Confessions of an Imperfect (Someday) Mother

Definitely not me. 

I am really excited to be an imperfect mother. Now don't get me wrong: I'm not pregnant and don't plan to be anytime soon, but I'm learning from those around me just the kind of mother I would like to be. I'm realistic. I know I will be a messy parent; I know that kids don't sleep through the night; I know it's tempting to give your child anything and everything that you or they can possibly imagine; I know I won't be able to provide anything and everything we could possibly imagine, and I'm okay with that. My someday kids probably won't have the latest video games, the fanciest Halloween costumes, or perfect birthday parties. They won't be allowed to dye their hair until they can drive themselves to the hairdresser's in their own car and pay for it themselves. And I've already given up on being the overly fashionable mom (helloooo comfy shoes! Why have I denied you for so long?!?). They are going to have to deal with a mom who dresses for comfort when it is cold out (Cuddl Duds, why am I just now discovering your awesomeness?!?) and wears ugly hiking sandals for as long as she can before winter sneaks in.

Why am I so excited about the fact that I'm going to be a flawed figure for my (as of yet nonexistent) children? Because perfect doesn't exist. I'm not saying that I don't have high expectations for myself, because I do. Rather, it is a prioritizing of my self-expectations. For me, bonding time is better than any toy or electronic gadget I could ever give a child. My kids may not always get what they want, but they'll get what they need. By presenting a realistic picture of what it is to be a human, woman, (someday) mother, (someday) wife, daughter, and friend, I'm helping my (someday) children understand how to accept themselves and love themselves not in spite of their imperfections, but because their imperfections are what help make them who they are, and I already know that my (someday) kids are going to be flippin' awesome.

Image used under Creative Commons license.

Confessions of Someone Who Hates Winter (and who overuses parenthetical interjections)

Let me preface this post by saying I am currently wearing two (that’s right, two scarves), a cardigan, two shirts under the cardigan, sweatpants, a blanket, and slippers & I’m preheating my bed with my electric blanket. (Also, not going to lie: I’m seriously considering breaking out the gloves--and I’m indoors.)

I have come to the conclusion that spring, summer, and fall are meant for spending time with friends, going out and enjoying the weather, scheduling something every possible second of the weekends (and weeknights and weekdays), being positive & energized, and regularly shaving my legs.

Now that winter is here, shaving my legs is far less frequent of an occurrence, and I find myself to be much more of a hermit. I so look forward to coming home from work and slipping into my yoga pants and ugly sweatshirts, and I may (definitely) spend more time with my electric blanket than I do with my friends (it’s only natural, sorry friends!). The sweet, comfy, polkadotted skirts I swooshed around in during the warmer months have been traded in for black slacks and ugly socks. I desperately miss my comfy Teva sandals, but it’s the ebb and flow of the seasons and I must accept it (at least if I don’t want to lose any toes to frostbite--Iowa is cold in the winter, y’all!). Winter is for hunkering down, spending the holidays with family, dressing for warmth and not necessarily fashion (not that I’m the queen of fashion, by any means), and most definitely not shaving my legs (at least until I absolutely can’t stand it anymore). Even having the energy to do that is a bit of stretch sometimes.

I spent a lot of the long Thanksgiving weekend (after having celebrated and given thanks with my family) with my boyfriend, lazily wasting the days away indoors (reading, napping on the couch, and watching TV are valid activities, right?). I was glad to have had some time to recuperate from a hectic fall (and summer, and spring) and I was thankful to have had the luxury of a weekend to waste. My boyfriend made the comment that we’ve got to be more productive with our weekends. I asked “why?” and then I reminded him of the 4-5 months of solidly packed weekends we had prior to this one relaxing weekend. Weddings, trips, baseball games, birthdays, more weddings, more trips, concerts, you get the picture. I’m not saying to completely hide out and waste away the winter--I do agree having routine and to-do lists is important. But, I suppose, if there’s one thing winter is good for, it’s for forcing us to slow down a little and take some time to rest up for the spring, summer, and fall to come.

That’s a big step for me, admitting winter has some value, as someone who hates winter.

