SAHM, Part I

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Once again, this is another post with me whining about whether or not I'm doing the right thing.
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I love my children. Please, don't ever doubt that I love my children.

I'm going to be home with my kids next year. I'm thrilled about it. I'm so excited; I have a ton of fun things that I want to do with them, all sorts of plans to try out. (Unfortunately, most of these plans involve money, but that is a different topic.)

I'm also terrified. Now that it's "for real," as my students would say, I'm worried that I'm making a big mistake by not working. I know that these years with my kids will never come back. I want to be with them. I know that work will be there when I am ready to go back to teaching.

But...

...I actually had one of those rare and perfect days with my students. A day where I nailed it: my students were laughing, were engaged, were having fun, and --most importantly, were learning. The kind of day where I had a big, goofy smile on my face because I felt like the best teacher in the world. The kind of day where, cheesy as it sounds, I felt like I was making a difference in their lives. I felt fulfilled.

And I wanted to cry because I wouldn't have days like that next year. And I'm going to miss these days. Sure, I am sure that I will have different days, where I will make a difference in my children's lives, where they will be laughing and having fun and engaged and learning. But the thought crossed my mind:

What if motherhood isn't enough?

Does that make me a horrible mother?

Surrender

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Getting my kids to go to sleep has always been an issue. They just don't want to go. My daughter will play in her room for an hour or more. We can hear her singing songs, reading books, or having a tea party. Sometimes she will open her door and ask for something to eat, or tell us she has to go potty. Anything to push bedtime back.

And my son will just scream his head off until I'm ready to slam my head into a wall. He will not be soothed. Just wants to scream for 2o to 30 minutes.

But, eventually, they both give up and surrender to the Sandman.

Just Like Momma

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I've mentioned before how I am an organized soul.

My daughter is following in my foot steps.

I would be worried about her OCD, but someone told me it's normal for toddlers. Still....

Her books have to be lined up on her shelf just so before she goes to bed. The washcloth has to be wrung out and carefully draped over the faucet. Baby Doll Sally has to be tucked in face down with the polka dotted blanket (like Minnie Mouse!) placed gently and exactly straight over her. Her shoes need to be lined up by the door way. Her Tinkerbell blanket has to be facing the window. The magnets need to be lined up with military precision on the fridge.

But my personal favorite? This:

Her pull ups have to be sorted by princess.

Dear Ridley Scott:

SPOILER ALERT: IF YOU WANT TO SEE ROBIN HOOD, DO NOT READ THIS POST.

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What the h#$% was that?!?

I'm a huge Robin Hood fan. The movie that I paid an obscene amount of money to see was not Robin Hood. That, sir, was ridiculous.

I have several questions/points I would like to bring up. First of all, the smaller problems I had with the movie:

1. Why did Robin Hood have an Irish/Scots brogue? Dude, he's English.

2. Maid Marion. Maid. She's supposed to be young - ish. Not staring at the other side of 40. And not a widow.

3. Did you mix up your movies? Why were the Lost Boys from Peter Pan in your movie? And the French invading England on the beach in World War II landing crafts? Were those left over from Saving Private Ryan?

4. Please explain to me how Robin of Locksley, an archer, had wicked awesome sword fighting skills? Oh, right. He was in Gladiator.

5. Maid Marion. As a knight in shining armor. Enough said.

6. What happened to the Sheriff of Nottingham? He's supposed to be the bad guy in this piece. Instead, if you blinked, you missed him.

7. Mr. Scott, your movie is set at the turn of the 12th century. Why is it that all of your characters could read?

8. Robin Hood is an outlaw. But he is only declared one in the last 5 minutes of your movie.

And now, the HUGE problem I had with the movie, which concerned the history of the legend.

The Magna Carta was not Robin Hood's idea. Or his dad's. I will give the the Robin Hood legend some credit for having a hand in the Forest Charter, but not the Magna Carta.

Mr. Scott, I'm a history teacher. Please don't make my job more difficult. It's bad enough that my students show up in September thinking that the Constitution is a long walk and the Great Depression was when the President was really sad. I work hard to fix these misconceptions. Sometimes I want to bang my head against the wall. Sometimes it would be easier to tell the kids they are right. Sometimes it would be easier to out right lie to them and make up fun stories. But I don't. Instead, I struggle every day so that my students have an honest and unbiased view of history.

And I have to say that you aren't helping. Now I'm going to have to read test answers where Robin Hood is responsible for modern day democracy, women could be knights of the realm, and Philip of France had a time machine which allowed him to get World War II landing craft to invade Britain in 1199.

However, I do give you credit for amazing attention to detail in your sets.

I am really hoping that the director's cut of this movie will deal with some of these inconsistencies so that I can sleep at night.

Boyo

Where did my baby go?

When did this toddler, this almost a grown up, look-at-me-riding-a-trike-and-reading-a-book-BIG-BOY, get here? How did I miss his arrival?

Purses

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Rushing out the door for school today, my daughter stopped and ran back to her room. Sighing and checking my watch, I chased after her. We had two minutes to spare, but my daughter can take those two minutes and stretch them into ten just by blinking.

