I'm starting to understand the conflict of the working mother. I've only worked from home, really, for the last 6 years. Now, with our retail store opening in a few weeks the reality of life as a working mother is setting in.
It's more than just being a working mother, it's being working parents. Parents who will, at least at first, only be together with our children before school/work and on Monday evenings when the store is closed. Otherwise, Papa will be with the one or two who are home in the morning and I'll be with the three of them after school and weekend afternoon/evenings. But Papa won't be home until after bedtime 6 days a week. Two of those days whoever is at home will likely spend their day with a babysitter so my husband and I can work together in the store.
I feel good about showing my children that it's a good thing to take a risk and follow your dreams. I feel good showing them that an adult can absolutely love the work they do. I want to be careful to show them that I love being with them just as much as I love going to work. Even on days when the boy does nothing but shout toddler orders at me, like this morning. But as I watched my husband step out the door to work at getting the store ready for opening, I wished I was going with him. I feel 'stuck' at home with the kids and the laundry. I feel guilty about that feeling!
I think I'll put away the wine and retail books for a day and read the book I linked to above left. Maybe humor will help!
Monday, August 29, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Why?
Why does my weight get stuck every 5lbs lost?
Why must the boy throw all of his remaining food on the floor when he's finished?
Why do stuffed animals multiply as if by magic?
Why do children suddenly scream after long periods of quiet play - just when you answer the telephone?
Why does everyone always need something at the very same moment?
Why does the laundry multiply like stuffed animals?
Why is childcare so expensive?
Why don't my children love to sleep as much as I do?
Why, why, why.
Why must the boy throw all of his remaining food on the floor when he's finished?
Why do stuffed animals multiply as if by magic?
Why do children suddenly scream after long periods of quiet play - just when you answer the telephone?
Why does everyone always need something at the very same moment?
Why does the laundry multiply like stuffed animals?
Why is childcare so expensive?
Why don't my children love to sleep as much as I do?
Why, why, why.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
The best day ever!
Je pense que mes enfants... oh wait! I'm beginning to think in French!
I think my children may have just had the best day of their young lives! At least the girls, ages 6 and nearly 5. France is growing on all of us and hearing my daughters speak so fluently in their 'other' native language makes my heart soar.
We are staying in a small village in the Midi-Pyrenees. So small the houses have names instead of street numbers. Nearby is a lovely "Cite Medievale" (sorry, I don't know how to get those accents in there!) called Lauzerte. There, we've had a few lovely walks and lunches. Within the city's borders is an equestrian center. I'm not sure what pony rides are like in your neck of the woods, but where I'm from they involve 6 ponies going round in a circle for about 2 minutes. Not here. Here, pictures will express it better than my words. Regard:
![]()
![]()
![]()
![]()
![]()
![]()
The sheer beauty of this countryside fills my heart so that it may burst. Then, to see my children beam as brightly as the field of sunflowers we pass by each time we descend our borrowed vacation home (regard:)
![]()
makes everything even more special.
And the simplest afternoon, spent in the pool. Again, pictures say more than words:
![]()
![]()
![]()
I doubt bedtime will bother me at all tonight.
I think my children may have just had the best day of their young lives! At least the girls, ages 6 and nearly 5. France is growing on all of us and hearing my daughters speak so fluently in their 'other' native language makes my heart soar.
We are staying in a small village in the Midi-Pyrenees. So small the houses have names instead of street numbers. Nearby is a lovely "Cite Medievale" (sorry, I don't know how to get those accents in there!) called Lauzerte. There, we've had a few lovely walks and lunches. Within the city's borders is an equestrian center. I'm not sure what pony rides are like in your neck of the woods, but where I'm from they involve 6 ponies going round in a circle for about 2 minutes. Not here. Here, pictures will express it better than my words. Regard:
The sheer beauty of this countryside fills my heart so that it may burst. Then, to see my children beam as brightly as the field of sunflowers we pass by each time we descend our borrowed vacation home (regard:)
makes everything even more special.
And the simplest afternoon, spent in the pool. Again, pictures say more than words:
I doubt bedtime will bother me at all tonight.
Monday, July 4, 2011
I hate bedtime
Whether you're in the breathtaking countryside of France, a mid-West suburb or anywhere else in the world, bedtime remains the same: parent wants child to sleep but child wants to stay awake.
My little fellow, who is not quite so little anymore at 21 months, had finally become a good sleeper in the month or two prior to our vacation. Now, after two weeks in France, the only time he falls asleep outside the arms of my mother-in-law (watch for a tribute to her in the coming days) or me is here:
![]()
![]()
We had a good routine at home. He never failed to go to sleep on his own. He woke up regularly, which was a problem for a long time, but was better. But he always went to sleep on his own crisis-free. Now, to put him into the portable crib it is as if I am showing him the face of the devil himself.
For the first several days of our vacation I tried the usual routine and just let him fall asleep in my arms. Now he tenses up and clings tightly to me if I walk near his bed. I'm at a loss. But his sleep, or lack thereof, is not my biggest problem. It is that I seem to judge my success as a mother by whether or not I successfully put my children to bed. Clearly, at this point I am a failure. My daughters flat-out tell me "No" when I tell them it's bedtime. Only threatening and severe yelling seem to work, which only reinforces my sense of absolute failure.
