Seeking calm in the storm

I don't know what it says about me, but sometimes I feel like I can best relate to the boys when they're at their worst. Their meltdowns and tantrums bring me right back to my own moody childhood. Of course, now I'm experiencing these colorful displays of emotion in a whole new way.

On Friday afternoon, I promised I would pick up Ben and Paul from school and take all three boys to the library. Bringing my brood to the library doesn't strike fear in me the way it used to, when Gus would be liable to wander away from me, trying to open DVD cases, or worse, simply run away from me. No, my youngest has calmed considerably. He knows where his favorites are - Max and Ruby, Charlie and Lola, Batman - and he gravitates toward those. Don't get me wrong, he's no angel, but my crew is manageable these days.

This day, though, I should have been very fearful, for what ensued was disastrous. It started off fine. The boys found materials peacefully enough. It was checkout time when everything fell apart. Ever since the Menasha Library moved all checkout to the adult side, I've become devoted to using the self-checkout on the children's side. I'm simply more comfortable to keeping my kids confined to the side where noise is at least somewhat acceptable.

The self-checkout is great, and I've become pretty quick at using it, but when the boys want to "help," things take a turn for the worse. This day, Gus planted himself squarely in the center of the step stool. He's the worst possible assistant, because he is of no help and is in fact a hindrance. Paul, too, was adamant that he wanted to check out his items. He began to whine loudly and shove Gus. Gus, naturally, whined louder and pushed back.

The whole time, I was strenuously whispering-yelling and making threats. The situation did not improve, and I was worried that Gus soon would have a full-on tantrum or a fistfight would break out. It was time to extract Gus from the situation. I asked Ben if he would take over for me so I could take Gus out to the car. He was standing there obliviously, nose in one of his books, as the drama unfolded. "What?" he asked dazedly as I stood there unraveling.

Gus was kicking and fighting me as I lifted him, all of this on display for the friendly children's librarians. Gus threw his head back and hit against the pole behind him. That sent him into hysterics. Very, very loud hysterics. I walked quickly, shame-faced to the car and managed to get Gus strapped into his car seat.

I was furious. If there's one thing I don't handle well, it's when the kids embarrass me in public places. And how much worse does it get than the library, a place of quiet and decorum? (There's a slight chance that I belabored this point to Paul. When we were having our postmortem discussion about what had gone wrong, he said, tentatively, "I behaved badly in public?")

When Paul returned to the car, I meted out consequences to him and Gus - no screen time for the rest of the day. Gus didn't take it too hard, but Paul threw a fit and yelled the whole way home and into the house.

Paul's outrage went on and on until it petered out seemingly just as quickly as it arrived. He asked me in a sweet voice when we were leaving for our Chicago trip. I remember doing this to my mom when I was a kid. I had a temper, you see. I would go into a rage and then it would evaporate, and I would expect her to just catch up to me. I'm calm now. We're all good, right? Of course, my mom would still be fuming, as well she should have.

Experiencing this from the role of parent is quite a different situation. My frustration with Paul hadn't left me. I wasn't ready to make nice yet. I told him I was still angry and he needed to give me space. After a little while, I felt better, and we were able to move on. In a lot of ways, I'm the same way I was when I was a kid. I tend to get angry, though of course with better ways to manage it now, but I do get it over it fairly quickly.

Anger comes to us all. I think all I can do is give the boys techniques for better handling theirs and try to remain calm through their storms. I know from personal experience that the intense emotions of childhood do die down eventually. Until then, I guess we will be stuck in this cycle of outburst and forgiveness. Om ...

Fasting and feasting

If I had to characterize my relationship status with the Catholic Church, I'd have to go with the Facebook description, "It's complicated." The church provides me with comfort and frustration in nearly equal measure.

As I've written in the past, Catholicism is like a huge, dysfunctional family to me. I love my family, but sometimes I have a really hard time understanding and accepting it. In this case, my family is complete with the equivalent of a grandpa who makes mortifying racist remarks. Only in this case, instead we have a Pope, cardinals and bishops who make mortifying anti-gay remarks. I'm sorry, Catholic Church, there have got to be more important issues over which to throw down the gauntlet. Many, many, many more important issues.

I've shied away from writing about it, but Bishop David Ricken's election-time letter (or if you see it the way I do, his very thinly veiled attempt to intimidate Catholics into voting for Romney) bothered me no end.  The letter specifically attacks abortion, euthanasia,  embryonic stem cell research, human cloning (human cloning?), and homosexual "marriage," as Ricken described it. More than ever before, his missive really had me second-guessing whether the Catholic Church was the right place for me.

Here is an excerpt from Ricken's letter. "But what does this have to do with the election?  Some candidates and one party have even chosen some of these as their party's or their personal political platform.  To vote for someone in favor of these positions means that you could be morally 'complicit' with these choices which are intrinsically evil. This could put your own soul in jeopardy."

Wow, my soul in jeopardy. Those are some strong words. I thought threats like these belonged to another century. For the life of me, I don't see how political choices can be that black-and-white to anyone.

In short, I struggled mightily. Mark and I discussed our concerns with our parish priest. Through it all, though, we've stuck with our church. I guess I keep coming back to the idea that I'd like to stay and hope I can try to be a part of change in the church from within.  Ultimately, too, it's hard to leave your family.

After that very long prelude, I don't want to write about the new pope. I've seen some good and some discouraging about him, so I'll just hope and pray that he takes the church in a positive direction.

Instead, I want to write about a positive experience we had this Lent. Last week, Mark took Ben and Paul to a special Lenten program for faith formation. At the event, kids and parents were asked to complete a project: "Our Family's Lenten Promise to God." On a poster, kids and parents were asked to choose and record negative activities to fast from and positive ones to feast on for each of the remaining three weeks of Lent.

To Mark's surprise, the kids, especially Ben, really dug in and thought about it. Bright and early the next morning, Paul told me I needed to add my fasting and feasting goals to the poster, so naturally I completed my assignment posthaste. Week 1 - fast from negativity, feast on acts of kindness. Week 2 - fast from iPad (well dramatically cut back, anyway), feast on mindfulness and reflection. Week 3 - fast from judging others, feast on counting my blessings.

It's not like this has been a magic tool for creating harmony in our house, but the poster is on our fridge, and we're using it to try to keep one another on track. "Ben, are you fasting from arguing?" "Paul, remember what you said about pouting and complaining?"

I must say, this activity has been good for me. For me, Lent is a time to look closely at myself, but it's easy to grow complacent with my goals. This has gotten me more focused, and I'm checking myself on bad habits more often.

Something tells me my relationship with church will remain stuck at "it's complicated." While, I work through it all, I'm going to hold on to all the positives I can find.

A complaining sort of day

Today was one of those days that started out bad and quickly progressed to worse. It was the kind of day that makes you feels so defeated that all you want to do is crawl back into bed for the next 12 hours but instead your schedule is unusually full.

It started at 6:40 a.m., minutes after I'd sauntered out of bed. The phone rang, and I just knew it would be a parent of one of Gus's classmates asking me to emergency sub at his co-op preschool. Mark was standing there as I said, "No, no, no! I don't want to work today!"

"Just let me answer it and tell them you're not available," he said.

Really, Mark should know better. That's not how I roll. I'm a yes woman. I want to be the one people can count on. Really, I volunteered to be an emergency working parent, and I don't mind it. I'm one of the only parents whose child is a youngest child. Most have little ones, and it's nice that I have the flexibility to be able to pinch hit.

And yet. I didn't anticipate how often I'd be getting last-minute calls or how difficult it would be to change my plans with little notice. I had my day planned to the minute, and two and a half hours in Gus's class wasn't in there. Nevertheless, I answered the phone and said I'd do it.

Mere moments after I hung up the phone, Paul approached me. He wanted to know what username and password I'd entered for some app he'd downloaded the previous night. I said I didn't remember. What I really meant was that I'd have to try to enter a couple things before I came up with it. I couldn't even get that out because Paul, in true Paul fashion, went from normal person to screeching lunatic in no time flat.

Paul was hysterical, going on about how he was going to lose all his progress in the game. I told him needed to back off. I was in no mood. Ben was sitting at the table and blurted out, "Why are you yelling at everyone? You're just making everyone sad!"

Truly, I don't know what the "everyone" meant, because I'd only been short with Paul, but whatever. At that point, I lost it and stomped off, sputtering that all I do is care for them, and still I get dumped on.

Ben can choose the most inopportune times to decide he's going to stick up for his brother. What Ben said made me angry, but more than anything, it hurt. I felt attacked, and suddenly I'd hit my limit of acting as the repository for all the boys' frustrations. In the car on the way to school, I fully morphed into my mother, using the exact words she used to utter to my brothers and me. "You push and you push and you push me!"

The day didn't get much better from there. Gus was wound up at school. At one point, he got overzealous and whipped a toy over his head, inadvertently hitting another boy in the chin and leaving an abrasion. I was mortified.

After working in Gus's class, I zoomed to the grocery store for the shopping trip I had to postpone because of the volunteering. I put away all of the perishables, leaving everything else littering the countertops. I inhaled a quick lunch before going to volunteer in Paul's class, where the kids today were extraordinarily hyper and unfocused.

I'm home now, unwinding after volunteering one more time today - for an open house at Gus's school. Yes, I'm seeing my difficulties aren't as great as they seemed earlier today. First-world problems, as they say.

Parenting truly can feel like a thankless job. If my kids are like me, they won't fully appreciate us until they're adults - most likely when they have kids of their own.

Whatever tomorrow brings, I want to be calmer for my kids. I loathe being the mom who yells. I want to be a model of staying cool even when life gets frustrating.  I try so hard, I really do. Then all of a sudden a day like today blindsides me, and I act, well, human, I guess.

 

Sometimes I feel like I'm always striving to be the mom I want to be, and I'll never reach that goal. I'm holding out hope that I'm still evolving and that one day I'll be able to handle whatever life throws at me.

Mulling my career options

Seven years (and change) ago, this moment never would have crossed my mind. I was brand new to my role as stay-at-home mom. (Sorry - I know that phrase irritates some, but I don't much care for "homemaker." It conjures images of a woman wearing a full-skirted dress and high heels, pulling a pot roast out of the oven. She probably needs Valium to get through her day, which, incidentally, I can understand.)

I had recently quit my full-time job at Kimberly-Clark to care full-time for Ben and newborn Paul. I knew we wanted three kids, so this would be my life for the foreseeable future. I love the phrase, "The days are long, but the years are short." It sums up the past seven years perfectly.

I'm on the cusp of change. Gus will be in school half days in the fall, and lately, the idea of going back to work has been gnawing at me. I feel a little stuck right now, because I'd like to plan, but I'm not even ready to start applying for jobs.

If only the picture of me working outside the home weren't so blurry. My career before kids was kind of a mishmash. My degree is in journalism, and I spent my first year out of college as a copy editor at The Oshkosh Northwestern. It was a job I loved, but the hours were making me miserable. I worked second shift and every weekend. Mark and I were newlyweds, working opposite schedules. I saw him two nights a week, and that was about it. I left before he got home from work, and he was in bed asleep when I arrived.

Looking back, I wish I would've stuck it out in the newspaper business, but I didn't. My brother worked at K-C and told me about an administrative assistant position. I stayed with K-C for the next four-plus years. I can't say the job brought me nearly as much fulfillment as copy-editing, but the hours sure were nice, as was giving up the commute to Oshkosh. Plus, administrative assistant work at a major corporation pays more than my other career. That's journalism for ya.

So here I sit thinking I'd like to get back out there in the not-too-distant future. I'd like to be able to save my income for the boys' education. It would be lovely to be able to help Ben, Paul and Gus, even if it's just some. I shudder to think how expensive college will be, and I hate the idea of sending my kids into the world saddled with crippling debt.

But what would I do for work? I felt confident in my computer skills ... almost a decade ago, but something tells me employers wouldn't think they're so fresh today. I'm sure it's a whole world of new computer applications about which I know nothing.

I wish I had a background with an obvious path. My friend, a social worker and fellow stay-at-home mom, has been able to stay minimally connected to her field, teaching parenting classes, staying current on her skills so she can easily segue back in at some point.

I envy my friend and my mom, who after raising kids for 15 years, knew exactly what she wanted to do. She went to UW-Oshkosh to become recertified as a teacher. Seeing that Menasha was starting an elementary foreign language program, my mom knew instantly that she'd love to teach Spanish to elementary students. She pursued it with all her energy and got her dream job.

Me, I have no idea what to do. And I have all these disclaimers. I'd like to work part-time. It'd be great to have a flexible schedule so I could take care of the boys when they're sick, chaperone field trips, volunteer at school. Gosh, I'd love to still have the summers off. I'm starting to think it's all pie in the sky.

