is let in by my husband, sometimes my kids. If left to me I would leave him at the door at which he compulsively rang the door bell where I would want to rip the notification device from the wall to prevent further use. I then begin to question the motives of the mother who once sent him over stating, “It’s my weekend to relax and I want my time.” I nearly cam unglued and my rage almost got the better of me as I began to hoof my angry, selfish, self-righteous ass over to her house to demand she explain who the hell she was to make such claims and assume the weekends were not my family’s either. TWAT!

I digress.

So I then question her motives again. My only assumption is her daft obliviousness to the fact that we have goings on in our lives, that we do not just sit around waiting for her to send her child off to our home to give her reprieve, she must just think that since we have three children…in the grand scheme what is one more. Again I curse TWAT and how dare she. But then I thought, why not play her game. One day the child came to the door and we sent our THREE children in tow with this child back to his home for a full on play date at their house.

The silence lasted about week. It was bliss.

Until the weekend this child came to the door on a Sunday, of all weekends, that we all decided to sleep in. By sleep in, I mean we all slept until roughly nine in the morning. The morning was glorious until I was ripped from my peaceful morning arousal by the door bell, a knock at the door, dogs barking fervently. FUCK!

Running to the door I answered and politely sent the boy away as he attempted to pout and I bit my adult lip to not rip his head off. Meandering back to my room to lay quietly again in my comfy bed to get my wits about me I hear another knock. Short of losing my shit altogether I advise my eldest son that is awake to ignore the door and the child coming to it every fifteen minutes. For an hour the child paces in front of our house after being sent away and finally I cannot take it and so I text the mother to see if she understands the gravity of the situation. Advising her I sent the boy home at nine…by now it is fifteen after 10 in the morning.

She doesn’t catch my drift.

Then the child is trying his hand at jimmying open my son’s bedroom window. At this point my husband is awake, because my sleeping lion has now come full rage and is about to pull the kid home by his ears. By no means am I a violent person, but the events that have taken place have pushed me to corporal actions. My husband calms me for a moment, steps outside and takes the boy aside, speaks to him and sends him on his way. While I pace furiously through my kitchen eyeing the events to the front of my house through my dining room window, I cannot take anymore shenanigans. I text the mother to explain that their child was sent away an hour ago because we wanted to sleep in without their child coming over for once, I explain him pacing in front of our house for the hour, I explain the attempted break in.

Crickets.

No apology.

No admission of guilt.

Not even giving a fuck.

Then I am speechless. At a complete loss to the lack of concern on behalf of this parent. Their child was away from their home with no known whereabouts for more than a hour. They had assumptions I am sure. Let me further caveat all this that the child is EIGHT years old with special needs. Born of a mother who abused alcohol and drugs. A child who has spent his entire life in some form of therapy classes for social, cognitive, and other basic skills born unto children who are not born of the deficiencies he faces. But clearly he is of sound mind and body to walk around a neighborhood block, on a very heavy traffic neighborhood street, to come play with my children, without supervision on his jaunt, without concern of his whereabouts.

Maybe I am blowing the whole situation out of proportion. Maybe I just care to the whereabouts of my children. Maybe I care to their concern and to that of others. Maybe I enjoy to just spend time with my children on the weekends after I work all week. I am selfish in that I do not want to watch another parents child who sends them off so they can have peace and quiet. Maybe I find that there is a happy medium between the attachment and detached parenting ideals. I like that my children are their own person and being, sleep on their own, completed breastfeeding at one year, but still have me tuck them in at night, I have them still hold my hand across the street and through parking lots, I find that more of being a concerned, loving parent, than fitting into any mold of parenting principles.

When has the detached parenting gone too far? Or in this case was their any “parenting” involved at all?

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Childrens Privacy Online – Public Parenthood

Going about dinner with my family tonight, I realized how much I have been able to enjoy my children outside of my blog. For the years leading up to this moment I shared almost the two full years of my children’s lives, the first two years of which were for my twins and before were the months leading up to their birth. The fodder of their lives and daily isms is what has driven this blog, making this mostly about parenthood, parenting, being a mother, their antics. All roles and life experiences to revel in, but I am realizing more and more how much I have enjoyed the privacy of my children growing up in front of me, my memories, my moments; our moments.

My little blog will now be evolving and growing as my children have. Visually recognizing that our relationship is truly about parenthood and parenting, mother and child, our values as parents withstanding the test of time, societal pressures, growing pains, individuality, fitting inside the box. Am I fulfilling my children’s lives with cultural enrichment, worldly values and acceptances, and ensuring blinding and bigoted boundaries are eliminated from their being? Call their experience enlightenment or a sense of ascension but I want my children to be just that, children.

