Philly Moms

Scared of Being Alone

There's a knot in the pit of my stomach. My anxiety levels are heightened, and I know why. I'm planning to attend a writing conference in a few weeks. By myself. Truthfully, I'm scared.

I've been a mom for 14 years, which means I haven't been alone for 14 years. The prospect of getting away, all by myself, should delight me; but the truth is, I've grown accustomed to my children's company. Their laughter has been the soundtrack of my adult life. I know how to handle the world when I'm with them. Frankly, I've forgotten how to live without them.

With my kids around, I'm forced to be brave, calm, and assertive. Deep down, I'm afraid that when I'm alone, I'll slip back into the fearful, quiet girl I used to be. I don't want to be that girl again. It's painful.

Love means "Don't bite your sister"

For a while, I thought love meant that you break into a cold sweat whenever the cutest boy in school walks by. Then I deduced that love goes hand and hand with silence, because it's impossible to talk to cute boys. Eventually I managed to squeak a "Hi" at a boy, and I realized that love needs good communication to survive.

In high school, love meant holding hands, kissing, and talking on the phone. In college, I concluded that love is nothing less than the heart pounding passion found in romance novels. In graduate school, I learned that love grows when it is nurtured in truth and respect.

When I got married, I thought that the best way to love someone was to do the household chores. To that end, I "helped" my husband remember his chores by hanging a large chart on our refrigerator door. Yes, I was young and stupid.

It wasn't until I had kids that I realized the true meaning of love. Love means waking up in the middle of the night to search under a crib for a stuffed animal. Love means never saying "Ewwwww!" when your kid does something gross. Love means being a grown up even when your tempted to throw a tantrum. Love means never telling your spouse they smell like diapers and peanut butter. Love means patiently reading a book 5,000 times in a row. 

I pay people to hurt me

In the next few weeks, my dental hygienist will jab my gums with sharp metal instruments until I bleed. My ob/gyn will jam a freezing cold pry bar where the sun don't shine. My breasts will be squished to half-inch pancakes by the mammogram machine, and my physician will take my blood for my yearly physical. Yes, I pay these people to hurt me.

I'm a coward. I fantasize about calling the doctors' office after business hours to cancel my appointments. I don't like getting poked and prodded and hurt until I bleed. Worse, I don't like virtual strangers in my "personal space." Heck, I can't even bring myself to get a massage, and that's supposed to be pleasurable. Going to the doctors' office is infinitely worse.

In an effort to cope, I've come up with a list of good things about going to the doctor:

Does a school psychologist really know a kid after 45 minutes?

Recently, a survey reported that many three year-olds can't say a word. I'm embarrassed to say that my kid could have been one of them. 

I don't know about you, but my daughter didn't come with a "how to" manual when we brought her home from the hospital. She was the only baby in our neighborhood, and she was the first grandchild in our family. I had no frame of reference for proper child rearing, so I parented on pure gut instincts. It worked, for the most part, but I didn't do a lot of talking. I'm not a talker to begin with. Frankly, it was difficult to converse with someone who didn't talk back. 

However, my daughter and I did a lot of singing. She picked up plenty of words, yet she was a quiet individual like her parents. It would have been easy for a stranger to think that she didn't talk at all. It wasn't until she turned 3 and joined a small preschool class that I realized I failed her. She didn't fully understand the concepts of "how" or "when." 

I was devastated. I was also pregnant. Not only had I failed my firstborn, but I'd undoubtedly mess up the next one.

Time flies when you're feeling sentimental

This time of year, I'm reminded of how quickly time passes. Perhaps it's the advent calendars; how can 25 days can fly by so quickly? Maybe it's the hustle bustle: all the shopping, the baking, the decorating. It's definitely the holiday school concerts. I used to be the one up on stage blasting Christmas medleys out into the auditorium. Now I sit in the audience, baffled at how I got there.

My confusion is amplified by the emotions I feel whenever I hear certain songs. I think of my Grandfather when I hear O Holy Night. I think of my aunt whenever I hear Silent Night, her favorite song. Luckily, my feelings of loss are lightened when my kids sit down at the piano and pound out the Charlie Brown's Christmas song or Carol of the Bells. Their joyful take on these melodies buoy me whenever I'm tempted to waste time wallowing in self-pity.

Even though I'm sentimental for the days when our family was still whole, I wouldn't want to be a kid again. Sure, I miss the good skin and boundless energy of youth, but I'm so much happier as a parent. Had I known that having children would be so wonderful, I would've had ten. Too bad we started so late. 

As I look back upon the year, the things that stand out are the moments I spent with my family; not the clean bathtub or the deadlines I met or the chores I performed. I'd love to have more time to savor the people who mean so much to me. In fact, I'll happily put off some household chores if it gives me a more time to do jigsaw puzzles with my teen. Watching the news can wait while I play cards with my ten year-old. The dirty dishes can soak while I sit on the couch with my husband.

