Who Needs Balance?

Ahh, balance.  I’ve come back to this confounding word, often, as though if I think about it long and hard enough, somehow my life will follow.  I knew becoming a mother would throw my familiar, comfortable, stable life out the window.  And it did.  I knew carving out free time would become a challenge, that I would have to sacrifice certain parts of my life so I would have adequate time to be the kind of mom I knew I wanted to be.

Of course you have high hopes of doing it all after you have kids.  I remember my resistance when people would say to me:  “Oh, you won’t have time for _________ after you have kids” (and then they would let loose a cruel laugh).   Jeez, thanks.

Part of my struggle is my incessant need to create.  This isn’t complicated.  I need to put my ass in the chair and write.  Sure, there are other creative things I like to do, but none of them keeps me up at night the way writing does. 

This sounds simple enough.  If I want to write, then write.  And some days, I do.

Most days I don’t.  And I don’t exercise enough (this is something I like doing).  I don’t give myself a mental break.  I don’t get to spend enough time with Vinny, doing any of the things we love to do.  I don’t.  I don’t.  I don’t.

As a result I find myself hating time because there isn’t enough of it in a day to do all the things not only that I need to do, but that I would really love to do as well.

Then that damn word balance crops up.  Balance.  How do parents balance it all?  Parenting, relationship with partner, household duties, work, friends, hobbies, self-care (I’m sure I’m forgetting other critical things, but you get idea).  Is there a way to do it all? 

I have moments when I tell myself I am being selfish for needing time to write, time to have my creative outlets, time to sit in a quiet room for ten minutes and do nothing.  I can do those things later, right?  I look to the future when the kids will be in school all day and say, “Yes, that is when I will do things.”  I think about how quickly time is passing already and know that I need to have these moments with the kids now, because before I know it they will be in school all day and I won’t get to share so much time with them (this is heartbreaking to me on many levels).

But then I have to stop myself, because I know I am only doing myself a disservice in the long run to deny parts of my life from existence for several more years. 

So, what then?

This parenting thing… it’s a tough gig.  It’s by far the best gig I’ve ever had.  By far.  So there’s that.  But it’s also the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.  It amazes me how in the span of a day you can have so many highs and lows.  So many tiny joys and so many amazingly frustrating moments… sometimes in the span of a minute.

And then there’s me.  Where do I fit in in all of this?  Will the Stacy I have been survive all this and come out the other side?  I want to be the best parent I can be, but I also don’t want to lose myself in the process.

Balance.  It crops up again.  And again.  And again. 

I haven’t figured it out yet.  It’s like trying to keep ten balls in the air at the same time without one hitting the ground.  How long can you keep that up?

Here’s one thing I’ve started doing: I’ve lowered my expectations.  This sounds easy in theory, but in practice… this one is tough for me.  I expect a lot of myself.  And I’m hard on myself when I’m not, for lack of a better phrase, getting shit done.

Here’s another thing I’ve started doing: I’ve stopped comparing myself to others.  It’s so easy to do.  We all know a parent that makes it look so damn easy.  You know, their house is spotless, you would never know from looking at them that they’ve given birth (usually to at least three kids), they somehow manage to keep up with current affairs, books, the latest restaurant openings, and somehow find time to comb their hair.  Not only have I stopped comparing myself to others, I’ve stopped trying to figure out how those parents juggle all those hats and still manage to be lovely people to be around.  It’s exhausting. 

So in the midst of all this contemplation on balance and my struggle to carve out time to do the things I love, I have given the future of this blog some serious thought.  When things get hectic, it’s often the first thing to fall to the wayside.  This drives me crazy, but it’s not like I have to do this blog.  I’ve thought a lot about not doing it.

The thought of not continuing this little pocket ‘o internet makes me sad.  In fact, in mulling over whether or not to continue on, I’ve come up with some other, exciting-to-me things I would like to add to the site.  This blog is here for others.  Sure, it’s a way for me to put words down, to feel my way through this whole parenting fiasco, to share my frustrations and high-five moments. 

But when I hear from my readers?  Those are the days that stay with me.  For me, it’s all about the connection.  My goal is always to make someone else feel less alone in their journey.  To know they have company through it all.

