11 months old is how young tiny Lyla was when Eric came into our lives. We began dating with the understanding that motherhood came first, dates were spent at playgrounds, and that I was a package deal. I knew that no matter how well I was treated, the true test would be his time with my daughter. He accompanied us to parks, changed diapers, created laughter, and witnessed first steps. I'm not sure whose heart he won first, but in a short time, he had us both.
As waters remained rough with Lyla's biological father, I would often find myself wishing that there was a way for her to be Eric's instead. Fast forward 3 years, and it's coming true.
It's no secret that the relationship I had with bio-dad was solely because we created a child. After our split when Lyla was 10 months old, he saw her off and on for 8 months, and then stopped completely. These two and a half years have been filled with lots of back and forth on his part; wanting to sign her over then wanting full custody, paying child support then not paying, wishing to start over, and now, his final decision, surrendering his parental rights. It's something we've heard him say he would do before. Well, today, I got a call from my lawyer confirming that he has made this decision and that she had the signed document in hand.
This could not be happening at a better time in Lyla's life. She is aware and sensitive to the fact that her last name is different from the rest of her family's. She (amazingly) remembers visiting her bio-dad's, and will bring up questions about why he is not around. On her own, she has gradually made the transition from calling Eric by his name, to calling him "Daddy".
With her being so sensitive, I was careful with how I approached this subject with her. After reaching out to several "mommy-support-groups" as well as friends and family over the last few months while we waited for this process to become final, I came up with what I believe to be an age-appropriate explanation of what will be happening. This is how our conversation went:
"Some people aren't ready to be Mommies and Daddies, and [bio-dad] wasn't ready. But because he loves you so much, he wants you to have a Daddy who can see you and be with you everyday, which is why he wants Daddy to be your all-the-time Daddy. It's like you are the biggest, best present that [bio-dad] can give to Daddy - isn't that so nice of him?"
She loves the idea of being a "gift". She was even more excited when she found out that this meant her name could be changed to match Mommy, Daddy and Hannah. And, as much as a 4 year old can, she seemed understanding and accepting of the fact that after this happens, Eric will be her only dad.
I want her to be clued-in. I want her to be informed. I want to be as open and honest (as well as age-appropriate) as I can be with her, so that she does not have some earth shattering realization when she's a teenager that she is adopted and used to have another, different father. For the first time today, I started using the word "adoption". I told her that it means Daddy loves her so much that he wants to be her Daddy every single day forever and ever. The smile on her face when I explained this was priceless. I don't want to overuse the terminology to make her feel different, but I do want her to be aware of it, too.
When I received that phone call, I cannot put into words the relief it brought. No more anxiety over the "what if's", no more nonsense, but most of all: no more feeling bad. I have had moments where I just felt plain old sad; sad for Lyla that someone could just give her up like that. Sad for him, that he put excuses before a relationship with his child - but these feelings are long gone. Lyla was fortunate enough to have Eric as a constant in her life, and that his family was overwhelmingly accepting and loving. She will never feel neglect or a lapse with this change. As for him, well, I could not force a relationship between them, and will never again hold myself responsible for his decision.
Once again, I find myself repeating the ever so cliché expression: everything happens for a reason. 3 years ago I would watch Eric play so lovingly with my baby girl and ask him "why can't you be her dad?" - how lucky am I to be here, today, having just that come true. Some mothers didn't get to hand pick the father of their child at all, and most others didn't get to take theirs for a test drive. I had a very big advantage here, for which I am forever grateful.
Looking forward to the rest of our lives as one big happy Dorschied family :)
Friday, October 11, 2013
Thursday, October 10, 2013
"I'm Sorry", always.
Relationships, whether it's with friends, family, or your children, will inevitably have arguments. The one thing that leaves these relationships undamaged and gives them the ability to grow and move forward is the apology. This is one of the more important aspects of life I try and teach my children through example every day.
I've blogged before about Eric and I both apologizing after an argument (one for the upsetting event, and the other for the reaction), but I also make a point to apologize to my children, too. I've read parenting articles that describe "sticking to your guns" when it comes to discipline, because "the child will never learn if you go back on your word" - true, but not in all cases in my opinion. If I give several warnings and eventually end up taking away dessert, yes, I will stick to it, and there will be no dessert after dinner that night. But if the punishment comes from my lack of patience and I feel I am being unfair, or unnecessarily yelling, you're damn right I apologize to those kids, just as I'd expect someone to apologize to me in a similar situation.
I've definitely had my days where I got little sleep, missed my morning coffee or didn't have a chance to run, and my temper flairs up easily. In our house, we call these "grumpy days" - and I make a point to explain how I am feeling to the girls (yes, even little Hannah). After feeling intolerant and putting Lyla in what was probably an unnecessary time-out, I am sure to take that time to take a few cleansing breaths, enter her room, and explain to her why I got upset. But more importantly, I apologize for raising my voice. At this point, Lyla usually instructs me on "what would have been a nicer thing to say", which is just adorable, and pretty much always squashes my poor mood right then and there.
I absolutely hate yelling. I strive for calm, patient ways to deal with even the most frustrating tantrums, but some days I lose my cool - it's never something I feel good about, and I know my children don't feel good about it either. This is why I feel like it is so important to apologize when it happens. No, I don't feel like I'm "un-doing" any discipline by saying I'm sorry, especially when I still take the time to explain what they did wrong, why it upset Mommy, and why Mommy reacted that way. I tell them that Mommy needs to work on not raising her voice, just like I will tell Lyla she needs to work on using kind words, or tell Hannah she needs to work on being gentle and not hitting. Children learn best through example, and what better example then to hop aboard this learning journey with them. I want them to know it's normal to feel frustrated; that it's okay to get upset and overreact - we are human after all, but the lesson I want them to grasp is what you do after that is what matters.