"I gotta hafta get my purse," she told me, running out of her room with her flowered handbag over her arm.

I surpressed a smile and asked if I could see what she had put in her purse. I was curious.... what does a two year old need at school?

How worried should I be that she has a hotel room key?

And AGAIN...

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Once again, sickness has visited my lil family.

Only this time, it decided to grab me with its feeling-wretched-vomit-until-your-insides-ache-fever-induced-shakes tentacles.

It started on Mother's Day, when my daughter threw up. Monday, she seemed okay, so, although I was worried about her, I sent her to school. On Tuesday, I took my last sick day to stay home with her.

Other than her digestive issues, she was her normal, cheerful self. Oh good, I thought. Maybe she will be the only one to get sick. I'm a foolish woman.

Wednesday night, my son started vomiting. My husband rushed him to the bathroom, where I got to see my 17 month old son standing over the toilet, grasping the bowl, throwing up into the toilet. As bizarre as this sounds, he looked so grown up. I had a flash forward to him in college, dealing with a hangover.

Once we got him cleaned up, we went back to bed where I broke out in the sweats. Since I did not have anymore sick days, I willed the illness away, and the next morning, I dropped both my kids off at school (where I crossed my fingers that my boy could make it until 12:30, when my classes were over for the day), and went to work.

My boyo didn't even make it until 9 am.

After the inital panic, my husband and I worked it out. I would go pick up boyo and bring him to my work. My husband would come to my work, pick him up, and take him home.

On the way back to work, I began to feel a little nauseous. That's odd, I thought. I need must need some fresh air. I rolled down my window and promptly threw up out my car window.

I had to go to work with vomit on my leg in order to get a sub for a class that started in 5 minutes.

I was so sick I could only lie in bed and moan for a day and a half. My husband had to use his sick days to take care of our boyo and me.

Dear God, when does this end? I'm so tired of everyone always being sick!

Mother's Day

You know what the problem with Mother's Day is?

You have to have kids to get to celebrate it.

Kidding! I love my kids. I'm kidding, I'm kidding!

See, my day started at 6:30 am when my daughter snuck into our room and ran around to my side of the bed. My husband mumbled a half hearted "Come here" groan, and then he said "isyrmamsda" which I think meant "It's your Momma's day." Of course, my daughter ignored her and proceeded to smack me in the face and announce "I gotta go PEEPEE!"

So I stumbled out of bed into the bathroom with her, while making a snide comment about how this was supposed to be my day. Once I got my daughter situated, and was stretching myself awake, my husband stumbled in and said he got it. I considered playing the martyr card, but then common sense kicked in and I went back to bed.

For a blissful hour.

My daughter was so proud of the card that she made me that she came running into the room an hour later to shove it in my face. I made the appropriate "oohing" and "aahing" sounds, which apparently told my boy that Momma was awake and needed to have her bladder jumped on.

Still, I received some beautiful pearl earrings and the best gift of all - my husband took the kids to the Santa Ana Zoo, so I had the house to myself for two hours.

HEAVEN!!

It was when my husband brought the kids back that the problems started.

They were asleep so we transferred them to bed, and my husband asked if he could take a nap. Feeling magnanimous, I said of course. The kids are asleep. Nothing will happen.

My daughter woke up 5 minutes later.

My guilt wouldn't let me wake my husband up, so I held my daughter on the couch and gave up watching The Tudors for Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. When it became obvious that she wasn't going to go back to bed, I decided to take her to run errands with me. She made it through two of the four stores before she decided to take her shoes off and have me carry her everywhere.

We made it back home, so I decided to take a nap. We had an hour until our dinner reservations, and I figured that I could get a good 25 minutes in.

My kids decided to nap with me. (And I am using the word "nap" very loosely here).

Still, I reminded myself that in a few years they won't want to have anything to do with me. I decided to enjoy some snuggle time with a 25 lb two year old who decided that my head was the best place to lay down and a 35 lb one year old who thought bouncing on my stomach was hilarious.

We made it to dinner without incident. But that is when it happened.

I am not sure how, but my sweet, beautiful, well mannered children morphed into demons from the 7th circle of Hell. This must be a medical condition, I thought. Perhaps they will be written up in a medical journal. Seriously, it happened in the blink of an eye. This must be a medical miracle.

My daughter wailed until we were put in our booth. Then she was content to whimper and wipe her nose with my shirt, with occasional "I wanna go home"s thrown in. And my son was determined to let everyone at Claim Jumper know he was there: he kept trying to climb on top of the table, shouting "GAH!" at the top of his lungs at 5 second intervals. When we stuck him in the high chair, he screamed, arched his back, and threw his chips at anyone who walked by.

We got our food to go.

Home, we bathed the demon children, watched their horns retract, tucked them in, and sat back to enjoy a much needed bottle of wine and cold Claim Jumper dinners.

