Somewhere along the way, I have become a mother. I don't mean on the day my first daughter was born when it seemed so weird to say "that's my daughter," or the time that I fumbled through teaching her to walk or even when I introduced her to her younger sister-because I don't think that it happened in one moment.
I think it was a million little failures, fears and maybe 100 successes. I think that I knew that I was their mother, but I didn't understand that, at the core of my being, I AM a mother. I think that living in the neverending, messy confusion of early motherhood and waiting for something to happen, something to change, I didn't feel the subtle and important changes happening in my core.
When my eldest daughter was born she was beautiful and disgusting-all covered in goo and blood and screaming. I looked at her and marveled at her perfection and immediately thought "Oh shit, I have to take her home." I was completely terrified and projectile vomited all over my hospital room after eating two purple popsicles and didn't sleep again for 3 years and still I craved her snuggles, smiles, words, and laughter. Somewhere, I started to feel that mother-ness...
Maybe it was when my youngest was born and I felt like my heart was going to explode with joy when I saw my two beautiful girls together. Maybe it was teaching my littlest and last baby the same things I had taught my eldest, and having her happily help her sister. Maybe it was just a culmination of experiences, laughter, tears and exhaustion that finally makes me feel that I am more than just me.
Motherhood is transcendent. It is really realizing that you are not who you were before. You can never be that person again. You can't be that person who didn't understand how your mom could have been soooooo mean to you that time. Oh, you understand. Mom, I totally get it. Even more than that, you know why she came to everything for you-all of your concerts, games, so many sports things sitting on those horrible bleachers, and she was the ultimate fan of whatever you were doing at the time. That is being a mother.
Being a mother is knowing that you can never, ever be the same person you were before your children were born, because they have helped you grow into something that is more complicated, more beautiful, better than before.
I don't know when it happened, but at some point I became not just me, but a mother, and it is terrifying and wonderful and frustrating and every other adjective you could think of.
But I wouldn't change a second of it.
Let's talk, for a minute, about Mother's Day. Mother's Day is, at best, not horrible, and at worse, a total soul-crushing day of torture. (The one exception: The Mother's Day before when you're pregnant with your first child. That is a magical day). It may surprise you that I'm skeptical of Mother's Day, but I am.
This is an old Irish Mother's Day blessing, right?
So, what's the problem with Mother's Day? Mothers with young children just want to sleep in, not be responsible for everything, and probably don't want to rush around honoring every other mother in the world. We're in the trenches. We're there-getting poo flung at us and peed on and yelled at and told that our food is gross, feeling like we can't do anything right, our house isn't clean enough, we work too hard or not enough, etc, etc, etc.
Still, every year, we think that Mother's Day will be different. But it won't.
To kids it's just another day. Kids don't really care about Mother's Day because they don't understand what it's like to be a mother and they won't until they are one. Since you've become a mom, chances are that you've thanked your mom repeatedly for being a great mother-because you didn't know what it took to keep these kids fed, clothed, and keep yourself functional until you became a parent. Being a mother is amazing but terribly difficult work.
What would be a perfect Mother's Day for me? Well, sleeping past 7, not having to shower for a while, sitting around, drinking a coffee while my kids play nicely, don't complain that they're bored or fight with each other, being able to ask once for something to be done-and having it be completed, and just, in general, being treated like a human being.
Before motherhood I wouldn't have thought that was a big deal, but now, that looks like an amazing day! BEST.DAY.EVER! Now, I bet that all of the moms are nodding and smiling and there's sappy music playing in your head. Yes, that's what most of us want. Grand gestures are fantastic, but if there is nothing else it's just a day where we get a fantastic, new tennis bracelet and matching earrings.
Most of us don't want to rush around and see everyone else in the world who is also a mother. Most of us just want to relax, be a little selfish, and have one day where we don't have to contort into the role that everyone else needs us to be. It's Mother's Day, right?
So moms, call your mom and tell her you love her and that you want to thank her for being so amazing. Offer to take her out or make her lunch or dinner or whatever you want to do. It doesn't have to be on Mother's Day. If you have young kids, this day is about you. Spend it recognizing other mothers or not! The important thing is this-just lower your expectations. Mother's Day is infinitely more important to you than anyone else. That's just the way it is. They love you, they appreciate you, just try to relax and enjoy whatever the day brings. Save up all of your stories, call you BFF, and you can bond over your respective days later.
Husbands: Make or buy her a card/gift/whatever means the most to her. Tell her you love her and thank her for being your children's mother. If there's a problem intervene before everyone ends up dead.
Kids: Don't be assholes to your mom today. She is so very tired of your shit and this is one day that she will not just sweep it under the rug. That hand made pinch pot will not make up for the giant fit you threw yesterday, but a pinch pot, a hug, getting along with your sibling and not complaining about what Mom wants to do are a good start!
Happy Mother's Day, to all of the mothers out there!
