Being a mom is like being a cage fighter.

The lights dim. The crowd turns their attention to the entrance as a spotlight falls upon a single silhouette entering the arena. The Itsy Bitsy Spider blares from the speakers as I-mean-it-you-have-until-the-count-of-three Mom enters the ring.  Once again the lights dim as multi-colored beams of light flash across the arena. Fight For Your Right to Party (Beastie Boys) begins to blast through the arena, as Toddler the Terrible enters. The crowd goes wild...


Being a mom is like being a cage fighter. No rules. Anything goes. Fight to the finish. There's blood, sweat, and tears...for the mom. And that's just from trying to get a toddler to get ready in the morning.

At night, I sometimes feel like those fighters that they interview after the fight who are barely coherent from one too many blows to the old noggin.  "Ya know, there at the end, I was just trying to make it to the bell..." Forget winning. I watched this one ultimate fighting match once where one of the fighters was pretty old for the sport. He didn't win, but people respected him for trying. His victory was that he made it to the end and that his young, whipper-snapper opponent didn't deliver a KO (knock-out). That's how I feel some days. Maybe I didn't teach my children Japanese today or proper etiquette at the dinner table; maybe the house isn't spotless; maybe dinner wasn't a gourmet meal (let's just say we had a panini with fruit and a nut cream tonight); but, we are still alive and well. Victory.

Being a mom is like being an olympic gymnast.

May 5

One day, when my second son was just a baby, we were at storytime at the library. When it was time to leave, my two year old decided that he didn't want to go yet. We were six feet from the doors, and Sam decided to do the sack of potatoes maneuver which then progressed into the helicopter arms, body wiggle evasive maneuver. I had Mark, only a few months old at the time, clutched in one arm while I tried to get a hold of my flailing two-year-old. I remember bending and moving in ways that I didn't think possible for the human body as I tried to hold onto one child while grabbing the other, all while maintaining a smile (that-I-wish-I-could-just-spank-my-child-right-now-but-spanking-is-bad-so-I-would-never-do-that-at-least-not-with-so-many-witnesses smile). And I remember thinking, "This must be what it feels like to be a gymnast in the Olympics." You're pushing your body beyond physical limits all while smiling for the crowd and pretending like it's easy. The only difference is that for moms, there's no cheering crowd, no gold medal. Just as well, the gold medal would probably just end up in the bottom of the toy box with the rest of my jewelry.

Being a mom (of a newborn especially) is like being a zombie

May 4

Scary-looking, brainless, the walking dead...these are all words that could describe a zombie OR the mother of a newborn baby. Now hear me out before you stop reading in a huff. When I had my first baby, I was very scary-looking for probably the first month. I know some moms don't ever go through this phase, but I'm going to be honest and say, I did. (Still do sometimes when all three boys have the stomach flu or some bug).

 I remember one late night walking by a mirror and seriously scaring myself with my reflection. I hadn't done my make-up in weeks, my hair in days...I'm not sure how long it had been since I had showered. I hadn't slept for longer than three hours at once, and I the dark circles and bags under my eyes were evidence of this. I was pale and exhausted and pasty and exhausted...and did I mention that I was exhausted?

I was also brainless. My sister mentioned the other day that some study found that pregnancy brain can last almost two years after having the baby. I believe that this is due to the scientific fact that babies in utero devour your brain cells, and everyone knows that you can't grow new ones. Add the lack of sleep, extra demands, and hormones, and I think it's a miracle that women even remember how to breathe. Was it breathe in or out first? I never can remember. I mean, I have a master's degree, but for awhile there, I could barely make complete sentences or use words with more than one syllable.

As for being feeling like the walking dead, I think that's the best description of what it feels like when you're a sleep-deprived, over-stressed new mommy. Some writer friends and I were into writing zombie haiku, and this is some of my zombie haiku written on the edges of the nursing chart that I used to keep track of things (that was when I had my first baby and thought I could be all organized like that--I kept track of how long he nursed, number of dirty diapers...needless to say, it didn't last long). Anyway, here's the tender thoughts I had in the middle of the night while nursing:

With dragging footsteps
In the middle of the night
Time for feeding.

Mom with no make-up--
A hideous sight to see,
Looks like a zombie.

Dark circles under eyes--
Resembling the living dead;
Not zombie--Mombie!

Being a mother is like being in a three-ring circus

May 3

A few months ago we were on a little vacation. It was actually a work trip for Nic, and we got to tag along. Every morning for breakfast, we (three little boys and I) had to cross a parking lot and go down a flight of stairs for the hotel breakfast buffet. Picture this: I had my six month old strapped to my chest in a baby carrier, my eighteen month old on my hip, and my three year old hanging onto my belt loop. We would make our way down the stairs, I would sit Sam down at a table, drag a high chair over, and then juggle glasses of juice to my offspring who would shortly spill said juice.