So, stay tuned readers.  I’m currently scheming up ways to turn this corner of the world into more of a community, because if anything, I would love to hear more from YOU.  To invite more participation, to help each other out not only in our parenting lives, but in our creative lives as well.  To offer more in the way of advice, services, links, etc. 

What would you like to see more of?  Feel free to share your ideas; I’d love to hear them.

Balance?  Who needs it.

Time for Cool

Except it’s not cool.  Not at all.  How is it that I’m already looking at preschools for Eli?  Not only that, I’m late to the game.  I should have been looking late last year (to be fair, I was in L.A.), and trying to register him in January.  Oops.

Instead, about two weeks ago, it suddenly occurred to me that if we were indeed going to send him to preschool this fall (and we’ve been on the fence about this), that I needed to get on my shit and get this thing done.

The organized, practical part of me kicked in and was like, “Right, I need to get some recommendations, do some research, and go visit some schools.  We’ll go from there.”

The emotional part of me has been freaking out about sending my child off to school, even if it is only four + hours a week.

It’s easy to rationalize not sending him.  He won’t be three until Halloween, so is close to the cut-off point age-wise anyways.  I’m not in any hurry for Eli to be “schooled” in the traditional sense. Why not wait another year?

But, I would be lying to myself if I didn’t acknowledge the fact that I think Eli would love going to school.  I know he would have so much fun and that in and of itself is reason enough for him to go.  It would be good for him for lots of other reasons, too, but knowing it’s something he would enjoy is what is pushing us in this direction.

So, I went to visit a school with him.  I told him the night before we were going to school the next day.  The first thing he said to me the following morning when I entered his room (with a huge smile on his face to boot) was: I go cool?  I go cool?  He was so excited about going to school.

Eli is going through a bit of a shy phase right now, so although he was completely psyched about the playground, sandbox, and toys in the classroom, he was less enthralled with all the kids there, not wanting to get close to their “morning circle.”  Even the flirty grin of a little girl (which was melting my heart) did nothing to encourage him closer.

It cannot be overstated how emotional this entire visit was for me.  It was only that, a visit, and yet already I could envision the first day when I would have to drop him off for real and what a blubbering mess I was going to be, and how would I hold it together for one second if he was a blubbering mess and didn’t want me to go, and…

Several times I had to remind myself simply to breathe.  Calm down. 

This is the first in about 1,113 steps of letting my children go. 

And as resistant as I sometimes want to be in these instances, kicking, screaming and fighting every step of the way, I have to remember that I cannot stop time.  I cannot stop my children from growing up and away.  I know it will break my heart a million times as they take their independent steps, each one taking them further away.  At the same time there are moments of intense pride and an ever-deepening awe as I watch Eli grow into an amazing boy. 

I often compare parenting to being on a rollercoaster.  And while there are certainly ups and downs, the comparison isn’t quite apt because often the ups and downs are occurring at the exact same time (which as far as I know isn’t possible on a rollercoaster, yet).  So I am concurrently excited for Eli to have this new experience and devastated that he won’t be home with us all the time.  I am thrilled to have him spend time with other children and paranoid that he will pick up some horrible tidbits from them.  I am forever curious to see what life will bring next for Eli, and disappointed that I won’t get to share all the new discoveries with him (something I adore doing with him right now). 

I feel like I’m going to miss out on so much of what he’s learning in life. 

I’m going to feel left out.

I don’t know if this gets easier as he gets older or not.  Sometimes I rationalize it by saying, “well, it’s because he’s still so young and impressionable,” that’s why it’s so hard.  Or, it’s important to me that his immediate family be the ones shaping him, helping him to learn his rights and wrongs, his manners, etc. 

Now, for part of the day at least, we’ll be the ones on the sidelines, having to trust that he will be in the care of people that have his best interests in mind, that will lead him down a path I would agree with, that will take care of him.

It’s scary.

I’m eternally grateful that I’ve been able to stay home with my kids so far.  Sure, there are days when I want to go hide in the attic and let them figure it out for awhile.  Generally, I try to burn each moment into memory because those moments are passing by at lightning speed, and now we’ve enrolled our first-born into preschool for the fall. 

Next week, he’ll be graduating from college.  The week after that we’ll be meeting the love of his life.  The week after that?  Grandchildren.  See, this is all going way too fast.