I spend a lot of time thinking about who I am. I suppose I have to, since I'm the only one who really cares. My husband cares about me-but not my existential questions. He cares if I'm happy and healthy and if our marriage is working. That's really all you can ask of another person. My kids care if I show them that I love them, make their food, get them to activities, and don't yell too much. To them, I'm simply "mom" a construct that didn't really exist before them and they're not totally wrong.
When I became a mother, I became a different person. It didn't happen at once and it has been a really confusing road, but somewhere along the way I became Kristen 2.0...or maybe 5.0 or more. Who knows how many different incarnations I've really had and not noticed the changes over time, but this incarnation is a big, big change.
There are many parts of this "new" Kristen that I like, and probably the best part is that I finally really love and accept my body. I love my big butt and curvy figure. I really like my hair. I even like my crooked, hooked witch nose. I love my belly and thighs and my strong arms and legs.
This is a big deal because I have always hated and shamed myself about my body. I was skinny in high school because I didn't eat anything but rice, salads, and drink diet soda. I was miserable in my own skin. I was constantly belittling myself, comparing myself to others, and so disappointed that I could never get my skin that perfect shade of tan, that I had a different body shape than in the magazines, that my boobs never looked right-you name it, I shamed it.
That continued into college where I suddenly started gaining weight for no conceivable reason
(it turns out that I had a pretty serious thyroid issue) and after babies when I was constantly frustrated with my body-so much so that I started devoting hours per day to working out, planning my food intake, and became obsessed and disgusted with myself because after all of that work, I still wasn't where I needed to be. Then I gained the weight back.
Now I was totally disgusted with myself
, angry that I had let myself down, etc. Angry that I had lost control. Ashamed that I was the fat mom, the fat friend, the fat wife.
Last summer, I had an epiphany. This is my body. This is the one that I was given and the only way that I can really be who I want to be is to accept me. That means accepting the big butt, the curvy figure, my crooked nose, my soft belly, strong legs and arms, and work with them. I found that the parts of me that I didn't like were not problems-in fact, once I started choosing clothes to really fit my body, my perception of what I looked like completely changed. Suddenly I could look good, feel good, wear comfortable clothes (jeans that fit a butt in them!!!! Thank you Lane Bryant!)
Finally, I decided to exercise because I enjoy the feeling of challenging my body, not because I am disgusted by it. Read that again. I decided to exercise because I enjoy the feeling of challenging my body, not because I am disgusted by it. It's true! There is a whole different kind of exuberance that you feel when you are taking an action to get a positive result. I went running yesterday and it was fun! I took a selfie and I was sweaty, puffy, tired but so happy. As I was running I thought "Wow, my legs are really strong and so are my lungs." You know what I didn't think? I didn't think about how disgusting my body was or how I looked or how I needed to be better and fix this now or I was a failure.
I am so happy to have become this new version of myself, this powerful, strong, me. I am working on getting stronger because I love this body, not because I hate what I am. I am a mom, I am strong, I am running toward my best self, not away from someone that I am ashamed of.
Today was both a celebration and a gut punch. Being a mother is so extremely rewarding but, as a part of the reward for doing your job, you are reminded that your job is to make your children independent, strong, and not need you-or, at least, not always need you.
First the triumph-because I'll pretend that I have had a lot to do with that. My sweet, courageous daughters have been attending a cheering/tumbling camp this week, during school vacation. They are taking chances and doing things they've been scared to do and today my youngest (6 years old) volunteered to be in a contest and performed jumps and cartwheels in front of the whole camp-all of whom are older kids than her. That BLEW MY MIND. My eldest was tirelessly working to improve-hit her back handspring, perfect her cartwheel, learn new techniques so that she can be the best team mate she can be. I was the kid in high school who loved singing but constantly talked myself out of really auditioning for anything other than the chorus in the school musical (except for senior year). I was so scared of giving the wrong answer that I didn't raise my hand in class and I always chose my social life over really applying myself-just because I thought I couldn't do it. Then, here are my amazing daughters who have been just exceeding, addressing things, and volunteering to do extra. They are challenging themselves, they are accomplishing things, and they don't realize what a huge deal it is. They are not afraid! I don't know where that comes from. I am so in awe of what they have inside of their souls and can't even imagine where they will end up with that kind of courage. Imagine, if all of the girls weren't afraid to tackle math problems or climb mountains or be doctors or study climate change, the economy, be president. Imagine a GENERATION of Michelle Obamas, Hilary Clintons, Annie Oakleys. My job is to keep nourishing that flame and to encourage them to always be brave.
Now the flip side of the coin. I had heard rumours from an unnamed source that my 9 year old was really working hard to stop calling me mommy, and to start calling me mom. Tonight she was reading a book to her sister, and was replacing "mommy" with "mom" the whole way through. I went in to the room, intending to just tell her that I understood, that I remembered that thought, and as I was saying it, I started crying because I realize that it's time. She is growing up. She is closer to being a teen than a toddler, and is halfway to adulthood. I smiled at her, told her that I understood, that I was sorry I was crying, but that I understood. I told her that it was okay with me if she called me "mom" it wouldn't hurt my feelings, but that she could call me "mommy" whenever she wanted. We both cried, we both hugged, the six year old started crying, said that she still wanted to call me "mommy." One of us made a fart joke, we laughed about all the silly ways you can say "mommy" and I left the room with them giggling over Pinkalicious together.
