Category Archives: moms

Momfession #57: Busy doing nothing

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It’s been a while since I’ve written. I guess you could say I have been busy, although that seems like a lame excuse. Who ISN’T busy? Lately, though, I have been feeling especially unable to fit anything else into my life. I have a schedule that is beginning to drive me insane. Not only is it packed, but it is so predictable, and so ordinary, it’s maddening.

But instead of wallowing in self-pity, I thought I’d let you in on my daily life. Because if I’m feeling overwhelmed, there’ve got to be other moms that are feeling the same way. As you read, try not to feel jealous over the glamour of it all. And if you can relate, please comment. It will make me feel much better to know that you all have busy, boring lives too!

So without further ado, I present to you…

The Momfessional’s Daily Schedule

  • 6:20am- alarm goes off, I press snooze at least once.
  • 6:45-ish- finally drag myself to the shower. On the way, I not-so-quietly open up the door to our daughter’s room to start her wake up routine. She is not a morning person. My son has already been up for at least 30 minutes, watching some (hopefully appropriate) shows on Netflix
  • 7am- dry my hair while my daughter runs screaming into my room because she doesn’t want Daddy to change her, or look at her, or talk to her.
  • 7:10-7:20am- attempt to simultaneously dress myself and my daughter while my son storms around the house because he either: a) can’t find his Pokémon cards, or b) doesn’t want a bagel for breakfast, or c) can’t wear shorts in 10 degree weather. Then coax/prod/force my daughter to eat at least a few bites of something before we leave the house.
  • 7:30am- drop daughter off at daycare. We have perfected the goodbye and the entire dropoff now takes only four minutes. Unless one of her teachers starts chatting with me about her latest potty training regressions.
  • 7:45am- Run through the train station parking lot to catch the train, which has just arrived. I squeeze through the doors just as they are closing and flop myself into a seat.
  • 8:30am- Arrive at the office. Breathe. Have my first cup of coffee.
  • 8:30am-4:30pm- Work, rarely take lunch, sometimes fit in a call to G’s school, the doctor, or my husband (since morning conversations are pretty much impossible)
  • 4:50pm- Catch the train home. Always board at the last minute, usually sweaty and breathless.
  • 5:30pm- Arrive home, drop bag, immediately start making dinner, attempting to ignore the cat at my feet and the fact that I have to pee. Around the same time, my husband arrives with the kids. They burst through the door, my son asking if we can order pizza (no), my daughter announcing that she peed her pants. I secretly wish I could just pee my pants too.
  • 6:15pm- Dinner. One or both kids complain about one or more things on their plate. I ask my son to sit up straight and eat over his plate approximately 30 times. I unsuccessfully attempt trick my daughter into eating at least one vegetable. Any attempt at adult conversation is thwarted by the two jabbering/screaming/complaining children.
  • 6:50pm- Fight with my daughter to take a bath. Fight with her to brush her teeth. Fight with her to get out of the bath. You get the gist.
  • 7:30pm- Stories are read, kisses are given, dollies are tucked in to bed. My daughter screams and demands I stay for “five more minutes”. When I leave, she screams for anywhere from 5-20 minutes.
  • 8pm- Start bedtime routine for our son. Thankfully, my husband does this as I am just about to lose it and I still have to pee.
  • 8-9pm- Clean dishes, tidy house, do laundry, fill out permission slips, write in son’s agenda, make school lunch, feed the cat, run out to grocery store because we have no milk or bread, again. How is it possible that we use SO MUCH milk and bread?!
  • 9pm- Sit down. Sometimes do work while watching Netflix. Or watch trashy Real Housewives episodes. Or blog (as you know, this one rarely happens anymore).
  • 10:30pm- Start my own bedtime routine. I’m tired, but what makes me even more exhausted is thinking about doing it all over again tomorrow.

Momfession #54: Come here often?

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Last night, I attended an after-work networking event. It was at a bar in downtown Toronto, and while not particularly fancy, it was a kid-free few hours out where I could have a drink and meet new people, and I was excited. At one point in the evening, I was chatting with a young(er) and somewhat attractive guy about work stuff when a much-younger-and-skinnier-than-me girl walked past. I watched with amusement as his gaze immediately shifted away from our conversation and toward the girl in the fitted red dress. I wasn’t at all offended (heck, I was checking the her out too) and I chalked it up to the obvious wedding ring on my finger and my business attire. It was only later that I started thinking about it, and wondering if those were the only reasons why I was no longer worthy of a check-out or some good old-fashioned flirting.