Hopefully I am building a foundation for a lifetime of wonderful relationships for these girls, one apology at a time.
I've blogged before about Eric and I both apologizing after an argument (one for the upsetting event, and the other for the reaction), but I also make a point to apologize to my children, too. I've read parenting articles that describe "sticking to your guns" when it comes to discipline, because "the child will never learn if you go back on your word" - true, but not in all cases in my opinion. If I give several warnings and eventually end up taking away dessert, yes, I will stick to it, and there will be no dessert after dinner that night. But if the punishment comes from my lack of patience and I feel I am being unfair, or unnecessarily yelling, you're damn right I apologize to those kids, just as I'd expect someone to apologize to me in a similar situation.
I've definitely had my days where I got little sleep, missed my morning coffee or didn't have a chance to run, and my temper flairs up easily. In our house, we call these "grumpy days" - and I make a point to explain how I am feeling to the girls (yes, even little Hannah). After feeling intolerant and putting Lyla in what was probably an unnecessary time-out, I am sure to take that time to take a few cleansing breaths, enter her room, and explain to her why I got upset. But more importantly, I apologize for raising my voice. At this point, Lyla usually instructs me on "what would have been a nicer thing to say", which is just adorable, and pretty much always squashes my poor mood right then and there.
I absolutely hate yelling. I strive for calm, patient ways to deal with even the most frustrating tantrums, but some days I lose my cool - it's never something I feel good about, and I know my children don't feel good about it either. This is why I feel like it is so important to apologize when it happens. No, I don't feel like I'm "un-doing" any discipline by saying I'm sorry, especially when I still take the time to explain what they did wrong, why it upset Mommy, and why Mommy reacted that way. I tell them that Mommy needs to work on not raising her voice, just like I will tell Lyla she needs to work on using kind words, or tell Hannah she needs to work on being gentle and not hitting. Children learn best through example, and what better example then to hop aboard this learning journey with them. I want them to know it's normal to feel frustrated; that it's okay to get upset and overreact - we are human after all, but the lesson I want them to grasp is what you do after that is what matters.
Hopefully I am building a foundation for a lifetime of wonderful relationships for these girls, one apology at a time.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Forced Present Moments
If it's one thing I've found myself struggling with most as a mother, it's staying present. How can something so simple be so difficult? I can't believe how easily distracted I can get by the dishes that need to be put away, or the laundry that needs to be folded, or the dinner that needs preparing. Some days it feels like even though we are kept very busy with playgrounds, games, puzzles and other kid-friendly activities, that I find myself just working towards the next step; "okay this will kill time until dinner, and then bath time will eat up time until bed"...and I hate feeling this way because instead of watching the clock, I should just BE there with my girls. Engaging, enjoying, and giving them my full attention.
I have tried playing around with different balances of things that need to get done and playtime with the kids (as well as time with my husband!); I've tried leaving all the household stuff for after they are in bed (and hubby is at work) so my time during the day is primarily theirs. Well, then come bedtime, I'd be exhausted and overwhelmed with everything that needed tending to. When I tried setting certain times of the day to get a few things done to lessen the nightly chore load, I would always feel guilty; like I SHOULD be on the floor with them building blocks, too. I know, I am my own worst critic, but I was never feeling good about my time, always wishing there was more.
But the truth is, there are things that need to get done and I am the kind if person who feels I can fully engage in an activity or playtime knowing my chores were (somewhat) taken care of. My problem, I learned, is knowing when to stop. I tend to get on these kicks, where I tell myself I'll "just do the dishes" but then afterwards feel compelled to clean the counter tops, and then need to sweep the floors, and oh those cabinets are a mess! And why not, when the girls are playing so nicely? True. But then comes the guilt of not being with them. It's a brutal mind game that's endless.
So, we came up with some "house rules" that force the present moment to be just that.
House rule 1: non-negotiable dance party. We pretty much always have music on in the background of our home, and the girls and I will pick a popular, upbeat song (so it will be played at least a few times throughout the day). When we hear this song come on, no matter what we are doing, we have to stop and have a dance party together in our living room. I stop any chores I'm doing, we will get up from eating dinner, we've even got out of the bath tub on occasion and it's saved Lyla from a time out when the song came on as she approached her time-out chair. This usually leads to dancing to more than one song, and just a good old fun time with my girls where we all have each other's full attention.
House rule 2: reading time every day. Luckily, my girls absolutely love reading. There is no way to not be present when you are reading a story. I make sure to make time everyday with both Lyla and Hannah to read books. Lyla is still young enough to want to listen to Hannah's stories, and has even memorized a few so that she can take a turn "reading", so this is a time during the day I really appreciate: we all curl up on the couch or bed with some snacks and an insane pile of books and read away. The phone stays in the other room, chores get out on hold, and we are just THERE.
Lyla and I spend most of our "mommy & me" time reading, too. When Hannah naps or goes to bed early, Lyla loves to pick out "big girl" stories. We sometimes read together for an hour at a time!
Reading time is also when I get to see how much my girls have grown, which is the most preset-reminder I can get. (Whoa, wait, she knows what that means?? And Hannah can point out all these items??) it's really incredible to watch.
