An Apology Letter to My Children

I'm sorry for the groceries that you had to get with me
I'm sorry that you hate it and that it's misery.

I'm sorry for the friends you have, the ones you haven't met.
I'm sorry for the shoes too small, the pants that really don't fit.

I'm sorry for the food you ate, did it make you fat or gaunt?
I'm sorry I made this meal, it's not from a restaurant.

I'm sorry that your room is clean.  I'm sorry that it's neat.
I'm sorry you can't play with friends out on the busy street.

I'm sorry I made the homemade bread, I'm sorry for that batch.
I'm sorry for the store-bought bread, you prefer it scratch.

I'm sorry I don't have a job.  I'm sorry I stay home.
I'm sorry that I'm here for you so you're never, ever alone.

I'm sorry I'm your mother.  I'm sorry it's a bore.
I'm sorry for the money you get when you do a chore.

I'm sorry for the rules, and the consistent punishments.
I'm sorry for the quiet times, and the banishment.

I'm sorry you don't like to play sports, but sometimes that you do.
I'm sorry for giving you the chance to try it so you knew.

I'm sorry for being so rigid, and make you feel secure.
I'm sorry for always checking your emotional temperature.

I'm sorry when I'm here, and I'm sorry when I'm not.
I'm sorry another mother would be more fun for you, a lot.

I'm sorry that I worry, I'm sorry I clean floors.
I'm sorry that I double check to lock tight all the doors.

I'm sorry for the laundry that is always done and clean.
I'm sorry if I'm angry.  I'm sorry that I'm mean. 

I'm sorry that I'm tired and I never seem to have fun.
I'm sorry that I feel my fun times have all been done.

I'm sorry that I look upon most things as just more work for me.
I'm sorry that I sit things out.  I wish things were fun, truly.

I'm sorry I'm at the bottom of this totem pole of life.
I'm sorry I'm not a better, more contributing wife.

I'm sorry for the money I spend, and that it's not really mine.
I'm sorry for the way I text and waste your precious time.

I'm sorry for my troubles.  I know they're small to you.
I'm sorry for your troubles, is there anything I can do?

I'm sorry this house is quiet.  I'm sorry we don't have friends.
I'm sorry but I'm tired.  Can't we just all stay in?

I'm sorry but I'm trying.  I hope that you can see.
I'm sorry but I love you.  It's all I have in me.

First Day

Yesterday I hadn't slept. I was sad. My little world had tilted imperceptibly on its axis, and it did not sit well. A new beginning for my children, and a new life for me, too. A change of routine. A change of responsibility. A change of identity. I was thrown and I tried to be brave.

Today I am up. I have slept. I am energized and happy. I send them off with smiles and kisses. They are good. I am good. Let's start again. 

I got this. 

Mistake

Some days I swear moving here was the worst mistake we've ever made.

I feel like I left in the middle of my life - MY life, the one where I lived for ME and did things for ME - and that I'll never get to go back.  Some days I feel that in moving here, everyone else has been able to progress, to grow, to improve, ...except myself.

I'm so incredibly proud of my husband and his accomplishments.  I can't believe I am lucky enough to be married to him, my soul mate, someone so intelligent, clever, funny and sweet.  He's honestly the best decision I've made.  Period.

He has flourished, and so has his career, because of moving here.  He easily could have remained in Nova Scotia, working with the same people, in the same places.  But?  We chose together to aim for something different, and to make a big change.  It was risky, but one that has panned out beautifully for his Medical career.  He is respected and valued at the hospital and clinics he runs.  He's formed friendships and connections.  But then he's like that.  Drop him anywhere in the world, and in 20 minutes he's found someone to have lunch and talk about sports with.  Having a vibrant social life is second nature to my happy guy.  People like him, and he's got the endless energy and confidence to like them back.

My children. Oh, where would we be without them?  Different as night and day, yet cut from the same cloth.  Best friends and each others greatest irritation.  They too have blossomed under these Alberta prairie skies.  They are forming their own worlds, one tiny brick at a time.  The landscape of their childhoods couldn't be more different from my own, but they are happy.  Truly, happy.  They have lovely friends.  A big house and yard to safely play in.  Lots of activities.  We take fun family vacations.  They smile ALL the time.