Confessions of a Real Grump

 Sometimes you just have a bad day. It's true. There are days that start out fine and then something happens and I realize: Nope. This is not what I wanted to be doing today and not how I wanted to feel. (And, yes, I know I am in charge of how I react to things, blah, blah, blah… "Only you can make you feel a certain way" or whatever that quote is…) Sometimes, though, you just need to feel it. Feel grumpy. Feel sad. Feel hurt. Feel mad. Feel whatever it is that is tugging at the back of your thoughts. Because, and I swear I heard this on an Oprah episode (and look at Oprah--she’s definitely got her poop in a group!), if you're feeling a certain way then there's a reason. It is justified. If there wasn't a reason then you wouldn't be feeling however it is that you feel. (Heavily paraphrased, of course.)

So, yes. On the day that I’m writing this I feel tired; I feel stretched too thin; I feel un-heard and under-appreciated; I feel jaded; I feel downright grumpy!

Guess what? That’s okay. The good news is that this feeling doesn’t last forever. Usually a good talking-out session combined with a good sleep helps shed light on the situation and scare away the grumps and negativity. Even the most positive people need a crummy day of reality once in a while to help them remember the good days, right?

(And the even better news, I know that by the time this is posted I'll be coasting along in a grump-free zone after, hopefully, having gotten it out of my system for a while!)

How do you handle a not-so-great day?

Confessions of a Screen Addict

I always swore I would never get a smart phone.

I don't have anything against smart phones. I think they're neat. I like playing Fruit Ninja and Pudding Monsters and Toca Band. I think it's cool that people can answer my emails without actually having to go to their computers. (Side note: the first time one of my professors sent me an email "sent from my iPhone" when I was in college, it blew my mind a little bit. Why on earth was my professor answering me when she was clearly not sitting at her desk during working hours? But I digress.)

My problem with smart phones is actually just my personal problem with being a screen addict. Even with just a laptop I checked facebook and my email more than is strictly necessary for anyone who isn't an extremely narcissistic teenager. And seriously, do you know what I get in my email? About a million different mailers from companies who have my email address because I entered a contest on facebook by signing up for their email list. All of which I delete without reading. And yet.

But then my baby drooled on my faux-Blackberry with no actual features, and I had to get a new one, and honestly, the smart phones were just neat and not that expensive compared to the really terrible flip phones and . . . well, there you have it.

Which is great except that I am a stay-at-home mom, and sometimes my days get a little boring because I spend them with someone who doesn't talk yet, and I need someone to talk to. Plus, I take about a million pictures of her a day, and it seems a shame not to show them to people - message them to my mom, upload them to Instagram and Facebook, make a collage of her eating bananas, etc. (My life. It is one big roller coaster of excitement.)

Which brings us to my screen-free week challenge a few weeks ago. I set very specific rules for myself, and honestly, it started out great. On Sunday, after a nice day of spending time with my family, going to church, cooking a nice dinner and putting the baby to bed, Eric and I played Zombie Fluxx, followed by a round of Scrabble where, because they were on our minds, we got extra points for words that could be linked to zombies.

Can you find "eater," "alone," "meaty," "ax," "goon," and other words that got me extra zombie points?

And on Monday, I cleaned my house while my baby was napping, because I wasn't getting sucked into reading some article someone posted on Facebook while I was "making sure she was asleep." And I cleaned faster because I didn't have Netflix going on the iPad! I did laundry! I did dishes! I mopped the floor! I baked bread! The angels rejoiced! When the baby was awake, we went and played in the grass and enjoyed the beautiful sunshine. All was good in the world.

And then a cold front came in on Tuesday and we were stuck inside for the rest of the week. Of course.

By about Wednesday, it was starting to get a little old. I was sneaking a few extra looks at Facebook while I was nursing the baby. I was looking completely unnecessary things up on Wikipedia. (Yes, this children's book that Eric brought home from the thrift shop because of the illustrations WAS written by James Carville the political strategist! What do you mean I could have just gotten out the CD player and listened to the reading to see if it was him?) I was sick of my Pandora stations. (Okay, people need to stop making recordings of Les Mis. You can't listen to a Broadway-themed station (especially when your tastes in musicals tend the way mine do) without hearing "One Day More" about 14,000 times from every different recording.) I was out of podcasts (which I figured I could listen to when I set the phone aside, because that totally worked). And on Thursday, Friday and Saturday, my husband was gone late because he was filming a conference of green dentists. (Do you know how bad dentistry can be for the environment? Apparently it's really bad.) Thursday I was a good girl and read Watership Down while I waited for him to get home at 10:30. But by Friday I was just lonely, and it was quiet, and the rabbits were talking about something boring with a seagull, and I caved. I watched an episode of The West Wing while I ate dinner. I scrolled through pictures of my baby on my phone. I looked at Facebook without commenting on anything in the hopes that no one would notice I'd been online.