Children of their own pace and world away from PR influence, marketing, and main stream of the best and greatest toy, gadget, gizmo, and whatchamajig. Full of wonder and imagination. Encouraged. Loved. Cherished. Appreciated. Supported. I think with a “mommy” or parent blog we are too busy touting our “look at me and look at my kid” that we forget to teach, encourage, cherish, educate. A blog is too much of a public parenthood platform that we are too busy sharing that awesome moment that we forget to live in that moment. Fantastic to put that moment forever into electronic history, but what about just living in the moment. Living with our children. Seeing what we can learn as parents, teaching our children the power of responsibility, ownership, love, respect, values, regret, and the lessons to be learned from these moments.

I watched the other day as a parent went on a tirade about soda served to her young child. While I do not like my children to have soda or other processed drinks including bottled fruit juices (grape, apple, etc), I also know that I can educate them at a young age the affects of these beverages can wreak on their overall health from teeth to how it affects their overall being, thwarting any outside influence to peer pressure them into the sea of wasted humanity. But with watching this parent’s tirade I watched her never take ownership to share or educate her child about soda, any soda, nor did she educate others about her beliefs for her children and that they are her own and to be respected regardless of general society and despite what others believed to be socially okay. In part, her parenthood was so public she forgot to parent her own child and self. We all fuck up, we make mistakes, but evermore, a part of making those mistakes is owning them and teaching our children that we make mistakes, own them, learn from these errors, grow!

Now that my twins have reached the exact age of their oldest sibling when this blog was erected, my eldest son was just about four when I started this blog, I am seeing another turning point to talk about what I do to be a responsible parent. How my children will interact in the unknown future world and hope that my small influence on them  to be righteous, fierce, honest, modest, and simplistic will be contagious. My hope is that this contagion to spread among the masses that being a parent and a public parent means to be held accountable and not inflict some executive order of power that we lack education toward our children in values, decision making and critical thinking. That we value our privacy and publicity as parents and these are in sync with one another.These characteristics should not be left to the institutionalized educators, the education should begin with parenthood. Basic parenting, basic adulthood, and simple humanity.

I only hope that my children know that each human puts their pants on the same each day, and by no means will they ever think themselves more superior, and that my most basic love and adoration for them will be enough to fill their hearts as they have filled mine for dozens of lifetimes.

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The Job of Mom

Sweating profusely and panting I watched the closed captioning for the evening news on Fox while riding the bike at the gym. Wholeheartedly giggling at the headline, “Stay at home mom wars.” You have to be kidding me? Now the media and political genre has picked up on the stay at home plight to discredit these women. Here I thought this was only reserved for those bitches who own blogs, yet work outside of the home and have yet been afforded the opportunity to be an in home caregiver for their own spawn.

I watched as the news was delivered, the debates about a certain journalist vomiting of her mouth about how a political game players wife should not be any authority of business decisions and current economic policy because she has never worked a day in her life. Further I giggled that these deplorably, over-educated, imbeciles rattled and spouted off about scenarios they themselves have yet to encounter in their lifetime. Highly entertaining news television for my evening workout as I peddled even more fervently to their idiocy. Women who have not struggled financially, personally in the job and role of motherhood, and who never stayed home a day in their life with their children without “hired help.”

You see I laugh because I have worked in both jobs as a mom, stay at home and work outside the home mom.

My eldest son was the ripe age of seven weeks when I enrolled him into a child care facility while I returned to work. My first week was heart wrenching as I cried each morning as I left him in the care of another woman. Only two and a half years later was I able to have the opportunity to stay at home with him, and soon after,conceive and birth my twins, care for them, see them reach the age of two before again returning to the workforce. My return was not one that was taken lightly and I still struggle.

Viewing myself more now as a provider and not a care giver I am not always feeling the job of mom. The struggling feeling that you are more of the hired help, yielding income to support your family; weekends, week night evenings, and just about any spare time is filled with the maintenance of keeping up a home as well as trying to ensure some form of maternal parenting is provided to our children as a strong foundation into their upbringing. It’s lifestyles like this that have encouraged many stay at home parents to pursue an education from one of the many online accredited colleges. no way am I discrediting my husband for his strong paternal role with our children which is monumental where most households experience the opposite, dad at work and mom at home with the kids. He is a phenomenal father, patient, kind, and a strong force for our sons and our daughter. Something I did not have in my home, and am ever pleased that they have such a loving man in their life.

Being a mom is not easy because we are so universal in our children’s foundation. We are initially the delivery vehicle for birth, to be brought into this world, a food source with the milk of our breasts, we provide comfort, security, love to our crying babes with our soothing delicate voices, our touch, arms to bear, hug, and embrace them. We also make sure to promote our children’s independence, despite our innate sense to always protect our children from harm, we push for them to learn on their own in spite of the struggles we know they will face. A mother should be loving and assertive as to stand her ground on what is right so as to encourage just actions and a moral compass for the future of these young individuals.

