In response to Dr. Sears, Mommy Burnout, and the fight I had with my husband this morning

I am so terrifically mad at my husband right now that I want to spit. I shouldn't even be writing about this here. It's not a place to give people the wrong impression that I live with a terrible person or something. That's not the case, so please take it as only a moment in time, a moment in my mind that I absolutely must purge before it throws me down under where I can't think of anything else, where I breathe anger, eat anger and cry anger. And please be kind enough to deal with the run-on sentences, as that is how my mind thinks at a time like this - there is no rhyme or reason, just that crazy stream of consciousness that IS getting your thoughts out as quick as you can before they vanish and you move on to trying to be reasonable. I don't want to be reasonable right now. I want to scream. And it's not PMS, dammit, it's just me. Sometimes it's like this. Sometimes I'm mad. At people other than my children. At my husband. And at myself.

I no longer keep any kind of a diary or journal. It's always been my tendency to write in one when I was mad anyway, leaving the times of joy and satisfaction to speak for themselves. Using the pen and the paper to work through the madness and rage that come when you are truly in despair, or just need to vent. So I suppose this land of blog is the closest thing I have to an open book and an inky pen. The only difference being that I no longer write only when disturbed, and not only about the disturbing. Although I must say that an awful lot of what has come out so far is about how difficult and seemingly tortuous it is on most days to parent three children, while working, while wife-ing, while housekeeping... But it's not all tortuous. I realize I must be giving off the wrong impression. Oh well. It's one post at a time and this time it's about how it's just so easy to burn the fuck out.

I recently searched online for the identity of someone's mysterious rash, or the reason for their fever, or what it means when poop is yellow, or what will happen to me if I don't start getting a full night's sleep SOON (I'm starting to think my synapses will stop firing and I'll no longer be able to retain new information let alone access the facts I thought I already knew or the memories I told myself I'd never forget. Oh wait, that's already happening. Shit!) I found an article relating to my current problem at Dr. Sears and now I get a monthly newsletter. Monthly Shmonthly, who has the time to read more mommy tips? Not me. So I usually pause my finger on the delete button just long enough to read three or four words and then send the thing off to the land of Junk E-mails and Advertisements. On Monday I read the words, Avoiding Mommy Burnout. Hmm, I thought. What does Dr. Sears have to say about Avoiding Mommy Burnout? I truly imagined the article to be a compilation of all the things that other mothers would love to tell you when you were pregnant with your first babe: sleep when he sleeps and take lots of walks, etc. etc. etc. Read it for yourself if you like. It's not so bad, but I think it mostly applies to infancy, and ONE child!

Today I have my own special segment on what it takes to Avoid Mommy Burnout:

Part I

• Be honest with yourself and with your partner
• Resolve arguments with your partner
• Have more sex with your partner

Now, I know this excludes all single parents out there, and I apologize. And obviously these first three tips are directly related to the fact that everything I do and say right now is tainted with anger for my husband and our argument this morning. An argument, mind you, that was merely about whether it should be a rule or not that my oldest son always wear a t-shirt under his long-sleeved shirt. Yes, I know, you had to be there. How can I be so alarmingly upset over something so seemingly trivial? But with every argument there is a backstory, right? The feelings of stress and anger that rise up during one of these fights brings forth a flood of annoying moments that I never worked through. Reasons to be mad. Even more mad. Words that were spoken and hurt; words that were never spoken and should have been. And it all relates to feelings of overall burnout or, as I think more appropriately termed, burn UP, cause that's how I feel when it all becomes too much: over-fueled, breathing heavy, ashen.

There is an overwhelming responsibility in being the mother of a family. As Jen said, the appointed CEO. And no, I never wanted my own business either. But this business of family is quite serious. You are responsible for the lives and well-being of these little people. It's a good thing they make you laugh along the way because otherwise it might seem like a burden. (Okay, Nah!) So, tips to avoid Mommy Burnout? I'm gonna give it another go but would love to hear from others out there.

