The Days Which Suck.

I don't care who you are, Donna Reed or Carol Brady. Some days are just going to SUCK. The littles are just going to so completely suck the life out of you and the patience from your soul, their little whiny miserable voices are going to sound worse than nails on a chalkboard. These are often during any day which ends with "-day". Catch my drift?

I don't want to be the Debbie Downer for any new Moms out there but I would be doing everyone a huge disservice if I weren't honest about The Days Which Suck. And seeing as I happen to be recovering from one of those days right now, I figured I'd blog about it while it's still "fresh", like all three of my kids mouths were today.

So I, like everyone else on the planet, have good days and bad days. But the thing is, with children, they really do not care. They need your "A" game no matter what else is going on. Bank account is in the red and the electricity might get shut off? Don't care. Still wants new Ninjago set. You were up late throwing and going and feel like death warmed over? Don't care. Still wants an Omelet for breakfast. You have been literally climbed on, elbowed, scratched, and head-butted all day? Don't care. Still demands to get on your lap while you're writing a blog.

And the truth of it is, there's nothing you can really do but ride them out. Even the most pleasant of children is still a child, and a child having a bad day doesn't come equipped with the skills to keep it to himself. Which means if he's having a bad day, so are you! This is especially evident with my middle, Fireball. I can pretty much gauge how my whole day is going to be by the mood that Fireball is in when he wakes up. As he gets older he gets better, but from the ages of 15 months to 3 1/2, the first 4 hours of every day were guaranteed pure agony.

It sounds cliche, but seriously, you will think it more than once, I promise: Thank God you're cute, or I'd have sold you to gypsies by now.

All the sage wisdom from previous Moms and books and society in general tells us to "enjoy every second, because it goes so fast." But I think a funny thing happens once your kids are older, I think a kind of amnesia is developed which blocks out the memories of those days where each minute took an hour, where visions of getting in the car (alone) and driving far far far away never to return were hourly. Those days where if someone happened to stop by, or when Hubs got home, you pretty much chucked the kids at them in a side pass and ran as quickly as you could to get away. The Days Which Suck do suck. And maybe they suck so that the good days are more cherished, or perhaps they're just the penance we pay for the glory of parenthood. Or maybe, just maybe, they are why God created Wine.

So while I can say with certainty and conviction that parenting is amazing and awesome and just absolutely the pinnacle of what my human experience has been so far, it sometimes really does just....suck. So am I alone in this? Do other people somehow know how to roll with the punches somehow? If you do have a better system of coping, please let me know. Until then, I'll just keep counting to ten and waiting 'til wine o' clock.

Helicopter Vs. Laisse Faire Parenting. Aka: The Mommy Wars

Aahhhh, the classic case of which parenting style is BETTER than the other. I'll tell you one thing I have learned  is that there is no greater subject which divides people more than parenting. Abortion, politics, religion? Puh-lease. After becoming a parent those subjects will actually be discussed with glee and lighthearted jest compared to whether or not you had your baby circumcised, whether you breastfed or formula fed, co-slept or cried it out. But I think it's somewhat easier to lump every style of parenting into one of two groups: Helicopter or Laisse Faire.

 Helicopter parents are just like they sound: always hovering, ready to swoop in at the first sign of distress, organic nappies at the ready. This is a parent who pours over parenting magazines, books, websites, and Mom n Me bulletins, searching for something-anything-to help them put their child at an advantage in life. They don't want their kid to be scared or hurt, and will risk life and limb to make sure neither thing happens to their child. Think Nemo's Dad. And you know what? There's nothing wrong with any of those things.

Laisse Faire parents are pretty much like they sound too. "Hands Off" parenting is where they figure if the kid does something which results in injury, they will probably not do it again (but they haven't met my kids, so....) Laisse Faire parents are pretty okay with non-stop TV marathons and cake for breakfast the occasional television and junk food, as long as the kids are occupied and semi-quiet for a little while. They think with minimal guidance, kids figure stuff out much better on their own. Think Peg Bundy. There's nothing wrong with any of those things either.