I used to love to flirt. And I was good at it. I was never the hottest, skinniest, sexiest woman in the room, but boy did I know how to flirt. I never had a problem finding men to flirt with on a given night; they always just sort of materialized. And I never for a second considered that the men I flirted with wouldn’t be interested in flirting back.

But once you become a mom, something happens. In fact, several things happen that seem to deter random men in bars from wanting to flirt with you. Apart from the obvious extra poundage, frumpy mom clothes, and wedding-ringed finger, something changes that I can’t quite comprehend. Maybe it is the slightly overenthusiastic look that I must have on my face, because I am out drinking a drink like a grown-up and talking to other grown-ups about grown-up things. Or maybe there are some sort of un-flirtworthy pheromones that a woman’s body produces once they birth a child. In any case, I am pretty sure that my days of being able to command a man’s attention in a room full of other women are long gone.

I would never want to trade the life I have now for my single days. Although it was fun to go out, flirt, and sleep until noon, and my boobs were much perkier then, I actually feel much more attractive and secure than I ever did in my twenties. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a part of me that misses being thought of as attractive by someone other than my husband and kids. It is flattering, obviously, but perhaps more than that, it is a reminder of the person I used to be before becoming “mom”. Sometimes, in the insanity of life with kids, I lose sight of that flirtatious, fun-loving, spunky girl that I used to know. And I miss her.

So if you’re a dude, and you ever see me out in a bar, buy me a damn drink. It won’t get you anywhere, but it will make this frumpy old mom feel a little bit more like a lady.

Momfession #53: Control freak

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Last night, while playing volleyball, I sprained my ankle. As soon as I landed (on a member of the opposing team’s foot, after a failed attempt to block a shot) I knew I was in trouble. The pain was so overwhelming I could do nothing but lay curled on the floor for a minute. It was the kind of pain that makes you want to throw up; anyone who has broken a limb or gone through labour knows exactly what I mean. My mind immediately started racing: what if it is broken? What if I have a cast? How will I get to work? Do I need crutches? How am I going to drop my daughter off at daycare? There’s no juice for breakfast…how am I going to go grocery shopping if I can’t walk? And on, and on.

My husband says I worry too much. That I should just relax and accept that sometimes, things just happen that I can’t control. And it is true. But when you have people depending on you, it is easier said than done. For one thing, I recently started a new job at a new company. When I say recently, I mean that today was my third day. And I have already had to take a sick day. I don’t think I have taken a sick day in over a year, and here I am, already taking time off. What must my new company think? I wonder. That I am a complete spaz? That I am one of those people who is always getting hurt? That I am a liability? Of course none of those things are true (although my spaziness is up for debate), and my new job and boss are awesome, but I still worry about the impression that this situation makes.

And then there’s the kids. Although they were really great today (K offered me her “comfy blanket” this morning and G helped me hobble around the house), I feel guilty about my state. I wasn’t able to get to the grocery store last night and they had no juice or milk at breakfast. I couldn’t carry K upstairs the way I normally do before bed. And I was extra irritable tonight with them as a result of my pain and discomfort. I felt like I failed them in the mom department today, although I am sure they didn’t notice one bit.

Maybe this is life’s way of telling me that I can’t always be the one in charge. That things will still be OK, even if I need to lean on other people for a change (literally and figuratively).That I can’t control everything, all of the time, and I need to accept that. And that worrying isn’t going to change any of that.

For me, and I think a lot of other moms, it is an extremely difficult challenge to overcome. We are used to being the ones in charge: running the household, booking the appointments, building our careers, nursing the boo-boos, setting the bedtime routines, and generally managing our lives and those of our family’s. So when I lose even a little bit of that control, I tend to panic. But in reality, any amount of control I think I may have over my life is a bit of a sham; there is really no way to control this great, crazy, unpredictable world that we live in. So why try? There are going to be sprained ankles and missed meetings, lost lunch bags and failed tests, natural disasters and financial issues, whether I like it or not. I guess I just need to put my feet up and accept the imperfection of it all.