The days I feel the best as a parent are days spent present minded with my family. Days where I lose my phone for hours, the TV stays off, stories are read, but also that yes, a few chores got done too. I am still working on a feel-good balance between all the things my time needs to be divided into, but for now these little house rules reminds me of what matters most, and it's the best thing we have done for our family.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
2nd Child Syndrome...Kind Of
When I had Lyla, I was your typical, paranoid, over protective first-time parent. I read countless books, reached out to other mothers for advice and reassurance, spent hours making my own baby food, and only let her play with organic, early development approved toys. It was months before she was babysat - by family friends. I rarely took her places because I was embarrassed about public breast feeding and worried about disrupting meltdowns. At home, she never cried for more than a few seconds before I rushed to soothe her. On rough nights she slept in bed with me, and was never - ever allowed her pacifier if she wasn't sleeping. Fast forward 3 years, add baby #2 to the mix, an you've got an experienced, more laid back mother who has comfortably settled into the "2nd child syndrome".
I knew the 2nd time around would be somewhat easier since I HAD "been there, done that" - but I never knew how much of a paranoid fool I'd look like looking back.
On the day Eric returned to work after to time he took off for Hannah's arrival, I packed up both kids, diapers, my nursing shawl, snacks, toys, and was out the door to the library for Lyla's favorite Tuesday ritual: Story Time. 3 years before, if you had told me to take my squishy, fresh newborn to a LIBRARY - you know, that place that is known for peace and quiet - I would have laughed right in your face. But, that was my problem: I got too comfortable staying home with Lyla, so when it came time to go do anything, I hesitated. Not this time around. There was no time for that. I had a toddler with a weekly schedule that she loved, and a newborn who was extremely portable. And thank goodness I was brave enough to do so, because after attending that first story time, I realized how manageable it was. We went every week from that day on, and even added in Friday morning gymnastics. I felt like super mom, chasing my toddler around the squishy play mats while cradling my newborn on the book of my arm.
I got this.
She was babysat by my amazing mother-in-law at just shy of 2 months so we could celebrate our first anniversary. She is allowed her pacifier (in a pinch) when its not nap time. On even the worst of nights she is laid back in her crib after a quick snack and kiss. And yes, there are times where she cries for more than a few seconds before I fly to the rescue. Patenting, from baby 1 to baby 2, has been like night and day.
Things became even easier when I learned I let go of all my first-time-mom paranoia; something I had to do to accommodate two children. Oh, those obnoxiously loud pots, pans and spoons are keeping Hannah busy while I finish cooking dinner? No problem. Oh, jarred baby food is more expensive but much easier? Okay fine. My baby is hungry and we're at the mall in the middle of a busy weekend afternoon? Out comes the boob (under a shawl at my husbands request, of course ;] ). Funny how things that may have seemed like the end of the world 3 years ago (Lyla watched HOW many movies while she was babysat!!?) - are brushed off so easily now. (More like thank goodness we have babysitting options!!)
On the other hand, there are a few things I am worse about with Hannah than I was with Lyla. For instance, Lyla had tasted cake and ice cream well before her first birthday, but with Hannah I refuse; this MUST be something she experiences for the first time ON her first birthday. I even hesitated giving Hannah her first solids, because there is something so pure about being exclusively breastfed, where with Lyla I could barely wait the suggested 4months to get that first picture of an applesauce dribbled chin.
Since Eric and I have true feelings of being "done", making Hannah the last baby, I feel like I cannot slow things down enough. With Lyla, I was eager for her to reach each and every milestone, and even did all I could for her to reach them early. With Hannah, anytime she started to crawl I would tackle her into a tickle fight. "Too soon, not ready" I'd think - Talking about myself and not her, of course.
With her first birthday quickly approaching, all I know is that this year with Miss Hannah went by way too fast, but also that it was (for the most part) easier than I thought. So I didn't make everything she ate, and she played with snack containers and boxes instead of organic wooden toys. She is one happy baby. BABY! A term I can only refer to her as for 2 more tiny months before she graduates to "toddler".
Thank goodness for 2nd child syndrome, and the ease that comes with the comfort I now have in myself as a parent. I know I sound crazy for saying this, but most days, I find that 2 has been easier than 1.
I knew the 2nd time around would be somewhat easier since I HAD "been there, done that" - but I never knew how much of a paranoid fool I'd look like looking back.
On the day Eric returned to work after to time he took off for Hannah's arrival, I packed up both kids, diapers, my nursing shawl, snacks, toys, and was out the door to the library for Lyla's favorite Tuesday ritual: Story Time. 3 years before, if you had told me to take my squishy, fresh newborn to a LIBRARY - you know, that place that is known for peace and quiet - I would have laughed right in your face. But, that was my problem: I got too comfortable staying home with Lyla, so when it came time to go do anything, I hesitated. Not this time around. There was no time for that. I had a toddler with a weekly schedule that she loved, and a newborn who was extremely portable. And thank goodness I was brave enough to do so, because after attending that first story time, I realized how manageable it was. We went every week from that day on, and even added in Friday morning gymnastics. I felt like super mom, chasing my toddler around the squishy play mats while cradling my newborn on the book of my arm.
I got this.
She was babysat by my amazing mother-in-law at just shy of 2 months so we could celebrate our first anniversary. She is allowed her pacifier (in a pinch) when its not nap time. On even the worst of nights she is laid back in her crib after a quick snack and kiss. And yes, there are times where she cries for more than a few seconds before I fly to the rescue. Patenting, from baby 1 to baby 2, has been like night and day.
Things became even easier when I learned I let go of all my first-time-mom paranoia; something I had to do to accommodate two children. Oh, those obnoxiously loud pots, pans and spoons are keeping Hannah busy while I finish cooking dinner? No problem. Oh, jarred baby food is more expensive but much easier? Okay fine. My baby is hungry and we're at the mall in the middle of a busy weekend afternoon? Out comes the boob (under a shawl at my husbands request, of course ;] ). Funny how things that may have seemed like the end of the world 3 years ago (Lyla watched HOW many movies while she was babysat!!?) - are brushed off so easily now. (More like thank goodness we have babysitting options!!)