I vascilate between wanting to do find a career that will be really fulfilling and wanting something that's easy and won't require a whole lot of me - just a paycheck. It's intimidating, this contemplating re-entering the workforce after a seven-year hiatus. I'm filled with a potent mix of excitement, dread and sorrow. As you can see, I'm freaking out a little bit here.

One thing's for sure, whenever I'm ready to make my move, it's going to be a process. It could take time, and I may not find the perfect opportunity on the first try. I'm steeling myself for some trying times. Wish me luck in my journey.

The free ride is over, boys!

After more than 10 years as a parent, I still make a lot of mistakes. Having my kids participate in household chores is on the long list of things I know I should do but still fail to do.

I listened as my friend described how each weekend her 4- and 6-year-old help with vacuuming while her 8- and 10-year-old clean the bathrooms. I felt sheepish. It's not that my kids don't help at all, but I certainly don't have them doing anything on a regular basis.

I've fallen into the trap of realizing that I can do the housework better and more quickly than my kids can, so I (and Mark) just end up doing the vast majority of it. Plus, there's none of that pesky nagging involved with this option.

The problem with my method, of course, is that my kids aren't exactly learning to do these things for themselves. Sure, they may do a mediocre job at these tasks at first, but they would get better. That's the idea. I get exasperated when the boys treat me like a maid, but I'm a participant in sending the wrong message.

I read a book recently in which a character's wife describes him as "milk-fed veal," meaning he was coddled. He was raised as the only son in his family and his mother, in particular, babied and doted on him. Similarly, my mom described how growing up, her mom and the daughters of her family served her father and brothers.

I don't want my boys to be milk-fed veal, and I certainly don't want them to get the idea that women are there to serve them. In short, I do not want my kids to have a sense of entitlement. Furthermore, I want Ben, Paul and Gus to know how to do these jobs for their own good, so they can go off to college, or whatever, knowing how to clean a bathroom and do laundry.

So it's time, I guess, to start assigning some chores. I may have to put up with a little bit of whining and protest. Maybe I'll remain a little skeptical about having the boys clean the bathroom - I think I know them too well. But setting and clearing the table, vacuuming their rooms, putting away their laundry - those they can do. And we'll build from there. Here's hoping this will do us all some good.

Sometimes it's just stupid to try to be super mom

What is it about women that it's so hard for us to accept help when we need it, even when it's offered? This has been on my mind this week after I got sick for the second time in less than two weeks.

First, I was down and out with the stomach flu. I lay in bed early on a Wednesday morning after enduring a hellish night of vomiting and stomach pain. Mark had a dentist appointment at 8 a.m., and on top of everything, it was the day of that huge snowstorm.

Mark immediately said he would cancel his appointment. "No, no," I moaned, "I can get the boys to school."

Luckily, I have a wonderful husband whose sanity prevailed. He canceled his appointment and made arrangements to have my mom take care of Gus. And thank God because I barely moved the whole day. I most certainly could not have gotten the boys to school.

So, ok, I could accept that one instance of needing help, but then Sunday night, I developed a scratchy throat, and my legs began to ache. I woke up in the middle of the night completely achy, knowing that something was coming.

Sure enough, on Monday morning I woke up with chills, a low-grade fever, and body aches. But no, I was not having it. I showered and drove Ben and Paul to school and got Gus to preschool.

I was starting to feel pretty lousy walking out to the car at Gus's school, but still I was thinking, I can do this. I will rest when I can, drink tea with honey and lemon. I will pick up Gus, make him lunch, keep the play date with my friend and her son, make supper. Sure, I'd be wiped out, but my family would look at me with admiration, thinking, she just keeps pushing through even when things are hard.

Clearly I was delirious. My family would think I was an idiot for trying to do it all while sick (and would be really keen on eating a meal prepared by a sicko, I'm sure), and I'm sure my friend would be delighted with me for keeping a play date while nursing an illness with fever.

It didn't matter, because physiology took over as soon as I walked in the door. I tried to sit in a chair and read, but even that was too much. I felt like I'd been hit by a truck, and my fever was climbing. Meekly, I called my mom and asked for help. I even told her I'd pick up Gus from school and bring him to her house. My mom, being the angel she is, of course said she'd pick up Gus, keep him the rest of the day and make supper for us. Play date canceled, I sacked out in bed the rest of the day.

