I’m not really home alone. I have my two boys with me, but without adult supervision. My husband often travels for work -- sometimes for short periods, sometimes for several weeks. The lead up to his “leaving” is painful for all of us -- the boys don’t understand why he has to go, and I get cranky when I think about it, I mean cranky. The anticipation of “being alone” is almost worse than actually “being alone.”
I am a bit resentful, even though I try not to show it. I know that a “work” trip does involve “working,” but it is also a suspension of the routine, the “grind.” After having NB I chose to stay at home. There are lots of advantages to being at home, but it is hard to value -- being left behind. I have explained this to M, and I think he “gets it.” What can be lost on the traveling spouse, however, is this: For the next few days you can concentrate on yourself, your work, and your expense paid meal. You don’t have to cook, clean, or entertain any little people. You have a goal to accomplish, a project to finish, and camaraderie with adults along the way. You may even be visiting a new place, and having a little fun. I know its “work,” and I am sure I cannot appreciate the pressures and deadlines involved; but it is a “break” too.
The truth is, I would worry if we actually ever stopped complaining about the trips. If we didn’t miss Daddy, then we would have an entirely different problem -- harder to fix.
Having no relatives nearby, this is an example of when the small nuclear family unit really doesn’t fulfill our needs. We live in a neighborhood with friends around, but invitations are needed for a stopover. Besides, they are all spending time with their own families. I really don’t want to intrude. Once M is gone and the initial shock has passed, the boys usually rally. They understand that I am handling everything by myself and eventually appreciate me a little bit more. It’s sweet, really. We fall into balance, on our precarious seesaw. When Daddy comes home that balance gets upset again -- but we find it...eventually.
Actually being “home alone” is more like a fantasy. It reminds be of a scene from the comedy, Date Night, a movie that can only be truly appreciated by married folks with young children. Tina Fey’s character confesses to her husband that her ultimate fantasy is not another man, but being alone in hotel room sipping a soda without having to worry about her husband or children. I have this fantasy too, but it takes place in my own home and with a glass of wine -- eating what I want, reading whenever I choose, listening to music without interruption, watching what I want on TV, going out for whatever reason, and having cupcakes and sushi for dinner -- in that order. I know I would get lonely after a few days, wish for the routine again, even long for my kids raucousness -- but just 48 hours of uninterrupted “aloneness” seems like heaven. Sometimes, I need to miss my kids too.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
It Takes a Village
A day in the life: dishes, cook, clean counters, more dishes, sweep, clean floors, pick up clothes, do laundry, wipe chairs, pick up toys, pick up toys, pick up toys, wipe the toilets, do more laundry, go back to cooking, clean the kitchen, wipe hands, face, snot, change diapers, ugh! gotta wipe the toilets again (boys).... and this is often in the space of just one hour. I cannot neglect to help with piano practice, homework, and chauffeur the kids all over town for various after-school activities, appointments, and errands. Oh, and then there are the weekly chores: cleaning bathrooms, dusting, vacuuming, lawn work, garbage detail, grocery shopping etc. I can’t get sick, feel grumpy, or just be a little off -- chores would multiply. A child-free doctor’s appointment is a lucky break. Yoga and coffee is an indulgence. I never thought I would say this but, I am an accidental housewife.
I realize that housework is not difficult, thoughtful, or changing the world. The days of arguing briefs and persuading a jury for the right cause are in the past. I negotiate with little people now. Instead of the “smoking gun” document; m&m’s and popsicles are my secret weapon. I was chatting with a friend who mentioned an interesting after school activity that would be great for my kids. But I just don’t have any more time! I wonder how moms get anything done with a job outside the home?? Frankly, I need a village, or maybe just another....“wife.” Hmmmmm.....
Polygamy is the generic term for marriage to more than one spouse at the same time. Most think of polygamy as marriage of one man to several women, but this is actually called polygyny. The more rare type of polygamy is polyandry where one woman marries several men. Now that sounds like hard work. Life would not get any easier.
Okay, I’m not really contemplating “Big Love” here. (M, don’t get any “BIG” ideas....) I just need an extra pair of hands so I can branch out a little, be at two places at once, or just get an intermission, without guilt. Hiring someone to occasionally clean the house doesn't quite fit the bill or fill the “gap.” Putting aside the obvious problematic “sleeping” arrangements, I don’t think I would be fantasizing about “sister wives” if more familial help were around.
