My Baby Thought I Could Quit

I’ve always wanted this. In high school I worked for an after-school childcare program and sometimes the kids would accidentally call me mom. They would get so embarrassed and turn red but I would be beaming with a huge smile. I didn’t have any kids of my own yet but I was already anxiously anticipating the day when I would be mom to someone. Everything I wanted for my future was to be married and have children (I like to think big). I knew that anything else that poured out of my life would be icing on the proverbial cake. I just wanted a family. Because being a stay-at-home mom is what I always wanted, a lot of the annoying things that occur when taking care of children all day just feel like another day at the office to me. Another poopy diaper? Yep it is 10:00a.m. so that sounds about right. You dumped out all the blocks and played with them for two seconds? Ahh typical. But there is one area of my job that plagues me because I cannot (and probably will never) win. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much effort I put into it, the kitchen will never (ever) be totally clean. Actually, I think the fact that I keep trying is the definition of complete insanity. 

Yesterday I was finishing up getting lunch ready while I tried to simultaneously put the clean dishes away. I threw some fruit on plates for my kids to serve as an appetizer until lunch was ready and hoped it would keep them occupied long enough to finally get caught up on the dishes. I had also given my son, Emmett, a bowl with a little bit of leftover smoothie from the night before. The kids were doing surprisingly well and every parent’s goal of having a clean kitchen was finally in my sights. We had spent the entire Fourth of July weekend doing every except cleaning, so with it being July 5th and the long weekend over, I was itching to get everything put back in its place. 

The stove which had endured more than five meals without being wiped off was sparkling. The crumbs in the microwave had been evicted and even the entire kitchen floor had been freshly swept. Ahh it was beautiful. I was about to achieve the miraculous feat that parents constantly strive for and rarely achieve; a clean kitchen. 

And then as my back was turned to my kids, I heard Emmett say, “Uh-ohhhhh. Sah-wee Mommy….” I slowly turned around to see that he had dropped his bowl and my freshly swept floor was now full of sticky pink smoothie. It was dripping down the counter and somehow had splattered in a 12-inch wide radius across the floor. I envisioned him playing around with his bowl and being goofy right before he dropped it and said, “Ugh. Emmett I am not happy about that.” He immediately dropped his chin onto his chest with an expression of total shame on his face. I realized almost instantaneously that I had been too harsh. With my super sensitive boy, a serious tone is enough to break his heart. I was just assuming that he had been playing around, I had no proof. Maybe he had been trying to hold the bowl while he climbed down from the stool with intentions of putting it in the sink for me. I honestly didn’t know, but I reacted with frustration because my spotless kitchen had once again, just been taken from me. 

I then told Emmett it was ok and I would like him to help me clean it up. I turned toward the sink to grab my cloth and as my back was turned I barely heard Emmett mumble, “Are you not gonna be my mommy anymore?” I froze and my heart sank. With no idea where he had heard that phrase, I did know that I must be sure he knew the answer to that question. I dropped the cloth and marched over to where he was still pouting on his stool. I sank down on my knees so that my face was level with his and gently pulled his chin up so that his eyes met mine. He was struggling to hold back tears and I smiled to show him I wasn’t upset. Then I took a deep breath and said, “Baby, I will always be your mommy. Always.” The second the last word left my lips he launched himself into my arms so hard I almost feel backwards. I hugged him tight against my chest and as he started to pull away I kissed his soft cheeks until he giggled and playfully squirmed in my arms. 

He must have heard that phrase from a movie or tv show and decided to use that moment to test it. I’m not even sure if he totally understood what it meant. But, even so I knew that I needed to affirm for him that being his mom is something I will forever be. It’s everything I ever wanted. Now that I do have the title of mom, it’s something that can never change. I will never not be their mom, and that makes me very happy. 

Maybe someday I’ll joke with Emmett about how when he was two he asked me the most ridiculous question anyone could ask me. Will I ever stop being his mommy? 

Absolutely, and positively, no.  