Part II

• Try not to stay mad - at anyone, including yourself
• Get exercise - mostly the kids so they're worn out by sunset, but you should get off your ass too and increase those endorphins!
  
• Have plenty of sex - again with the endorphins and, uh, the other parts of your body you can't always see
• Don't take any advice you wouldn't give
• Have plenty of popsicles on hand
  
• Speak freely and at great length with someone you feel most connected to - that's you, Jen
• Forget about perfection - use the word only to describe your children (on a good day)
  
• Remember that you are what you eat - if you eat junk, you'll feel like junk
• Let your mother feel guilt, fear and remorse, you don't have time for it
• Hire someone to clean your house if you can (thanks, ME, I think I might!)
• Breathe and believe - in yourself, in time, and in your kids

So I look at this list and I think that I should start taking my own advice. I'm worn out, you see, from this morning's argument. It has permeated every action thus far today - my angry driving, the extra cup of coffee, ignoring my growling stomach, buckling down at work and accomplishing the I HATE TO DO IT pile that I'm always accumulating. But I sit now and breathe out loud once, now twice, and feel, for a calm moment, that the whistling down the hall won't bother me, the ringing phones and the intercom will no longer jar me, that this anger I feel toward my husband for all the things he is and for all the things he is not will surely fade. And I will feel, once again, lucky for my life.

I think I'll tack this list to my cork board in the office.
I think I'll tack this list to my mirror by the bed, and by the kitchen sink.
I think I'll make it a point to add a similar list to our site, and continue to add to it.

Because I need a hundred reminders in a day just how to make it through with grace instead of by the skin of my teeth. And that I'm lucky. I'm oh so lucky to have a man and three boys share my world. Even if they make me spit flames from time to time.

My Complete Inability to Make a Commitment to My Job: How Busy Does This Little Bee Want to Be???

I took a day off work two days ago to BE. Just to be. With my sister. To talk and eat and laugh and BE. It was fantastic, even though my mind was muddy and felt quite separate from my body. It is absolutely amazing in every way that the body can produce so much mucus. I've decided that I would much rather wipe my kids' noses and coax them to blow OUT than to be inconvenienced by my own cold. That's just awful, isn't it? Am I wishing sickness upon my kids? Well, no, of course not. It's just that as the mom there is so much to be done and any illness or ache just SO impedes my ability to function. And the kids hardly seem bothered by snot dripping down their faces. Of course when there's a fever or and ear ache or... then it's a different story. But this isn't even what I wanted to say. So there - I'm not required to explain that story.

So I will myself to work the next morning. No, I didn't show up until 10, but I showed up dammit. And here it all goes again. Sarah, we need to know when you are going to be here. Whenever it is, it doesn't really matter, whether 3 days or 5 days. We just need to know so we can know what to expect, etc etc etc. And it's only fair, right? So why do I have such a problem making a commitment. A commitment to the amount of days, to which days, to in-times and out-times.

And then there's the whole question of full-time work, and going on salary, and making the biggest work commitment of all. I swear his eyes lit up and twinkled for a split-second when I told my boss that I was wondering, just for the hell of it, if he'd want me full-time. "I'd love you full-time." No, No, I mean he said something like, "I'd love you to WORK full-time." Gosh, that first one just sounded creepy. Let me be CERTAIN to add that there are NO OFFICE ROMANCES INVOLVED HERE. Oh my, that's just too creepy to fathom, especially if you knew my boss, and my workplace. Let's just say it's bizarre. Can't go into it any more than that, I suppose.

So then I go on to say that Dan's contemplating leaving his job, and if I work full-time my current hourly rate translated to salary @ 40 hours isn't enough to support and would he consider giving me a raise??? (Jen, I know what you're thinking. Okay, no I don't but I know enough to say, "I know, right? Can you even believe I had this conversation with the big man? And what am I even doing or thinking HAVING such a conversation? Let's just say it is wasn't planned or anything, just one of those things.... and yes, yes, we'll talk. :Oh my goodness, that was so Mom-ish with the YES,YES:)

So he looks at me rather uncomfortably, my boss, the big man, and then his eyes turn away almost embarrassingly as he says, "Yea, we'll work it out."