We had four mornings of this and I noticed that every morning we got the same two reactions: people were either astounded and amazed like we were a flying trapeze act or people openly laughed and were amused like we were clowns piling out of a miniature car. That's when I realized that being a mom is like being in a three ring circus.

I mean every mother knows how to juggle, figuratively and literally. And ask any mother who has ever stepped on a wooden block or toy car on the very top step while carrying a basket of laundry, every day is filled with death defying acts. Trying to sneak out of the room of a sleeping baby while not stepping on any of the creaky boards or noise-making toys that come out of nowhere is like tight rope walking, but with higher stakes. There are hoops to jump through, lions to tame, and crowds to entertain. Some days I feel like the elephant balancing on a tiny ball, working for peanuts. But, hey, I sure do like those peanuts.

Being a mom is like being on a soap opera.

This is from Honest Mom (here's the link to this post: honestmom.com). She has a ton of great stuff on her blog to make you smile or sigh with relief that someone else thinks as you do. And I know that people say that girls are a lot of drama, but I feel like there have been many Oscar worthy performances in my home as well. =)

May 2

HOW BEING A MOM IS LIKE BEING ON A SOAP OPERA

We moms may wear yoga pants all day, every day. Drive minivans whose interiors are coated in Cheerios and raisins. And be lucky if we got to drag a comb through our hair in the morning, let alone shower.

The glamorous aspects of our lives are easy to miss, I admit.

But trust me. Being a mom is actually full of drama, mystery, and intrigue.

In fact, being a mom is strangely just like being in a soap opera.

Think about it:

Someone is always losing her memory at a very convenient time. “Did you use markers on this stuffed doggie to make it a ‘rainbow doggie’?”  ”I don’t remember.”

Someone’s always coming back from the dead. Snow White’s head pops off and mommy fixes it. Baby Doll suffers a lethal gash to the abdomen and mommy sews it. A paper doll Fancy Nancy disappears and is presumed dead, but mommy finds it. They all come back. Resurrections galore.

Every day is filled with intrigue. What is that mystery smell in the basement? Who decided to color the rug with crayons? Where, for the love of God, is my kid’s beloved kitty cat that she lost for the third time today?

If there’s a secret to keep, it’s not going to be kept for long by the townsfolk. “Daddy, we made you a present for Father’s Day! But mommy told me not to tell you it’s a mug, so I can’t tell you what it is.”

Anytime two people are about to have sex, the scene gets interrupted. In soaps the interruption is in the form of a commercial, because daytime TV can only show so much. In parenting, the interruption is in the form of your kids. Or the dog. Or the iPhone pinging that you have a text. Not that I would ever look at a text during sex. That would be SO WRONG.

Characters tend to talk to themselves or think out loud. I walk around narrating my day, to the
dismayfascination of my captive audience. I do it because it helps me remember what I am walking into a room to get, and not because millions of people want to know if I will, indeed, find the glue gun. But you know. Same difference.

An illicit sibling is eventually discovered. Oh, wait. Is that just me?

Someone gets possessed. Like Marlena in Days of Our Lives, I too, can become possessed. Not by a demon, per say. Unless you consider Pinterest a demon. Which I kind of do, considering its slightly scary grip on me. Piiiiiin meeeeee. Piiiiiin meeeeeeee. Did you just hear that?

There is a crime on a daily basis and everyone denies being the perpetrator. Ah, intrigue again! The crime: spilled maple syrup on the table, chair, and floor. The suspects: my two daughters, who vehemently deny any wrongdoing. Will the threat of no cookies after dinner make one of them snap and confess?

There’s a love triangle. In my house, we have a love triangle, that’s for sure. Me and my two daughters, who fight over whose turn it is for mommy to read, shower them, help them get ready for bed … you name it, I’m in the middle. Surrounded by
crazy love.

People disappear from their beds in the middle of the night. And then reappear next to your bed. Looking for a glass of water at 2am.

See? Our days are positively filled with drama and mystery!

A borrowed post on parenting

This is a post from: The Actual Pastor (http://www.stevewiens.com/2013/03/12/to-parents-of-small-children-let-me-be-the-one-who-says-it-out-loud/)
I just loved this, especially--You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out a way for your children to eat as healthy as your friend’s children do. She’s obviously using a bizarre and probably illegal form of hypnotism. 
Ha ha! That made me laugh because it is too true for me! And I enjoyed the message of this post--it's okay to admit that being a parent is tough because it is. I can't find the exact quote right now, but it goes something like this: I'm not a failure as a mother, I'm just having a bad moment. We all have bad moments and we all have good moments. Having bad moments doesn't make us a failure, it just makes us human. And children can be very humbling. Any time that I feel like I might be getting the hang of this mother thing, the boys like to throw out something new.

For example, the other day we were at the planetarium and Sam was having a complete melt-down because he wanted to go to this other place. I knew that he would love the planetarium if he would just give it a chance, but he was beyond reasoning. So there I was just inside the doors of the planetarium with Mark and Cole in the double stroller and Sam screaming and crying that he didn't want to be there. I knelt down next to Sam and very calmly told him that he had two choices--we could turn around right then, get back in the car, and go home OR we could give the planetarium a try. Then I quickly pointed out  a couple of cool things. I told him to take a deep breath, count to four, and decide. What I really wanted to do was pull my hair out, spank the kid, and retreat. But it actually worked. He calmed down, chose the planetarium and ended up having a great time. As we were waiting for a little video to start, this man came up to me and told me that he and his friend had been in the lobby during our little melt-down. He said that he worked as a flight attendant and has seen a lot in his profession. He then complimented me on how I handled the situation, saying that I handled it "just right" and that he could tell that I am a good mom. I had two thoughts, I wanted to cry and hug that man because I never feel like that and two, I want to recognize the good and compliment the parents that I see as I'm out and about. I was on cloud nine! He made my day.

Fast forward two days later. I'm at a store. Sam is having another melt-down because he really wants me to buy him this expensive toy. I explain to him that it costs money and that we don't have the money to buy the toy at that time. I try to give him choices. I try the count to four idea. I try reasoning, positive consequences (aka bribing), negative consequences (aka threats)...nothing works. I end up just ignoring him as he screams, face turning purple, for the entire 15-20 minutes it takes me to hurry and finish my shopping. I'm glad my flight attendant friend wasn't there that day.

Ups and downs. It's life. It's motherhood.

Anyway, on to the post:

To parents of small children: Let me be the one who says it out loud

March 12, 2013 — 1,008 Comments

I am in a season of my life right now where I feel bone tired almost all of the time. Ragged, how-am-I-going-to-make-it-to-the-end-of-the-day, eyes burning exhausted.

I have three boys ages 5 and under. I’m not complaining about that. Well, maybe I am a little bit. But I know that there are people who would give anything for a house full of laughter & chaos. I was that person for years and years; the pain of infertility is stabbing and throbbing and constant. I remember allowing hope to rise and then seeing it crash all around me, month after month, for seven years. I am working on another post about infertility that will come at a later date.

But right now, in my actual life, I have three boys ages five and under. There are many moments where they are utterly delightful, like last week when Isaac told my sister-in-law that “My daddy has hair all over.” Or when Elijah put a green washcloth over his chin and cheeks, and proudly declared,“Daddy! I have a beard just like you!” Or when Ben sneaks downstairs in the morning before the other boys do, smiles at me, and says, “Daddy and Ben time.”

But there are also many moments when I have no idea how I’m going to make it until their bedtime. The constant demands, the needs, and the fighting are fingernails across the chalkboard every single day.  

One of my children is for sure going to be the next Steve Jobs. I now have immense empathy for his parents. He has a precise vision of what he wants — exactly that way and no other way. Sometimes it’s the way his plate needs to be centered exactly to his chair, or how his socks go on, or exactly how the picture of the pink dolphin needs to look – with brave eyes, not sad eyes, daddy! He is a laser beam, and he is not satisfied until it’s exactly right.

I have to confess that sometimes the sound of his screaming drives me to hide in the pantry. And I will neither confirm nor deny that while in there, I compulsively eat chips and/or dark chocolate. 

There are people who say this to me:

“You should enjoy every moment now! They grow up so fast!”

I usually smile and give some sort of guffaw, but inside, I secretly want to hold them under water. Just for a minute or so. Just until they panic a little.

If you have friends with small children — especially if your children are now teenagers or if they’re grown – please vow to me right now that you will never say this to them. Not because it’s not true, but because it really, really doesn’t help.

We know it’s true that they grow up too fast. But feeling like I have to enjoy every moment doesn’t feel like a gift, it feels like one more thing that is impossible to do, and right now, that list is way too long. Not every moment is enjoyable as a parent; it wasn’t for you, and it isn’t for me. You just have obviously forgotten. I can forgive you for that. But if you tell me to enjoy every moment one more time, I will need to break up with you.

If you are a parent of small children, you know that there are moments of spectacular delight, and you can’t believe you get to be around these little people. But let me be the one who says the following things out loud:

You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out a way for your children to eat as healthy as your friend’s children do. She’s obviously using a bizarre and probably illegal form of hypnotism.

You are not a terrible parent if you yell at your kids sometimes. You have little dictators living in your house. If someone else talked to you like that, they’d be put in prison.

You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out how to calmly give them appropriate consequences in real time for every single act of terrorism that they so creatively devise.

You are not a terrible parent if you’d rather be at work.

You are not a terrible parent if you just can’t wait for them to go to bed.

You are not a terrible parent if the sound of their voices sometimes makes you want to drink and never stop.

You’re not a terrible parent.

You’re an actual parent with limits. You cannot do it all. We all need to admit that one of the casualties specific to our information saturated culture is that we have sky-scraper standards for parenting, where we feel like we’re failing horribly if we feed our children chicken nuggets and we let them watch TV in the morning.

One of the reasons we are so exhausted is that we are oversaturated with information about the kind of parents we should be.

So maybe it’s time to stop reading the blogs that tell you how to raise the next President who knows how to read when she’s three and who cooks, not only eats, her vegetables. Maybe it’s time to embrace being the kind of parent who says sorry when you yell. Who models what it’s like to take time for yourself. Who asks God to help you to be a better version of the person that you actually are, not for more strength to be an ideal parent.

So the next time you see your friends with small children with that foggy and desperate look in their eyes, order them a pizza and send it to their house that night. Volunteer to take their kids for a few hours so they can be alone in their own house and have sex when they’re not so tired, for heaven’s sake. Put your hand on their shoulder, look them in the eyes, and tell them that they’re doing a good job. Just don’t freak out if they start weeping uncontrollably. Most of the time, we feel like we’re botching the whole deal and our kids will turn into horrible criminals who hate us and will never want to be around us when they’re older.

You’re bone tired. I’m not sure when it’s going to get better. Today might be a good day or it might be the day that you lost it in a way that surprised even yourself.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You’re not alone. 

Mommy Similes

In honor of Mother's Day this month, I've decided to share some thoughts and insights into just what it means to be a mother. I'm going to try to post one mommy simile each day until the 14th.  'Try' is the key word because, well, I am a mom and never know what each day may bring. So here it goes:

May 1
Being a mom is like working for disaster clean-up. You know those people that come in after a disaster with their gloves and masks and clean things up and fix things to make an area livable again; those people that deal with some terrible and gross stuff; those people that you're thankful for but also question how they do it...that's a mom, except for without the gloves and mask. A mom faces every disaster from permanent marker on the walls, sofa, and hardwood floor to the three P's (poop, pee, and puke) without flinching (or with a little flinching but not when anyone is looking). I have walked into a room after my sons, my sweet Tasmanian Devils, have been in there for only 15 minutes, and it looks like a hurricane or tornado ripped through their room. I don't know how they do it, but I do know that my job is disaster clean-up. It's a never ending job, but I do have some help occasionally. My dog knows that when I say, "Clean-up on aisle two," the boys are done eating, and it's time for him to clean up the floor around the table. The slobber just adds a shiny luster, right?

Whenever a mother hears the sound of retching, automatically her hand shoots forward, ready to catch whatever is about to come forth. I don't know what causes a mother to do this...maybe a brain defect...because the normal reaction is to clear out (my husband holds the record for potential vomit situation exit strategies). Whenever one of my children gets sick, and it's never in a bucket or proper location, I often think of the Japanese workers at the nuclear plant in Japan after the big earthquake there a couple of years ago. Everyone was afraid that the plant was going to blow, but a few people had to stay behind to manage things. I admire their bravery and self-sacrifice. I wonder if they had much of a choice. When it comes to toxic fumes, bodily discharges of any kind, anything disgusting...a mother often stands alone. She is the epitome of bravery and self-sacrifice, because sometimes you really don't want to deal with a mess, but someone has to do it, and that someone is usually you, the mom.

And the next time that you visit me, and my house is far from spotless...in fact, it may look like a disaster just struck...please understand that being a mom is like working for disaster clean-up and being a mom of three young sons means a natural disaster every five minutes. The minute I get the twelve matchbox cars that have been jammed into my vacuum out (true story, my son loves jamming things into any holes or openings that he comes across), I will begin my disaster clean-up straight away!

Two quotes that I love:

"Cleaning up with children around is like shoveling during a blizzard."

Jerry Seinfeld - "A two-year old is kind of like having a blender, but you don't have a top for it."