What must my mother-in-law think of a woman who can't even put her own child to bed? She has happily taken on bedtime this week by swinging with him outside until he is lulled to sleep on her shoulder. Even that doens't work for me.
Having time alone with my husband, by myself or with other adults is critical to my sanity. When my children refuse to sleep, I become so frustrated and am overwhelemed with a sense of parental failure. What kind of a mother can't even put her children to bed?
My little fellow, who is not quite so little anymore at 21 months, had finally become a good sleeper in the month or two prior to our vacation. Now, after two weeks in France, the only time he falls asleep outside the arms of my mother-in-law (watch for a tribute to her in the coming days) or me is here:
or here:
We had a good routine at home. He never failed to go to sleep on his own. He woke up regularly, which was a problem for a long time, but was better. But he always went to sleep on his own crisis-free. Now, to put him into the portable crib it is as if I am showing him the face of the devil himself.
For the first several days of our vacation I tried the usual routine and just let him fall asleep in my arms. Now he tenses up and clings tightly to me if I walk near his bed. I'm at a loss. But his sleep, or lack thereof, is not my biggest problem. It is that I seem to judge my success as a mother by whether or not I successfully put my children to bed. Clearly, at this point I am a failure. My daughters flat-out tell me "No" when I tell them it's bedtime. Only threatening and severe yelling seem to work, which only reinforces my sense of absolute failure.
What must my mother-in-law think of a woman who can't even put her own child to bed? She has happily taken on bedtime this week by swinging with him outside until he is lulled to sleep on her shoulder. Even that doens't work for me.
Having time alone with my husband, by myself or with other adults is critical to my sanity. When my children refuse to sleep, I become so frustrated and am overwhelemed with a sense of parental failure. What kind of a mother can't even put her children to bed?
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Moment by moment
Life is made up of a sequence of moments. Some blissful, some filled with agony and many more in-between. Do you live in each moment you experience? Or do you live in painful memories of past moments and worry about the next ones? Or perhaps, better, in the memory of happy moments.
Vacations with young children can be harder than regular everyday life at home. Time changes, sleeping adjustments and meeting many new people, even if they are family, is stressful for them and therefore for us.
Things after Paris were thankfully uneventful. We traveled safely from there to a house on the ocean front in a small villaged called Piriac-Sur-Mer. Piriac on the sea. The house was very old and lovely. The view was of the ocean, sailboats and a seemingly endless coast lined with stone walls to keep the sea at bay. Our garden, or back yard, if you may, had a rope swing and a wooden swing for the children to play on. They loved it! Up the creaky stairs were three bedrooms. Two with lofts. The girls chose the room closest to ours and my little boy shared our room. And usually, our bed.
The girls were allowed to stay up late and dine with the adults and the little guy got to play until he seemed ready to fall right to sleep. When we completed our bedtime ritual and I placed him into bed he screamed. Every time. So, we developed a new ritual of him falling asleep in my arms and then I put him down into his cot. I would get an hour or two with my arms free and within a few hours of putting myself to bed, the little guy would wake, call out, "Mama," and be brought to sleep in my arms.
One for structure and routine, I was not happy with this new system of sleep. Naps were typically in the car, the over the shoulder carrier or very short in the cot. I did not work to correct it, as I was on vacation too. A vacation with young children, though, is hardly a vacation. Just a different location.
Our next location with a night another part of the coast called La Rochelle. The area is beautiful, with an island connected by a bridge. This island has been named by some 'body' in France to be one of the most beautiful and charming cities in the country. France is filled with beautiful and charming cities, so this one is quite special.
We left early for a long drive into the French countryside. A friend of mine from our time in Singapore offered the use of her second home, which is near a wonderful wine region called Cahors. After reviewing the vacation budget, we decided a trip inland was a great idea! And was it ever. The drive was just over 4 hours, which we broke up with a stop at a wonderful zoo near Bordeaux. The children loved it and they were each allowed to choose one toy. We left with a stuffed white tiger, the favorite of the boy; a stuffed baby black panther, my oldest's choice and an elephant shaped container of bubbles for my practical middle child.
As we drove on, the scenery changed. Breathtaking hillsides and conifers repleaced rocks and sea. Chateaus could be seen now and again and fields and fields of sunflours began popping up. How beautiful to look out and see an endless view of tall open sunflowers greeting us!
And finally, the house we were to stay in. An exact address could not be supplied, just the village and house name. The houses in this small village are named instead of numbered. Thank goodness for the GPS that guided us to the right area. A converted barn with a cinderella gate was enough of a description for us to find it. The old key turned the lock to the gate and assured us we were in the right place. The house looks nothing like a barn now. Remember, French barns are not red wood and rust, but stone and brick and style. The conversion of it to a house was nothing short of stunning, and much more than we could have ever afforded without the generousity of an old friend opening her home to us.