What-ifs, Worry and Windows

I’m currently reading A Map of the World, by Jane Hamilton.  I’m nearly 100 pages in and am not sure I’ll be able to continue (I’ll explain in a moment).  The premise so far is both intriguing and horrifying: A woman is watching her friend’s children and one of them (a two-year old) drowns in her pond.

The reader in me wants to continue to see what the aftershocks of such an event are and how the protagonist deals with them.  The writer in me is increasingly annoyed with the author’s writing style, in particular her use of dialogue.  At times I can barely stand it, the way the characters speak to one another, the way they always address each other by name (think about it, how often to you address the person sitting across from you by name?).  Suffice it to say, I’m hanging in for now. 

Reading frustrations aside, the mother in me is getting put through the wringer.  What a gut-wrenching ordeal this woman is going through.  When it came to the scene of the little girl’s funeral I had to put the book down.  I was in a waiting room and could barely keep myself from crying.  No one needs to see that.

Beyond its entertainment purposes, the book has led me to consider regret, guilt and worry.  I’ve realized that in many ways these are hallmark emotions when it comes to parenting.  Well, at least the dark hallmark emotions.

Growing up it exasperated me how much my mom worried.  She was, and still is, a huge worrywart.  I don’t know how many times I said to her, “Mom, I’ll be FINE.”  To me, it seemed a huge waste of time and energy to worry about things that would almost certainly never happen.  I’d come home from doing whatever it was she was worrying about and say, “See?  I’m fine.”

Could something have gone wrong?  Sure.  Did her worrying keep me safe?  No.  Had something happened is there anything she could have done about it?  No.

But, I know with certainty that if something bad had happened, she would have been racked with guilt and regret.  These emotions seem to go hand-in-hand, traveling together at all times.

Now that I’m a parent, I have a new appreciation for what my mom (and dad) were going through every time we set foot outside the house without them.  Now I think to myself, “How did they let us leave the house?”  Because when I think about either of my kids leaving and going off to do their own thing, on their own or with friends, I nearly have a panic attack.  Just thinking about it.  No one’s going anywhere yet, and already I’m freaking out. 

I also find myself freaking out over the “what-if” scenarios.  Right now my biggest worry-related obsession is our second story windows.  When we looked at the house last fall all I saw were huge windows in every room letting in all kinds of natural light.  In Michigan this is important as the winter months are dreary and gray, and, after living in California for nearly nine years I am used to sunshine nearly every day.  Yes! I thought to myself, these windows are amazing!

It’s worth noting that our house is over 100 years old and our windows have these annoying “pop in” screens.  In my nightmare the kids are a little older, playing in the room, I leave the room to grab a Kleenex (or whatever) and when I come back one of them has pushed out a screen and tumbled two stories to the ground below. 

I hate that I even think about this.  It makes me feel ill every time I do. 

So, naturally, I am paranoid about letting Eli play in his room with the windows open.  My husband is in the process of building screens for all the windows, but I’m still not satisfied that they’ll be secure enough, so now I’m on the hunt for some kind of window guard.

Regardless, I never would have thought of any of this before having kids.  I wouldn’t have imagined someone falling out a window.  I wouldn’t allow myself these kinds of panic-inducing indulgences.

But that’s what you do.  You worry about things that may or (more likely) may not be a true hazard.

As for regret, I have always stood by the belief that there are no regrets, only mistakes you learn from.  In theory this makes sense, but in practice it’s a whole other story. 

So the book is a challenge to me.  Of course what happens is a mistake, the woman would never intentionally let a small child wander out of her house and down to the pond.  But how could you not be consumed by guilt and regret?  I wonder how, if something so disastrous happened to me, would I even be able to forgive myself? 

Thankfully my challenges as a parent are less harrowing, but I am thankful for the food for thought, the what-if-something-like-this-happened-to-me opportunity that reading provides.  At the end of the night I can close the book and go to sleep, distracted from my window obsession.   

I can worry about it tomorrow. 

Ready Or Not Advice

It starts while you're pregnant: the unwelcome, unsolicited comments and questions.   

Sometimes the comments and questions are kind, based in genuine curiosity: "Your first?"  "When are you due?"  "Boy or girl?"  "Have you picked a name?"  "It must be a boy."  