The whole problem is really our fault. My husband and I like to travel. Before children, we didn’t mind moving around and suffered from a touch of wanderlust. Ultimately, we chose to live in this town because we like it here, and there was a job here. Family in Orlando and New York was only a two hour plane ride away -- didn’t seem so far at the time. Generations ago people lived with or very near their parents, uncles, aunts, and grandparents. Families didn’t move around so much. The world was smaller, and jobs were more easily found. Everyone helped each other, and helped raise each other’s kids. This extended or joint family unit is still common in many Asian, Middle Eastern, and African countries -- other far away lands. In this country, however, it would not only be unusual to live with family under the same roof; but it would be seen as “strange” and in the kindest way, provincial.
I am not sure that the western nuclear family got it right. Being too nuclear can be difficult, even lonely. We moms (and dads) need a break. I would love to have some family guidance and help around -- not in the same house, mind you, but nearby. Wouldn't it be nice just to call mom and say: “I need a hand today, can you take the kids?” or “Lets have dinner together tonight, how about your place?” No pressure mom and dad...but Durham is a nice town to live in. (Hint, Hint)
I realize that housework is not difficult, thoughtful, or changing the world. The days of arguing briefs and persuading a jury for the right cause are in the past. I negotiate with little people now. Instead of the “smoking gun” document; m&m’s and popsicles are my secret weapon. I was chatting with a friend who mentioned an interesting after school activity that would be great for my kids. But I just don’t have any more time! I wonder how moms get anything done with a job outside the home?? Frankly, I need a village, or maybe just another....“wife.” Hmmmmm.....
Polygamy is the generic term for marriage to more than one spouse at the same time. Most think of polygamy as marriage of one man to several women, but this is actually called polygyny. The more rare type of polygamy is polyandry where one woman marries several men. Now that sounds like hard work. Life would not get any easier.
Okay, I’m not really contemplating “Big Love” here. (M, don’t get any “BIG” ideas....) I just need an extra pair of hands so I can branch out a little, be at two places at once, or just get an intermission, without guilt. Hiring someone to occasionally clean the house doesn't quite fit the bill or fill the “gap.” Putting aside the obvious problematic “sleeping” arrangements, I don’t think I would be fantasizing about “sister wives” if more familial help were around.
The whole problem is really our fault. My husband and I like to travel. Before children, we didn’t mind moving around and suffered from a touch of wanderlust. Ultimately, we chose to live in this town because we like it here, and there was a job here. Family in Orlando and New York was only a two hour plane ride away -- didn’t seem so far at the time. Generations ago people lived with or very near their parents, uncles, aunts, and grandparents. Families didn’t move around so much. The world was smaller, and jobs were more easily found. Everyone helped each other, and helped raise each other’s kids. This extended or joint family unit is still common in many Asian, Middle Eastern, and African countries -- other far away lands. In this country, however, it would not only be unusual to live with family under the same roof; but it would be seen as “strange” and in the kindest way, provincial.
I am not sure that the western nuclear family got it right. Being too nuclear can be difficult, even lonely. We moms (and dads) need a break. I would love to have some family guidance and help around -- not in the same house, mind you, but nearby. Wouldn't it be nice just to call mom and say: “I need a hand today, can you take the kids?” or “Lets have dinner together tonight, how about your place?” No pressure mom and dad...but Durham is a nice town to live in. (Hint, Hint)
Friday, February 3, 2012
Soundtrack to Motherhood, Distorted
I confessed to my husband this weekend that I thought I would be better at “this” -- being a mom, staying at home with the kids, playing with them, teaching them....just being with them. When I found out I was pregnant with NB, fantasies of motherhood went viral in my head. Picture the soundtrack.... singing Beatles music sweetly together, dancing to Marley, rocking out to Greenday or Oasis while baking pies from scratch, and frolicking like pixies through the green wavy grass while Dave Matthews strums along. Turns out my boys run from my singing and tackle me down when I dance. There is not a blade of grass in our backyard (we like to harvest nine different varieties of weeds,) and anyone who knows me...knows I don’t bake, (except for brownies.) My delusions of grandeur were great.
Expectations are always unrealistic.
I am very lucky to have a close grad-school friend (SS) with children around the same age as mine living in the same town. We try and meet one day a week just to catch-up, chat, and basically “confess.” She is awesome, I love her -- I need her. We have a connection from another life before kids: dancing and drinking in bars, dating highs and lows, having fun without too much worry. I feel “no judgment” with her; partially because of who she is as a person, and also because we’ve known each other for a long time. Last week she stopped by with her children on an especially rough day, Teacher Work Day -- both of my kids were home. My boys were having a painfully difficult afternoon of sibling rivalry and frustration. By the time she came over, I was DONE. I had no patience left.
