Love is a Battlefield

I’m pretty sure when Pat Benatar wrote this song, she was singing about her two daughters, “Woah, we are strong, no one can tell us we're wrong”... sound familiar? Welcome to every single moment my children are awake.

These battles start out small like wanting the blue cup over the red cup and slowly as they get older become more elaborate—take my oldest who cannot sit in her car seat while wearing a jacket, sweater, long sleeve shirt or certain dresses because she claims, “they pinch” which is then followed by screaming, then crying and lastly a naked drive to the supermarket.

Short of, “Would you like ice cream for dinner?” there is almost always some sort of back and forth. Now all you child psychologists out there can slow your roll, I’m not talking power struggles where I bribe them, give them their way and then praise them for being such good little angels. I’m talking about things like, after giving them fair time warnings and mental preparations when we are about to leave some place fun to some place not as fun.

Now sometimes it goes like this:

Me: “Your two-minute warning is up; it’s time to leave the playground.”

Both kids: “No.”

Me: “If you don’t get into the bike trailer yourself, then I’m going to have to move your body for you.” (Thank you Janet Lansbury, No Bad Kids)

One child walks over and the other one does not.

Me: “Excellent job listening, Madeleine!”

Charlotte wants praise too so she wanders over.

Me: “Thank you Charlotte for making a good choice.”

End battle scene.

This is an example of a win. I don’t need to paint a picture of a loss because you would likely have to only think back 30 minutes ago to create your own example. Even though this was a success, I still consider it a battle because of the amount of effort it took for me to put on my patient mom face and utilize respectful, direct language which frankly feels about as difficult as me learning to speak Korean at the age of 32. Especially when every ounce of me just wants to snap my fingers and say, “Let’s go.”

We walk a fine line in this day and age between raising children and spoiling them. You want to go to the zoo but only if we get to ride the train? How about we stay home and I read to you about kids living in 3rd world countries that are lucky if they have shoes on their feet instead? Just today I overheard my dear friend’s 5-year-old explain a better schedule for him than the one she had proposed. These are just the little encounters, I won’t even begin to discuss the ones that have you Googling ways to manage stress other than screaming into pillows.   

I am a firm supporter of picking your battles with your little ones. I can tell you right now we do not: bathe, brush hair/teeth, eat a healthy meal, play outside, read books and go to bed singing lullaby’s every day. Something in that equation will have to give way for the epic amount of energy that was required to do the simplest item on that list.

When my girls are passionate about something they come at me full force with their arsenal of pouty lips, tears, and the flail. However, I need only look in the mirror to see where they might have inherited that strong-will and recognize how important it is to keep on fighting the good fight.

#EpicPout

I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE EASIER

Recently several parents that I love have taken the leap from 2 children to 3 and a few others have decided to open their homes to foster children. While I am over the moon happy for them and thrilled that there are such loving people in the world, I can’t help but whimper from the depths of my pantry, “But this is really hard, right?” Please tell me it’s not just me. Yesterday Madeleine pulled out a pretty good chunk of her sister’s hair, while I was wrist deep in the toilet fishing out 4 Lego men that just wanted to go “swim-bing”. Sure we have moments of raw, indescribable joy, like today when the girls met a friendly dog at the park and Charlotte protectively put her arm around Maddie, but life with two is no picnic. In fact, when we try and go for a picnic we last about 4 minutes before the bees arrive then everyone is screaming and we leave hungry.

Everyone's threshold for the daily parenting shenanigans we are responsible for varies. For example their patience for whining may be higher than say their tolerance of bodily fluids. I like to think that I’m starting to understand this. But then my mommy-mind starts to wander and I wonder, is what occurs in my house somehow different than those who have opted for 3 or more? Was nobody else spending nap time Googling how to get crayon stains out of white carpet? Were their first 2 children “easy babies” or are they simply better parents than me? Then once that can of worms opens, I circle back to my naïve pre-child assumption, I thought it would be easier. Easier because I’m college educated, I came from a loving family, I have a wonderful husband, to name a few. And yet sometimes I am completely at a loss at the depths of internal patience and strength I need to muster because I haven’t gotten anyone to eat a single vegetable in 6 days.

Is mustard a vegetable?

I took my girls to the community pool yesterday and we stayed until close when all the teenage lifeguards got to do their free swimming and awkward flirting with their acne spotted faces peeking out over their cell phones. Their biggest worry was the chlorine turning their blonde hair green and Hayden flirting with Jayden when he’s clearly with Chloe.

As I held both girls in my arms I remembered what it felt like to have no responsibility and a much lighter load. It is tempting to feel nostalgic for a simpler time, but what we know to be true is our hearts sure are fuller today and whether you have 1 child or 7, no parent is living on Easy Street.

Where I Draw the Line

Lately with my bedtime circling 8:30 and my religious use of sunscreen and a fiber supplement, I’m feeling old. Yes, I recognize that I am nowhere near a mid-life crisis nor can I be considered old when compared to say the Earth or Betty White. But my children have undeniably aged me. I am perpetually in a state of complete exhaustion and I am guilty of using the expression, "In my day..."

I do have some hard limits when it comes to lines I just won't cross. Lines that I believe push you into a gray mommy area that once you enter into, your hot mom card will quickly be revoked and traded in for a special placard that allows you to park anywhere with your hybrid/electric minivan.  Here they are in no particular order:

The mom haircut.

There is a phrase out there that husbands everywhere dread more than, “I think it’s about time you got a vasectomy”. It's, “Honey, I chopped off all my hair because it was just getting too hard to manage.” Have you ever seen a Victoria Secret model with a pixie cut? I rest my case.

Bringing up the weather in conversation.

I appreciate that when a conversation reaches a lull it is tempting to say, "Do you believe this weather we are having?" However it is always much more interesting to sprinkle in gems about the kids such as, "Yesterday my daughter ran screaming naked through our house because our beagle wouldn't lay down next to her while she went pee pee on the potty."

Sneakers with dresses, skirts or pants.

The fact that I just called them sneakers only emphasizes my point that I'm old. Running shoes, tennis shoes or kicks should be exclusively for exercise.

The visor.

For women, I believe the visor should only be worn if your name happens to be Venus or Serena. This is probably the only time you will ever hear me utter this phrase, ladies let's leave those to the men.

Drawstring high-waisted Mom jeans.

Really any flavor of jean that makes it look like you ate a large burrito for lunch, whether you actually did or not.

Do I know some awesome moms that can rock a sexy boy-cut in their minivan while listening to NPR? Well actually no, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t out there kicking butt and being great moms. I only know myself and so for now my hair will stay long, I’ll save my running shoes for running and allow my children to always keep me young at heart.