That's the way of motherhood. The bittersweet, working-your-way-out-of-a-job reality of parenting. If you do it right, they're constantly challenging themselves, reaching out, yet strengthening those wings to leave the nest some day. I will always encourage them to stretch and grow, even as it makes me want to cling tighter and pull them back. For now, though, we'll just try to make it through the tween angst, teen rebellion, and I'll sit in awe of the women they're becoming.
Yes, that is a very dramatic title, isn't it? Now, before you get all hot and bothered (mom) worrying about the state of my marriage, here's the truth...I may have overstated the issue a bit. I'm going to lay it all out for you, though, and I think you'll understand where I'm coming from.
Here is my theory about why people get divorced: teeny tiny little problems (like who should take the trash to the dump or do the dishes after dinner) turn into bigger problems (like hating each other), then the biggest problems (cheating, etc) turn into D-I-V-O-R-C-E. Yeah, I know what you're saying. Many marriages are shams, many wives are bitches and/or nags, many husbands are just douchebags and/or clueless, every rose has it's thorn...blah, blah, blah. Those aren't the type of marriages I'm talking about. I'm talking about everyone else. Your friends, in-laws, boss, whoever. The type of people who, when they announce they are getting a divorce, cause shocked silence, weeping and gnashing of teeth. Their announcement causes everyone who hears about it to say "I never saw that coming." These marriages die a slow death of resentment, silence and fights about trash or dishes but really about so much more. Let's be honest, when you fight about something with your spouse, is it really about that one issue? Isn't it really about something else (not feeling valued, being lonely, not being sure that you're on the same team any more)? I know it is. Shhhhhh...you don't even have to say it.
The truth is that my marriage is pretty amazing. My husband is kind, a great dad, funny and not at all a douchebag. I'd like to think that other people think that I come across as slightly less bitchy in real life than I do in my head. We tend to talk things over, are on the same page when it comes to raising our kids, and have lots of fun together.
However, there was a problem in our household...and it stank.
Stop smiling, you asshole.
We live in a rural development, really more of a small town inside of another small town. It's picturesque, classic New England, dirt roads, cape cod houses but no trash pick up. The only way to have your trash removed from your house is via one of two methods: pay someone to do it or take it to the dump your own damn self. (watch the video-this is one of my fondest childhood memories)
So, being the stingy, contrary New Englanders we are, we found out that it would cost $20 per month to have someone take away our trash! "NO WAY!" we said. We were not going to pay someone $20 to haul away our old food containers, dirty diapers, etc. We would take it to the dump ourselves.
Well, after 3 winters and summers of fighting about who was going to take the trash to the dump...what's that? You want to see what that fight looks like?
Almost there...Pretty accurate.
Me: Can you please take the trash to the dump? The shitbird raccoons are trying to get into the bins every night and I'm pretty sure there's a colony of maggots in the bottom of the bin.
Him: (sigh) Okay. Why can't you do it during the week? I have to work all day and then spend Saturday cleaning out the van and taking the trash to the dump now.
Me: (trying not to punch him in the wind pipe) Well, I'm at home with two kids, I do everything else around here, and I'm just asking you to take the trash to the dump. Please, please, don't make me go there. I hate it there. It smells horrible, there are so many flies, and I just HATE THE DUMP.
Him: (looks defeated, clearly can not argue with my airtight rhetoric) Okay, I'll do it. Do you think I like going to the dump?
Thing 1: Thing two pooped in the bath tub/spilled something/drew on the wall!
Me and him: Stop tattling! Thing Two, why did you poop in the bath tub/spill something/draw on the wall?
and scene...
You're too kind!
Now, imagine that almost exact same fight happen 30 times a year...or, imagine someone not going for a while and the trash piling up and then imagine the passive aggressive rage I would exhibit when the shitbird raccoons did get into the trash and spread it all around the yard....and guess who got to clean it up because I "just stay home." You guessed it. The trash was not just a festering maggot colony, it was festering rage and resentment and fights and loads of bacteria.
How can I hate something so adorable with so much passion? Once you've woken up to this scene a few times, you'll find yourself screaming swears at them from your living room windows, too.
Finally, I had enough. He got a better job which freed up a little extra money which meant I could finally justify paying someone else $20 per month to come haul away our 2-4 bags of trash and recyclables per week. And, you know what? It is amazing. I can't explain the joy I get in taking the trash bins out to the curb and watching for Ralph I-don't-know-his-last-name to pull up in his red truck with his reflective stuck-on letters on the side to empty out my trash and recyclables and take it where ever he wants to take it. It is just not our problem any more. So how did this save our marriage? It gave us one less stressful thing between us. We were able to move on, get rid of this issue and not give it room to make a problem for us in the future. Plus, I really, really hate going to the dump.
Today's lesson: If you can get rid of a major stressor, do it. Don't let the raccoons win, and let Jensen tell you what you already know:
