I've Been Invited...

I hope you are all enjoying your Labor Day weekend! I am celebrating today by guest posting over at A Mountain Momma!

I was so flattered to be asked to contribute to her Leave the Nest series. So, PLEASE, go on over there RIGHT NOW!! Check out my guest post, check out the awesome and funny A Mountain Momma, and leave some comment luv all over the place!

Go. Go now. There you go. Go.

When Did This Guilt Creep In?

The past three years, I have not had much Working Mother Guilt. Can I get a "Hallelujar!" for private bathroom time and adult conversation?! I even wrote about it here.

But...something's changed.

I'm feeling it. The Working Mother Guilt.

My boy is a little older now. He talks. He asks questions.

Every single night, he asks, "Mommy, do I have to go to daycare tomorrow?" Or, "Mommy, do you have to work tomorrow?"

Five nights a week, I have to say, "Yes."

And then, I see the sad face.

It just doesn't feel right that only two nights a week, I get to happily exclaim, "No! We're staying home!" And then see that gorgeous smile and hear a happy, "Yay!"

I'll be ok. We'll be ok. Parker gets to start preschool in a couple weeks, and that will be good for him. Something different than daycare. So, yes, he'll be fine.

I just wish I had a few more days a week...

Date Night Anxiety

Everyone likes date night right? Everyone looks forward to a little grown-up time sans kids right?

Hmmm. I’m about to discuss something controversial. Every mom blogger knows that the most controversial thing you can write about is anything having to do with your husband.

Well, I am going to venture a guess that I am not alone in date-night-related-anxiety.

Usually, when date night is planned, it is in response to an over-stressed schedule and the recognition that we must remember we love our spouse and need to give them attention too.

So, the date night is put on The Calendar.

Then, my worrying begins. I cannot help it. I know it is irrational. I don’t want it to happen every time, but it does.

Will Parker be ok? Will he get upset or sad or have difficulty going down to bed or give the babysitter problems? Are we even going to have that much fun going out or should we just stay home? Will we stay up too late and be too tired tomorrow? Will it be worth it? Will I have enough energy to go out? What am I going to wear? I don’t buy “going out” clothes anymore. Do I need to wash my hair? Oh my gawd, are we going to have sex later? Have I shaved my legs in the last week? How LATE are we going to be up?

Every time, my husband is surprised by my anxiety (like he hasn’t lived with me for 13 years), and I tell him, “I’ll be fine. As soon as we’re gone, I’ll be fine,” and then I sense that he is put-off that I am not as excited as him about going out, and I worry about that.

I also know that as soon as we are gone, I am fine. Truly. And yet, I still put myself through the same useless anticipation and guilt before-hand as if I have to earn the right to go.

Is it just a natural why-fight-it type of thing that all mothers go through?

I hear some mothers get really excited to go out, look forward to it, do multiple Woo-Hoo’s! in their mind as they get ready to go, but then they get “out” and have a hard time enjoying themselves. The worry and guilt creep in.

I am just the opposite. My anxiety starts a few days before The Date Night and crescendos just at the moment we step out the door. And, as soon as we’re gone…I’m fine. I enjoy myself. It’s all worth it. Parker is good for the babysitter. He goes to bed fine. We stay up late, and we’re tired the next day, and we survive.

Why do I put myself through it? How do you handle date-night-related-anxiety?

Great Expectations

Why do you worry
And pick at your finger.
Stop.
Put your hands down
And put them to the keyboard.

Take the load off your shoulders.
Set it down next to you.
Take a look at it,
Assess its mess
Of guilt, expectation, and shame.
Leave it there
To melt into the floor
And walk away.

You will start by walking
Then jogging
And running
With no expectation for how long,
And why can’t I go further?

This moment does not need to be
Perfect.
This moment
Exists for you.
And you can push the breath
Out of your body –
Feel your shoulders relieve
Down.

You will give to yourself
The love that is reserved for others.
Let your heart pour out.
Into your own body
And own the feeling it gives you.
Whatever it is - sadness, loss, joy, or hope -
It will run its course
Through your veins.
And you will still be the same.

A woman,
With hope for healing.

Guest Blogging - Don't Let THE GUILT Get You Down!

Hey, everyone! I am thrilled to be a guest blogger at Gillian's Finding My Weigh today! Gillian and I began blogging about the same time and quickly developed respect for each other and discovered similar interests. You know, like drinking wine, finding humor in everyday situations, and damning our “points allowance” for the day. Gillian asked me to post about the DREADED WORKING MOTHER’S GUILT since she is soon facing her return to the working world.

Please go over and check out my post! Right now! Here, click HERE.

Living the Dream!

For about eight weeks every year, I get to live my dream!

You see, I am a full-time working mommy, which royally kicks my ass most of the year. However, I work in education at a school, so every summer I get a taste of stay-at-home-mom-ness AND I still take my child to daycare two days a week. Ah, it is the best.

I get to experience both, and here, according to me, are the “bests” of both worlds.

Working mommy:
-Tired of the assholes at your house? Go to work!
-Adult conversation
-Hair-do, make-up, and “outfit” every day
-Day care experiences for my child in order to encourage sharing with others and a generally resilient and scrappy outlook on life
-Using the phone without a toddler around
-Using the bathroom without a toddler around

Stay-at-home-mommy (with two days of day care, yesssssss):
-No working mommy guilt
-Activities! Mommy and Me gym classes! More time to fit in fun stuff.
-Go to the zoo anytime you want!
-Take the child to the grocery store on a weekday morning and be more likely to get the cart with the car/steering wheel attached.
-Nap time
-Bonding time and what I call “saturation” (I think I need to explain that. Sometimes, when I have had A LOT of Parker time, I say that I feel saturated by him. I think fellow mothers understand that, or I’m crazy, but that is no big surprise.)

Are you a working mommy or a stay-at-home mommy? What are the “bests” in your world?

How Many Times Can I Say Bliss?

Yesterday, I had a day all to myself. Talk about restorative. I was totally blissed out. I had been feeling run down and was feeling a cold coming on. If I didn’t get rest, I was feeling like I would succumb to a full-blown cold or a full-blown anxiety attack. I also knew my husband was leaving on a trip, and I would be a single, working mother for a few days (By the way, how do single mothers do it, anyway?! God bless them.)

Well, yesterday, I got to be just me. I wasn’t a mother, I wasn’t a wife, I wasn’t a coworker. I was me.

When I have the rare opportunity for me time, I like to do. . . NOTHING. My husband likes to run a 5K, take a hike or grueling bike ride, and then socialize with a bunch of people. Uck. I want no one around me, I want no pressure to do anything, no physical strain or activity, and no questions. I choose to do very introvert-type things in order to feel the energy come back to my soul. I read, I write, I lay, I think, I watch movies, I eat – alone.

So, I took a day off work and had my husband take our son to daycare. I pushed all work and mothering guilt to the back of my mind and let the relief wash over me. And what is it with this guilt, anyway?! I haven’t been able to get rid of it since I became a Mom.

First, I slept in. An absolute must. Got a good 12 hours of sleep. When I woke, I got some coffee, grabbed the laptop, and promptly got back in bed. I turned on the TV, and I didn’t really care what was on, as long as all I heard were adult voices. You see, I work at an elementary school, so even when I am at work, most of what I heard are those precious little voices. My coffee was on my bedside table, my cat was purring next to me, and the laptop warmed my legs as I read blogs. Get this – God had even ordered up a cloudy, misty day for me just to add to that wonderful, cozy, all-alone-and-doing-whatever-I-want feeling.

Ah. Bliss. Heavenly bliss.

I got out of bed in order to eat lunch. I settled on the couch and watched a movie on Showtime. I was still in the horizontal position, only in a different room. You know, so I could say I didn’t spend all day in “bed.” I wanted to watch something with an intelligent plot, a little suspense, and cussing. Something I would never watch if Parker was around. I settled on The Gift (with Cate Blanchett, Keanu Reeves, and a naked Katie Holmes, oh my), and then Nurse Jackie. I love watching Nurse Jackie pop pills, cheat on her husband, and act surly at work – it is scandalous! Makes me feel so much better as a person.

When the clock neared 4:00, I felt a little frantic and thought, “I have about half an hour left! What should I do? What would be the perfect way to spend that time? Would I feel good about myself if I worked out? Should I clean something? Should I just lay here until time is up?” I decided to just take a hot, leisurely shower.

When my boys (the husband and the son) walked in, I greeted them with hugs and smiles and sat on the floor to play cars with Parker. I didn’t have to fake excitement or muster up the energy to play cars. I happily played for a little bit before it was time to make dinner. I felt so much better and no longer run down. Some totally blissed out me time was all it took. I found myself again for a time that day and was able to better connect with my family.

What do you do to restore yourself? What do you consider blissful “me” time? If you had a day to yourself, what would you do with it?

Poop.

(Parker at about 4 hours away from relief.)

Poop is a very important thing. Faint of heart, move on, move on. The rest of you know that when you have children, poop is a popular topic. Entire days, moods, and schedules can be affected by poop, or the absence of it.

Saturday morning started out pretty good. We went to a downtown park while Richard, aka Running Man, ran a St. Patty’s 5K race. This is not something I will ever do, but I am happy to watch. Parker had a blast. He pet ponies, jumped in a bouncy house, and took a train ride (all the while shouting, “Choo, Choo!!”). Very exciting stuff.

Little did we know at the time that the poop was backing up. Parker was constipated. The constipation monster started to rear its angry head when we decided it would be a good idea to have lunch at a downtown restaurant. We didn’t know yet that he was constipated, so we just thought Parker was being a major asshole (no pun intended). Pretty soon after we arrived at the restaurant, we realized that we had to get the hell out of there. We needed to scatter from public like cockroaches and get back to the privacy of our home in a hurry.

I was irritated, annoyed, and hungry. We had to pack up and leave the restaurant, which put a wrench in plans and just delayed the whole schedule of the day. I do not deal well with “changes in plans.” No. Changes in plans are not for me.

We got home and things did not get better. Parker would not eat his lunch and was still being an asshole. The Running Man and Grandpa both discovered that the best thing to do around the Asshole Child and Pissed-Off Mom was to be very, very quiet.

Suddenly, I realized what was wrong with my poor, baby child. He started grunting and pushing and turning red and crying. He couldn’t even sit down because his bottom hurt so bad. I thought, “Oh, he is constipated! Oh, I am so sorry, you poor, poor thing!”

Major guilt for thinking my child is an asshole.

Then, the WORRY BEGAN. I cannot help myself. I am an expert at worrying, and once it starts, it is a mad train speeding toward disaster. I practically had a panic attack.

“Oh. My. God.” I thought. My thoughts started to race and in a bullet speed kind of way. “He is constipated. He is in pain. He refuses to drink any water. He will not be able to nap. He will be a wreck. His birthday party starts in three hours. He will be fussy and in pain for his party. Will we have to cancel it? Will he take a nap only to wake too early because he finally poops? Are we going to have to wait until he poops to put him down for a nap? Is he going to poop soon? How long will this go on?”

My dear, dear husband took our poor, baby child from my arms, took him upstairs and just rocked him in the dark while he cried.

My husband is a good, good man (you see, you need to give examples of the good, dear husband soon after you write a post calling him a Fucker repeatedly).

Parker went down for a nap. He slept a good two hours. He woke up and pooped.

Ahhhhh, the POOP!

Relief for ALL.

We were happy. We celebrated. We were rested. Poop relief was ours. The party was fabulous. The party was fun. All is well. The poop came, and all is well.