Just writing it out like this, I feel a little like I am confessing that I am a crack addict.

I really enjoyed limiting my screen time for the first few days. I felt liberated. I accomplished more. I was happier. I just haven't figured out how to translate it all into my every day life except to say that apparently I need more to do than clean my house and play with my baby, because once the house is clean, I need some interaction, and it doesn't always feel like I can just run over to a neighbor's house for it.

BUT. When the weather is good, CB and I go outside and sit in the sun where I can't see my smartphone screen. And sometimes a neighbor comes and talks to us, and sometimes we just look at grass and bugs and feel the wind and check the mail and try to keep CB from eating the mail. So maybe that's a start.

Melissa felt inspired by my goal, probably because she hadn't talked to me yet. Here are her thoughts about her experience, which seems remarkably similar to mine.

Melissa: 

Inspired by Meg’s endeavor, I too decided to participate in a Screen Free week. I mostly wanted to do it for the sake of my children. My three year old has an affinity for my iPod and my husband’s Nexus tablet. She can also peruse Netflix with the best of them. I’ll admit, I have used the TV or other screens as a babysitter so that I could shower, clean, cook, or fall into an exhausted stupor. In fact, I’m doing it right now as I write this with my kids beside me, watching Doc McStuffins.

I decided I needed to prepare my family because it was going to come as a huge blow to them, except apparently it really wasn’t. I told my oldest daughter that we were doing a screen free week and she was pretty stoked. Sure, the removal of screens would be hard at first (she thought it was because she was in trouble) but she was looking forward to playing more and reading more and talking more. She became the screen police, watching me every time I’d text message someone ("A phone has a screen, Mom!").

Was our week a success? Yes and no. I failed in that we didn’t make it 24/7 without the aid of a screen. On Friday my husband went out of town for three days and I just HAD to hand over my iPod a few times, or turn on a movie because being a single mom for a weekend was too exhausting (it also made me appreciate actual single mothers). 

This week opened my eyes to how often I actually defer to a screen. I take my kids to the park three or four times a week. We go to the library and Discovery Museum at least once during the week. We also do some sort of play date or something or other at some point. I’m not entirely neglectful, but I find when I’m not schlepping my children off to some adventure, much of our down time takes place in front of a screen.

I also realized that a huge part of life plays out online. It’s great to be nostalgic and long for the days of face to face interaction, but who would I experience that kind of life with if most people are socializing on Facebook?

Meg: I confess that I give technology the power to take over my life more often than I should. I confess that even though this experience was eye-opening for me, I still do. But I also confess that it fills me with so much joy that my baby loves flipping through books and playing outside more than she likes playing with my phone right now, and I'd like to keep it that way, so I'm going to keep fighting my addiction.

Confessions of a Former Teenager

If you ever want to feel young at heart, I have decided that all you need to do is spend extended amounts of time with your immediate family. I recently returned from a wonderful ten-day visit to my parents’ home where I was joined by all five of my sisters and, for the first time in years, no husbands or kids! Now, I love my family and we love being around each other so much that we are usually planning our next visit before the current visit has even ended, but this time around, without husbands to distract us, I realized that I am not entirely sure that my family realizes who I am these days. An act as simple as putting my own dishes away after dinner elicited the strongest reactions.

“GASP! GAH! What?! Why is Jill loading the dishwasher?!”

Oh, right. Because I never did the dishes WHEN I WAS FOURTEEN.

Everything from going to bed before midnight to not buying an expensive pair of pants I really wanted caused my sisters to choke on whatever gum they were chewing at the time. As the week went on I really had to wonder- just how bad of a teenager had I been?

Pretty bad.

Granted, I was never arrested and any actual illegal acts were kept for special occasions, but that’s about all that can be said for my friends and I.