So if you need me, I’ll be at home tomorrow, resting my ankle. I’ll be the one on the couch watching Netflix, wallowing in self-pity and cupcake crumbs.

Momfessional #50: Me, me, me

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Nurse. Teacher. Friend. Professional. Sister. Daughter. Judge and jury. Cruise director. Housekeeper. Cook. Policewoman. Accountant. Interior decorator. Party planner. Veterinarian. Travel agent. Wife. Sex symbol. Bank machine. Commuter. Businesswoman. Blogger. Tailor. Laundromat. Organizer. Secretary. Mediator. Psychologist. Dictionary. Hairdresser. Doctor. Career woman. Student. Moral compass. Landscaper. Dietitian. Mom.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about who I really am. Maybe it’s because it is the most depressing time of the year, or maybe I’m having an early mid-life crisis, but either way I can’t stop thinking about ME. As in, what makes me happy? What am I good at? Can I really have it all? And if so, what does that even mean? I’m not just talking about a career, either. But life in general. What is the f**ing point of it all?

I’ll spare you the philosophizing. Suffice it to say that I have had some pretty deep thoughts running through my head recently (thankfully, I have watched enough episodes of the Real Housewives this week to balance out all that cerebral activity). And I know I am not alone. Fellow mommy bloggers and friends Not the Only Mama and Average Working Mom both posted recently about similar topics. While one mom asked herself if she’d ever feel on top of her game, and in control of her life again, the other wondered if she should be more career-oriented and focused on her job. But I think the thing that they were both really asking was the same thing that has been bothering me: am I doing enough?

Why do we beat ourselves up over that question? Why do we feel that we have to be everything to everyone? And to make matters worse, why, while we are carefully juggling about a thousand different labels —from cook, to career woman, to wife, to mother— do we stop and think, “shouldn’t I be doing MORE, or doing it BETTER, or making it more MEANINGFUL?” Why can’t we just accept that this life, right now, is the best life there is?

Maybe it is the curse of our generation. We were raised to believe that we could do anything we wanted; we had options like never before. We didn’t have to stay home and raise our children; we could have an education, high-powered careers, a husband that was also a hands-on dad. As fabulous as that all is, it is also incredibly unsatisfying. Because I never really feel like I am fully committed to one thing. Instead, I split myself into teeny, tiny pieces (one for my company, one for my husband, one for my family, one for my kids, one for my friends…) in an attempt to “have it all”. Only the more I think about it, the more I realize that “having it all” might actually be an unachievable myth.

I’d like to say that I am going to let it all go, and decide to live in the moment and never wonder if what I am doing is enough. But, I don’t think that is realistic. I may never feel totally satisfied about where I am in my life, and I might always wonder if I could do more. But, at least I know that I am not alone, and that there are moms just like me out there having the very same thoughts every day.

So this one goes out to you, fellow philosophical, overachieving moms. You might think too much, and you’re certainly all a little nuts. But you’re also all awesome and absolutely perfect, just the way you are.

So go open a bottle of wine and turn on some reality TV. The laundry will still be there tomorrow.

Momfession #48: Whatcha want? Whatcha really, really want?

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mindfulness

Yesterday, I was working from home when I received a Groupon email. It was advertising a highly discounted, two month membership to a local gym. Since I have been feeling especially disappointed lately with the 20+ post-preggo pounds that I still haven’t shed (three years later), and my general lack of activity, I clicked on it. But as my mouse hovered over the “buy now” button, I spotted the candy-covered gingerbread house that my kids and I made for Christmas, perched nicely on the counter, just five feet away. My eyes darted from the frosting and gumdrops, to the fit, smiling, six-packed lady on my screen. “Sweet, cookie goodness now, and the hope of a tighter ass in two months,” I thought. So, I went for it. I grabbed a giant chunk of gingerbread roof and got ready to make yet another New Years promise to get in shape. But just as I was typing in my billing info, I stopped, and a single, clarifying thought entered my mind.

Do I really want to do this?

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Momfessional #47: Freaking out

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stay-calm-and-carry-on

I was reading 46 reasons why my three-year-old might be freaking out the other day, and I couldn’t believe how accurate it was. The post was hilarious, and, while sharing on my Facebook wall, I added a few things that especially cause K to freak out these days:

  • The TV is not a touchscreen like the iPad or my phone
  • Her “plain pasta” has a speck of sauce on it
  • She wanted to choose her own orange vitamin, out of the bottle that only has orange vitamins left.
  • Her nose has a caterpillar in it (AKA it is stuffy)
  • I was squishing her when I laid in bed with her
  • I didn’t lay in bed with her
  • The (sleeping) cat tripped her
  • I didn’t warm her pants up with my hairdryer before she put them on
  • I won’t let her wear underwear, even though she refuses to use the potty
  • Her brother is looking at her
  • Her brother isn’t looking at her

The list goes on, and on, and on.

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Momfession #42: Forgetting

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When I was pregnant, I was told that after I had my baby I would gradually forget about the pain of childbirth. But the funny thing is, I still remember every detail: all of the excruciating contractions, every gallon of sweat, each “I can’t do this!” of my seven hour (natural) labour and birth. But there are things I forget about the early days of motherhood, and sometimes, I feel downright terrible about it.

I forget how to hold a baby properly. When it’s your kid, you don’t think twice about holding them. You don’t worry that you’re not supporting their head or that they’re in an uncomfortable position. I remember holding my two-month-old baby in one arm while doing “tree pose” during mom and baby yoga, and not giving it a second thought. But now, when someone hands me a baby, I feel awkward. How is it possible that I spent the equivalent of months with a baby in my arms and now I can’t remember what it felt like?

I forget what my daughter looked like. I mean, of course I know what she looks like…now. But I can’t for the life of me remember exactly what she looked like when she was a baby. Even looking at baby pictures is strange…I know that it’s her in the photos, but it just seems so surreal that she was ever so small. On the rare occasion, when I go in to check on her before I go to bed, I’ll see her sleeping face and I’ll get a flashback of the moment she was born, seeing her tightly closed eyes and pouty lips for the first time. But then it is gone.

I forget that being on mat leave wasn’t always a joyride. I often look back and wistfully remember days filled with long walks, playdates, coffee shops, and mommy friends. What I don’t think about is the boredom, the constant vigilance, the longing for adult interaction, the stress of spending an hour trying to put baby down for a 30-minute nap just so I could have a moment to sit and eat lunch.

There are a whole lot of things that I forget, from what it feels like to breastfeed (how could I have spent a year doing something for a few hours a day and completely forget how it feels?), to what it felt like holding my daughter’s hands as she learned to walk, to what her little voice sounded like as she spoke her first words. Forgetting all of that makes me sad, like I’m a terrible mom for not being able to freeze those moments in my mind forever.

So I wonder, am I alone? Do you forget things too? And if so, do you feel guilty about it??

Momfession #36: Bad mommy

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bad momI was talking to a fellow mommy the other day and she momfessed that she had been less-than-perfect when it came to her kids’ preventative dental care, and apart from feeling guilty, she was also feeling embarrassed about being a “bad” mommy. It got me thinking about all of the things that I haven’t done, or have done particularly poorly, that I am embarrassed to admit to other parents. So, in the Momfessional spirit and to salute all of the imperfect mom’s out there, I thought I’d let you in on a few…

Teeth cleaning. My seven-year-old only brushes his teeth once a day (at night). While I know full well that he should be brushing in the mornings too, I just can’t get myself organized enough at 7am to monitor his dental care. And to be honest, I try to make the start of the day as non-confrontational as possible, so fighting about tooth-brushing is pretty low on my morning wish list. As for my toddler, I sporadically brush her teeth at night, but I know I don’t do a great job (especially since while I am doing it she is screaming at the top of her lungs and most times I have to pin her down to do it). However, I tell my dentist we are model tooth-brushers and flossers, because really, who wants to be lectured about something you already know you’re doing poorly?

Potty training. My toddler is not even close to being potty trained, and I couldn’t care less. In fact, I prefer her wearing diapers to having to worry every time we go out that she is going to have an accident. We have decided to put her into preschool this September and I am fully expecting them to take the reins on the potty training. I mean, that’s what I pay them for, right? Let her pee on their floors.

Ice skating. My son is seven-years-old and he can’t ice skate. We have taken him a total of three times which lasted all of 10 minutes each before he just decided to sit in a snow bank and eat snow. By the time I was seven, I had been ice skating for more than half of my life. And I had an ice rink in my backyard. We are terrible, terrible Canadian parents (although the no-backyard-ice-rink thing I am blaming entirely on global warming).

Shoelaces. It might be a good thing that my son doesn’t ice skate because he also cannot tie his shoes. I am not going to take all of the blame on this one, though. Every September, I get the note from school that requires me to send indoor shoes with no laces. When is my kid going to learn how to tie his shoes if he is always wearing Velcro? Yes, I am fully aware that I could teach him on my own, and I have attempted it a few times, but the whining and fit-throwing got the best of me. They make Velcro shoes for grown-ups though, right?

Believe me, there are many, many more. But I want to hear from you. What are some parenting tasks that you don’t do (even though you’re “supposed” to)? Don’t feel guilty or embarrassed any longer…we all have these little secrets! Let it out!

Momfession #27: Mom-ception vs. reality

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When I was a teenager, like most other teenage girls, I had a somewhat altered view of my body. I thought my thighs were fat, my belly too flabby, and my ass too wide. I wore long shirts to cover my lower half, felt uncomfortable in anything fitted or low-cut and often wore baggy pants. Of course, I look back now at my 120 lb body with sheer envy. What was I thinking back then? 17-year-old me had no clue what flab, cellulite, and stretch marks were in store for her.

These days, I have a different kind of altered perception. I like to call it mom-ception and it goes something like this…

You’ve been feeling pretty good about yourself lately…you’ve been exercising, dieting and you can fit into most of your pre-pregnancy clothes (and not just the shirts either…but the pants!). One evening, you hop on the scale to see how much you weigh so you can give yourself a congratulatory pat on the back and bowl of Ben & Jerry’s when you realize that you weigh as much as you did when you were four months pregnant. How is that possible? You get your husband to weigh himself in the hopes that the scale is wrong. You go to the drugstore and test every one of their scales. You make excuses to use friends’ bathrooms frequently to check if they have a better scale, since all of the ones you have tried are obviously broken. Then you start thinking…am I fatter than I think I am? Has my perception of how I look changed so much after having a kid that I am not only OK with being 20lbs overweight, but I actually think I look good?

Here’s another example…you’re walking down a busy street in the middle of the afternoon and are surrounded by attractive, young, trendy business people going about their days. You feel good…you’ve worn your cute new skinny jeans and your favourite flirty and functional ballet flats. You totally fit right in…or so you think. Suddenly, you walk past a store window and catch a glimpse of yourself: staring back at you is a cardigan-clad, makeup-free, overdue-for-a-haircut, plain old MOM.

Both of these situations happened to me recently and it really gave me pause for thought. When did it happen that I not only stopped caring about how I looked so much, but I actually started believing that I still looked thin, trendy, and young when in reality I am not any of those things? Perhaps it comes with age…and maybe it happens to everyone, and not just moms.

So this mom needs some help from all of you in the blogosphere: dear fellow women (and especially moms)…am I alone in this altered reality of mine? Or, do you sometimes experience a bit of mom-ception too? 

Momfession #26: I’m selfish and I know it

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mom relaxing
I am selfish mommy, and I couldn’t be happier about it. I recently accepted a position at a new company and I left my former job on Friday. But instead of starting the new position right away, I decided to take a three-day “mommy vacation”. While some moms might take time off to spend with their kiddos, I take time off to spend it with myself. I still drop the kids off at their daycare/babysitter at the regular time, and purposefully don’t come back until their usual afternoon pickup time. And what have I been doing these last few days? I cleaned my basement one morning (it felt fantastic). I brought a ton of stuff to Goodwill (de-cluttering makes me positively giddy). I got my oil changed (I really know how to live it up). I watched bad daytime reality TV while eating chunks of ciabatta bread and cheese (best lunch ever). Not once did I feel guilty about it. And I didn’t once wish that my kids were home with me (Are you kidding? It is so QUIET in here!).

It goes without saying that I love my kids to death. But I also really, really love myself (how could I not?!). And I know when I need some time for me. Taking time for myself makes me a happier person, as well as a better wife, friend, and mom. I think that there are too many moms out there who forget that. So if you’re one of them, call in sick tomorrow, but don’t tell the kids. Then, go out and do something for yourself. Or if you’re like me, stay at home in your PJs and read a trashy magazine. I promise I won’t tell.