Author Archives: Amy

Everyone’s a critic when it comes to raising children. I’m used to it by now, because… third baby and all, but man, it still doesn’t make the constant suggestions and advice any less annoying. Whenever some random stranger or barely an acquaintance starts giving me “advice” (read: unsolicited drivel) I usually nod my head, pretend that I’m listening, and thank them for the great tip. But yesterday got my panties in a little bit of a wad.

As usual, I went to pick the 4-year-old up from preschool; my huge baby perched snugly on my hip. A woman I know only through facial recognition asked if I was planning on teaching him how to sign? WHAT? I mean, I know some parents who’ve introduced sign language to their babies before, but is this an actual “thing” now? Is it just the norm to have your baby trained in the art of sign language?

Well, not for me. I happen to have a pretty good understanding of my baby’s needs and wants. Besides the fact that we have a relatively tight schedule, he makes his demands perfectly clear without the gestures associated with sign language. And let’s also remember that I don’t know sign language, so the idea that I’m going to learn sign language, just to teach my baby sign language, is quite insane. Oh yeah, in my spare time I think I’ll pick up a whole other language to learn, sure… why don’t I start learning Portuguese as well. Sounds simple enough. Um, NO. Hell no.

Consequently, it’s not like everyone else is going to know sign language either. Is my baby going to be able to communicate with Grandma using sign language? Or his daddy? Or his brothers? So I’m supposed to learn sign language, teach it to the baby, and teach it to everyone else too? Really? I recently taught my 91-year-old grandmother how to use Facebook so… I think I’ll pass on becoming a sign language instructor for the whole family just so my 11-month-old can tell me he wants to be picked up.

Instead, I’m going to start teaching the baby gestures he’s going to use for the rest of his life. Motions that will come in handy for the future. Indications that are universal. EVERYONE will know these bad boys. His intent will be clear, his purpose, unyielding. With these under his belt he can easily be a man of few words, and then he’ll learn words, and he’ll gesture appropriately and I’ll know my work here was worth it.

1. The Finger:

Ah, the universal sign for “Fuck You”! If he’s anything like his mama, he’ll use this one in spades.

2. The Bite Me:

A nice crotch grab goes a long way. Pro-tip: Also works wonders if you’re impersonating Micheal Jackson.

3. The Hang Ten:

Huge in Hawaiian culture as the Shaka sign; consists of extending the thumb and little finger upward. The ability to hang loose is a good life lesson. I need to remember this one when I’m starting to stress out.

4. The World’s Smallest Violin:

This gesture is made by rubbing the thumb and forefinger together, to imitate bowing a violin. Its mission is sarcasm and we use a lot of that shit around here. Welcome to the family.

5. The Thumbs Up:

The cool thing about the thumbs up is that it is used universally, by doctors, truckers, scuba divers. The thumbs up knows not who you are. It’s the universal sign for good!

6. The A-Ok:

Much like the thumbs up, the a-okay tells everyone you are fine, better than fine.

7. The Cuckoo sign:

We’ve all done it. Someone starts talking crazy and you take your index finger, point it to your temple, and make a circular motion. I’m sure he’ll use this gesture to his father while talking about me behind my back.

8. The Blah-Blah-Blah:

When you make your hand seem as if it’s your old boss, talking excessively about something you don’t care to hear about. Yes, the Blah-Blah-Blah must be mastered to live here.

9. Loser:

Using the index finger and thumb on your right hand, make the L shape and place it on your forehead. Beck made it famous, we keep it real.

10. The Talk to the Hand:

My 4-year-old has already mastered this one. He’ll probably teach the baby himself.

The other night, my mom called to invite me over for a family get together. As usual, I was being my funny and snarky self when I accepted the offer, “I’ll be there, and I might even shower first!” to which Mom replied, “What is it with you moms nowadays not having time for a shower? When you and your brother were little I still found time to bathe regularly. Just take a shower!”

My mom wasn’t trying to give me “the business”. This wasn’t one of those, “when I was a kid I walked uphill, in the snow, both ways to school” speeches. This was my mother’s real observation of the current state of parenting, which is kind of fascinating. When did bathing become the holy grail for the SAHM? I know I’m not alone in this. I hear it from other moms ALL THE TIME. When did it become more difficult for me to start running water, strip down to my birthday suit and wash my bits, than it is for me to keep up a humor blog, raise a family, keep a house, and keep my sanity?

That’s when it hit me. Fucking Ouch!! No, the baby, literally, flung a sippy cup at me and it clocked me in the face… just now.

As I assessed the damage to my puffy eye, and went to get some ice (for my wine) the epiphany hit me. I’m a hands-on, no-holds-barred, in-your-face, mom. The only times my children are confined are when they are napping, which seems like never, and when they do finally drift off to la-la land, the last thing I feel like doing is showering. I feel like reading a book, or watching a show, or scrolling through Facebook or…. ANYTHING, BUT SHOWERING.

Is it the nudity? Is it the hot/cold thing? Is it the fact that I desperately need to clean my shower? Possibly. It could also be a sign that I have very little to shower for. I mean, if my clothes are clean and I’ve sink washed the important “parts” it’s not like I’m having tea with the Queen anytime soon. Come to think of it, if the Queen did invite me to tea I’m sure she’d realize that I’d probably show up: sans-shower, in reversible yoga pants, with baby spit-up on my shirt. The Queen wouldn’t want to hang with me for my clean hair. I won’t hold my breath for that invite.

And here’s the thing… I’m not a “dirty girl” (well, I have a filthy mind but that’s a whole different post). I’m just a super busy girl. Like, right this second, I’m writing this post with one hand, signing my kid’s homework planner with the other hand and taking a break from writing to open a cheese stick wrapper with both hands while I re-position the baby to be far away from the rock garden because rocks aren’t food. Be right back.

In a couple of years all my kids will be in school, and I’ll start bathing on the regular – I promise, mom – but until then… until then, its clean clothes, hair with dry shampoo (which totally doesn’t work on me, by the way) and sink baths. Parenting small kids is starting to remind me a lot like my twenties, except with less going out and more wine.

We are definitely gonna need more wine.

 

We’ve all heard it a million times, “Motherhood is a thankless job.” Well, I’m here to tell you, that’s some straight up bullshit. Yes, motherhood is the most thankless situation in the history of time; you do everything for everybody and they only realize this awesome feat when you fuck something up, but… It’s not a job. Prime example, today was spirit day at the 4-year-old’s school which means he’s supposed to wear a specific shirt. I vividly remember, washing this shirt, folding this shirt and putting it in his drawer. Of course we couldn’t find it today. Of course, it’s misplacement was a disaster of epic proportions and of course, my middle child went off to school, in the wrong damn shirt, thinking that I sit on the couch and eat Cowboy Bark from Trader Joe’s all day (which I really should start doing if shirts are gonna grow fucking legs and walk away).

The point of all this is that motherhood isn’t a job. By definition, a job is a situation where you work… and earn money. Shit, unemployment in this country is more of a job than motherhood. And with a job you get vacation time (I can’t remember the last time I had a vacation from motherhood) and sick days (SICK DAYS!!?? I currently have a sinus infection and a double ear infection, still doin’ the mom thang) and mental health days (Don’t even get me started on how bad I need one of these).

Nope, I am not working at being a mom. There is no severance package. There is no 5 o’clock whistle. There is no lunch break. Some days, when my head hits the pillow, I close my eyes and recall some adorable moment shared with my children: a funny little nuance, a real belly laugh, a “thanks mama,” or a sincere, “I love you,” and my heart is full with payment. But most days… most days I don’t remember getting into bed; body heavy with the physical and mental labor I’ve shelled out with every fiber of my being. This isn’t a job because it never ends. My life could be equated with being the janitor at the mall. You mop the mall floor, over and over and over again, just to watch a heard of people walk over the spot you just mopped, leaving a trail of muddy footprints in their wake. Never able to rest the mop against the wall and examine your completed handiwork. Except even that guy GETS PAID!

I really wish I could listen to that sage advice of the old lady at the supermarket. The one who grabs the baby’s cheeks as he gives her a megawatt smile and she touches my arm and whispers, “Enjoy it darling, it goes by so fast,” because I know she’s right. It is going by at a rapid pace, but I can’t even savor that fact because it’s all I do. Motherhood has swallowed me whole and while sometimes I wish it were a job, just so I could throw a basket of laundry on the damn floor and scream, “I QUIT. TAKE THIS JOB AND SHOVE IT!” I can’t. I don’t. Because it’s not a job, it’s my life.

A mental health day would be nice though.

The little people are everywhere. They surround me. I spend 20 hours a day making sure they are alive to see tomorrow. Some days are easier than others: school days, the day my husband put the baby gates on the stairs, the day the baby and the 4-year-old napped at the same time. Some days… not so good: the day the baby discovered the toilet bowl, the day the 9-year-old forgot his homework at school, the day all I wanted was a shower (and I didn’t get it).

My patience wanes as the sun sets. I go from Mary Poppins to Cruella De Vil in an instant. All of a sudden the questions asked of me get more ridiculous, and I throw out the No’s like a major league pitcher on opening day. “But WHHYYY MOOMMMYYY?”