Motherhood aside, a “mom” is also a wife, lover, friend, co-worker, employee, woman, girl, child, daughter, sister. So we must learn to balance the motherhood role in life in addition to those roles we have taken on or assumed. I struggle on being a mom, wife, friend, lover, and woman. Not knowing when I can “treat” myself to those moments that were predefined in my life prior to the conception of my children. When can I revisit being a woman. A wife. A lover. If you scoff at this notion, clearly you are unaware of the actions of lumping a husband into the children pool, often emasculating him and issuing forms of discipline and condescension that we inflict because we are so often in “mommy mode.” We forget to be a lover, and embrace our femininity. By doing so does not make us selfish but well rounded, healthy, and aware of who we are and not losing our sense of self.

No matter if the job of mom is staying at home or working outside of the home, we are a mother nonetheless. We just, however, juggle the various roles that accompany our number one job which is being a mom. Loving those unconditionally that we bore of our own flesh and blood, safeguarding in their present and future, and yet pedagogical to foster learnings.

What do you struggle with in the job of mom? Do you sometimes feel a disconnect because you work outside the home? Do you feel a disconnect or lack of appreciation for being a stay at home mom?

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Trying to Conceive

As a mother I think that a great deal of misconception surrounds trying to conceive for women. I personally went through my own struggles. From complicated health issues that hindered my ability to conceive to loss. To conceive a child is what some of us consider to be what makes us women. While we are no less human or no less a woman, the yearning for a child for many women is very biological.

Currently I have a friend who has struggled, as I had to conceive. But I feel her story is worth sharing as I wish her all the baby dust and sprinkles in the world as she begins her journey into motherhood.

trying to conceiveHer conception struggles began sometime last year as she made her first attempts at conception. Knowing some early pregnancy symptoms and signs she knew she was pregnant. But as veteran mothers know, the first 12 weeks are always the danger zone. Within the week of sharing her good news with the blessed few, including myself, she was experiencing heartache. My heart broke for her as I watched hers break over and over and I saw her wretched with pain. I saw her come to work and swallow her pain. I knew her pain, I once experienced her pain, but how can you console a grieving woman who so badly wants to be a mother just as I had become. At a loss with her loss I gave her space but shared my pain with her, my struggles as a reassurance she was not alone, to aid in her healing.

Time passed and she tried yet again only to be faced with the same result, loss, grief, and the emptiness that she may never become a mother. I saw the despair, I could feel her despair, I once experienced this myself, and again I offered my friendship and experience as a consolation that conception can suck, but she is not alone.

However  her loss became a sounding strength as she became more determined to find the root of her struggles of which she did and did so with some success. She found answers, direction, and a healing path. She recently just found she was pregnant, without jinxing the impeccable news, she has not shared with many people, and I will not share her name because I would hate to jinx this for her as well. But my intent is to share that conception is not always a joyous event. Women struggle each day, but with struggles and heartache can eventually yield the joy and love every woman who is trying to conceive deserves.

Please cheer, pray, light candles, whatever your methodology may be for my dear friend as she travels through the next seven weeks to the path of glory and surviving her first trimester into the coming days of motherhood. I have been honored to get her every other day results with her blood work as her levels climb at awesome levels. My personal hope is she is cursed blessed with twins and she experiences all the joys, laughter, struggles, and growing pains of any parent.

Our journey to motherhood should not be met with such woe and sorrow, but the reality is that we are thrown a curve ball. How we act upon that curve ball is whether we step back from the plate or we take a swing and run for the bases.

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Are you a good mom

Today I was having lunch with my best friend as I do each and almost everyday. She told me that her dad and sister would be coming to lunch and invited me. I was gracious and obliged, how would I pass up meeting her dad that she talked so candidly about. We passed stories along and my friend’s father was telling stories of how he lived abroad, then randomly, as my friend does, blurts out how you would never know I have three kids.

Twins and Mama on BeachMy friend’s dad perked up and was too surprised to hear I have three kids. He then complimented me to the point where my skin matched my red dress when he said I could “be a Bette Middler stand-in” and again I was humbled. My dear cohort continued to add about the twins. I laughed holding my humility and he looked at me very kindly and said, “You are a good mom.” I again, maintaining my air of humbleness thanked him kindly and said “some days.”

Rather I wonder some days if I am a good mom. I know my children are well fed, well loved, have better manners than most adults stating their gratitude and always being thankful for what they have and do not have. They are dressed accordingly and their clothes are in good condition and I do not in any fashion neglect them. I always listen attentively to their needs, their wants, and their antics. But sometimes I let the demons that walk this earth bore into my psyche where I question if I am a good mom. I know better, but my weak moments take over, thinking I could always do more.