Occasionally, the comments and questions are mean-spirited, or worse, judgmental.  These are usually directed at your size ("Wow, you look ready to pop any minute."  I was barely eight months pregnant, thank you), or in some activity you are partaking in.  

For example: late in my first pregnancy I would cave and enjoy a Diet Coke at my favorite Mexican restaurant, which has the BEST fountain pop in the world.  One day our waitress (my usual favorite) paused, gave me A Look and said:  “Are you sure?”  I was a little taken aback, but replied, "Yes."  "Really?" she tried again."  "Yes," I said, a little more forcefully.  It was unnerving that people I didn’t know would try to guilt-trip me; this would result in me not enjoying my very occasional indulgence.

As if the comments weren’t bad enough, then come the pregnancy/childbirth horror stories you don't care to hear, again, usually from random strangers (though not always, and really, people that know you should know better).  I’m not sure if it’s because I am pregnant again, but I've blocked out all the heinous stories people told me, as a self-defense mechanism I can only assume. 

However, my friend Jess, who is due next month, has been getting her share lately.  Everything from how a friend was paralyzed for a year after getting her epidural to a woman whose niece thought she needed to take a #2, and ended up miscarrying her baby into a toilet.  The second story, in particular, would be horrible to recount to anyone on the planet, let alone a pregnant woman.  In these moments you have to wonder what the hell people are thinking.

My problem in these instances is that I am so stunned, offended, and/or perplexed that I cannot speak, let alone come back with a witty comment or equally offensive quip.  It is only five to ten minutes later when I am struck with my "A-ha!  This is what I would say" moment.  Too late, indeed.

I thought these occurrences would end after pregnancy, but I'm sorry to report they don't.  Because now, these clueless strangers can judge you on your parenting (or in their eyes, lack of) skills. 

We are temporarily living in Detroit as my husband has work here.  Towards the end of the summer it was cooling off, not yet cold, and I still didn't put Eli in shoes.  Socks, yes.  If it was a warm day, no socks or shoes.  I don't know why but the comments I would get about this (and there were so many) drove me crazy. 

A sampling:

"It must be nice to go around life without any socks or shoes on." (this was not said in a wistful I-wish-I-was-still-a-kid way, no, this was pointed and nasty)

"Look who doesn't have to wear shoes today."

"Oh, he only has socks.  Maybe he needs some shoes?"

"Don't you think he needs some shoes?"

We didn't buy a pair of shoes for this kid until he was nearly ten months old.  He has sailed through all of his clothing and by his first birthday was wearing 18 to 24-month sizes.  Why would we waste money buying shoes he'd wear for a month?  If it were cold out, sure.  He'd need the extra warmth.  But in the summer?  Okay, end of rant.

Another memorable day was a trip to Target.  It was the last of several errands and Eli was over all of it.  The only thing that was keeping him remotely quiet was the pen (tightly capped, and at that age he couldn’t get it off) that I was letting him chew on (and he was chewing on the non-capped end, FYI).  I wheeled into the checkout, only to have the cashier give me a Death Look and say, "You're letting him chew on a pen?  Don't you know that's a choking hazard?"  My response: "That's why I watch him."  She gasped disapprovingly and proceeded to give me the Death Look for the remainder of the transaction.  What I wanted to say was, "Lady, you haul the kid around this store and keep him from screaming bloody murder.  If a pen makes him happy?  So be it." 

The thing you realize once you have kids is that, yes, you let them do things you thought you would never let them do.  There are times, if it keeps them quiet and happy, and it is of no harm to them or others, that you have to throw your hands in the air and say, "oh well."  Had I let the kid chew on the pen with the ink tip in his mouth, sure, she would have a valid reason to say something.  Otherwise?  No.

I would never step in and make such comments, especially to people I don't even know.  What place is it of mine to judge or tell anyone how to parent?  We're all doing the best we can.  Could we do better?  Probably.  But life sure would be just a little nicer if people would keep their comments to themselves. 

I am curious to hear what appalling things people have said to you while you were pregnant, what judgments have been handed down when it comes to your parenting skills, and especially any witty (or rude, yes, that’s welcome, too) comment you’ve thrown back in the face of some clueless person.  Please, share…