And then I'm sitting in my office furiously typing Dan trying to figure out what he thinks about this crazy idea I've had, trying to figure out what the hell I think of it all. I mean, work is so awful sometimes. Then there are other times that I look forward to the distraction it brings me from the kids. OH, the kids! They are SO messy and SO loud and SO damn infuriating at times that I imagine tossing them one at a time from the second story bathroom window instead of plunking them in the bath at night; BUT, they are also SO terrifically cute that my fantasy has them landing happily on Mr Bouncity Bounce and hip hop bouncing with all their cousins to the funky musical selections of their favorite babysitter (hear Hip Hop beats and Pop Tunes).

------------Sidenote: What's a girl gotta do to get these little ppl to take care of themselves for 10 minutes so I can finish this?! I understand it's morning and breakfast time and all, but EAT little ppl, EAT, and leave Mommy to Momalom for 10 more minutes. Five? Two? Currently there is a little bee eraser dropping in on my keyboard over and over again as I say Sit DOWN, Sit DOWN, Get OFF The Table. (And yes, I am clearly speaking of Max)------------------------

So now I've just totally confused myself. I mean, it's not as if I haven't thought of this before, and what life would really be like if I were to work full-time. Where would the kids go between end of school day and Mommy arrival time? Who would watch them? Do I really really want to put myself in a position where I HAVE to be there every day, all day?? I have to carefully schedule all appointments and activities. I never have the afternoon just to take the kids to the park and loll. (Oh yeah right? Loll? That's a laugh.) Anyway. I gripe about the three hours or so between picking the kids up every day and either Dan's arrival home or the start of the bath/bed routine. That magical hour when I know it will all come to an end for another day and I'll get a little peace ALONE until it all starts again in the morning. So I gripe about it till kingdom come, but would I really have it any other way? I mean, the weather is perking up, finally! And summer is on the way. And don't I want to be able to take the kids to the pool and the lake? To do away with all my worries on those perfect days that I don't have to go in to work and it's not the weekend and just watch them in the yard with popsicle juice dripping down their faces for the third time that day?

I just don't know. I'm struggling with these thoughts. Everything I've said is just so romantic. The truth is that I really can't take them all to the pool. We could venture the baby pool, but then Jamis will be bored. He's finally swimming and it's just not fair to have to ask him to compromise YET AGAIN FOR THE LITTLE ONES. But we can't go to the big pool either. A 2 year old and a 1 year old and me. It's just not safe. (I should take the "and me" out of there. I'm rather safe, but with those two hanging on me I think we'd all go under.)

And days spent wiping sticky popsicle hands? Well, I could have two of those on the weekends alone. The routine of work would get tiring, I know. But the alternative of staying with the boys is exhausting just to think about. It's not even 7:30 am here in our house and I've already left this computer like 35 times to break up fights, change diapers and re-fold an entire load of laundry that Max decided to massacre and throw at his brother, Ethan. I mean, 7:30! If I'm already anxiously awaiting Dan's arrival after two or three hours of being with the kids ALONE in the afternoons, then what the hell kind of pressure am I going to put on him when it's summer.

And then, I guess I should give a little back story - mostly to remind myself - that I truly didn't want to work full-time. I wanted days off with my kids. Days to hang out and days to get stuff done. Days to actually do laundry and keep the kitchen clean and go to the grocery store. But I've found that those days can be just as difficult as the days I go to work. It's not "staying home with you kid or your kids." It's being a MOTHER OF THREE! I Swear To You, It's Jaw-Dropping, Head-Spinning what happens when you go from Two to Three!