Not too long ago I was asked to help out with my church’s youth group. For the past month these delightful young things have almost daily made me want to hop on a plane to Texas, hunt out the poor, abused adults who at one time attempted to do for me what I am striving to do for these girls today, and apologize. Unfortunately, that would take far too much time and involve hunting down far too many teachers, mentors and leaders of my past who I am sure are still questioning whether I ever made it to adulthood. I suppose all I can do, then, is marvel at the Universe’s ability to dish out my comeuppance all these years later…

Deep down inside, I’m sure that my family realizes that I am no longer that teenager and am instead a 28-year-old who will soon be a mother of my own child, but I suppose I can’t begrudge them their decade-long adjustment period to the New Jill. Heck, even I fought for a ridiculous amount of time before I finally admitted to myself that I just don’t get Justin Bieber. (Now is the moment I thank my lucky stars that have yet to jump on the Twitter train so I can’t be blasted by his five billion and three Twitter followers. Phew!) If that isn’t a sign of adulthood, I’m not sure what is.

I recently encountered one of those picture quotes that are so ubiquitous on Facebook these days. “I’m 30 but I still feel like I’m 20.” it said. “Until I hang out with 20 year olds…then I’m like, nope never mind. I’m 30.”

It’s like they could read my mind or something. My name (Jill) may mean “forever child” according to almost every baby name book out there, but for the first time in quite a while I am ready to abandon the quest for the fountain of youth and declare that this particular definition of who I am is an honorary title rather than a literal description of my life.

So, all of you out there wondering if the youngsters in your life are ever going to make it through…just hang in there. We all usually come around in the end. If you need an extra boost along the way, however, just let me know- I’ll send you my Mom’s number and y’all can commiserate. 

Confessions of a Kitchen Klutz: How it Began

Editor's note: this is the first in what will be a series of Kitchen Klutz stories from Zaissa, as part of our larger Confessions series. Enjoy!

If it couldn't be microwaved, ordered, or pushed through a little window into our car, we didn't need it. That was our family motto when I was growing up. Our family was made up of an only child and a single mother, so logistically, this was reasonable.

So by the time I left home, my entire cooking repertoire consisted of this:  I could make really good cheesy scrambled eggs.

My other impediment to cooking is that I have a rebellious sort of character. Unfortunately it's paired with the fact that my only real passion is laziness. The result of which is that I am laziness revolutionary; the sort of person who would throw a pot away if scrubbing it were going to require more than 10 minutes of real shoulder work, which occasionally is a problem with really good cheesy scrambled eggs.

Rebellious and passionately lazy people are willing to rebelliously cut corners at great personal or financial risk. We will even put our dignity on the line if, in the end, we think there is a chance the gain is that we will have to do less stuff we don’t like doing.  This disposition sometimes has interesting results when following a recipe.

Over the last few years, as part of this adventure I embarked on called “learning to cook and bake things people will eat” I have made some discoveries about which corners can and which corners absolutely cannot be cut.

But I have gotten ahead of myself. I am going to go back to the beginning of it all.

As a young newlywed I was a full time student, with a full time job, and I was planning on a full time career. I warned him I would not learn to cook. And, this worked fine for the duration of my first marriage. We remained childless for a good while and when we were blessed with the pitter-patter of little feet, it was just the one set of them. And she was a huge fan of cereal, fruit, and cheesy scrambled eggs.

However, for non-kitchen related reasons (I assume) I found myself divorced and on my own at 30.

I had a lovely little apartment that had plush carpet, and a large—and, I am told, full of first-rate appliances—kitchen of my own. I had, other than my own, only one mouth to feed, which I did well enough with fresh sliced veggies, fruits, cereal, a little lunch meat and bread, and of course, cheesy eggs.

Fast forward once more, I am happy to report the opportunity to live in wedded bliss with my soulmate enticed me away from my plush carpet and large, to me at the time, useless kitchen. In a whirlwind, the mouth count went up by one tiny perfect mouth. And just as we were recovering from the shock, we learned it would be going up by yet another.

My mother, who lived in another state, called me one day, while I was home and about to burst out my third child into the world, and  suggested, as she had multiple times before, that fast food was not going to cut it forever with a family of soon-to-be five, and that for the health of all of them and myself, I needed to learn to prepare meals at home, and probably buy groceries too, and she also suggested I get a haircut, because evidently in my most recent blog post of family photos I was looking “kind of ragged.”