This is not a post that's gonna choose sides, so of you're looking for that, you probably should stop reading right now. The thing of it is, once you become a parent? You're either one or the other and there's not a thing really to do but embrace it and tweak it so that it works for you and your family. As long as you truly love your kid, and really want what's best for them, they're gonna turn out just fine.

But a fucking crazy funny parenting phenomena occurs when members of either camp observe the others methods. I like to call it: FULL BLOWN SANCTIMOMMYING. And I'm going to tell you, it's real, it's infuriating, it's unnecessary, and it's actually really, really, bad for our kids.

But the thing of it is, parenting is probably the most personally defining, emotionally fraught thing any person ever imagined they'd do. So the idea that someone's methods are better or worse than yours can either humiliate or vindicate you. So you're gonna take a stand, and in doing so, it's damned near impossible to not partake in at least a little "judging" of others.

I remember a friend asking a new, other Mom, "So, are you going to exclusively breast feed?" You could literally see the wheels turning in both of their heads. If the new Mom said no, or she wasn't sure yet, she would be, in the others eyes, admitting she wasn't "Mom enough". But I mean, why would that even be a question a woman would ask another Mom? Unless it's your child, why would you care what the other kid is eating as long as it wasn't sharp tacks and glass? But this happens all the damned time when you're a Mom. I can't begin to tell you how many times I have been on the receiving end of the "stink eye" at a playground because I choose to sit and enjoy my coffee instead of trailing behind my kids. You know what? Last time I checked, playgrounds were designed for children to explore, not their parents. In fact, the one time I DID go over to my son when he seemed to need help, I surprised him so bad that he fell off the damn ladder and had to have 5 stitches! The ramp was in the way and in my rush to try to reach him I slammed my head into an iron bar and almost gave myself a concussion! Lesson? He probably would have been fine if I'd left him alone.

But that brings me to what I think is the point I'm trying to make. Parenting is not a "skill". Parenting is a continuous stream of learning your own ignorance. Seriously. I really have no fucking clue feel like I am learning more than I am teaching. This idea of "different" meaning "worse" has got to stop. We're raising the next group of people who are going to be running the show someday. And I think it's going to take a wide variety of strengths and weaknesses to ensure the kind of creativity needed to do that.

There's a lot of talk on the Interwebz about how great things used to be, when your parents didn't really care to know about your "feelings", when the kids didn't dare approach Dad before he'd sat down with his after-work cocktail and watched the news, before all this "psycho-babble" became popular and people started really examining the effects they had on their children. And while I do see the point, my point is, what better topic deserves our 100% attention than the topic of our children? Sure, the kids are alright. Parenting hasn't changed so much that people literally have stopped trying their best to raise happy, competent adults. But what HAS appeared to change is the way we view other people's choices regarding their kids. I'm not saying that parents only just started gossiping about other parents, but it certainly seems to have been brought to a whole other level.

So I guess what I'm saying is I think it's time we all just sort of chill the fuck out  hold our judgments for the things that are really going to matter in regards to kids. Like whether or not they all have food, or health care. That they actually have a roof to sleep under. They aren't being abused. Aside from that? Really none of our business. 

The flip-flop of self-esteem

Having boys, in a way, alleviates some pressure for me that I'm sure Moms of girls can attest to....that pressure to always display a healthy body image so as to not impart any undue stress on their daughters to fit society's mold of what women and girls should look like. I get so irrationally irate and indignant  overwhelmed and angry when I myself am bombarded with image after image after image of what constitutes "beauty" in America and the World. How does a little girl stand a chance in this Country? All the supportive parenting in the World can't shield her from such a massive onslaught of masterful advertisement brainwashing. I should know, I was 5 years old the first time I deduced from the messages I had absorbed from my environment that I was "fat". And it's been a life-long struggle ever since, which really should be no surprise, as the power of images has been proven over and over to be extremely hard to prevent and avoid. Even on my best days, I have doubt.