I don’t know who mentioned it first, but we both agreed that “playing” with our kids was tough. My son loves “pretend” play, so does her older daughter. This type of play is very healthy for children. My kids cannot get enough of it. They have visions of dragons around the corner, the next ninja attack, space exploration, pirates on the horizon, alien adventures, detective extraordinaire, cops and robbers, hunting for treasure, and so much more.
Some people have a natural gift of childlike behavior, and can “play” down in the trenches with forts, wizards, and Ewoks. My husband can do this, and when he is in the zone, it’s beautiful. I cannot. Our babysitter is a genius with pretend play, my children absolutely yearn for her company. I appreciate this as a true talent. My oldest can create a labyrinth of imaginary plots and subplots that make me dizzy with confusion. I love that their imaginations are so wild,....so what happened to mine?
SS told me she often invokes a twenty-minute rule when her daughter asks for “story” play. “So do I !,” I confessed. Fifteen minutes doesn’t seem like enough, but thirty minutes is sometimes interminable. In the words of Goldilocks, twenty-minutes is “juuust right.” Instead of setting unreasonable expectations, my husband says I should focus on activities I appreciate, that the kids can enjoy too. So the boys and I often cook together, do arts and crafts, board games, reading, riding the bike, playing in the sand...generally goofing around in the more “practical” realm. I am learning to let go of my expectations of who I “imagined” my kids to be, and who I “thought” I would be with them. I don’t have to be the perfect playmate. The real soundtrack to motherhood may not always be what you imagined, but Dan Zanes and Music Together isn't so bad.
Sing with me to my kids latest favorite song, John the Rabbit:
Expectations are always unrealistic.
I am very lucky to have a close grad-school friend (SS) with children around the same age as mine living in the same town. We try and meet one day a week just to catch-up, chat, and basically “confess.” She is awesome, I love her -- I need her. We have a connection from another life before kids: dancing and drinking in bars, dating highs and lows, having fun without too much worry. I feel “no judgment” with her; partially because of who she is as a person, and also because we’ve known each other for a long time. Last week she stopped by with her children on an especially rough day, Teacher Work Day -- both of my kids were home. My boys were having a painfully difficult afternoon of sibling rivalry and frustration. By the time she came over, I was DONE. I had no patience left.
I don’t know who mentioned it first, but we both agreed that “playing” with our kids was tough. My son loves “pretend” play, so does her older daughter. This type of play is very healthy for children. My kids cannot get enough of it. They have visions of dragons around the corner, the next ninja attack, space exploration, pirates on the horizon, alien adventures, detective extraordinaire, cops and robbers, hunting for treasure, and so much more.
Some people have a natural gift of childlike behavior, and can “play” down in the trenches with forts, wizards, and Ewoks. My husband can do this, and when he is in the zone, it’s beautiful. I cannot. Our babysitter is a genius with pretend play, my children absolutely yearn for her company. I appreciate this as a true talent. My oldest can create a labyrinth of imaginary plots and subplots that make me dizzy with confusion. I love that their imaginations are so wild,....so what happened to mine?
SS told me she often invokes a twenty-minute rule when her daughter asks for “story” play. “So do I !,” I confessed. Fifteen minutes doesn’t seem like enough, but thirty minutes is sometimes interminable. In the words of Goldilocks, twenty-minutes is “juuust right.” Instead of setting unreasonable expectations, my husband says I should focus on activities I appreciate, that the kids can enjoy too. So the boys and I often cook together, do arts and crafts, board games, reading, riding the bike, playing in the sand...generally goofing around in the more “practical” realm. I am learning to let go of my expectations of who I “imagined” my kids to be, and who I “thought” I would be with them. I don’t have to be the perfect playmate. The real soundtrack to motherhood may not always be what you imagined, but Dan Zanes and Music Together isn't so bad.
Sing with me to my kids latest favorite song, John the Rabbit:
John the Rabbit, (yes ma'am).
Gotta mighty habit, (yes ma’am).
Jumping in my Garden, (yes, ma’am).
Cutting down my Cabbage, (yes, ma’am).
My sweet potatoes, (yes, ma’am).
My fresh tomatoes, (yes, ma’am).
And if I live, (yes, ma’am). T
To see next fall, (yes, ma’am).
I ain’t gonna have, (yes, ma’am).
No Garden at all, (no, ma’am).
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