On the other hand, there are a few things I am worse about with Hannah than I was with Lyla. For instance, Lyla had tasted cake and ice cream well before her first birthday, but with Hannah I refuse; this MUST be something she experiences for the first time ON her first birthday. I even hesitated giving Hannah her first solids, because there is something so pure about being exclusively breastfed, where with Lyla I could barely wait the suggested 4months to get that first picture of an applesauce dribbled chin.
Since Eric and I have true feelings of being "done", making Hannah the last baby, I feel like I cannot slow things down enough. With Lyla, I was eager for her to reach each and every milestone, and even did all I could for her to reach them early. With Hannah, anytime she started to crawl I would tackle her into a tickle fight. "Too soon, not ready" I'd think - Talking about myself and not her, of course.
With her first birthday quickly approaching, all I know is that this year with Miss Hannah went by way too fast, but also that it was (for the most part) easier than I thought. So I didn't make everything she ate, and she played with snack containers and boxes instead of organic wooden toys. She is one happy baby. BABY! A term I can only refer to her as for 2 more tiny months before she graduates to "toddler".
Thank goodness for 2nd child syndrome, and the ease that comes with the comfort I now have in myself as a parent. I know I sound crazy for saying this, but most days, I find that 2 has been easier than 1.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
When Hard Work Pays Off
Parenting is hard work. Plain and simple. What makes it worth it are those little moments when you witness your hard work paying off.
Often times when we have play dates and I hear Lyla make comments like "mommy, she's not being a good listener" or "she'll get a belly ache if she eats that much sugar", I feel like I tend do go a little overboard in the "strict parenting" department. However, when I see her willingness to share toys, problem solve, and use good manners - those are the little reassuring moments that whisper "yes! You're doing a good job at this mommy thing!" One of these moments occurred yesterday, and it may have been the most proud I have been of my big girl thus far.
Once Hannah was old enough to sit up and play with toys, Lyla quickly learned that her favorite playthings would need to be guarded if she wanted them to remain spit up and booger free. She accomplished this by hoarding every toy set out on the floor for play up onto the couch out of her baby sister's reach. At first, I fought fire with fire and demanded she put every single toy back into the floor. "If you want Hannah to share her toys with you, you need to teach her how by sharing your toys with her" I preached. So, we agreed that it was okay for Lyla to have her "special choices" that could be sister-free, and everything else was to be shared. This worked until the "I want nothing to do with that toy until Hannah plays with it, then I take it from her" phase began. To which I responded with "if you want something Hannah is playing with, wait until she's done, or try trading her for another toy instead". These are lines and phrases that are on repeat like a broken record day in and day out. It's exhausting; that is, until you see it pay off.
Yesterday while visiting with the girls' Aunt and baby cousin who is just a few moths older than Hannah, the babies went back and forth taking toys from each other per usual. Lyla played the big sister/cousin roll by making sure each toy got returned to its "proper owner" - sounds cute and helpful until you have 2 babies who were perfectly content with a toy swap until Lyla comes in and snatches them both away and forces a trade-back. Lyla finally let the babies be, until Hannah got a hold of one of Lyla's "special choices": a big plastic Easter egg. Eric's Grammy, who we were also visiting with, kindly found a spare Easter egg to trade Hannah with, and all was well again - until their baby cousin decided he wanted an Easter egg, too. After watching the babies pass it back and forth for a few whiney moments, Lyla shyly comes up to me. She puts her hands on my lap so we are face-to-face - secret sharing position commence. "Mommy, I think I'm going to let the baby play with my Easter egg. That way, he can have one and Hannah can have one and they will both be happy!"
GUSH. Gush gush gush.
She said this in the sweetest, most caring tone of voice I have ever heard. And what made it all worth while was seeing her joy and satisfaction for problem solving, being helpful, and selfless. For the rest of the day, I couldn't tell her how proud I was of her enough, and how happy that made mommy.
We all want to raise children who are thankful for every gift received, even if they secretly hate it. Who will share a snack with a friend who doesn't have one. Who shares all their toys and say "please" and "thank you" at the start and end of every sentence. Lets be real, this does NOT happen. So in these tiny moments where you see the light between the freshness an temper tantrums...it's an absolute joy, and yes - I'll say it - a pat on the back for good ol' mom.
I don't know if it's my "focus on the positive" mindset lately, or if Lyla has actually been particularly well behaved, but I have been so unbelievably proud of her lately. She really is such an amazing, smart, funny, energetic little girl. She's a great big sister, caring friend and loving daughter. I feel lucky each day for the girl she is growing to be.
To end our fabulous day, when I was tucking her into bed, she began to tell me what she was going to dream about that night - our little nightly ritual to fall asleep with good thoughts. After listing all her favorite stuffed animals and princess accessories, she adds "and you know what else I'm going to dream about? I'm going to dream about sharing my special Easter egg with the babies, because t made you so happy"
I.freaking.love.this.child.
<3333
Often times when we have play dates and I hear Lyla make comments like "mommy, she's not being a good listener" or "she'll get a belly ache if she eats that much sugar", I feel like I tend do go a little overboard in the "strict parenting" department. However, when I see her willingness to share toys, problem solve, and use good manners - those are the little reassuring moments that whisper "yes! You're doing a good job at this mommy thing!" One of these moments occurred yesterday, and it may have been the most proud I have been of my big girl thus far.
Once Hannah was old enough to sit up and play with toys, Lyla quickly learned that her favorite playthings would need to be guarded if she wanted them to remain spit up and booger free. She accomplished this by hoarding every toy set out on the floor for play up onto the couch out of her baby sister's reach. At first, I fought fire with fire and demanded she put every single toy back into the floor. "If you want Hannah to share her toys with you, you need to teach her how by sharing your toys with her" I preached. So, we agreed that it was okay for Lyla to have her "special choices" that could be sister-free, and everything else was to be shared. This worked until the "I want nothing to do with that toy until Hannah plays with it, then I take it from her" phase began. To which I responded with "if you want something Hannah is playing with, wait until she's done, or try trading her for another toy instead". These are lines and phrases that are on repeat like a broken record day in and day out. It's exhausting; that is, until you see it pay off.
Yesterday while visiting with the girls' Aunt and baby cousin who is just a few moths older than Hannah, the babies went back and forth taking toys from each other per usual. Lyla played the big sister/cousin roll by making sure each toy got returned to its "proper owner" - sounds cute and helpful until you have 2 babies who were perfectly content with a toy swap until Lyla comes in and snatches them both away and forces a trade-back. Lyla finally let the babies be, until Hannah got a hold of one of Lyla's "special choices": a big plastic Easter egg. Eric's Grammy, who we were also visiting with, kindly found a spare Easter egg to trade Hannah with, and all was well again - until their baby cousin decided he wanted an Easter egg, too. After watching the babies pass it back and forth for a few whiney moments, Lyla shyly comes up to me. She puts her hands on my lap so we are face-to-face - secret sharing position commence. "Mommy, I think I'm going to let the baby play with my Easter egg. That way, he can have one and Hannah can have one and they will both be happy!"
GUSH. Gush gush gush.
She said this in the sweetest, most caring tone of voice I have ever heard. And what made it all worth while was seeing her joy and satisfaction for problem solving, being helpful, and selfless. For the rest of the day, I couldn't tell her how proud I was of her enough, and how happy that made mommy.
We all want to raise children who are thankful for every gift received, even if they secretly hate it. Who will share a snack with a friend who doesn't have one. Who shares all their toys and say "please" and "thank you" at the start and end of every sentence. Lets be real, this does NOT happen. So in these tiny moments where you see the light between the freshness an temper tantrums...it's an absolute joy, and yes - I'll say it - a pat on the back for good ol' mom.
I don't know if it's my "focus on the positive" mindset lately, or if Lyla has actually been particularly well behaved, but I have been so unbelievably proud of her lately. She really is such an amazing, smart, funny, energetic little girl. She's a great big sister, caring friend and loving daughter. I feel lucky each day for the girl she is growing to be.
To end our fabulous day, when I was tucking her into bed, she began to tell me what she was going to dream about that night - our little nightly ritual to fall asleep with good thoughts. After listing all her favorite stuffed animals and princess accessories, she adds "and you know what else I'm going to dream about? I'm going to dream about sharing my special Easter egg with the babies, because t made you so happy"
I.freaking.love.this.child.
<3333
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Mindful Parenting
Mindfulness. It's about being present, focusing on the positive, and being in control of your emotions. A place where you can forget the past and be worry-free about the future. As hard as I try, this just simply isn't always the way the day goes.
I get up early to try and capture the one hour of hot coffee and breakfast I enjoy to myself while the house is still dark and quiet. Just as I sit down, delicious almond milk-dashed coffee warming my hands, there goes little Hannah over the monitor. By the time she's either nursed and back to sleep, or changed and happily playing - coffee's cold. I opt for the quick bowl of cereal instead of veggie egg-white omelette I had planned. Once Hannah sees mommy eating, she wants breakfast too. I wolf down my cereal and take sips of cold coffee between feeding Hannah bites of yogurt. I'm frustrated that my morning is not going as planned, but am trying to keep a positive mind. "Oh well, early bed time tonight - then ill have my mommy-time", I think.
Wrong.
After a day full of "oh well, we're going to make this a good day" reminders, I have nothing left come dinner time. I tell Lyla to eat her dinner for the hundredth time through gritted, fake-smiling teeth. Hannah is covered in sweet potato and exhausted - I just want to cry right along with her. I skip bath time because I simply do not have the energy. I catch myself feeling snappy and I try to focus on my breathing: "I am aware of my in-breath, I am aware of my out-breath"
Not working.
Eventually, they are both fed, cleaned up, in pajamas, and asleep. But since I chose to put off all the cleaning and chores that day to make myself more available to the girls, I now have a kitchen full of dirty dishes and laundry piles that are so high I can barely see our laundry room, let alone the washing machine. I wash and fold as quickly as I can, and look forward to making myself a snack and some tea, and finally sit down to my beloved DVR'd crap-TV shows.
Hannah wakes up. Time to nurse. I get her settled back down, and fall asleep on the couch mid-show, and never even took a sip of my tea.
Of course, not everyday is like this. Infact, I'm lucky enough to say that MOST days are not. However, when they DO occur, I can't seem to handle them and I absolutely hate myself for this. I get so easily overwhelmed, I piss and moan about how I never get time to myself, I dwell on my injury and how I can't run - I know the negativity won't get me anywhere, but I'm in too deep and start spiraling downward.
It's days like this that remind me just how difficult mindfulness really is. I practice and practice, but still find myself reactive, and stressed out. My husband calls this "being human" - agreed; I know that I have the right to have emotions and to acknowledge them, and that is is normal to lose your cool. But that doesn't mean I feel good about it when it happens.