However, I realize only then I cannot give my children anymore. The life lessons they learn by working hard for what you want in life, gratitude, humility, respect, and the plain and simple fact nothing is owed to anyone is all I can give them. I cannot give them anymore love than I already have to offer, which I would die for them. No matter what edge of sanity they may drive me over, through, and towards, my unyielding and unbridled love for these people is amazing. The encouragement and reassurance of their intelligence and that they can do anything they put their minds too provides them with the self-esteem and self-assurance they need to conquer any task or lead any board room.

When I was younger, even before I had children, I would judge children and parents based on how the children acted, how the parents acted. Now I pity them, and hope that one day that those children would learn such qualities of humility, respect, self-preservation, perseverance, hold a high level of self esteem. I pity only because I know that those children and parents are only privy to the tools they were provided, and while they are not perfect, nor am I, some individuals do not have access to certain life skills and tools that are much more valuable in life than what the brand on the tag of the clothing states.

Which brings me to the fact that I am far from perfect and I should be able to walk through life and my children’s life knowing that while I am not supermom of the year, I sometimes have trouble getting the stains of a shirt (especially since my Holy Cow went out of business….sigh), I sometimes forget to sign a note right away and it is a day late, or I forget someone’s blanket before leaving for pre-school. But what I never forget is to tell my children endlessly each day how much I love and adore them, how brilliant they are, how talented they are, how they are such great children despite any behavior issues, and I never forget they are mine. No one can tell me how to raise my children, live my life, and I have hope for humanity when a complete stranger can look at me and make the judgment of how I am a good mom.

With that I can sleep well knowing that good people still do exist, who do not judge harshly, ill willfully, and are good at heart. I can take that and pass that onto my children for their karma. Because how one person acts is their karma, how you act is your own.

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Even at work I am still Mom

A few weeks ago I was approached about traveling for work. The news for me was elation, how could I not pass up the option to travel. Time away from home, flaunting my skills as an exceptional employee and my brains for business.

While floating in the clouds I had not yet grappled with the feelings that would soon flood over me while I was out of town.

Chosen as a SME, Subject Mattter Expert, to visit a sister site for training and implementation purposes I was on cloud nine. An ego lifter by all means in that management felt my work ethic and knowledge of the processes and procedures would be invaluable to others in the implementation process.

The Chad and I talked about the trip and we had initially anticipated travel for two weeks and home only on the weekends. However, the schedule was set so I would only be traveling one week. Great news for our family considering the twins have never been away from me for more than the work day.

Living almost purely on adrenaline during the first 24 hours of my travel I was halted on Monday evening and Tuesday morning with the overwhelming urge to return home.

The walls seemed to close in on me in the chokingly dull hotel room. Whilespacious, inviting and cozy, even equipped with a Select Comfort Sleep Number Bed at the Radisson, I still felt uneasy. Missing my family, hearing the sadness in my children’s voices when I spoke with them on the phone, and catching the appreciation in my husband’s voice when we exchanged our days events. The day in and day out of eating out while traveling for business, retiring to a lonely room, if you are not feeling uneasy my thought is that having a family is not for you, because I missed them all terribly. I missed the nightly chaos of the witching hour with dinner time and the laughs and giggles of three beautiful little faces. The morning rush and with Seth asking me and telling me all at the same time, “Sleep Good mama.” Grant hugging me and telling me he loves me and my baby girl rushing into me for a morning hug. Irreplaceable moments in life, no matter how small.

Even a trip to the Mall of America made me realize how much I missed my kids when I laid eyes on the Nickelodeon Universe as my first thoughts were “my kids would lose their silly minds at this!” Each store brought on thoughts of how I should get this or that for the kids.

Work time would blow by, the work day itself seemed to have never happened and at times while working as a SME I felt I did not have enough time in the day to spread the wealth of knowledge. But I know I would anticipate the end of the work day to rush at the free opportunity to talk to the loves of my life. I realized more and more how much I missed them, how much I appreciated them, how we all needed the break.

More so I realized that even when I was at work I thought about my kids, my husband, how I never stopped being a mom. I realized how over the last 10 years I have learned to juggle the fine art of woman, wife, employee, mother, and all the other jobs I have taken on. I also made one of the strongest comments to one of my co-workers while we were on site which is that no matter what job I may be working, my first and foremost job is always mom.

The job may not pay six figures and provide paid time off, no bonus or perks except in the form of watching the little people created. Their smiles, giggles, artful creations that resemble a form of abstract art at times; but the largest payoff is the hugs, kisses, love you’s that no employer can provide except in the job and working position as mom.