Life as we know it ...

I took a personal day this afternoon.  Usually during nap time I am cleaning the house, making dinner, working on sewing projects, paying bills, etc., but this afternoon I decided to stop, sit and watch a movie: Life as we know it.   I'd seen the previews.  I knew it was a chick flick, but I thought it would be mindless.   It ended up being anything but mindless.  You see, the whole basis of the movie was that parents die and leave their infant daughter in the care of their best friends.   While there was a great deal of humor ('cause who doesn't laugh watching someone learn to change a diaper for the first time!), I couldn't stop seeing Little One and Little Two's faces.

I pictured someone telling Little One Mommy and Daddy wouldn't be coming home.  That Mommy and Daddy had died and he wouldn't see us again.   I pictured Little Two screaming because he was waiting for me to nurse him.    I heard them crying for mommy and daddy, but we weren't there.  

That is one of a parent's worst fears: to die and leave our little ones at the mercy of someone else.   Little Two would be okay, in fact, after awhile he probably wouldn't remember us, but Little One would be devastated.   He would understand enough to know Husband and I were not coming back, but he wouldn't understand why.  He would be confused, scared, and the thought of him being afraid and his world shaken like that literally brings tears to my eyes.    So I begin to think.   Who would be the best people to care for my little ones?  Do we have EVERYTHING all set if that were to happen?   Why have I not made an in case we die folder that spells EVERYTHING out?? I mean EVERYTHING!  What they eat, when they nap, favorite toys, what comforts them, doctor and family's numbers ... everything I can possibly think of to make the most horrific transition just a little bit easier.

Husband and I are organized, we plan, we are in control.  We prepare for parent-teacher conferences, write down our questions for the doctor, and leave detailed instructions for babysitters.  We take our role seriously, and that is good, but at what point do we, as parents, have to let go?    To trust that if something happened to us the guardians (we picked) for Little One and Little Two would also have their best interests at heart.   That another mother would love my little ones as much as I do.  That other parents would raise our children just as well as we would, but perhaps differently, and that differently is okay.  That despite all the scenarios I've dreamed up in my mind, my little ones would be okay. 

The thing is, when we love our little ones as much as we do we can't help worrying.  We can't help over planning, and it is nearly impossible to 'let go'.   So we write out schedules, leave numbers, have meals planned, and encourage our little ones to find comfort and security in things outside of ourselves ... sometimes ... all the while, desperately trying to remember we are not the only people who love our little ones dearly, and that the God who entrusted them to us in the first place will take care of them if He calls us home before our time.

I love you more than ...

 


Little One and I have a game we play every night before bed.   I say 'I love you more than ... peanut butter and jelly!' and he responds 'I love you more than ... ICE CREAM!' and we go back and forth, back and forth.  Today, however, was a terrible no good very bad day and I did not feel like playing that game before bed!  Little One pushed every boundary and button possible ... and he knew it.   I contemplated hiding in the corner and just surrendering to these crazy little ones until their Dad got home.  It's amazing how they know exactly what will drive us crazy! 

You would think, 'It's just a baby and a three years old, how difficult can that be? Just play with cars and trucks and let them jump on you, right?'  WRONG!  First they just get silly.  That I can handle, but that is how they wear you down.  They push the limits with the silliness and soon I am saying 'Don't take that from your brother!  Stop taking your clothes off!   No you cannot jump on the furniture!'  This is where the frustration begins to build.  Then the next thing I know laundry piles are towers being knocked over, toys are flying in the air, Little One is catapulting himself from one couch to the other, and Little Two is sitting in the midst of the chaos laughing so hard I am sure he is mocking me.   At this point I am no longer laughing at the silliness ... I am wanting to glue Little One's bum on a chair so he can't move and I can recover some sort of authority in this Lord of the Flies moment!

But what actually happens bothers me.   My little ones have succeeded in pushing my buttons to the point where I get angry.   I am tired of saying no.  I am tired of pulling Little Two off the bookshelf or away from the TV.  I am tired of putting the couch back together and tripping over toys, but more importantly, I hate that in losing my patience I want out of my home today, and to skip my precious game with Little One at bedtime.    In my frustration (and lack of patience) I valued neat and orderly over my little ones.   I lost sight of the humor that is a three year old running around in nothing but their CARS underwear with a pink penguin in their mouth, a 9 month old's mischievous smile, and the brotherly bonding taking place during the chaos.  While I did not thoroughly enjoy this day my two little ones most definitely did, and because of my little getaway this afternoon (thank you husband!) I can tell Little One that I love him more than peanut butter and jelly in the morning ...

No one was stirring, not even a mouse ...

Wouldn't you know our little apartment is perfectly quiet.   Three boys sound asleep (and snoring in their respective rooms I might add).  Me ... not so much.   Even though my mommy immune system finally gave in to the virus going around our home, and I haven't had more then 5 hours of consistent sleep in the past two weeks, my brain will not stop.    Most nights I'm asleep within 30 minutes of my head hitting the pillow, but there are other nights where I cannot turn my brain off.  Tonight is one of those ...

I have this slight tendency to worry about hypothetical situations.  Actually, that would be the biggest understatement of a century.  Anxiety is a daily battle.   Its like walking on the edge of a cliff; one wrong move and you're tumbling out of control with no possibility of stopping.  I worry someone will break in.   I worry Husband will get into a car accident coming home from work and dinner will be interrupted by a Police officer at our door.   I worry Little One will be made fun of at school, sit by himself at lunch, or be snatched by some creep when my back is turned for a split second.   I worry Little Two will stop breathing in his sleep and I will go in one morning to a lifeless little body.   I worry every little cold or virus that comes through our home is just a precursor to a more serious and life threatening illness.  I worry I will 'mess up' and forever scar my little ones sending them into years of therapy.   I worry ... 

Part of me recognizes that is part of being a mom: to worry.   Perhaps in some ways it is.  As parents we have to think about every little detail; we are, after all, in charge of their safety.   We should worry about strangers at the playground or fevers of 102.    But where does healthy worry start and ridiculous worry end?  I can't control bullies at school or stay up all night every night making sure they don't stop breathing.   I can't promise I will never make parenting mistakes.  In fact I will, and probably already have, made many.

Where is the magical in between?  Where is the perfect balance of worrying and letting go?  (And why don't parenting books figure it our for you!)  I have no idea, and I am still relatively new at this ... but I hope my little ones know my worry, and perhaps, over protectiveness at times, comes out of my indescribable love for them.   They are, after all, my most precious little ones ...

Swimming

I feel adrenaline pumping through my body.  My heart is beating fast.  I have butterflies in my stomach.  I'm concentrating on taking long deep breaths and I realize I'm rolling my ankles and wrists as I wait.  For those who know me, no I am not about to mount the balance beam, step up on the blocks, or walk up the diving board.  This time it is not my turn.   I am on the other side.  I am a coach; however, the nerves are almost worse.   Now I pace the pool deck, tap my clipboard and have a stopwatch in hand.

What athletes don't realize is how much coaches invest in them.   We live and breath the sport.   We agonize over line ups, replay races over and over in our head, analyze splits, research the best tapers, and spend hours writing practices designed to get the most out of them.  We put our heart in each and every one of our athletes.   We go through the ups and downs with them.  We rejoice in their success and are heartbroken with them in their failures.    We are their biggest cheerleaders.  We believe when they don't.  We learn what makes them tick; when to push, when to pull back and when to encourage.  It is a lot like parenting, except we do not inherently love them. 

Our love for our athletes grows with time.  They come in as freshman, totally clueless to what the next four years will hold.  Immature, but full of life and excitement.  They make us laugh, but sometimes we seriously wonder if they will ever grow up :)  Then we watch them change year by year ... and by the time they are seniors we have come to respect them.   We've seen them work hard, push through pain, and come out on top.   Our athletes become like our children and we would do anything for them ...

Sleep

Sleep.  It's a four letter word to many parents. (Yes I know it has five letters!) As I'm here writing Little Two is sleeping.   The sweet serenity that is nap time is upon us today.  Often I peak in to watch him and am constantly amazed at how peaceful little ones are while they sleep.   Little One used to sleep with his butt up in the air and knees nicely tucked beneath him or in a little ball on his side, while Little Two likes to sleep all spread out.  Arms stretch as far as possible to either side with his head against one side of the crib while his feet touch the other, blankets snuggled all around and over him ... 

 ... Sleep ... I miss it.  It's not that I don't get to sleep now, but it's that I don't get to sleep when I want to sleep.  In fact, I don't get to do most things when I want.   Instead, my opportunities to get things done during the day or do something I want to do are determined by the two little ones running and crawling around between my legs.    I think that is the hardest thing to adjust during parenthood: Life is not your own.   Life revolves around the needs of my little ones.   I can not go to the store when I prefer.   I can not stay up late, because I can not sleep in.   And it never fails, when I have A LOT to do before a certain time ... they do not sleep.     

As I think about the hardest part of adjusting into parenthood, it is not the lack of sleep (although that is difficult too), but its the forced lifestyle of selflessness.   When we become parents our thoughts are first about our children.   What do they need?  How can I help them?  When do they need to eat or sleep?  What do they like to eat?  We rearrange our schedules for naps, eat meals at absurd times of day.   We cut off crusts of sandwiches, peel the skin off apples, grocery shop at night after they are in bed, and figure out how to do laundry in between naps so they can sleep with their favorite blanket.   All of this is well and good, but I struggle to figure out where myself begins and parenting ends.   As a mom, I am only as good as the person I am outside of my little ones.   My life in many ways revolves around my little ones, but in many other ways it does not.   My mom said it best: "Our little ones are the most welcome guests in our home" ... they do not run the home.    Selflessness is essential in succeeding as parents, but it becomes meaningless when our sanity is not preserved and that requires a little bit of selfishness.