But...  that niggling feeling in my skull.  That inkling that I left a large portion of who I am, well...  WAS at this stage of the game, abandoned when we came here.  Moving here wasn't ONLY for my husband.  I had lost my job and hadn't been able to find a new one, and here was Calgary brimming with jobs for engineers.  I knew that living here we would make a lot more money and would be able to live quite comfortably in comparison to staying in the Maritimes.  I knew that in doing so we may have to raise our children without family nearby, but we told ourselves this would allow us to raise them as we saw fit, without having to answer to much outside opinion.  We were strong and young.  We could do this.  I would stay at home.  He would work.  This was our plan.

But as time has gone on, I feel something beginning to crumble.  As the children get older and we "need help" less and less from family in the form of visits, I feel a shift happening.  Their lives have been spinning and continuing as much as ours has.  Each passing year I feel we are less and less connected to one another.  We miss major events in each others lives.  We are not there, and probably will never be, and when we are together it's different.  It's an event.  It's just a visit.  In some ways, it's not real.  Many times I feel they don't know us any more.  And it breaks my heart that my children miss out on visits from their grandparents.  We either have a big giant visit, or nothing.  All or nothing.  It's the way it's always been.  Sometimes an entire YEAR will pass before we see some family in the flesh.  A YEAR!  Such an enormous quantity of time in the life of small children.  My heart aches to be closer, to feel more like a family with the relatives my children adore so much.  But.  Here we are.

We've been here a decade.  The friendships that I formed back East are beginning to fade and dilute.  I know less and less about the women who I loved so much as friends, who I still love but who I have to admit are simply not really in my life anymore.  Not really.  I feel the strain on the relationship with my brother.  The disconnect I have with my only blood-related niece, and my husbands' nieces.  Truthfully I'm a terrible friend, here.  I don't carve out time like I should to tend to the new friends I've made.  I'm either busy with our children, or I'm tired.  I'm not myself.  I yearn for connections in this sprawling city, but I can't be bothered to make them.  I continually sabotage my own identity here.  I'm a shell of who I was, and I don't know how to fill it up again without neglecting the kids, our home, or our family unit.  Balance.  It's missing.

Now that my children are school aged, another shift is happening.  For nearly 9 years, I have been at home.  Stay-at-home Mom, and proud of it.  I gave them the start I so desperately wanted to when they were born.  I was there for them each and every day, with no days off.  We survived it together and came out on the other side stronger for it.  But, what happens next?  Once they are in school every day from the time the bus picks them up at 8:00AM till the bell rings at 3:00PM?  I'm not even sure how to begin answering the question of "What will you do with your time now?", a question that has already been posed to me now that my daughter is in half-day kindergarten.  The answer is a frightening "I don't know."

To go back to work as an engineer terrifies me.  I know I've lost a lot of my knowledge and skills from lack of use.  My skin is thin and I don't take criticism anywhere near as well as I used to, and I was never really good at it.  Least of all is the problem of logistics.  I've come this far being 100% available for my children when they need me.  I've given up so much so I can be home when they are, bring them to their activities and appointments, kiss them as they go to school, wrap them in my arms as they step off the bus at the end of the day.  Do I stop now?  Do we look into daycare now?  So I can work a job downtown all of a sudden?  Would they hate me for it?  Would they judge me later for going back to work, when most of my income would be eaten by income taxes at this point, so I can feel some sense of purpose?  And would I even feel that?  Or would I just be busy, rushed, angry?

I have no answers.

I feel alone.

Lots of days I feel like I'm all alone.  Unimportant.  Valueless.

And on top of it all?  Another Christmas is coming and we will be just the four of us.  Another in a long list of major events and holidays where we won't share it with any aunts, uncles or grandparents. Another time for me to wonder what's it all about if we can't share these moments with our families?

So, it's easy to blame moving here as the root cause.  To peg it on having to move here for my husband's Residency.  To play the "I gave up everything " card to justify wallowing in my self-pity.  It's easy to lash out and think that we're not important, not worth visiting.