Here's the thing. My mom wants to help. She's one of those generous people who's made happy by making her children's live easier. I know this. When people ask me for help I feel honored that they've trusted me enough to ask. I'm more than happy to do it if I can. And yet it's still so hard to accept assistance.

I guess it will remain a mystery, this resistance to asking for help. All I can say is this: if someone offers aid; if you're lucky enough to have someone in your life who's there for you, for God's sake, take that help when you need it. You'll be doing yourself a favor and maybe even making someone else feel good in the process.

Now, to diverge a little bit. I don't know about you, but I have so had it with winter. I get to this point every year around this time. This is when I need to start actively looking for little bits of happiness.

Today I found one of those morsels. It was my day to volunteer in Paul's first-grade classroom, which has brought me unexpected joy this year. I had asked the teacher's permission to bring Valentine's cookies. I'd promised Paul I'd bring bakery cookies for Christmas until a snow day canceled it, so I owed him.

I called the bakery to order the cookies yesterday, and the woman asked if I wanted the small ones. By small, I pictured her meaning miniature, so I said that we probably should do bigger. Silly me. In these times, small means normal size and "bigger" means ginormous.

So I brought these huge frosted heart cookies to the class, and I explained to Paul's teacher a little sheepishly that they were really big and apologized for the sugar rush. At least it was 2:30 and the kids would soon be leaving for the day.

As I was getting ready to go, the kids yelled a big thank you, and several came and enveloped me in big hugs. I left with a warm feeling in my heart and a huge smile on my face.

So whether you take pleasure in noticing the days gradually increasing in length or you decide to give a bunch of first-graders a sugar high, find yourself some little joys that will bring you through to the warmth of April. Happy late winter, y'all.

It's so unfair being called unfair all the time

If you have more than one child, there's one thing you can count on. One or more of your kids will be watching you to make sure everything you're doing is "fair," and believe me, you will always come up wanting.

In our house, Mark and I call Paul the fairness police. He is the one, more than any other, who is ever-vigilant in the hunt for infractions. If the scales tip slightly in favor of one of his brothers at any time, we hear about it promptly. "But that's not fair!" he shrieks, two, 10, 20 times a day.

It doesn't help to have Gus as one of Paul's brothers. When one of the children stays home while the other two are at school, he just naturally and unavoidably gets some perks the other two may not- a trip to the children's museum or the Family Fun Center at the Y, lunch out with Mom occasionally.

Once in a while, I take Gus to get a Happy Meal after a job well done accompanying me to the grocery store. It's not the toys that get me busted. Believe me, we have enough junk around here that an extra trinket could easily go unnoticed. No, even though I've explained to Gus that it would hurt Paul's feelings if he knew about the treat and asked him to please not mention it, Gus can't help crowing about it. Thanks a lot, Benedict Arnold! (I'm sure specifically asking Gus not to spill makes it all the more likely he will.)

Boy do I hear about it when Paul finds out what I've done. He trots out everything. "You NEVER take me to McDonald's! You ALWAYS take Gus!" This went on for days after the last time.

I remember how it felt. My brothers and I were the same. My older brother, Sean, went on his junior high class trip to Washington DC. I didn't even want to go on mine, but I didn't let that stop me from holding over my parents' head that Sean got something that I hadn't.

 

All of the accusations of unfairness can get to even the most confident parent. Does Paul have a point? Am I really being as equitable as I can? I don't feel like I favor any one of my kids. They irritate and curry favor with me in fairly equal measure. I hope that's what they see.

The only conclusion I can reach is that it's impossible, and maybe even undesirable, to be perfectly fair. We've undoubtedly spent more money on Ben's many lessons and sports. He just happens to be more of a joiner. Paul prefers to be at home, content to have free time to doodle and daydream. Of course, if he found a passion for art classes, karate, whatever, we'd offer the same backing to Paul.

I'll take solace in knowing that the fairness battle does have an endpoint. All adults now, my brothers and I have long since forgotten about keeping score. I think we recognize that my parents did the best they could.

In the end, I don't think it matters who got more birthday presents or trips to McDonald's. If I'm fairly equal in the time I spend playing a board game with Ben, drawing Skylanders with Paul, building Lego structures with Gus, I think I'm doing my job pretty well.