In just about every single stage of my life, (^^^^okay, okay, maybe not in THAT one^^^^)I thought I was fat. Every. Single. One. When I look back now at photos of myself through the years, I can recall how in every one, I was inwardly cringing, not wanting it captured on film my excess of body weight. And I look at these pictures now, years later, and I'm absolutely beautiful in them! Perfectly fine, healthy, alive! But in those moments, and for the majority of my life, I was unhappy with the way I looked. And I know I'm not alone. I know you, reading this, if you are a woman, I know you have felt the same. Whether it be your belly (like me) or your thighs, your butt, your hips, your upper arms, your nose, eye brows, chin, whatever. We've been seriously wronged, ladies. We've been sold on the notion that we are not up to par. We, in our own natural non-dieting, no make up selves, have been very clearly told we are not good enough. From tender young ages, this is what we were bombarded with:

 http://www.upworthy.com/enjoy-a-few-moments-of-messed-up-messages-created-and-shared-by-the-beauty-industry-here-it-comes?c=ufb2

So how on Earth does someone who was never happy with her appearance possibly show her kids that THEY should be happy with theirs? Or, also, to not judge others on their appearance? I remain mute on topics of my looks or how I feel about my excess weight when I'm in front of my boys. I seriously flip-flop daily from thinking "this is my body now...I've borne three beautiful children  from this belly, these hips, I have nothing to be ashamed of, plus, I hate exercise and I already eat  healthy" to "I should seriously drink less wine, more water, start exercising more, ugh Summer is coming and I don't want to wear a bathing suit in public" Every day, over and over, over and over. I want my boys to see their Mom as comfortable in her own skin, I want them to not have a narrow view of what constitutes beauty, and I don't want them to see me depriving myself of things I love, or doing things I don't like, to fit society's "ideal" of what women should look like. I want them to look past the body which is carrying the soul, and just see and appreciate the soul in a person. But how to do that?

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to just love yourself no matter what you looked like? I know right now, my boys love me without regard at all to my looks. But one day, probably sooner than later, they'll "get the message" that Mommy is a little heavier than other women. Will that matter to them? Will they secretly be a little embarrassed? Is it my job to lose weight to prevent that...or to prove to them that it is not important by staying the way I am? I honestly thought that as a Mom to boys I could somehow avoid this conundrum. Looks like it's found me anyway.

So today, like most days, I'll resolve to either A) Love myself the way I am, or B) change the way I am so I can love myself even more. But looking back at my former selves, I have to ask and wonder...when or what will ever be enough to truly "deserve" to love myself? I can preach all day about how it's what's on the inside that matters, but we all know, all too well, that that is not what society really believes. I just hope I can figure it out in time for my sons to get the message which will lead them to their best selves, no matter what they look like.

When I wanted a girl and got three boys instead.

All my life I knew I wanted to be a Mom. I went through some periods of my life where I was such a vagabond, party-girl trainwreck work-in-progress that I thought maybe it wasn't going to happen, that maybe I was too unbound, too reckless, too selfish to be a parent. But the untarnished part of my psyche, deep in my soul, wouldn't still the thought of possible motherhood, and when I eventually grew out of that 10 year stage of being a total fuck up young adult development, I found myself with a really good and kind man, in college for my first time, and pregnant. I instantly knew it was a girl. I had a somewhat volatile relationship with my own mother, but regardless, she molded me in every way and in every thing that I knew of what womanhood was about. I couldn't WAIT to raise my very own little feminist. I couldn't WAIT to fix all those areas where my Mom had gone astray, to have that complete melding of two distinct persons, mother and daughter, where I would show my daughter all the amazing things about what it meant to be a woman. This was gonna be good.

On the way to the Ultrasound to find out the sex of the baby, my Hubs gently mentioned how no matter what the sex was, he'd just be relieved and happy to know it was healthy.

WHAT THE FUCK DID HE JUST SAY THAT FOR!? Now if it wasn't my long awaited Féministe, it was totally going to be ALL HIS FAULT because he JINXED IT!!!! Did I mention I may have been just a wee bit hormonal? No? Well, I was. A little. Barely noticeable.

So anyway, there I am, laying on the exam table, freaking pissed off and hatefully glaring at this jerk who I'd have to raise a kid with  waiting anxiously for the tech to come in, and holding my dear hubs' hand for support. She finally comes in...can't get a good look at first. Puts some more shocking cold gel on the wand..and voila! She says, "Do you two want to know the sex?" and we both say YES! She says, "Well, that right there is a penis, see? That little shape right there?"
Time stood still.
Tears happened.
But it was not too horrible, I WAS still having a baby after all! And he was soooooo cute, and waving, and doing cute little flips...and I knew I could try again. So my little girl would have a big brother, even better! He could show her what a good and kind person looks like, could weed out the asshole's when she started dating. This could actually be a very good thing.

When we went for #2's Ultrasound, Hubs knew not to even say anything. I had of course again decided that this was the girl I wanted. She was due December 30th, the day after Lucky had been born!  I had already chosen her name: "Noel". I practically ripped the ultrasound thingy from the girl because she seemed so young and inexperienced. I knew what I was looking for, thankyouverymuch. She finally asked if we wanted to know the sex. YES!!! we practically shouted. It's a BOY!! She squealed back!
Well, shoot. I knew two was our limit. We hadn't really talked about it, but we had gotten pregnant again because I didn't want Lucky to be an only child and to be honest, we knew that we were probably stretched thin enough as it was. So I mourned a little, but called my older sister when I got home and she said, "You know Amanda, it's even more important sometimes to raise the MEN to be feminists." And I realized she was probably right. So I would be the woman in their lives that showed them the way to be a good man, to respect and cherish women for what they were. This was going to be okay. This was good.

Baby #3. Baby #3's existence was confirmed on that little plastic pee stick while Hubs was on his way home from the appointment where he deposited $45 for a Vasectomy. But everything was so different with this pregnancy...TOTALLY different time of year, instead of the end of December she'd be born in July, I was carrying different, none of the same cravings, and the appointment to find out the sex was on my BIRTHDAY,  for the love of GOD! My little girl was in the bag!!! And with two big brothers, to boot! She would be the most epic of all tomboys!!! She would take no shit! She would ROCK.

Except, she was a he. Again. I was so brokenhearted. I confess, I really was. I called my friend on the way home and just cried and cried. Hubs tiptoed around me for days. I know, so selfish and wrong, right? I had been blessed with another perfectly healthy, perfectly loveable and wonderful miracle. I can't justify or explain my feelings, but over the course of the pregnancy, I did get over it. And for Fireball's sake, I thought, thank goodness it's not a girl, because then the transition for him becoming the middle after being "the baby" for such a short time would be even worse. He'd have to compete with a baby, and his Mom's "Rêve" (dream come true) would be a girl.

I just suddenly pictured Sunday mornings in bed, pig piles of boys feet and knees, sticky grape-jelly kisses. Reading them my favorite authors regardless of sex, showing them how to make cookies, do the dishes, fold laundry, BE A MAN.

I had been tasked with the utmost challenge: to raise three decent and honorable men in today's "shock and awe" World, where the concept of masculinity is shoved down boys' throats in the most aggressive and  depressing ways, where being called a "sissy" was worse than a broken bone, because implied feminine characteristics in a man is something to be ashamed of, where the notion of feminine beauty is packaged and sold and shot out of the marketing cannon straight into the hearts of little girls all over to be thin and pretty and demure and NICE, and those who don't fit the mold make themselves sick to the point of death to be considered "desirable". That I would be the one to teach them that true beauty really is inside a person, not in their face or body, when sometimes I struggled to believe that in myself.  That it would fall on me to teach them that No ALWAYS means No, and to look the other way is to aid  the bully or tormenter.  That if they ever see a girl passed out at a party, they need to call me or her parents IMMEDIATELY, and do not leave her alone for one minute. That more important than winning is to keep trying, that more important than being popular is doing the right thing. That a meaningful life takes many forms, and no one ever lay on their deathbed wishing they'd worked more. That all these things that I thought I would be so much better at teaching a daughter, I now try to sprinkle into my three sons' consciousness. And this is gonna be so, so, good.