Mindful parenting has been one of my biggest practices, and one of the more difficult things I have dealt with. On a good day, I am forever grateful. I stare and stare at my girls, think of how beautiful they are, what great kids they truly are, feel good about how I handled Lyla's meltdown, spend the day smiling and laughing...you get the idea. It's the bad days that I really get down on myself for.
How am I teaching Lyla not to yell when I am yelling at her?
How am I teaching her to stay calm when the smallest thing seems to send me over the edge?
How am I teaching her to listen when I am rushing her through the story she has told me 5 times that morning?
And the funny thing is, most of the things that frustrate me with her is how she reacts to things - but who am I to talk when I am the one she's modeling after? This realization is what makes me feel most guilty about the "bad" days, and furthermore, what makes me want to practice mindfulness even more. Happy kids, happy mom? Sure. But I think the cause of happy kids IS a happy mom, and I am happiest when I feel good about myself, about my reactions, about the time spent with my girls.
Practice makes perfect.
I get up early to try and capture the one hour of hot coffee and breakfast I enjoy to myself while the house is still dark and quiet. Just as I sit down, delicious almond milk-dashed coffee warming my hands, there goes little Hannah over the monitor. By the time she's either nursed and back to sleep, or changed and happily playing - coffee's cold. I opt for the quick bowl of cereal instead of veggie egg-white omelette I had planned. Once Hannah sees mommy eating, she wants breakfast too. I wolf down my cereal and take sips of cold coffee between feeding Hannah bites of yogurt. I'm frustrated that my morning is not going as planned, but am trying to keep a positive mind. "Oh well, early bed time tonight - then ill have my mommy-time", I think.
Wrong.
After a day full of "oh well, we're going to make this a good day" reminders, I have nothing left come dinner time. I tell Lyla to eat her dinner for the hundredth time through gritted, fake-smiling teeth. Hannah is covered in sweet potato and exhausted - I just want to cry right along with her. I skip bath time because I simply do not have the energy. I catch myself feeling snappy and I try to focus on my breathing: "I am aware of my in-breath, I am aware of my out-breath"
Not working.
Eventually, they are both fed, cleaned up, in pajamas, and asleep. But since I chose to put off all the cleaning and chores that day to make myself more available to the girls, I now have a kitchen full of dirty dishes and laundry piles that are so high I can barely see our laundry room, let alone the washing machine. I wash and fold as quickly as I can, and look forward to making myself a snack and some tea, and finally sit down to my beloved DVR'd crap-TV shows.
Hannah wakes up. Time to nurse. I get her settled back down, and fall asleep on the couch mid-show, and never even took a sip of my tea.
Of course, not everyday is like this. Infact, I'm lucky enough to say that MOST days are not. However, when they DO occur, I can't seem to handle them and I absolutely hate myself for this. I get so easily overwhelmed, I piss and moan about how I never get time to myself, I dwell on my injury and how I can't run - I know the negativity won't get me anywhere, but I'm in too deep and start spiraling downward.
It's days like this that remind me just how difficult mindfulness really is. I practice and practice, but still find myself reactive, and stressed out. My husband calls this "being human" - agreed; I know that I have the right to have emotions and to acknowledge them, and that is is normal to lose your cool. But that doesn't mean I feel good about it when it happens.
Mindful parenting has been one of my biggest practices, and one of the more difficult things I have dealt with. On a good day, I am forever grateful. I stare and stare at my girls, think of how beautiful they are, what great kids they truly are, feel good about how I handled Lyla's meltdown, spend the day smiling and laughing...you get the idea. It's the bad days that I really get down on myself for.
How am I teaching Lyla not to yell when I am yelling at her?
How am I teaching her to stay calm when the smallest thing seems to send me over the edge?
How am I teaching her to listen when I am rushing her through the story she has told me 5 times that morning?
And the funny thing is, most of the things that frustrate me with her is how she reacts to things - but who am I to talk when I am the one she's modeling after? This realization is what makes me feel most guilty about the "bad" days, and furthermore, what makes me want to practice mindfulness even more. Happy kids, happy mom? Sure. But I think the cause of happy kids IS a happy mom, and I am happiest when I feel good about myself, about my reactions, about the time spent with my girls.
Practice makes perfect.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Mom-Fail
For the last 3 and a half years, I'd like to think I have been a pretty patient, tolerant mother. Always finding a way to use my words, keep my voice at a reasonable level, and really just enjoy my kids - even in their worst moments. But lately? Not so much. It's almost as if these last few years have finally caught up to me, and my prize-winning performance has run its course. To say the least, lately, motherhood has been kicking my ass.
I keep telling fellow moms that I don't know whether it's my kids, or me. Are they both going through tough stages, or am I just being intolerant? Sure, Hannah's separation anxiety is in full force and I can not put her down these days, and Lyla's "questions phase" has grown to at least 800 per day. Probably more. But as the mom, aren't I supposed to just be able to handle these things? Sure, I have my Super-Mom days where I keep the 18lb baby on my hip all day and answer each and every one of Lyla's questions with grueling detail and explanation, all while juggling meal time, chores, and Lyla's love of crafts. But then there are what I call the mom-fail days.