I believe that with this phone call though, she was staging an intervention.

She demanded I go to the kitchen and get a casserole pan of some specified size. I snapped a photo on my cell phone of a long, rectangular, glass bowl thing I found in the cupboard that I had had for years and I text messaged the image to her. She said it would do.

Then she told me to turn on the oven to some temperature, which I did, after checking inside of it, where at that point in my life I sometimes stored things like extra plates or cups that didn’t fit any place else.

As instructed I then opened the freezer and found the meat she assured me she put in there on her last visit. For about 30 minutes I read the names of spices I had on hand (though had no idea where they came from) and chopped and arranged things into the pan as instructed, step-by-step. I did things with tin foil, and seasoning, and spoons until she instructed me to put the pan in the oven. And set the timer.

And when it beeped, from the oven came something I had never (ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever) pulled from the oven before. It was a family meal. For a while, I think my husband and I just stared at it. Of course we had had proper meals before, each of us, him at home growing up, and me, at extended family occasions – but never with our little family, not in our little home.

Something about that moment lit a spark. I think it must be akin to what a young wizard feels at Hogwarts on his first day if his first spell works. Like, he’s seen this stuff before, sure, but actually making it is, well, magic. And the first time you perform magic is, even if you live in a world where it’s all around you, nothing shy of empowering … titillating … amazing!

And so it began. I resolved that I would become competent—nay, GREAT in the kitchen.

My first attempt at cookies was days later. Without technical support from my mother by phone the attempt ended with these little mounds that were kinda heavy and exploded into a sugary dust upon impact of any surface they were propelled at. It turned out, that particular use was the most enjoyment anyone got out of them.

I’ve gotten better.

I have made some terrifying mistakes along the way.

Sometimes my shortcuts pay off.

Substitution has often been the mother of invention.

 I have learned some hard lessons.

And I have made some hard pastries. 

Confessions of a Pregnant Texter

So today my baby was taking an abnormally long time to put down for a nap and I found myself reading old text messages I sent to my husband while I was pregnant. I think when you're pregnant you are kind of living in this alternate universe where you think that you're rational and normal when in fact you are quite the opposite. But no one tells you that because they don't want to make you cry even more. Anyway, thought I'd share some of these precious gems, which in hindsight are all super ridiculous and I don't know how Josh put up with it for nine months! Enjoy!

Me: So my baby shower is postponed because my grandma's aunt died and that's when her funeral is and now I bet no one can come. Everyone gets parties but me!

Josh: Paige, people can't help when they die.

Me: Stupid Aunt Sue. I just want to open presents all day long!

Me: One of my co-workers just started eating some weird meat that's been in the fridge for two months and it just made me sick. And she eats louder and more aggressively than anyone I've ever seen, man or beast.

Me: One of my co-workers is eating a muffin that looks so good I think I'm going to leap across the table and snatch it out of her hands. Is it weird if I ask her for a bite?

Josh: Yes Paige, that's weird. Stop asking your co-workers for their food.

*Story time: One day one of my co-workers got chocolate covered strawberries delivered to her from her boyfriend. They were from Edible Arrangements, I'm sure they weren't cheap, and there weren't very many of them. Anyway she offered a strawberry to a girl sitting by me (they were close, and we were not) but crazy pregnant Paige turned around and stared at them until the girl said "Oh! Uh... Do you want a strawberry too?" And then crazy pregnant Paige was like, "Yes please, let me gobble down your birthday present!"*

Me: Josh my co-worker is eating some mystery food that I can't identify and it's making me throw up! I think if I knew what weird food it was I wouldn't be so grossed out. I'm going to try and find out.

Josh: Did you find out what it is yet?

Me: It smells like a spicy shepherd's pie

Josh: Is it?

Me: No, it's fettucini alfredo.

Me: (Picture message of my poop)

Josh: I don't think constipated pregnant ladies should be eating cracklin oat bran

Me: It smells like old tuna fish in here

Josh: Yummm

Me: Old expired tuna fish

Me: Do you think we should teach our baby sign language?

Josh: Why? Are you deaf?

We are teaching Cooper sign language so I won that battle!

Me: Josh I want to hire someone to make me muffins

Josh: How are you going to go about that?

Me: Can I just put an ad on craigslist?