It's a dark time in my heart lately.  I'm trying to snap out of it.  I'm hoping this post will help air out my mind, sweep my heart free of these hurts, whether perceived or real.  I lay awake at night, trying to figure out what has changed, why all of a sudden these things are coming to light, and why this pain is so fresh.  And then, I dream of being in a workplace, surrounded by people who need me and who want my opinion.  It feels good, being valued for doing something other than housewifely duties, even if it is only imaginary.

What disturbs me most is this is the thing I so desperately wanted - to stay at home with my kids.  I forgot to dream past that.  And there is my mistake.

-TDW

F#ck You

My parents were visiting for Christmas, which meant I was able to drive my six-year- old son to school, instead of sending him there on the bus while I say at home with my daughter.  This was a little luxury, as I was able to let him sleep a good twenty minutes longer, I got to drop him off at the doorstep of his school, send him off with lots of "I love you"s and fresh kisses.  I got to see that he got to school with my own two eyes, then make my way back home through the light of the rising sun to begin my day with my daughter.

This particular day was strange from the get-go.  It had been really REALLY cold for a few days, in only the way it can be really REALLY cold in Alberta.  However on this morning a warm breeze was blowing in, which created a thick ice-fog everywhere.  It was a little strange but mostly beautiful.  Everything was so quiet and still, cloaked in a white cotton candy blanket.  The rising sun above the fog painted the world as it saw fit, changing its mind every few moments.  Pink one minute, orange the next.  Icy yellow, then robin egg blue.  Surreal.

I woke up my son, deep into his sleep, thankful that I was at least able to let him rest that precious extra twenty or so minutes.  He groggily awoke, I helped him get dressed and got him his breakfast.  Oatmeal or toast,  pancakes or eggs.  I can't remember now what it was.  A glass of milk.  His vitamins.  Thorough brushing of teeth and wiping of face.  A little hair gel for good measure.  Lip moisturizer to protect his ever-cracking lips during this terribly cold winter.  Snowsuit, mittens, scarf, toque, boots, backpack, lunch, wave goodbye to Nanna and Grandpa, hop into my truck, away we go.

I remember I hadn't slept well the night before and was trying to mentally wake up with a travel mug of coffee.  I felt as fuzzy-headed as the world seemed to be, with it's foggy blanket on that silent white morning.  I commented to my son on how terribly strange the fog was.  How THICK it was.  How palatable, almost.

I could barely see ten feet in front of me, so I took it slow.  I was extra-aware of how tired I was and how cautious I had to be because I was groggy and because of the fog.  We slowly made our way towards the highway that would bring us to the school.

Heading south, we evenutally had to turn ourselves eastward, turning left onto a four-lane highway.   There were many cars that morning, people off to work, to school, starting their day much as we were.  I remember thinking how very careful I had to be making this left handed turn onto the highway.  It's a terrible area at the best of times with no traffic signal to help you manage the speeding  lanes of traffic at this four way intersection.  I remember thinking "Make sure the way is REALLY clear....  you can't see anything!!".

I hummed along to the radio as my son sat in the backseat, chatting with him about his friends and his day ahead.  I made the turn and paused in the safety of the median of the intersection, double-checking the way was clear, peering through the fog for headlights.  Then I slowly made my way onto the Eastbound lane.

And then it hit me - or it nearly did.  There was a car coming in the lane I had just entered.  And it was coming fast.  In the blink of an eye, this driver managed to get around me, dodge the vehicles in the adjacent lane, give me a hearty finger over his right shoulder, honk his horn in an irritated fashion, and continue on his way, all without mechanical or bodily harm.  It was over almost before it began.

In that moment, I was a bit oblivious to what had happened, or more accurately, what HADN'T happened.  It took me a half-second to realize I had made a mis-step, and was the cause of how this driver had to behave.  I was a little annoyed by being told to f#ck off, but otherwise shrugged at the situation and moseyed on my way.

It wasn't until I had nearly reached the school, maybe five minutes later, that the gravity of what I had nearly done really sunk in.  Had it been another, less reactive driver, that oncoming car I truly hadn't seen - I DID NOT SEE IT! - would have slammed into us at 100km/hr or faster.  Best case, it would have done some terrible damage to the rear of my vehicle.  Worst case, it would have been a direct hit to my son's door.

