Modern Mom

I consider myself a modern mom. What I mean is that I will use the latest and greatest of what’s available out there to my advantage to help make a seemingly impossible job, possible.

I am completely serious when I tell you that I called my husband several months ago crying real tears at the moment I discovered that Amazon Fresh (the grocery delivery service) was available for our zip code.

“I feel like I’ve just been given the gift of time,” I sobbed.

My husband, who, if you include our two dogs, lives in a house of 5 females, is well-versed in the art of the over-reaction. So much so he doesn’t even blink when Charlotte throws herself on the ground while proclaiming she is going to go live at Rowan’s because it’s time to brush the toothpaste out of her hair. Never again will you find me smelling cantaloupes in the produce aisle while my children pelt each other with grapes. 

“That’s so exciting, Love. Do they sell like fruits and vegetables and stuff?”

Yes. Literally everything from organic milk to the restoration of my sanity.

I love cooking. I am a sucker for "Top Chef" and all reality shows that make me want to lick my TV screen. However, if I’m going to spend more than 30 minutes preparing a meal for my family, I need to take out the guesswork as well as eliminate that frustrating moment when I realize I’ve left the store without a crucial ingredient. Before Blue Apron I thought "Bok Choy" was the sound you made when you had something caught in your throat. Blue Apron provides me with a healthy variety I would never even think to consider and has reestablished my love of cooking. Just the other day my husband turned to me and said, “Turns out I do like bell peppers.” I rest my case.

Ever since we moved into our new house our oldest daughter has had trouble staying in her room at night. We’ve tried everything from nightlights to musical beds. I started thinking back to my sleep troubles as a kid and remembered sometimes I just needed to check that my parents were still in the next room and not out doing anything more fun than sleeping. We have video monitors to watch our daughters in their rooms so I thought, why not put a video monitor on me and my husband (since all privacy is lost anyways once you enter the delivery room) this way she can check on us too in the middle of the night without ever leaving her bed and most importantly without ever waking us up. So far, it’s the best $62 we’ve spent to date. Plus now we are one step closer to basically filming our own reality TV show.

I am so sick of all the bad news. Sick to the point that everything leaves my body now in liquid form and I am terrified to check the headlines in the morning. I opted not to write last week because I was not up for sugar coating the state of the world or provide answers for the really tough questions because I have none. But I awoke to someone requesting a little light in this darkness and that I’m happy to provide.

Motherhood is...

It’s tempting to get existential when you sit down and ponder motherhood. You created a life that is all the best parts of you and quite simply put; life is a miracle. I’d like to take a moment and bring us all back down to reality and describe the real essence of this experience in some simple sentences that help to sum it all up.

Motherhood is walking the line daily between nervous breakdown and best day of your life.

Motherhood is none of the glory of throwing things on the floor, but all of the manual labor of cleaning it up.

Motherhood is exactly like an episode of "Caillou", except not at all.

Motherhood begins each morning with the peaceful Canadian approach and by 7pm you have moved onto a nonsensical Twitter Trump rant.

Motherhood is stopping to standup midstream while your toddler opens the door and exposes you to the entire line at Starbucks.

Motherhood is boycotting laundry only to discover with your children naked most of the time you are the only party negatively affected by the strike.

Motherhood is 10% buying practical toddler shoes and 90% trying to locate said shoes only to recognize that they no longer fit.

Motherhood is having poison control, pizza delivery and your therapist on speed dial.

Motherhood is simply wonderful.

There is no other experience on Earth quite like being a mother. It is different with every child, every day and every breath. That sounds completely overwhelming because it is just that. But the good news, however, is that if you are ever looking for answers in parenthood, your children will always carry the answers.

Great Expectations

In an attempt to receive Over-Achiever Mom of the Year, I made sure to take Charlotte to swim class, library time, and playgroups all before she could even support her own neck. Madeleine on the other hand, has had to adjust to a one-nap-a-day schedule starting at 9 months old because two naps wasn’t convenient for Charlotte’s busy social calendar. Naturally I hold a certain amount of guilt about Madeleine getting the second-born shaft. Imagine my excitement when Charlotte began attending preschool 3 mornings a week which freed up some quality Mom & Maddie bonding time. I quickly signed us up for gymnastics and Music Together. I was saving Music Together for only one child because if both of my kids were to attend, we would have to forgo their college education to cover the cost (however since my girls will either be getting a women's engineering or athletic scholarship we should be covered regardless). Plus as a backup plan, Bernie will be president by then, so college will be free and we can finally buy that four person tandem bicycle we’ve had our eye on that is a family requirement here in Davis.

My expectations of Music Together were the following: Madeleine on my lap with a tambourine in one hand with my hand in the other as we swayed to the music, while I resolved my mommy-guilt and I watched as the neuron’s in her little brain fired as she became a more well-rounded individual. So super healthy and not at all unrealistic. It couldn’t have gone any worse than if Madeleine had taken that tambourine from my fantasy and smacked me in the face with it. I actually may have preferred that to the 40 minutes we spent thrashing on the floor and her sobbing in the lobby like I did the day Trump got elected. Not only was she terrified of the room we were in, but she hated everything about the other kids-- from the instruments in their hands to the clothes they were wearing.

Didn’t my not yet two-year-old understand that I was doing this for her? This was supposed to be our special time and she was ruining it by not appreciating it because she is not yet two. This is the age-old truth where you buy your child the fanciest most expensive toy in the store and they play with the box. Except what I finally realized was she doesn’t want the toy, the box or anything else-- she only wants me. It isn’t about the things we do, it is about our quality time together. Madeleine is perfectly content to play the drums on my mom-belly for 20 minutes and all that costs is a momentary blow to self-esteem, which is worth it just to watch her giggle.