Day One

Okay, so, hello there, my name is Amanda. I am the Mom to three wonderful, very exhausting little boys, ages 6, 4, and 2. While they are my World, they are not my "whole" life. Mostly I am concerned about raising them to be the kind of men that the World needs, and sometimes I feel like I'm doing a great job, and other times not so much. My boys' father and I have known each other for 17 years, we have "been together" for the past 9, and while we're not "technically" married, I honestly can't think of any other way to describe him other than my Hubs. We'll come back to our marital status at a later time.
When I gave birth to my first son, I had recently sort of parted ways with my few close girlfriends, and while I look back at his (we'll call #1 Lucky) first few months with me as a cozy hibernation of sweet milk breath and quiet sleepiness and calm, it was also pretty lonely and soul baring, as I didn't really have anyone to share those moments with besides hubs and he at the time was working out of town during the week, just home on weekends. I remember being utterly in love but utterly despairing that I couldn't share my new found joy with anyone. I live in a pretty small, isolated little town on a mountain, a good 20 minutes from anything. It was the dead of winter.
Alas, my younger sister told me about Facebook. I had previously been on MySpace but in the emotional debacle which did result in my parting ways with a few close girlfriends, I was not anxious to give social media another try. My sister convinced me otherwise, telling me about how only those I wanted to "find" me could. So I went for it. And I am so glad I did. For a stay-at-home first time Mom, Facebook was a lifeline. A way to share my pride and joy, reach out for advice, plan play dates, ooh and aah over other peoples' kids. And a way to find hilarity in the day to day life of having a 8 lb boy completely change everything I thought I knew about raising a human being. Over time, I have found social media to be such an empowering tool.
Flash forward 2 years and #2 arrived. We call him Fireball. Fireball has made me push the limits of sanity in a very, very, good way. The funny thing is, Fireball was the only one we "planned", and he wakes up everyday with one mission: To dash Mommy's "plans" and force flexibility and disorder into my desperate attempts at routine and order. Where Lucky is laid back and easy-going, Fireball is sensitive, passionate, and FIERY. He's also completely beautiful and completely holds the reigns to my heart.
18 months after Fireball, we welcomed our #3, who I'll call "Stealth Ninja", because while he may be a man of few words, and may seem as silent and innocent as an angel, he is already an extreme adrenaline junkie when it comes to his physical abilities. I'll be making something in the kitchen, turn around, and BAM! There's Stealth Ninja on the counter at eye level, clutching the handle of my coffee, ready to pour! Or like last night, Stealth Ninja tried to slide down between the wall and the top bunk to get to his big brothers. Thank god his manly chest was too big and he got stuck before his head and neck made it through!
Add to this one very bad cat, Schmoopy. That's actually his real name. No alias will do for this King of Assholes. We recently put down 2 very geriatric and sweet Pugs. I miss the floor being clean so much.Schmoopy doesn't eat floor food, and in fact shares his own food with our homes mouse population. Douche.
So that briefly describes my household. Hubs works harder than any man I've ever known, gone at 6 am and rarely home in time for dinner. He's a mans man but a big ol softie at the same time. When he is home, his job for the bedtime routine is to read to the boys. While sometimes I'll hear him yelling at them to "Sit Down! Stop That! You want me to keep reading or not!?" I know he loves every second, and so do they.
My days are spent pretty much just like every other stay at home Mom on the planet. Wake, feed, clean, dress, clean, wipe, change, feed, clean, console, referee, feed, yell, laugh, try not to cry, wish for bedtime, wish for nap time, wish for quiet, clean, fold, put away, feed, clean, dress, bed, Facebook, laugh, wine, laugh sleep, repeat. My life is full of other things too, as you will see. I am very concerned about the state of affairs in this Country and on this Planet. I struggle daily with feelings of helplessness and despair, alternating with rage and incredulity. I try to show my boys' that there is no better way than to get involved if you see injustice of any kind. I hope I am able to raise three men who never look the other way.
So, like I said, my kids are not my "whole" life, but I think in a way, they are the catalyst of my life. They are my tools for the betterment of myself and the World I see around me. Most days are a blur to be honest, the combination of their ages, energy, and noise level have a most disorienting effect. But I know I've really only just begun, this is still the "easy" part I suppose. So wish me luck, and tune in as I bring you blow-by-blow details on just

what the hell I think I'm doing.