Blessings,

Shantastic

My Baby's Pants are on Fire

I’m not a morning person. I’m a coffee person. But somehow, half of my DNA has created a little being who is an all day person. She’s a morning, afternoon, evening, and night person. How she is able to literally bounce through her entire day, I’ll never understand. One morning a few months ago I was (very groggily) loading the washing machine with a load of my son’s clothes. We were at that desperate point where if he spilled anything on his current shirt he would be borrowing something of his sister’s (and probably walking around in a pink unicorn dress for the rest of the day.) So, I was tired and distracted by my current task. As my head was shoved part-way in the washing machine, I heard my daughter come jumping around the corner and ask in an excruciatingly loud voice if she could have a cookie from the container on the counter. 

“No, you may not have a cookie right now. We don’t eat cookies for breakfast.” I robotically answered back. We don’t eat cookies for breakfast. Based on my mothering for the last four-and-a-half years, what would possess you to think that I would let you have a cookie for breakfast?? Kids. Ever-so hopeful. After I calmly recited my answer to her, I assumed she had skipped off into the living room to twirl, jump, and dive off the couch like usual. 

I finally finished loading up the washer and as I turned back around towards the kitchen, I instinctively glanced at the counter where I had left the cookie container. For a few seconds I just stared at the EMPTY spot on the counter and tried not to start fuming from my ears. The container was now most definitely not on the counter where it should have been. OH Mommy was awake now. Apparently cookie thievery works better than coffee to wake a person up. However, I didn’t want a crazed mommy monster to attack her with parental rage, so I first paused for a second and tried to steady my breathing. Then I took off marching through the kitchen until I rounded the corner of the living room. There before my eyes was my two-year-old standing over an open container of cookies and gathering them up in his hands. My eyes darted over to the stairs and I saw my daughter sprinting up to her room with a small mountain of cookies cradled in her shirt. 

I miraculously stayed calm as I asked her what she was doing. Her response turned into a ten minute interrogation of her full out LYING to me about having a secret cookie snack. (She even tried to blame it on her brother which could be a whole other post) As I stared in disbelief at her insistence on sticking to her lie, of course, disappointment flashed through my mind. But I also felt a tinge of guilt. Had she somehow learned this behavior from me? What had I done in my parenting techniques to make her think this was ok?

My mind immediately went to the thought that she must have learned this behavior from me because the concept of modeling was fresh in my mind. I had just recently learned a life-changing lesson when I had the flu. First of all, I learned that the flu sucks (totally). But, as Grace was so tenderly taking care of me, I sent one of my friends a picture of it all. It was so endearing. She laid out a blanket and a pillow on the couch and even brought her favorite stuffed animals downstairs to keep me company. She topped off the cuteness by making sure I had a glass of water next to me. My friend texted back and said “She is modeling how well YOU take care of her!” ..YES! My heart soared even though my body just wanted to sink into the couch and never move again. 

Yes, some of her traits are things that she has learned from my modeling and some of them have been learned from other people. But why is it that whenever she displays a characteristic that is…undesirable, I immediately take the blame and assume I have somehow failed her? In the same way that I can’t take the credit for everything awesome about her, I also shouldn’t take the blame when she is working through something hard. I hear the “mommy guilt” thing joked about all the time, and I know that it is something that a lot of moms (and dads) do. Myself included. I also know that mommy guilt is not productive or life-giving. So, with that knowledge, why do I see her lying about eating cookies and immediately feel like it’s my fault? I’ve never modeled how to eat cookies for breakfast and lie about it, but ok, I guess she’s gonna try it anyways! She is her own unique person. And I’m doing the best I can. It’s my job to help her work through these tough situations and not waste time blaming myself for it. Here’s to hoping I can walk alongside her in this journey towards truth-telling, and here’s to having hope that she will no longer be a liar liar with her pants on fire. 

Also…Note to self: Store the cookies in the pantry. Out of sight, out of reaching distance for her to steal them, lie about it, and blame her little brother. 

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Has your kid gone through a lying phase? How did you handle it? Did your kid get caught with her hand in the cookie jar too? :) 

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Blessings,

Shantastic