This Christmas, I'm not going to worry about all the things I should be doing. Instead, I'm going to make room for the things I love to do. Heck, I think I smell a New Year's resolution that I can actually keep!

Wishing all my Philly friends a very merry Christmas and a happy holiday season!

This is an original post to Philly Moms. Lynn blogs at For Love or Funny, where she writes about the lighter side of parenting.  

  

Three little words

As I was carrying my fifth basket of dirty clothes downstairs, it occurred to me that it only took three words to transform me from a carefree-single-gal to a mom-hauling-laundry. It started with "I love you." Then there was "Let's get married." And the biggest change came with "I am pregnant," followed by "It's a girl." Twice. 

Now I'm constantly saying "Drink your milk" or "Do your homework" and the ever popular "Clean your room." I always respond when I hear, "Mom, I'm hungry" or "I feel sick" or "I need help." On the other hand, I flinch when I hear "Mom, I'm bored."

I hope I react properly if my kids ever say "Nobody likes me" or "No I can't" or "I feel scared." I've already blown my top when I heard "I hate school." I should have held my tongue and asked why, but I immediately launched into a lecture on the merits of a good education when I should have just let my kid talk. 

Personally, I wish I said "Yes I can" to myself more often. It seems that I'm the one who stops myself from trying something new. I'm my own worst enemy when it comes to imagining the possibilities. More often than not, I dash my hopes with a "No I can't" or a "That's too scary" whenever I contemplate a new opportunity. Do you do that, too?

I suppose all of us Moms would benefit from saying "No thank you" more often. It sure would lighten the load if we didn't agree to serve on every committee and organize every fundraising event. 

One down, two more to go

Our intention to simplify the holidays never quite works out. Thanksgiving is the perfect example. This year, we are eating THREE full Thanksgiving meals in the next four days. Groan.

Originally, we were going to host Thanksgiving. However, we soon realized that it would be easier if we didn't make everyone drive here, so we changed venues last minute. Then my husband's extended family wanted to get together for a feast. As a result, we'll eat our fresh turkey on Wednesday, spend Thanksgiving with grandparents, and eat with my husband's family on Saturday. 

It's a good thing we like turkey.

The crazy part is that we live close to one another. We see everyone often. We don't have to get together on Thanksgiving. Yet holidays are about family, and that tradition is tough to break.

Running hither and yon will be busy, but that's the price for having a family that wants to spend time together. What a great problem to have! 

Wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving!

This is an original post to Philly Moms. Please visit Lynn at For Love or Funny to see if she really can eat three Thanksgiving dinners in four days.

L'Eggo my sanity

For months, I've peered into my grocery store's freezer and felt a sinking disappointment. No waffles. Yikes! What will my kid eat for breakfast? 

Unfortunately, my kid has a sensitivity to milk, so cereal isn't an alternative. Luckily, when frozen waffles aren't available, pancakes fit the bill. However, pancakes require cooking. Cooking, as you already know, takes time and effort. Hence, my conundrum.

Mornings are busy. There's not a lot of wiggle room for slapping pancakes on the griddle. Then again, my kid has got to eat, so a slappin' I will go. 

Turns out, if I add a little cinnamon and wheat germ, my homemade pancakes resemble a health food. I've discovered that I can make bunches of them and store them in the fridge. Come morning time, I just grab a couple and microwave them; they're quicker than toasting a waffle. Truth be told, they're probably healthier too.

When to start your diet

We can't stop eating sweets now, because we just finished Halloween and the kids shouldn't eat all that candy themselves. 

Once we plow through the candy, there's Thanksgiving. The turkey, the stuffing, the gravy, sweet potatoes and pies...the leftovers. We can't let them go to waste.

The whole month of December is filled with Christmas cookies, holiday parties, and let's face it, AWESOME food. Who can celebrate when they're chewing on celery? Not me.

In search of a good movie

Ten months ago, our neighborhood video store closed. I panicked. Now where would my family go to stand around and shrug in indecision? For years, we counted on that store to burn precious hours as we searched for entertainment. Now where would we go?

My neighbor told me about the DVD machine in the Acme, so I checked it out. True, it provided the same glassy-eyed indecision I used to experience in the rental store, but this time I had to dodge harried mothers, shopping carts, and crying children. I missed the quiet aisles of my local rental store. Not only that, but I could stroll into the video store in my sweats knowing that I could hide behind the horror section if I spotted a well-dressed acquaintance. Here, at the front of the grocery store, there was no safe haven. 

I turned to the internet for help. As usual, I wasn't disappointed. I found a store that mailed rentals out to me. I can keep my rentals as long as I want. They even come with a return envelope. Best of all, there's a HUGE selection of choices. Count me in.