So I negotiated from 5 days (part-time) to three days, or four days, or whatever I felt like that week. And that's how it's been for a while. And like he said, my boss doesn't care how many days I come in cause he just loves me so damn much, but he just wants to know WHAT days. If I can't commit to picking the days then how on earth would I commit to working full-time?

The whole OTHER SIDE of this story is the fact that Dan could leave his job and focus on his own business, which he's very good at and has already developed quite well indeed! We've texted and emailed and briefly talked about this subject. He's gone through the logistics somewhat, the Figuring Out What This Would Mean thing that Men Truly Love To Do - at least my man - and we've come to no conclusions. But we're not really trying for conclusion at this point, it's all conversation. But what he HASN'T talked or texted or emailed is how he FEELS about this. Of Course. Damn if he should engage in that whole phenomenon. Feelings.

So I suppose this is all TO BE CONTINUED. What shall be decided? I don't know. I really don't know. On the one hand, I wouldn't have to be so stressed at work because I would actually have the time to accomplish all the work that I have. My boss and my husband would probably be rather happy. But what about me and the kids? Would we? We are at an optimal time for testing this all out - mostly because we have our fabulous babysitter back from college for the summer. I love her, the kids love her, and she's part of the family. But then, it's summer. And again, even if I'm wiping sticky popsicle hands for the third time, who cares? Wasn't I the one who gave them the third popsicle anyway? Because it's summer, and because they're kids, and because all I want to do is let them feel the freedom that is a kid in summer. I want to be that kid again.

From Two to Three

Sinus backup. I've got a cluster in my sinus - but it's worked its way into my brain and I feel completely inept right now. I'm supposed to be working and then cleaning up the house and then heading to the grocery store. Instead I am an absolute lump. Maybe I should just let my body fold into sleep and give up until the afternoon - when I will be forced back into motherhood and household duties.

But I keep thinking about three kids. I dropped the little ones off at the sitter's this morning and reveled in the candor that ensues when I hang around for a few minutes to chat. She's just so refreshing in her outlook on parenting, discipline, and little kids. She KNOWS little kids, as she's been doing the nanny/sitter thing for like 20 years, not to mention she has 2 kids of her own. She also knows how to kick the nonsense out the door - both when she is dealing directly with the children and when she's reflecting on the role of an adult in a kid's world. She says things like "knock it off" a lot and "No touch" and makes this ehn, ehn, ehn sound that perks up the little ears in the house and warns them to back away from the lamp, the box of tissues, the picture frames. It's an honest relationship with the kids. This is my world, and you are in it, and this is what you have to learn to get by until you are big enough to join me here.

There's truth in that we are different people when we are around different people. I can be most honest with my sister - yes you, my dear sister. We chat endlessly about the trials of motherhood: how we yelled so loud yesterday that the kids were stunned to stillness; how we are so exhausted by the very idea of heading to the store with three kids because we are fully aware of the stares we'll get and the spectacle that is a mother with three kids. I can't put it into one sentence what happens when you go from two kids to three, and I so totally wish that I could. Three kids wallops you! It just takes you to a different dimension.

Jamis had an overnite this weekend, and although I don't have to change his diapers and he can get his own juice, I felt a great sense of freedom at only having to manage two! It was this crazy release. Two kids. Only two. It felt like a vacation. I say that we are more accustomed to thinking in pairs. We've got two arms, two hands, two feet, two sides of the brain. Once you throw a third kid in the mix, you spin like batter in the mixing bowl. Yes, that third kid makes me feel just tossed - this way and that and I can't get my bearings. I'm just trying to keep it together. It's ridiculous that I start counting the kids to make sure they are all okay, accounted for. It's only one more person. Three isn't a large number. There are families with 4 and 14 kids. I wonder what happens after three kids. Are you just accustomed to the madness, the shattered-brain syndrome that I've come to know? Oh, what's one more? I don't know. I don't know if I'll ever know. I don't know if I should even imagine it.