The Triumph and the Tragedy of Motherhood

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.

How the Garbage Man Saved My Marriage...

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:

...swoon....