When imagination and reality disagree

Wow. The demands that come with being the mother of 2 under age 2 are higher than I ever imagined. I often think back to the time when I was a senior in college, taking 18 credit hours, working 35+ hours a week, driving 45 minutes to school/work then 45 minutes back home, and still finding the time to work out a minimum of 1 hour a day all while planning a wedding (and ending the day with 30 minutes-1 hour of letter writing to my fiancé with whom I couldn't speak).

Now I tend to 2 children and attempt to make coming home a desirable thing for my husband. 

And sometimes I feel that a successful day is being able to say I got the laundry from the washer to the dryer before the mildew sets in.

So blogging? That's about 10th in the list of things I feel the need or desire to get around to. 

Roscoe is days away from being closer to his 3rd birthday than he is to his 2nd, and Everett is throwing me more curve balls as a baby than I ever expected a 2nd child to be capable of. 

At 6 months old, Everett gets up at least twice a night and naps for an average of 30 minutes at a time, 2-3 times a day. That's an hour and a half total of napping time a day, if I'm lucky. And it rarely coincides with Roscoe's sleep.  With the chiropractic visits the past couple weeks, we've seen an increase in Everett's napping, but it still isn't predictable. Today he napped for 1 hour and 15 minutes on his own, and I honestly barely knew how to handle myself. I was shocked. 

I am tired. I would have never imagined that this life I live now could be more exhausting than the life I lived 6 years ago. 

So, I'm here. But I don't write. Because from 7 am-9 pm, and sometimes still in those wee morning hours, there are 2 little tiny boys who constantly need me and my attention. And there is a house to keep clean. There are mundane daily chores. And when nothing requires my attention, there are books to read through and talk about with friends. 

And there are so many things I would rather do than all of these. But somehow I'm content to not be able to do them. Because this is the gift of motherhood that has been handed to me. And it looks different in my reality than it looked in my imagination. But I am thankful. And I am blessed. And despite the fact that I feel like I have an overly precocious 2 year old and a baby who will never allow me more than a 4 hour stretch of sleep, I am lifting my hands in praise to the Father who gives good gifts, even if they don't look like what I want them to look like. 

Is so much whining normal?

Often in this house it feels like all I'm listening to is a constant stream of toddler whines. Sure, there are happy moments and times of laughter, but those fussy, whiney cries of discontent can so quickly drown out all the happy noises. It's exhausting.

I'm trying to find the balance between being strictly authoritative and leading by being calm. Both ways can achieve accurately communicating that that's not how we express ourselves in this house, but they're totally different approaches. The first feels to me like a stiff and intolerant method. Roscoe gets whiney, and I turn into an order-barking porcupine. "You stop that whining right now." Bam. That's it. No wiggle room, no discussion. The second method looks more like: roscoe gets whiney, and I approach him lovingly, gently; put him on my lap and calmly (firmly, yes, but serenely) convey that we don't whine our words. That he is welcome to always tell me how he feels, what he is thinking, but without whining. We as his parents are always here to listen and talk things through. There is no "porcupine" feeling here. I am being completely approachable, nothing to fear.

I believe both methods have their right place. When I say I want to calmly, lovingly instruct him, I'm not saying that I let him walk all over me. Yes, I am the parent and he is the child. I get that. I know there are times when the firm "put the foot down, don't stand for anything else" approach is necessary, but should that be the case every. single. time.? Can't we communicate and instruct our children without barking orders all day long?

Does any of this make sense? I've heard that every child responds to different methods of teaching and correction differently, I'm just trying to figure out how mine is wired in this area. And it's a challenge, considering he's a toddler who can't yet communicate with words, only whining--the very thing I'm trying to correct.

Advice?

a better day

I am currently thankful that, despite a few episodes, today was pretty much a normal, fit/tantrum free day for the little guy.  I did notice that I was focusing more attention on him, putting the iPhone away, and not trying to multitask so much when he was wanting to play with me.  I'm not sure if that's what made the difference or not.  But it did take a lot of effort.  To be honest, keeping up with him wears me out!  He's absolutely exhausting.

He's been in bed almost an hour, and I've been sitting in the silence trying to upload pictures from the beach.  Apparently I'm running low on disc space on the laptop, so we need to clean the computer out before I can get those pictures in and uploaded here.

when the little one seems too big

I've been struggling with Roscoe.  It seems like the "terrible 2s" have arrived early.  More like the "terrible pre-18months," only the tantrums and fits seem to be directed mostly at me.

I just got off the phone with Mark about this, and he was encouraging (as encouraging as he can be, because this is not an easy phase for me)... But I thought I'd get my thoughts out, let you into my head, try to relinquish my stubborn "I-can-do-it-myself" childlikeness, and make myself open to suggestions and advice.

Roscoe has always had a tendency to pitch a fit.  That started when he was tinier than tiny.  But those fits used to be easily corrected (easily enough).  He responded to our correction.  Now, he's putting up really really big fights.  His temper is...just right there....right under the surface ready to explode.  And when he doesn't get what he wants, BOOM!!!!!!

Without giving examples, I'll say that 90% of the time, with words and facial expressions Mark can correct him and get the desired response.  It isn't easy, but it works.  The other 10% of the time that Mark handles it, it takes more effort. 

I feel like the numbers are reversed for me.  For whatever reason, my 90% is full of frustration and failure, where on my end I'm receiving abuse and anger from my own son...my 15 month old son.  Often he gets angry at me and screams in my face multiple times, sometimes throwing a hit in there.  Discipline doesn't seem to phase him, so it just turns into a seemingly endless cycle of whining, fussing, screaming, correction, wash, rinse, repeat.

I think what is the hardest for me is that all I feel that I do is pour love into him.  I feed him.  I play with him.  I bathe him.  I change his diapers.  I wash his diapers.  I tuck him in bed.  He is my job, he's what I am employed to care for 24/7.

And he returns that with consistent tantrums and ungratefulness?

Another frustrating factor is that I generally stay calm and even-keeled.  He's not feeding off my temper because I'm not releasing a temper.

So, I know that this is really something that all moms have to deal with.  I've had multiple family members/friends tell me that when daddy comes home, the babes are angels.  But God help the mother during the day, because those same babes are running around like demons.

So how do we deal with it?  How do you keep control of your child when it seems like everything you do is a failure?  How do you handle the emotional let down of wanting to receive love back from your child and the bulk of what you see returned to you is negativity?

Moms, speak...

on changing tables (or lack thereof)

So.  Today I went to a Clemson basketball game with my dad while Mom kept Roscoe (Mom's idea.  Nana rocks!)  Dad and I had so. much. fun.  I'm so thankful for my daddy dates!

On the way to meet them, I stopped to grab a sub at Firehouse.  I really had to go to the bathroom.  And there had been a miscommunication between Mark and me, resulting in Roscoe's cloth diaper overflow (don't worry--just pee) which soaked his jeans.  So I placed my order and slipped into the ladies' bathroom only to discover!!!!!!!!:

No changing table.

CURSES ON THE DAY I WAS BORN!  SERIOUSLY?!?!?

Ugh.

See. the cool thing about public restroom baby changing stations (besides their affordability) is that they have fancy shmancy straps that allow you to fixate your child on the table should you have to use the facilities when you don't have a stroller or are out with the baby by yourself.  Usually this works if it's a single/family restroom instead of the ones with stalls, because you can entertain your baby with expressions and dumb baby talk I said I'd never do but I do anyway gestures and such.  Yes, I'm sure this would look ridiculous were I a fly on the wall, and if there's someone standing outside waiting for their turn it probably sounds funny too, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Speaking of desperate times.  I'd had a cup of coffee and a full nalgene of water (32 oz) on the drive down.  I really had to go and there was no turning out of the bathroom.  So, mommies who've been in this situation..... What do you do?  (Please forgive my candidness in this post.)  Well, you've gotta get creative with angles and really use those muscles you've been building up in your Insanity workouts and maneuver the baby in such a way that you can still.....um.....well, get into the right position to use the bathroom. Because I KNOW you're not going to put your child on the floor if he's not walking yet.  I mean seriously, Roscoe is a pro at standing and leaning and holding onto objects for stability, and I'm a veeeeery relaxed mom (I never once washed off the paci when it fell nipple down, and sometimes I give back the food to Roscoe that he threw on our kitchen floor, and I don't freak out when he does pretty much anything), but ain't no way for one second I'm putting him on the floor of the bathroom when the floors are wet and black around the edges and I don't know who or what has been in that bathroom.

So, mission accomplished.  I am now feeling much better, and use those same techniques as mentioned above to get myself put back together.  Jut the hip out, put Roscoe under my arm like I'm carrying a pillow in with my luggage to a hotel room, put that side of my body away from the sink, and manage to get both hands washed without his little octopus limbs going into the stream of water.

This is where I take a big breath and tell myself this child-rearing job is important and rewarding and God's-kingdom-building, but really, can't you just have a changing table?!

Oh, right!!!!  Changing table.  Roscoe needs to be changed.  At this point I'm very tempted to go out into the eating area and whip out the ol' diaper and plop Roscoe down on a table.  But I don't even have a pad or sheet or paper towel to lay him on, and I'm not about to spread out napkins.  The statement would be much more effective if I just laid him on the bare table.  Don't worry, I didn't.  But ooooooh, I wanted to.

YOU'RE A RESTAURANT.  MOTHERS WANT TO EAT TOO SOMETIMES.  And sometimes, those mothers are alone with their babies when their babies have soaked jeans because they peed too much in their cloth diaper because you're trying to save the planet and money and your baby's butt and all you want on the earth is a changing table so you can get your baby dry and

"To go order ready for Marie."

(Yeah, just Marie.  When I have to give my name that's what I give, because saying "Anne Marie" apparently sounds like a foreign language and takes too much conversation and communication when it was supposed to be a simple matter.  The double name throws people.  And I hate being called just Anne.  So, Marie it is.)

I grab my sub and head to the door.  It's raining.  Fantastic.  So I go out, throw my stuff inside the front of the car, and lay Roscoe down in the back seat and begin to change his diaper.  By the way, my car is a 4 door Nissan Sentra.  It's awesome.  I've been more than thankful for it, but with the carseat in the middle of the back seat, it doesn't give much room at all for baby-changing.  Oh yeah, my head is the only thing not stuck out in the rain.  And I keep bumping Roscoe's head against the plastic base of his carseat.  He's crying, I'm internally crying and swearing, and beginning to think I should've just changed him on the counter between the registers.  Finish up, put him in his seat, and go to get in the driver's seat, which, by the way, is soaked because I stupidly left the door open.

So it made for a good thing to blog about, but really......  For the sake of all mothers' sanity and everything good and holy, please, if you have a business with a public restroom, buy a baby changing station!  (Unless maybe you're a cigar shop, or a bar, because people shouldn't have a reason to take their babies there.)  Mothers and nannies and babysitters (and anyone who's ever had to change a kid in public) everywhere will be more likely to give you their business.  Because I, for one, really don't want to go back to Firehouse soon.

it doesn't have to feel important

With that last post and the shut-down of my facebook, I made it appear as if I'd be blogging every day, keeping everyone up to date on the daily pictures of Roscoe and all the exciting tidbits of our days together.

Welllll, at the moment it's not that exciting.  I stay busy with little things throughout the day and making time to blog takes effort.  When there's not much exciting going on, I find blogging difficult and resultingly unnecessary.  The day through my eyes goes something like: wake up, feed, change, play, nap, feed, change, clean, nap, feed, errands, change, nap, cook, feed, put to bed. 

I find it ironic that I used to be the first to defend the mother who was feeling like she didn't have an important job/contribution.  Of course you do!!!  Are you kidding?!  You've got the most important AND most challenging job in the world!  Fast forward a decade or so and I would have never guessed that I should have been preaching to myself.

Please don't misunderstand, I love our little Roscoe Porter  more than my feeble words can communicate.  I just never expected to struggle on a daily basis with the mundane-ness of stay-at-home-motherhood.  But I'm not delirious enough to think that this struggle will get easier once I can communicate with Roscoe (I've got friends and family ahead of me as proof that that's not true!)  However, the day in/day out caring for a baby who can't live without my help definitely doesn't FEEL like anything important.  I keep reminding myself that this everyday life is missional, kingdom work.  But I feel things so deeply, throw myself so fully into everything I do, that I want the important things to FEEL like they're important.  So if I don't get that vibe, the struggle begins. 

This is why I'm thankful that our faith is not based on our feelings.  They're so misleading and fickle.  Still training myself daily to place my hope and identity in Christ.  But that's soooo much easier said than done.