Warning: I promise this is not my new thing, but some feedback last week has resulted in a follow up post. Sensitive subject matter follows, one last time.
Since my last post, I have had dozens of women thank me, and several men grumble. It is as though they missed the point of my post last week entirely. They seem to think last week's post was intended to somehow to justify a woman in saying "let's chit chat instead of being intimate."
Which means they completely missed my point.
If you think last week's post was for women (which is totally wasn't), this one is for men. I have heard several men over the past decade complain because women have lingerie to encourage men, but men have nothing comparable.
That's just not true.
Let me explain why this seems true. Women differ from men, anatomically speaking. Did you see the cartoon movie "Up?" If you did, you will recall there are dogs in it with speech boxes. They will be talking and then BAM, they see a squirrel. At that point, they drop whatever they were saying or doing and yell "Squirrel!" They completely drop their train of thought or plan of action because they see something that derails them. Men are much like those dogs.
Yes, I'm talking to you and yes, I'm comparing you to a dog. Because it's true.
Men are much more immediate than women. That's the crux of why, when your wife tells you about her crappy day or her big problem, you don't get that she wants to wallow. She wants empathy and to be understood. You, on the other hand, want to present her with a solution and watch her beam at your general awesomeness. When you try to solve something she already knows how to solve, she's upset for two reasons. First, you aren't listening to her, and second, she feels patronized that you think she can't figure out how to solve it herself. Women think, feel, and ruminate, and they crave validation, usually emotional validation. Men act. It's a generalization, but it's founded on a basic principle: Women consider while most men just do.
This is also true in the bedroom. For a man, his desire (or lack thereof) to be intimate is all about the last five minutes. For a woman, it's all about the past ten hours. Or even the past several days.
Guys, for better or worse, your lingerie is not found in a store or a box. It's a little harder to put on than ours is. Sorry, but it's true. If you want the lady in your life to want you more often, I can promise you that she will--if you follow my advice.
Men's lingerie is spelled like this: Love Her.
The difficulty is getting her to believe you. Saying the words is nice, but most women need more. They want you to show them you love them. I mentioned the five love languages last week. This week, I'm giving you some homework, my friends. Go find out what primary love language your lady love speaks, and if you're smart, figure out her secondary language, too. If you want her to want you, show her that you want HER, and not just when she's wearing lingerie. Show her you want HER, with her frizzy hair, and spastic jokes, and covered in baby spit up. Show her you appreciate her and I promise you, this will have the same impact on her that her black lacy teddy has on you.
Also, because I know guys can be a bit lazy, I will sum up the love languages here, briefly. I'm worried that if I don't at least gloss over them, you'll never go do a search for them. Essentially they outline five ways to express love. 1. Acts of Service, 2. Physical Touch (save it, seriously, not like that), 3. Gifts, 4. Quality Time, and 5. Words of Affirmation.
1. If your wife craves acts of service, vacuuming the family room really could get your partner in the mood. (Not if you tell her you're doing "her work" as service. That will surely land you in a fight! but if you show her you're trying to help do your share of the household tasks... then yes! Sometimes it's all about your attitude.) Seriously though, every single time you do something she has asked you to do, or you do something you know she needs to get done (maybe she has a list on her phone), you are telling her you care about her. You are telling her she matters to you, and guess what? You will matter to her in return.
2. If your wife loves physical touch, then hugging her, holding her hand, or touching her face will all show her you care. Do it ALL DAY. Don't just start five minutes before the kids go to bed, or worse, five minutes after they are in bed. Show her all day that you cherish her, and you want to be around her, to be near her, to be touching her.
3. If your wife loves gifts, let me promise you, ten small gifts are WAY better than one big one. It's not the value of the gifts, but the message you're sending. You can make these, by the way. My husband makes me things all the time. It means even more when it's something he spent time on, instead of money.
4. If your partner loves quality time, put. your. phone. down. Don't pick up that kindle. Don't turn on the dang TV. Talk to her! Listen to her. Tell her what you want to do next week, next month, next year. I swear you will marvel at how she opens up, how she beams. Bonus points if you plan some kind of activity that she loves and you don't. She will know you are doing it just to spend time with her.
5. If your spouse's primary or secondary language is words of affirmation, you have the easiest task of all. You already love her. Now you just have to tell her why! If you struggle with talking, do it in writing. If you're bad at writing, leave her voicemails, tell her in person, text her. Do not try to get fancy by googling poems or using a thesaurus. Just be direct and honest. Tell her all the things you love, not just physical ones. You love how she moves. How she sings, how she dances, how she cares for others, how she cares for you. Be as specific as you can. Thank her for things she's done, tell her you appreciate her and exactly why you do.
Women burn slowly. Think about a pot roast. Yes, I'm comparing women to meat. If you buy an inexpensive cut of meat, and you plop it down in a frying pan, and try to cook it as fast as you can, it will be gross. Seriously, you won't be able to choke it down. (Harking back to last week, you might come to resent it...) But if instead, you put it on low heat and you simmer that meat all day, at the end of the day it will fall apart on your plate.