Because I said so.

It really is the most ridiculous phrase around. Because I said so? What kind of stupid shit is that? All this time I spend with my children, reading to them, playing with them, building things with them… what I want is to create thinkers; little people with brains who will grow up to be men with brains. And then I lose my patience because the day is long, their requests are limitless and all that work goes right out the window.

Because I said so.

As if, instantly, all of them have become little Veruca Salts… “I want an Oompa Loompa NOW!” and instead of using my mind, “Honey, you can’t have an Oompa Loompa, because they are mythical beings that only exist in the movies and literature, and where would he sleep?” I give them a whole lot of, “No. Because I said so.”

Because I’m tired. Because I’m over having to explain every decision I make to someone who’s 4 foot tall. Because I’m too lazy to too busy or too over all of this to make/assist/adhere to whatever you want, the moment you want it.

So, right now? The answer is no.

Because I said so.

You’ll have better luck asking for the same ridiculous thing in the morning.

Unless you keep me up all night…

I love my children. I love them in a way I never knew love existed. A mad, crazy, I’d-catch-a grenade-for-ya love. But love like that is exhausting. Motherhood is exhausting. Just because I love my children doesn’t mean I always have to like what needs to be done. You could find more mental stimulus working in the County mail room then in the day-to-day of a Stay-At-Home-Mom. And there are times and situations where I have to mentally check-out just to cope.

1. On weekends, at lunchtime:

One of the many jobs I held during my teenage years was waiting tables in a diner. I was an awful waitress. The soup was always brought to the table cold, I never got the salad dressings correct, entrées were often staggered throughout the meal, and split checks? Yikes. Now, motherhood has put me right back in the throes of the diner once again. Except now, I’m the chef, the waitress, the busboy, and the cleanup crew all balled up into one frazzled package. And I can’t even flirt with the cute dishwasher. Oh shit, I am the dishwasher. How could I forget about that? At least during the week I can make lunches while they sleep for the next day, not having to listen to them complain about how they have too much (or not enough) ice in their cup.

2. Before nap time:

Without Curious George the 4-year-old won’t nap, without Netflix there is no Curious George, without Comcast there is not Netflix. So, as you can imagine, there is often no nap. HE NEEDS A NAP.

3. When I’m trying to complete a project:

I’ve been trying to clean the garage fridge for 3 weeks. Whenever I get everything emptied out, something else needs my immediate attention. The 9-year-old needs a specific book off the top shelf, the 4-year-old wants my undivided attention to show me the cool trick he’s just realized he can do (this time it was farting on command) and the baby? Well he’s mobile now and attempting to climb the stairs every chance he gets, so… projects? Not so much.

4. When they have to complete a project:

The 4-year-old had to color a project from preschool at home. Normally, he loves to color but once I was involved it became the biggest case of oppositional defiant disorder I’d ever seen. I was eventually able to persuade him with the promise of chocolate and 25 rounds of Candy Land. I can’t wait until he’s in Middle School. {eye roll}

5. During homework time:

The 9-year-old is pretty good about getting his homework done. Unfortunately, that’s usually the exact time his younger brother decides to pelt him with Nerf bullets, or sing Frosty the Snowman at the top of his lungs. This place is a zoo, and not in a cute, Matt Damon, We Bought a Zoo, way.

6. The last days of winter/spring/summer break:

3 weeks off in a row has been mind numbing. Any parent who says different is a teacher.

7. When I’m on the phone:

If I ever want my kids to pay attention to me, all I need to do is make a phone call. Come to find out, all kids are like this, and since most of my friends are parents too, we end up in a 30 minute conversation where we haven’t been able to say anything to each other but can recall, precisely, the infractions of each others’ children.

8. When they are fighting:

This is ALL. THE. TIME. The sweetest brotherly moment can erupt into World War 3 out of no where. Once, I watched them fight over who was playing with the baby and how the other was stealing the baby’s attention. “There’s enough baby to go around,” was the incorrect way to settle this argument.

9. When I catch them in a lie:

As my oldest quickly becomes a tween I’m catching him in lots of fibs. It’s annoying, it’s depressing. Doesn’t he know he can tell me anything? I’m not always going to like the truth, but I’m always going to love him. Hopefully he learns that lesson. And quick.

10. When they’re not around:

I know it sounds completely silly, there are so many times I think, “I wish I had a minute to breathe/think/not have to talk/pee/not have to hold someone” but when my kids aren’t in this house I miss them like crazy, and I worry. Even when they are in situations with people I unequivocally trust. That’s the thing about being a mom, I have 3 little people who are carrying around a piece of my heart, and it’s only entirely complete when we all are together.