I began to shake and consciously tried to calm down so my son wouldn't think I was upset.  I pulled deep breaths into my lungs and held tightly to the wheel, my mouth dry.  I turned off the radio.  I drove incredibly slowly the rest of the way.  I pulled into the school parking lot and let my son out at the curb.  I fought the urge to leap from my truck and pull him into my arms and sob into the shoulder of his snowsuit.  I settled for telling him I loved him and waving goodbye, and waited until I saw him open the door of the school, ignoring the long line of cars behind me waiting for me to move so they could do the same.

The rest of the day was filled with this looming sense of doom.  The what-ifs of that horrible 2 or 3 seconds clung to me all day, making my eyes fill with terrible hot tears, taking away my appetite and any remaining energy I had.  I felt so lucky and guilty and chaotic and irresponsible.  I tried to shut the images of what could have happened from my mind, but they crept in anyway.  The awful potential that I could have made a tiny, terrible mistake that could have left my life so broken.

And then, later, I said a silent prayer of thanks.  Someone was looking out for me in that moment.  Actually, at least two people were.  He was, with a capital "H".  And then there was the fellow who told me to go f#ck off as he whizzed past me in his car, right middle finger pointing skyward for my benefit.  I wish I could know who he is.  Compliment him on his amazing reaction time.  Thank them.  Apologize.  Hug him.  And tell him that by avoiding hitting me, he saved more than just an accident.

If it hadn't been for him, that foggy day of feeling cold and lost and disoriented would have been the rest of my life.  Wandering in a world that is almost the way you expect it to be, but somehow is not.  The fog would have kept the sun away.  The accident may have kept my son away.

That afternoon, I picked up my son from school and held tightly to him.  I gave him extra hugs and kisses that night.  I gave him extra dessert.  Over the next few days I tried to cut myself some slack for making a mistake that mercifully morphed only into a wakeup call.  I made peace with it, tried to learn, and moved on.  Reflection and prayers and thankfulness.

But still.  I was never so glad to have been given the finger.

F#ck you.  Bless you.  Thank you.

-TDW

Sorry... You're Not Invited

Okay so I started off the day in a bad mood.  I woke up with a sigh and a groan when I realized that it was only Thursday.  That I had a full day of carting the kids around plus preschool to deal with.  I had a day full of preparing meals that would not be eaten and picking up toys that had been cast aside.  And it was cloudy and cold and snowy.  Again.

I tried my best to put on a brave face, not be too scary in front of my kids.  Once I had a cup pot of coffee in my belly and my brain began to defog, we ended up having a relaxing morning full of snuggles and play-doh and cartoons.  Before I knew it my spirits had been elevated significantly (especially once I had my daughter dressed and her hair styled in pig tails.  The sight of her glossy, curly, bouncy pig tails always makes me feel better), and soon enough we were off to preschool.

I was helping Joshua find his shoes in the shoe bin, digging among dozens of similarly hued super-hero decorated rubber lumps (an impossible task at the best of times) when a dad came in with his son and a stack of little white envelopes.  I presumed they were party invitations, and the dad began to sort them out into the children's individual mail boxes.  As I continued my quest to find Joshua's shoes (I had found one Batman shoe at this point) I slowly began to realize that the stack of envelopes wasn't very thick.  Some mail boxes were being skipped.  And Joshua's was among them.

My heart dropped.  It was so unexpected.  I was gearing up to snatch the envelope from his little mail box and show him and say "Joshua!  You've got mail, buddy!" and then watch his little face as he struggled to rip open the envelope to reveal a party invite inside.  I was going to RSVP on the spot and write it into our family calendar later.  It would be a little highpoint in our day.  Joshua LOVES parties.

But, this was not to be.  Soon the dad was standing back, helping his son put on his shoes (more easily found than Joshua's, apparently) and waiting for the doors of the school to be opened and for the teachers to begin welcoming the children.  I bit my lip and found Joshua's other shoe, helped him put them on and stood back to wait as well.  Honestly?  I was fighting back tears.

Now yes I realize that EVERYONE cannot be invited to EVERYTHING.  I know.  I get it.  But the culture at our preschool is that typically you invite everyone from your particular "class".  One typically invites all the kids from Tuesday afternoons to your party.  Or all the kids from the days you attend, so Joshua would invite all of the children from Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.  That way, if the kids are talking about the party before or after, it's a party ALL of the children are invited to, not just a select few.  If only a few kids are able to be invited to a party for some reason or other, then the invitations are usually done more discreetly, by email or quiet parking-lot invitations.  Most parents make it a point to be sneaky if every child is not included.  Joshua had a little pre-Christmas party at the house and we had invited only four children, to keep things small and fun.  I did not flaunt this in front of the other children!  No!  I sent little emails inviting a few kids and kept it on the down-low.  We were cool about it.  I took photos and Facebooked about it.  I sent the parents a photo montage of their child's activities from the party.  It was awesome.

As I said goodbye to Joshua and led Claire out of the building I began to feel so sad, so heartbroken on his behalf.  I knew full well that Joshua would probably never realize what was happening.  That he'd probably never put 2 and 2 together and figure out that he was among the non-invited.  But still for me this was a bitter pill to swallow;  it was the first time Joshua had been excluded by one of his friends!  How DARE the parents do this to my child?  My child who had invited THEIR child to HIS parties (including his exclusive pre-Christmas party)!

I know that I was projecting my past rejections onto the situation.  That all in all it's probably a blessing we weren't invited.  Truth be told kid parties are a pain.  They take up an entire Saturday.  You've got to buy a present, then forget to wrap it until you're nearly out the door, and oh crap we forgot a card quick let's make one!  It's a hassle.  But for me at that moment in that day, it wasn't Joshua who was being left out...  it was ME being rejected.

I was suddenly thrown back into Grade 8.  None of the cool kids invited me to their parties.  No boys asked me "out" on a "date".  The girls who had agreed to be on my lunchtime volleyball team had suddenly shut me out and I had been replaced all too easily.  The friend who had promised to meet me at the mall went there with someone else instead.  My brother was too cool to be my friend anymore.  My size 38 jeans were tight and my glasses smudged.  I was unwanted.  Unpopular.  Left behind.  Left out.  Alone.

So yes.  I was making the matter worse and bigger in my head than it actually was.  I knew this.  It's something I do quite frequently, after all.

But I also knew that it was the beginning of little social struggles and slights that Joshua would encounter in his life.  And I HATED it.  I hated that it had to begin at all.  That he would have to feel rejection and the sting of being left out.  His heart would be broken over and over again.  He will get into a fight with his best friend and cry.  He will ask a girl to the dance and she will say no.  He will be uninvited to parties and stuck home with us and will be very very mad about the whole situation.  He will think the world is a terrible and awful place.  Here it is - the beginning of a lifetime of hurt had begun, right in front of my eyes.  Beginning with a father's stack of little white envelopes.

I had never come so close to punching a grown man in the face before in all my life.  If he hadn't been carrying his infant I may have at least tripped him.

How did we get here?  I mean one minute he was born, and EVERYONE loved him.  Everyone wanted to hold him and change his diaper and rock him.  Everyone wanted to feed him and burp him and play with him.  And now he's being EXCLUDED from stuff?  The whole idea makes my head spin.  Not to mention the fact that he's the coolest and funniest kid in town and really we should be charging people for Joshua to make an appearance at their lame parties.

But I suppose there are lessons to be learned here.  I will grudgingly admit that.  I know my own struggles in high school taught me a lot.  It allowed me to observe, from a distance, how people behave.  How one minute someone can be your best friend, that is until a better offer comes along.  How fickle girls can be, and how offhand boys can be.  How that it can be okay to be left out, and that being alone isn't all that bad.  I learned how to reinvent myself.  To overcome personal struggles and be my own girl.  To take lightly the popularity I found years later when my jeans were smaller and my smudgey glasses had been replaced by contact lenses.  It did give me valuable perspective.  And a sense of humor about life.

Hopefully I can use that experience to help Joshua as he grows, too.  Though I know nothing can save him from feeling the pain of heartbreak and loneliness, perhaps I can sympathize with him and tell him funny stories of when I was left out, too.   Hopefully his sense of self and humor will carry him through those situations with laughter instead of tears.  Hopefully he will be better at this whole concept of "growing up" than I ever was, or will be.

As I drove away from preschool with silly tears on my cheeks I took a look in my rearview mirror and took in the sight of my beautiful daughter, colouring in the backseat as we drove.  Happy, smiling, content.  I counted the months in my head that I have with her until she, too, will start preschool and at the same time develop her own tiny social sphere complete with joy, friends, parties.

The lump in my throat stayed all day.

-TDW

My Facebook Addiction, Explained

I'm a chronic Facebooker.  I freely and willingly (almost, dare I say, proudly?) admit it.  I love it!  It's one of the first things I check when I wake up in the morning, and one of the last things I check before I go to bed.  I wonder what I did with my time before it was invented.  Ah, yes.  Facebook.  If I were forced at gunpoint to get a tattoo (the only scenario in which I'd ever get a tattoo, for the record)?  I'd choose the classic Facebook thumbs up icon.  It would be located on a buttock.

At first, Facebook was an easy way for me to share photos of my children with their grandparents, all four of whom live 5000 kilometres away on the other side of this ridiculously spread-out country of ours (Oh...  CANADA!).  Then, I began to reunite with old friends and classmates and establish fresh relationships with new friends and coworkers.  Next it became an easy way to plan get-togethers and parties.  Finally it became my one-stop shop for posting comments, feelings, facts, opinions, photos, recipes, photos of recipes, likes, smiles, announcements, encouragement, jokes, life-events, and snubs.  I check out places, check in to places, ask about places, look at photos of places.  It is versatile!  Ever-changing!  Fun!

Now I know there are judge-y people out there.  People who roll their eyes at my frequent-Facebooking.  They say to themselves "Really!  No one CARES what you are having for supper tonight!" and "Doesn't she have anything BETTER to do?".  The truth of the matter is that yes, I DO in fact have better things I could be doing.  Teaching my children mandarin.  Cleaning walls.  Taking inventory of my deep freezer.  Using my mini-donut maker that my darling husband gave me for Christmas that I haven't even tried yet (shame, shame!).  But, the truth of the matter is that when it comes to choosing one activity over another?  Facebook always wins.

You may ask, Why?  Why Momma Sue?  You're so personable and witty and stylish!  Why do you bury your head in your computer instead of seeking out real activity with real people?

The answer boils down to pretty much one thing:  Loneliness.

Yep.  There you have it.  I'm lonely.  Or, at least I would be if it weren't for Facebook.  You see, dear devoted readers, I am a stay-at-home Mom of two.  It's THEIR lives that determine my schedule, not my desire to see and interact with the world.  If my kids have gymnastics, then off to gymnastics we go, where I MAY exchange a sentence or two with the coaches before we're thrown into an intense (albeit, fun) 55 minutes of padded flip-floppy fun!  If my son has preschool, then the entire day is geared toward making sure he's up early to eat breakfast, then some good wholesome fun, then some lunch, then the 20 minute drive to school, then killing 3.5 hours, then being there on time for his pickup.  If my daughter needs to nap by 3:00pm at the latest then it's me driving down the highway toward home at maximum speed at 2:55pm, already sweating a little because I already know this will throw her off schedule at bedtime.  How do you swing spa time and dark-brewed coffee dates around that chaos, especially with a complex and glamorous 2 year old girl and a rowdy and inquisitive 4 year old in tow?  (Spoiler alert - you don't.)

When I became a new mother back in 2008, I quickly realized what a lonely existence it can be to be a stay-at-home Mama, especially with an equally busy husband (who at the time was finishing residency/at the bottom of the medical totem pole).  Sure I got out as often as I could, frequented the grocery and children's consignment stores.  I walked when the weather was nice, seeking out the footpaths frequented by those who would be most likely to compliment me on my gorgeous new baby boy (near the retirement home).  But in general?  It was lonely.  He had a schedule he needed and I was damned if I was going to mess with that (you don't mess with the schedule of an 8 week old who sleeps through the night.  You just don't.)  Not a whole lot of interaction or life-sharing from the hours of 8:00am and 5:00pm.  That's when my FB addiction took root and I suppose, grew.  Flourished!

To clarify, though, it's not the same loneliness that (I'm assuming) people who peruse the free personal ads on Kijiji are feeling.  It's the kind of loneliness that is new to me, since becoming a parent.  It's the sensation of wanting to share each and every moment that I experience with my children, with EVERYONE else, too.

Let me explain.

You see my kids are amazing and are the most beautiful, intelligent, radiant, creative, and funny creatures I've ever set my eyes upon.  EVER.  And, raising them by myself during the day Monday thru Friday, I just find it a damn damn SHAME that people are missing out on their lives (whether or not these people actually feel they are missing out on something, that is left to be discovered).  So, when Claire says something unknowingly funny, or Joshua puts his underwear on his head, I feel this keen sense of loss and alone-ness that no one was here to experience that with me.  So what's the first thing I do?  Post it!  Update my status about it!  Take a photo and upload it and add a funny title for it!  That way?  Others can "experience" these things with me, in a sense, and the memory is somewhat shared and captured.  I feel giddy that others get to "be here" for it, too.  See?

Oh sure I COULD pick up the phone and talk to someone about these things, but in the chaos that is my life a phone call often gets interrupted by shouts and screams and pee on the carpet and markers that won't open and "I'm thirsty!" and "I'm hungry!" and "She's TOUCHING ME!".  You know.  Those sorts of distractions.  Plus a phone doesn't give that person a photo of the event.  It also only reaches ONE person.  Facebook?  Hundreds.  Bam.  Photos included.  Bam bam.  Witty comment no extra charge.  Bam bam bam.

Also?  I kinda enjoy a little attention myself.  There!  I said it... ARE YOU HAPPY?  When I bake something cool in the kitchen with the kids, or pull off a complex dinnertime recipe, or make an awesome craft with the kids, or organize the crap out of something in the house, sure I love to post a few (dozen) photos of what I did, to get a few kudos.  Makes me feel good.  Now is that so WRONG?  I mean aren't there WORSE things?  Cut me some slack.

I guess I love the sensation that the things I'm doing can be shared with the people in my life that are too busy to PHYSICALLY be here with me.  After all, I'm told other people have lives.  So when I open up Facebook and see that people have "liked" the photos and commented on the posts I've created, it (mostly) feels great.  Yes, there are haters and criticizers of EVERYTHING.  Those people who rarely if ever have anything good to say about anything.  But even those comments I enjoy...  they make me think.  They make me ask "Why is that comment making my blood boil!?".  They are excellent conversation-starters for chats my husband and I have after the kids are in bed.

We don't have family living nearby who are able to stop in and see the kids and share the daily hum-drum with me, or taste my latest batch of home cookin' and tell me that it's even BETTER than the last batch.  We don't live in a era where friends "stop in", which I have to admit is a mixed blessing - no one needs to see Momma Sue without her Avon thickly applied.  Plus I'd probably be too busy or elbow deep in a diaper to hear the doorbell.

But?  Facebook?  It makes me feel less apart from friends and family and the people I care about.  It relieves some of the feeling of being "alone".  It's my addiction, my dirty little not-so-secret.  It interrupted the writing of this blog at LEAST 20 times.  But I'm okay with that.  I hope you can respect and even "Like" that part of me, too.

-TDW

Take a Sick Day

Yesterday was a long, long day.

I kept looking at the clock thinking, "How, how, HOW can it only be 9:15?  When I only got out of bed at 8:20?  And we've had breakfast and played and read books and been outdoors since then?".  It just lasted forever.

I'm sick.

I hate getting sick.  On the best of days I wake and know I have to ration my energy to successfully make it through the day.  I don't start off strong only to fade at noon.  I don't break into song while sculpting fruit animals and making smiley face pancakes at dawn.  Nope.  Over time I've learned that to have a "successful day", I need to be cool.  From the hours of 8:00 AM till dinner time I'm a one-woman-show, and to keep my audience amused, entertained, educated and, well, alive,  I just need to be cool, man.

So when I wake and feel the stirrings of a cold that I know is going to drag me down, it's going to be a challenge to make it a successful day at home with the kids.

What is a "successful day", then?  Well I'm glad you asked.  Oh you didn't ask?  Or don't care?  Well too bad.  I'm too sick to really give a fluff.