Okay, that's not a very fair name for them, but at the end of one of these days, that's how I'm left feeling - like I failed. I should have done this. I should have been able to handle that. These are the days where the screams go right through me. Where the first "cause why???" that comes out of Lyla's mouth makes me want to go hide under a rock until this phase is over. Meltdowns from both kids are in full swing; from Hannah because I put her down for two seconds so I could pee, and Lyla because she refuses to walk to the bathroom and get a tissue herself. These are the days, the mom-fail days, where my vocal chords get to stretch their wings. "KNOCK IT OFF! GO TO YOUR ROOM! NO TV! NO DESSERT!" So again, I ask, is it them, or me? One mom told me "it's always them" - I like that, but I never, ever feel good at the end of these days. I've never let out a good scream and thought "man, that felt good". In fact, I'm pretty sure I usually un-do any punishing by simply feeling bad, and going into Lyla's room, curling her up on my lap, explaining why mommy got so upset, and then apologizing for my reaction - but not always. On mom-fail days, I stay upset. Because I stay upset, the next little thing she does sends her right back into her time out chair, without any chances. And it's always in these moments that Hannah is at her worst; flailing in my arms or scooting around on the floor begging to be picked up. On mom-fail days, whether it's them or me, it never settles down. It is non-stop, zero tolerance, constant yelling, absolute failure of a day - both with their actions and my ability to handle it.
On top of it, the day doesn't end at bedtime. Hannah has not slept for more than 3-4 hour chunks at night since her arrival 9 months ago, and it never fails that once I climb into our warm, cozy bed, the cries begin. Luckily, she goes back down easily - a quick nursing session or a pacifier-pop - but it's the constant broken sleep that leaves me exhausted and, particularly on these days, frustrated. "Come on, Hannah" I'll grunt from under the covers. Great. Now I'm upset with my little innocent baby after an entire day of pointing my toddler to the time-out chair in her room. All I want is to sleep it off and wake up with a fresh start, but I can't even do that.
Last week seemed like this vicious cycle was on repeat. I wake up tired, but want to have a good day. I decide to surprise Lyla with breakfast in bed. While flipping pancakes, I'm trying to brush off the day before by taking some cleansing breaths and concentrating on today. I start to think of fun things to do with the girls. Maybe the library for some new bedtime stories, and a trip to the mall to treat Lyla to her favorite giant soft pretzel. Just as I'm finished putting together Lyla's breakfast - blueberry pancakes, sliced fruit, and a juice box (usually just used for school), I am so excited to hear that she is awake over the monitor. I grab the tray of food and head into her room. "Good morning my girl! I made you some breakfast to eat in bed for a treat". Aaaaaaaand meltdown. She was so upset because usually when I make blueberry pancakes, I let her put the blueberries in. I can feel my blood start to boil but try to keep my cool, explaining that next time she can help mommy but that I wanted to surprise her. No dice. At this point, Hannah is blaring over the monitor, awake and in need of a diaper change and breakfast. I ended up throwing the pancakes away, which sent Lyla into an even further panicked tantrum. I just walked away, closing the bedroom door behind me when I went in to get Hannah, and had a meltdown myself. It was only 7am.
Last week was particularly bad. The worst I've felt as a parent, the worst I've seen Lyla behave, and the crankiest Hannah has been since her sad-belly days. I was so unbelievably overwhelmed, and on top of if all, sustained a foot injury that has prevented me from training and, potentially, even running the half marathon. As shitty as last week was, it makes me truly appreciate the good days, like today, where Lyla was so kind and sweet, and didn't have one time out. We did crafts, danced, watched TV and ate dessert. Now, the question again, is it them, or me? Sure, Lyla was great today, but I also felt back to my cool-calm-collected ways. So who was last week really about? Either way, I came out of it totally beat up.
I keep telling fellow moms that I don't know whether it's my kids, or me. Are they both going through tough stages, or am I just being intolerant? Sure, Hannah's separation anxiety is in full force and I can not put her down these days, and Lyla's "questions phase" has grown to at least 800 per day. Probably more. But as the mom, aren't I supposed to just be able to handle these things? Sure, I have my Super-Mom days where I keep the 18lb baby on my hip all day and answer each and every one of Lyla's questions with grueling detail and explanation, all while juggling meal time, chores, and Lyla's love of crafts. But then there are what I call the mom-fail days.
Okay, that's not a very fair name for them, but at the end of one of these days, that's how I'm left feeling - like I failed. I should have done this. I should have been able to handle that. These are the days where the screams go right through me. Where the first "cause why???" that comes out of Lyla's mouth makes me want to go hide under a rock until this phase is over. Meltdowns from both kids are in full swing; from Hannah because I put her down for two seconds so I could pee, and Lyla because she refuses to walk to the bathroom and get a tissue herself. These are the days, the mom-fail days, where my vocal chords get to stretch their wings. "KNOCK IT OFF! GO TO YOUR ROOM! NO TV! NO DESSERT!" So again, I ask, is it them, or me? One mom told me "it's always them" - I like that, but I never, ever feel good at the end of these days. I've never let out a good scream and thought "man, that felt good". In fact, I'm pretty sure I usually un-do any punishing by simply feeling bad, and going into Lyla's room, curling her up on my lap, explaining why mommy got so upset, and then apologizing for my reaction - but not always. On mom-fail days, I stay upset. Because I stay upset, the next little thing she does sends her right back into her time out chair, without any chances. And it's always in these moments that Hannah is at her worst; flailing in my arms or scooting around on the floor begging to be picked up. On mom-fail days, whether it's them or me, it never settles down. It is non-stop, zero tolerance, constant yelling, absolute failure of a day - both with their actions and my ability to handle it.
On top of it, the day doesn't end at bedtime. Hannah has not slept for more than 3-4 hour chunks at night since her arrival 9 months ago, and it never fails that once I climb into our warm, cozy bed, the cries begin. Luckily, she goes back down easily - a quick nursing session or a pacifier-pop - but it's the constant broken sleep that leaves me exhausted and, particularly on these days, frustrated. "Come on, Hannah" I'll grunt from under the covers. Great. Now I'm upset with my little innocent baby after an entire day of pointing my toddler to the time-out chair in her room. All I want is to sleep it off and wake up with a fresh start, but I can't even do that.
