Originally published in Raising Arizona Kids Magazine, April 2019
Call me crazy, put me in the category of cold-hearted mothers and judge me all you want. I have relieved myself of one of the biggest pressures of modern motherhood, and I am here to invite you to do the same.
When our eldest was born three years ago, I talked to countless moms about what they looked for and liked about their childcare. As I toured a few sites and talked to program directors, I came upon a particularly interesting characteristic. It wasn’t related to safety practices, pick-up times or extra amenities like apps that allow parents to watch their child’s classroom during the day.
What made me sit back and wonder was a little piece of paper that asked parents whether they would like to know if their baby crawled for the first time or took those first momentous steps while at daycare — or would they prefer the provider say nothing about it?
Read the full article here.
A year ago I took a huge leap of faith and transitioned to part-time consulting from home so I could be with my boys. I've learned a lot in the process. The transition has taught me a lot of logistical things (i.e. never leave the house without snacks) and a lot of mental things (self-care is a requirement).
Take a moment, and walk with me as I paint a picture.
It’s about 9am and you’ve just raced through a Starbucks drive through to grab yourself (or your colleagues) a cup of coffee and you’re waiting at a stop light on your way to work. You look over and just take in the scene around you. There’s a bus stop, a bustling storefront, traffic driving to-and-fro, and on the sidewalk you see a woman pushing three kids in a single stroller. You stop to take in the scene of her three toddlers as the eldest perched on the front of the jogger stroller (only made to hold two kids), flings himself off in defiance onto the sidewalk in protest.
The mom-- that puts the brake on the stroller, picks the toddler up to move his protest to the safe grass (further from traffic), and sits down next to him-- is me. I am the yoga pant wearing mother of three kids under 2 years old that you see in public. I just dropped off my swagger-wagon, err...van, for an oil change and am schlepping my kids back home for lunch.
I am the person you come up to in a store and tell, “You have your hands full.”
Well, here’s the deal. I know. Boy do I know.
And guess what? I did it on purpose. I’m like a fein for complexity and chaos.
Sometimes I wonder if God whispered in my ear after I was born, “I dare you.” Because so, so often I hear myself tell my Maker, “Challenge accepted.”
Most days go really smoothly and I find myself building a block tower or reading ‘Little Blue Truck’ for the umpteenth time and I smile contentedly. The smoother days are filled with no raising of my voice and no blow out diapers.
But a solid 50% of the time I wake up ten minutes late and am making barters with my husband at 7:10a so I can get a shower in before he leaves for work. “I’ll give you a back massage and schedule your doctor appointments,” I offer in desperation.
On the crazier days when I call my children dragons, I absolutely raise my voice because that stupid VTech playtoy is playing incessantly while my 7-month-old whines, 1-year-old squirms during a diaper change, and my 2-year-old is laughing like a hyena jumping on the couch. We don’t jump on the couch in our house because Mama doesn’t have a budget to replace the hand-me-down Ikea couch, Zeke. I’ve got diapers to buy!
I’m very aware that I have my hands full. And I can’t stop. I regularly tell my husband I want a puppy, so instead of getting knee deep in house-training, I’ve started gardening. I mean if it’s not diapers and dog poop, it might as well be fertilizer and compost, right?!
So when I smile at you and emphatically respond, “Yes. I know.” in the grocery store, believe me. I know I have my hands full.