When I fall into bed at the end of each day and reflect on what we've done, I consider it to have been a successful day with my bozos if we've managed to accomplish a few essential things:

1. An outing of some sort:  This can include going to the dollar or grocery store.  Just so that my children still know there is a world going on outside of their own house, full of strange and weird people.  It's important to mingle among them from time to time.  Build up an immunity.  And so on and so fourth.  Believe me.  The day-time dollar store crowd requires a thick skin.
2. A creative activity:  Like play doh.  Or colouring.  Or baking.  The inner moron in me tends to shy away from these sort of activities, but lately I've been trying to push myself and carve out time and patience to expose my children to the sorts of activities that most kids have been doing since the age of six months.  I start out strong - I arrange all the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies into neat piles, measuring cups and spoons at the ready.  I get the step stools gathered 'round the kitchen counter.  KitchenAid sparkly and ready to whirl.  Tiny aprons tied snugly round tiny waists.  But at some point someone will spill the pre-measured flour-and-baking-soda mixture leaving me sweaty, wondering how the chemistry of the final product will be altered missing 1/36th of the required dose of baking soda.  I start to clean up before we've even finished making the dough.  I fret about tiny tongues licking the measuring spoons before we've measured the vanilla.  In short, I efficiently drain the fun right out of the activity.  For myself, anyway.  The kids still seem to enjoy it, and their nutty mother.
3. A good nap/quiet time, but not too good:  My daughter is still of the napping age, and my son is not.  I most definitely need the time to myself in the late afternoons to regroup, to prepare dinner, and to watch some HGTV.  However, around the 2-hour mark I begin to feel guilty that I've "shut away" my son in his room and that my daughter won't sleep properly if I let her nap too long (she always sleeps just fine, for the record).  I become my own worst enemy and ruin my break time.  I get my son out of his room so that he can be underfoot and annoying while I try to make dinner, and wake my daughter before she is done her nap making sure she is good and cranky for the rest of the day.  
4. Quality time:  You would think a stay-at-home Mother wouldn't worry too much about "quality time" with her children, but, as my husband likes to point out, I can worry about anything.  So I do.  I worry I didn't TEACH them anything, or READ to them enough on a given day.  I worry that my son doesn't like to try to write his name, or that my daughter can't seem to get her colours down.  I worry they will think I'm boring, absent, strict, moody.  I worry we didn't do anything that they will remember when they are older.  I just stew.

So, needless to say, according to my own measuring scale,  yesterday was not a "success".  I waited for meal times, then I fed them.  I tried to stay awake.  I watched as they played together (God love them) for most of the day, with my directing them to different activities from time to time.  I put on a movie.  I rushed nap time, which turned out to be an epic fail because after 30 minutes my daughter was up suffering from diarrhea that ended her rest, poor bird.  I made a dinner (chicken soup) which they did not eat, then sent them outside again to play with one another.  I celebrated when it was bath time.  I went to bed at 10:00 PM only to be woken at 1:00AM, 1:20AM and 1:40AM by my poor sick daughter who told me in her own little way she had a bad tummy.  I rocked her until the baby advil soothed her then kissed her sweaty head one last time before passing out in my own bed, thanking my lucky stars we don't have a newborn that might also wake me up.

And here I am again today, sick.  Tired.  Not much zeal or zest for being a "Great Mommy" today.  Or even just a "Mommy", to be honest.  Today will be better, though.  It's a preschool day so we will in fact be at least forced out of the house.  Maybe get some groceries.  Or bring Claire to the park while Joshua is being better-cared-for by his teachers.

Days like this I long for the sick days I used to guiltily enjoy when I was a non-mother.  Calling the boss to report whatever vague illness I happened to be suffering from at the time.  Crawling back into bed.  Getting the rest I had convinced myself I needed.  

But these days it doesn't matter, in general.  There is no back-up plan.  I am the backup plan.  It's just me.  And after work, it's my husband and me.  There is no one to call.  No one to lean on.  There is no break.  No holidays.  No sick days.  These facts don't normally bother me.  But when we're all sick and suffering, that's when it really hits home.  We're on our own, baby. 

Hopefully today I'll be able to pull it together, and teach myself that sick days can also be successful days.  That I can be graceful in the face of a cold.  Be fun with a fever.  Be sweet with a sore throat.  Be an enthusiastic teacher with an achy body.  Create some magical memories that we will all treasure long after they have grown and moved out of the house, which I know will happen so fast it'll take my breath away.

Maybe just one more movie...