A love-hate relationship?

As I was preparing for another glorious day with my three darling children yesterday, a promo for a story on the Today Show caught my attention. They were doing a feature about a cover story entitled, "I love my children. I hate my life," which recently appeared in New York Magazine. Wow. Provocative. I quickly hit the DVR button and tuned in later.

Studies show, the story said, that many people become decidedly unhappier when they become parents. Furthermore, in a survey among moms, the majority ranked activities like napping, preparing food and housework as more pleasurable than childcare. Boy, do I get that. After tending to the boys' needs eight or nine hours a day, believe me, I'd rather do almost anything.

While I think saying that I "hate my life" is many shades too extreme to describe the way I feel day to day, I do understand where the writer is going with the story. As the psychologist in the piece pointed out, many people end up unhappy with parenting because of unrealistic expectations. Been there. Before Ben was born, I thought, sure I can give up a little sleep, no big deal. There was no way I could have prepared myself for the actual degree of sleep deprivation and the way it would feel. I was a 25-year-old first-time mom, and it felt utterly overwhelming.

Likewise, I had unrealistic expectations about being a stay-at-home mom. It was what I had always wanted to do in life. I pictured leading my kids in structured activities: crafts, story time, fun outings. Reality quickly set in on that one and soon I settled into the realization: holy crap, how am I going to fill a whole day every day? Staying at home with three kids often means trying to meet three diverse sets of needs all at once. This one needs more structured play, this one needs less. This one wants to spend every minute outside, these two would rather be inside. It's an almost non-stop barrage of requests and demands, most often not delivered in a sweet, polite tone of voice. It's a battle against boredom, theirs, and yes, I'll admit it, sometimes mine too. It's watching your house turn to a disorganized mess before your very eyes. Craft time is me keeping vigil over Gus to keep him from biting off crayon tips or eating Play-Doh. Sitting down for story time? Not so easy. As for the outings, it seems like someone is always unhappy. My youngest doesn't want to be in his stroller. My older two whine about not wanting to walk.

So that's the hard part. Lest I sound really miserable and ungrateful, let me say that with time has come acceptance that this simply is my life right now. My expectations are reasonable - most days. I see it as putting in my time right now for the benefits of later, when my kids are older and a little more independent. Yes, most moments of the day feel like pure work, but then there are sweet moments too, like nap time. So in conclusion, I've decided that I love my life. But maybe for my sake, just don't ask me at, say, 4:30 p.m. on a Tuesday.

The inevitable pet request

I figured this time would come eventually, the time when one of my kids would start asking us for a pet. Karma seems to ensure that I get what's coming to me in most parenting issues. I am, after all, the girl who decided she wanted a puppy or kitten of her very own for her 13th birthday and launched a month-long campaign of writing begging letters to my parents. For the record, I didn't get my wish but instead received a telephone for my room and a stuffed animal, much to my furor. Wisely played, Mom and Dad. Yes, I did get over it sooner than later.

That brings me to now, when my middle child has his heart set on a pet. Ben and Paulie prepared birthday lists yesterday. Good thing, since their birthdays are three and five months away, respectively. At the top of Paulie's list: a pet turtle. The kid loves turtles. I suppose it doesn't help that the boys know that my parents did cave sometime in my teenage years and let me have, yes, a pet turtle. A pet turtle that I took care of very, very spottily. Yes, I fed it and all, but let's just say its cage was not so clean. Ben and Paul seem to accept the fact that because of allergies we will never have cats or dogs, that I am vehemently opposed to harboring rodents of any kinds, and that my bird phobia will keep fowls out of our house. However, I think Paul thinks he might be able to sway us on the turtle.

Here's the thing, though: turtles live for a long time. I'm pretty sure I don't want to make that kind of commitment to a reptile. And fish, the one pet I would consider, don't live long at all. Do I really want to explain mortality to my 4-year-old? The plan is to stay strong and keep saying no to an animal invasion. Wish me luck in turning down those big, pleading eyes. Do you think an ant farm would satisfy him? No? I didn't either ...