Right after I finished my dinner, my daughter stumbled out of her room. "I don't feel good," she told me. I scooped her up, prepared to soothe and cuddle, when she puked down my back. And in my hair. And in the hallway as I ran for the bathroom. And on my feet. The one place she didn't vomit? The bathroom. She was done by then.

I considered being upset, but my mom pointed out something very important when I was bitching to her about it. I will have the rest of my life to sleep in. I will have the rest of my life to shop alone. I will have the rest of my life to eat dinner out. I will have the rest of my life to eat hot food. I will have the rest of my life to not be vomited on.

But the moments that I had yesterday? They are fleeting. And meant to be enjoyed, and laughed at. And sure, with a 24 hour window to reflect on, it's pretty damn funny. Oh, not the vomit. But everything else it.

Who Wants to Move to Norway?

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I stumbled across an interesting article the other day.

Apparently, the United States is ranked 28th in the world when it comes to the best places to be a mother.

The five top countries were: Norway, Australia, Iceland, Sweden and Denmark.

Not surprisingly, Afghanistan was last on the list.

I'm not making these rankings up. Save the Children compiles this list yearly after looking at factors such as access to health care, educational and economic opportunities, and maternity leave policies.

It was the maternity leave policies that got me curious, so I decided to do some research. Granted, my research consisted of hitting up Wikipedia, but I am determined to dig further into this.

I know that the United States offers 0 time of paid maternity leave and 0 time of paid paternity leave. Under the Family Medical Leave Act, you can get 12 weeks off, unpaid. But really, it's up to your employer to determine if you are going to get paid leave or not.

What I did NOT know was that every country in Africa but one offers paid maternity leave. Every country in Asia/Pacific offer paid maternity leave. Every country in Europe offers paid maternity leave. In the Americas, every country but one offers paid maternity leave.

Yup, that one would be the United States.

Great. We are on par with Swaziland in terms of maternity leave.

And Norway, the country that Save The Children ranked #1?

Here is what parents in Norway get:

For Moms: 56 weeks (13 months) (80%) or 46 weeks (10.5 months) (100%) - mother must take at least 3 weeks immediately before birth and 6 weeks immediately after birth, father must take at least 10 weeks - the rest can be shared between mother and father. The mother can also take an extra full year of unpaid leave after the paid period ends.

For Dads (yes, they take care of their dads too!): 10 weeks of the 56/46 weeks paid leave is reserved for the father. If he does not take these 10 weeks, they will be lost as they can not be transferred to the mother. The father can also take an extra full year of unpaid leave after the paid period ends. In addition, the father is entitled to take two weeks unpaid leave directly before or after birth (many fathers are paid for these weeks by their employers).

Restrictions: To gain the right to paid leave for herself and the father, the mother must have worked for 6 of the last 10 months before birth, or the leave is unpaid (except for a lump sum benefit from the government).

Who is up for moving to Norway?

All right, all right, this information came from wikipedia. I still need to dig deeper into this. Perhaps all of this information is flawed and I will need to eat my words. I hope it is flawed. I hope I'm wrong. Because if this information is right, I'm highly irritated.

What a Gentleman....

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My baby boy is turning into a little boy.

And that little boy is such a gentleman.

The other day, he picked me a flower and brought it over to me. "Wower," he told me, before he hugged my knees and said "MWAH!"

As I was melting into Momma goo, he turned and toddled away.

What a sweetheart!

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And I wonder who taught him that? Because my husband's response was: "Son, don't pick the flowers."

I finally did it!!!

Today I ran my first 5K. I finished in 37m 17s, a whole 2 minutes and 83 seconds before my goal. My time is pathetic to some - you know, anyone who can run a mile in under 12m39s - but I'm pretty damn proud of it.

Still, as I finally sit down to process the run (12 hours later - its been a long day), I can't help but realize that I learned a few important things about humanity and myself today. Of course, I'm going to share them with you.

1. I still hate running.

2. You know that Gatorade commercial, the one with the professional athletes sweating Gatorade and then the screen flashes the "Is it in you" slogan? It's not in me.

3. People look funny when they run. I may be one of them, but still. At the race today there was a woman running who had her 3 kids running right behind her in a perfect line. All four of them ran with their hands on their hips ... the entire race. They looked like ducks. I couldn't pass them because I was afraid I would burst out laughing. That, and they were going faster than me.

4. Everyone runs faster than I do. Yes, I mean everyone.

5. I need to explain to my daughter the difference between a "run" and a "chase." As I was leaving, she told me to "Go chase."

6. Okay, granted I'm a new runner. But during a race, if you slow to a walk, aren't you supposed to get out of the middle of the road?

7. The people who finish the race within 5 minutes shouldn't be allowed to walk back to the start from the finish line, looking for the people they left behind. They look all snarky and sweaty and finished. And it's not fair.

8. When I was swimming, I used to gripe about how boring swimming was, how I hated it and I never wanted to do it again. I would take swimming any day of the week and twice on Sundays over running.

9. Why do people feel the urge to dress up as superheroes when they run? And why didn't I think of it first?

10. I really really hate running. But I feel really really really proud of myself for finishing.