Last week seemed like this vicious cycle was on repeat. I wake up tired, but want to have a good day. I decide to surprise Lyla with breakfast in bed. While flipping pancakes, I'm trying to brush off the day before by taking some cleansing breaths and concentrating on today. I start to think of fun things to do with the girls. Maybe the library for some new bedtime stories, and a trip to the mall to treat Lyla to her favorite giant soft pretzel. Just as I'm finished putting together Lyla's breakfast - blueberry pancakes, sliced fruit, and a juice box (usually just used for school), I am so excited to hear that she is awake over the monitor. I grab the tray of food and head into her room. "Good morning my girl! I made you some breakfast to eat in bed for a treat". Aaaaaaaand meltdown. She was so upset because usually when I make blueberry pancakes, I let her put the blueberries in. I can feel my blood start to boil but try to keep my cool, explaining that next time she can help mommy but that I wanted to surprise her. No dice. At this point, Hannah is blaring over the monitor, awake and in need of a diaper change and breakfast. I ended up throwing the pancakes away, which sent Lyla into an even further panicked tantrum. I just walked away, closing the bedroom door behind me when I went in to get Hannah, and had a meltdown myself. It was only 7am.
Last week was particularly bad. The worst I've felt as a parent, the worst I've seen Lyla behave, and the crankiest Hannah has been since her sad-belly days. I was so unbelievably overwhelmed, and on top of if all, sustained a foot injury that has prevented me from training and, potentially, even running the half marathon. As shitty as last week was, it makes me truly appreciate the good days, like today, where Lyla was so kind and sweet, and didn't have one time out. We did crafts, danced, watched TV and ate dessert. Now, the question again, is it them, or me? Sure, Lyla was great today, but I also felt back to my cool-calm-collected ways. So who was last week really about? Either way, I came out of it totally beat up.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Slow Down!
Lately, I've been totally freaking out about just how fast these girls are growing up. Anytime either of them does anything new, I find myself more sad than glad about it - how terrible is that? When Lyla came out of her bedroom dressed from head to toe entirely on her own, I was proud, and then put on a big she-doesn't-need-my-anymore pout. When Hannah started sitting up, I couldn't help but think "didn't you just start lifting up your head" no, more like "aren't I still pregnant?"
I find myself in a bit of a panic, wanting to just freeze time. I'm especially cherishing Hannah, because aside form getting zero sleep, I absolutely love having a baby. So cuddly, smiley, totally dependent on you - it's the best feeling. She'll be 7 months old in about a week - she's more than half way done being a baby! The big first birthday marks the official start of toddlerhood - it's already coming too quickly. I can't believe how much faster it goes with your 2nd child. Everyone has told me this, but I could never imagine that I would blink and 7 months would fly by. I'm sure for me especially this time around seemed faster because of my happiness and exponentially better circumstances. But seriously. 5 more months of having a baby! That seems like no time at all and all I want is for it to slow down.
And Lyla. Oh this child. We watched our wedding video on our anniversary, and I couldn't BELIEVE the difference a year had made. Sure, looking back at pictures I can tell her hair is a bit longer, face has matured a bit, and that she's taller, but there's nothing like listening to the verbal difference. Obviously when you're as lucky as I am to spend every day with your child, you're not going to see these changes happen in such extremes, but watching that video somehow made me feel like I missed it.
Ever since the tragic shooting, I have never been more grateful for my ability to be a stay at home mom. I've hugged them a little longer and have been especially aware of being present with them. It's such a scary thought to know that anything could happen - any day, any time. The fact that this precious time with them seems to be slipping away too quickly makes that thought all the more worse. Days never drag. I am never bored. Even just sitting and staring at them gives me joy - and something to do.
In less than 2 years Lyla will be in school full time, and Hannah will be on her way to starting pre-school. My stay-at-home days are numbered. One thing I've read time and time again is that people on their death beds have confessed that their one wish is that they worked less. I am so fortunate that right now my work is motherhood. It's a full time job that lasts the rest of your life. I have such respect for mothers who have to go back to work after having their babies because I can't imagine how hard it must be to be away from them. I am ever so lucky to have the ability to stay home, and because of it, I work my ass off every single day to be the best mother I can be. I'll never regret my decision to stay home, and the last thing I want is to look back and think I could have worked harder. 2 years will fly by like nothing. How I wish I could freeze this time with them; with Hannah so rolly-polly and playful, and Lyla so sweet and fun.
Too fast, too fast, too fast!
Ever since the tragic shooting, I have never been more grateful for my ability to be a stay at home mom. I've hugged them a little longer and have been especially aware of being present with them. It's such a scary thought to know that anything could happen - any day, any time. The fact that this precious time with them seems to be slipping away too quickly makes that thought all the more worse. Days never drag. I am never bored. Even just sitting and staring at them gives me joy - and something to do.
In less than 2 years Lyla will be in school full time, and Hannah will be on her way to starting pre-school. My stay-at-home days are numbered. One thing I've read time and time again is that people on their death beds have confessed that their one wish is that they worked less. I am so fortunate that right now my work is motherhood. It's a full time job that lasts the rest of your life. I have such respect for mothers who have to go back to work after having their babies because I can't imagine how hard it must be to be away from them. I am ever so lucky to have the ability to stay home, and because of it, I work my ass off every single day to be the best mother I can be. I'll never regret my decision to stay home, and the last thing I want is to look back and think I could have worked harder. 2 years will fly by like nothing. How I wish I could freeze this time with them; with Hannah so rolly-polly and playful, and Lyla so sweet and fun.
Too fast, too fast, too fast!
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