Pregnant white female seeking one muffin maker

Bran muffins preferred

Blueberry muffins forbidden

Me: I think Cooper has fashioned a shiv during his time in confinement and is now using it to jab me in the ribs.

I am going to crawl up my own vaginal canal and put this baby in a straight jacket.

Me: I'm sleepy and I want a cinnamon bear.

And I want a hot dog. I want a hot dog and cinnamon bears.

Me: I smell like a wet washcloth

Me: Oh my gosh Josh I cannot watch this girl like feast on her cranberries. It's like a monkey foraging for fleas on other monkeys.

One day I sneezed and peed my pants at work...

Me: Josh!! I just had to take off my underwear in the bathroom cuz they're soaked! And now I have to work the rest of the day wearing just shorts and no undies!!

Josh: Are you serious?! Go home and change!

Me: No! I only have an hour left and I pretty much pee my pants all the time anyways! I'd have no vacation time left if I went home every time I peed my pants!

Josh: Oh Paige... Do you need me to bring you some underwear?

Josh packed me lunch every day and I guess some days I wasn't as grateful as I should have been...

Me: You said you packed me crackers and that was a dirty rotten lie.

Josh: Oh no! I'm so sorry!

Me: No crackers! And no pickles and no cheese! I just want to go home and cry!

Me: 1. I'm going to die if I don't get scrambled eggs. 2. I want a teardrop trailer!

Josh: We can look at trailers, that'd be fun

Me: What about my eggs????????

No answer

Me: !!!!!

Me: Someone is eating chick fil a and I want to body tackle them and take their chick fil a for my own.

Josh: Poor crazy baby.

Me: So I'm watching grey's anatomy and when I die during childbirth you should move in with your parents to help you with the baby and then when you get settled you can find a nice new wife ok? Just keep your hair trimmed and wear clothes that fit and you shouldn't have a problem.

Josh: Please stop watching medical dramas.

Me: I think I'm going to kill someone if I don't get a cookie in the next few minutes.

No answer

Me: Maybe one of my co workers has a cookie hidden in their desk and then I can create a diversion and search their things and eat their cookie?

Josh: Yeah?

Me: I feel like I can sense there is one near by.

No answer

Me: Found some old Easter candy in an old box of holiday decorations! Score!

Josh: Are you seriously hunting your office for candy?!

Me: Well not anymore.

Josh: Enjoy your spoils.

Me: (Picture message of a dark spot on our couch)

Me: Unfortunately I happened to sneeze while sitting on the couch in my underwear. You can guess the rest.

Me: Did you make a pizza at lunch? Is there any left over?

Josh: Two slices

Me: What kind is it?

Josh: Cheese

Me: Ok I eat it

Me: These are the smallest pieces of pizza I've ever seen!

Josh: Sorry baby

Me: Well I am deciding what to do. I was going to make a pizza but then some girl went to Culver's and I smelled her onion rings and then she gave the rest of her onion rings to this guy that eats a lot and he gets all her extra food and I'm pretty sure I can eat more than he can! So I don't know what to do.

Josh: What?? What are you talking about?? Are you talking about dinner?

Me: Yes dinner. But also that that girl never gives me her extra food.

Me: What'd you eat for lunch?

Me: I drank my diet coke and I've already fallen asleep at work twice.

Josh: Go buy another one at lunch

Me: I don't think that's going to help. I think I need a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart like that dying man on Downton Abbey.

Me: So every day I see this girl's pizza in the fridge and I think man I really want to eat a slice, she might not notice... And then I sit there and look at her pizza for a while. But I think my judgement might be slightly skewed, I should probably not eat her pizza right??

Josh: No pizza

Me: The baby has been scissor kicking my lady parts all day

Me: Everyone else got Rio for lunch and I'm sick of eating my sandwich every day and my feet are cold and I'm super pissed!

Josh: Baby I'm sorry. Let's make larger dinners so you can take them for lunch.

Me: I try to! But we always eat it all! And making dinners makes me really tired and swollen footed and I just want to cry!!

No answer

Me: Josh?

Josh: I'm so sorry baby, I can make dinners. Also what's the plan for tonight?

Me: Well we need to go to the store and get treats.

Me: Every time the baby gets hiccups it feels like my lady parts are in a popcorn popper.

You'd be crazy too if these were your feet!