We all happily cleared the cobwebs and spiders who had made themselves at home in the absence of the owners, who live primarily in Zurich. We cleared and cleaned, ate and played until nearly 11:00 o'clock in the night when we all collapsed into deep sleep.
Yesterday, we wallowed in the beauty of the property and discussed the possibilities of staying a bit longer than we had planned. It is too lovely of a place to visit and leave in just a few days. The boy refused his nap, waking and screaming each time I tried to leave him in his own bed. There was no sound machine or lapping ocean waves to soothe him and cover the frequent squeals of his sister. Frustrated, I gave up. Finally, last night with the help of a radio tuned to fuzz, and complete exhaustion, he fell asleep and stayed that way. Just long enough for me to enjoy one glass of wine. Back to work.
But it was in this moment with him that my vacation began. A song from a favorite musical popped into my head, the lyrics, "This is just a moment in the woods... life is full of moments, many kinds of moments... all are worth exploring..." And I realized my real job was simply to enjoy the moment of my gorgeous son, comforted by his mother's arms.
Life is full of moments. Savor the good ones and simply wait for the bad ones to pass. Now, more than a week into our trip, I can finally relax.
Vacations with young children can be harder than regular everyday life at home. Time changes, sleeping adjustments and meeting many new people, even if they are family, is stressful for them and therefore for us.
Things after Paris were thankfully uneventful. We traveled safely from there to a house on the ocean front in a small villaged called Piriac-Sur-Mer. Piriac on the sea. The house was very old and lovely. The view was of the ocean, sailboats and a seemingly endless coast lined with stone walls to keep the sea at bay. Our garden, or back yard, if you may, had a rope swing and a wooden swing for the children to play on. They loved it! Up the creaky stairs were three bedrooms. Two with lofts. The girls chose the room closest to ours and my little boy shared our room. And usually, our bed.
The girls were allowed to stay up late and dine with the adults and the little guy got to play until he seemed ready to fall right to sleep. When we completed our bedtime ritual and I placed him into bed he screamed. Every time. So, we developed a new ritual of him falling asleep in my arms and then I put him down into his cot. I would get an hour or two with my arms free and within a few hours of putting myself to bed, the little guy would wake, call out, "Mama," and be brought to sleep in my arms.
One for structure and routine, I was not happy with this new system of sleep. Naps were typically in the car, the over the shoulder carrier or very short in the cot. I did not work to correct it, as I was on vacation too. A vacation with young children, though, is hardly a vacation. Just a different location.
Our next location with a night another part of the coast called La Rochelle. The area is beautiful, with an island connected by a bridge. This island has been named by some 'body' in France to be one of the most beautiful and charming cities in the country. France is filled with beautiful and charming cities, so this one is quite special.
We left early for a long drive into the French countryside. A friend of mine from our time in Singapore offered the use of her second home, which is near a wonderful wine region called Cahors. After reviewing the vacation budget, we decided a trip inland was a great idea! And was it ever. The drive was just over 4 hours, which we broke up with a stop at a wonderful zoo near Bordeaux. The children loved it and they were each allowed to choose one toy. We left with a stuffed white tiger, the favorite of the boy; a stuffed baby black panther, my oldest's choice and an elephant shaped container of bubbles for my practical middle child.
As we drove on, the scenery changed. Breathtaking hillsides and conifers repleaced rocks and sea. Chateaus could be seen now and again and fields and fields of sunflours began popping up. How beautiful to look out and see an endless view of tall open sunflowers greeting us!
And finally, the house we were to stay in. An exact address could not be supplied, just the village and house name. The houses in this small village are named instead of numbered. Thank goodness for the GPS that guided us to the right area. A converted barn with a cinderella gate was enough of a description for us to find it. The old key turned the lock to the gate and assured us we were in the right place. The house looks nothing like a barn now. Remember, French barns are not red wood and rust, but stone and brick and style. The conversion of it to a house was nothing short of stunning, and much more than we could have ever afforded without the generousity of an old friend opening her home to us.
We all happily cleared the cobwebs and spiders who had made themselves at home in the absence of the owners, who live primarily in Zurich. We cleared and cleaned, ate and played until nearly 11:00 o'clock in the night when we all collapsed into deep sleep.
Yesterday, we wallowed in the beauty of the property and discussed the possibilities of staying a bit longer than we had planned. It is too lovely of a place to visit and leave in just a few days. The boy refused his nap, waking and screaming each time I tried to leave him in his own bed. There was no sound machine or lapping ocean waves to soothe him and cover the frequent squeals of his sister. Frustrated, I gave up. Finally, last night with the help of a radio tuned to fuzz, and complete exhaustion, he fell asleep and stayed that way. Just long enough for me to enjoy one glass of wine. Back to work.
But it was in this moment with him that my vacation began. A song from a favorite musical popped into my head, the lyrics, "This is just a moment in the woods... life is full of moments, many kinds of moments... all are worth exploring..." And I realized my real job was simply to enjoy the moment of my gorgeous son, comforted by his mother's arms.
Life is full of moments. Savor the good ones and simply wait for the bad ones to pass. Now, more than a week into our trip, I can finally relax.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)