Men, put us on low and cook us all day. Show us you love us. "But we're at work," you say. "What can we do?" You can text your wife and tell her you love her. (See #5 above.) You can make her a card that has her pictures of her favorite things on it. (You've hit #s 3 and 5 with that one.) You can pick up a Dr. Pepper for her on the way home. (#3) You can kiss her on the way out the door, and you can hug her on your way in. Then hold her hand during dinner. (#2) Or you can put your phone away during breakfast and dinner. (#4) You can pick up groceries or dry cleaning or drop the kids off at school, or you can do the dishes. While you're at the store, grab her favorite pack of gum. (#s 1 and 3) Look, fellas, really it's all about thinking these things through. You can find ways to do this within a budget and in a time frame that fits you.
Ultimately, don't forget that you have the biggest thing in the world going for you: she loves you and you love her. Just remember, for a woman, it's a marathon, not a sprint. Now go get those running shoes on and start stretching.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Not tonight, Honey
WARNING: I really really try hard to write things that are appropriate and will not offend many people. This post addresses sensitive subject matter. If you offend easily, please do not read it.
Sometimes you just don't feel like having sex.
We have all been there. Maybe you have a headache. Maybe you're sick. Maybe you just plain aren't in the mood. Sometimes this feeling lasts a day. Sometimes a week.
Sometimes it persists longer.
When I was pregnant with, well, every single kid, actually, I got really really sick in the first (and into the beginning of the second) trimester. Like, the I-want-to-die-rather-than-having-to-stand-up, or-think-about-eating-anything-even-crackers kind of sick. I have a friend right now who is in that exact spot. She is right in the middle of her first trimester with her first child and she is sick as a dog. Her body is working overtime growing a tiny human and her hormones are all over the place, and unsurprisingly, her libido is non-existent.
She is concerned about her husband. He hasn't been complaining overtly, but she can tell he's hoping this dry spell will end soon. She is concerned enough that she asked some of her female friends what she should do, hoping for some helpful advice. The advice fell into four main categories:
1. Tell him to take care of it himself. (Her husband does not want to.)
2. Tell him to try porn. (Her husband does not want to.)
3. Tell him to deal with it. (Her husband is currently doing this.)
4. My friend should just do it, even though she doesn't want to. (She dreads the idea of this.)
After talking about this with her, I felt strongly enough about the subject I could not stop thinking about doing a blog on it, despite the sensitive nature of the subject matter. I finally decided that with a problem this universal I could not just stand by and allow the advice like my friend received to be the only thing floating around in the blogosphere.
Here is my opinion. As aforementioned, I have certainly had a day here or there where I wasn't in the mood, or I had a headache (yes, it's cliche, but true nonetheless. Hey the classics work because they're true!) There have been days in a row where I was tired, or overwhelmed, or stressed or sick. I have had weeks and weeks where I was sick as a dog from being pregnant. I can relate to my friend's problem. I believe it has most likely been your problem too, kind reader, at some time or another, and I mean that whether you are a man or a woman!
So what's my advice? You know, the advice I apparently think is soooo much better than the advice my friend was getting elsewhere. It's simple. And I will get to my advice soon, but first I am going to tell you why the advice she received was so gosh darn awful I practically couldn't stop myself from losing it right then and there.
1. Masturbation: Telling your husband, "I can't honey, I feel too sick, but go take care of your needs yourself" is a terrible idea. It might seem easy to just say that. It might seem tempting. There are all kinds of inappropriate jokes people make on this topic. The media will tell you it's so common that everyone in the world does this. The point is this: sex exists in a relationship to bring two people closer together. If you tell him to buzz off, you are sending two harmful messages. The first is that you are not in this relationship anymore. You think he should go "deal with things" himself. On his own, because you aren't a team right now. That is bad anyway you slice it. You are pulling away from him when you should be relying on his support.
The second harmful message you send is that your husband needs sex like he needs to eat. Or that he needs it like he needs to breathe. That is patently untrue. Obviously it's untrue: you aren't having it, so why does he need to? The answer that "he's not sick" is not acceptable. If you're sick you may need medicine, but your basic human requirements remain the same. You still need to breathe, you need to eat, you need to drink. The thing that needs sex is your relationship, not your husband. It's healthy for the two of you, when done together, and it strengthens your bond, but society has sold us a lie when it says men, or boys, or people need sex like we need food or water or air. It's a lie that excuses all kinds of things and leads to the absolute worst advice of all time... see below. Think this through though. If you buy the lie that your husband needs to have sex, then there is a major slippery slope. What if he "needs" it more than you? What if he "needs" things you don't want to do? Then is it fine for him to go to someone else, to other places? Where do you draw the line?
Bottom line: this is not a need. You relationship will suffer without nurturing but there are other ways to nurture it when you are sick or uninterested, as I will address below.
2. PORN? I mean, really? There were not one, not two, but SEVERAL people who gave my friend the advice that she should just "give him porn" if he doesn't want to take care of things himself. GOOD GRIEF. If this is not the worst advice for this situation anyone could have given in good conscience, I can't think of anything to top it. In my mind, this is like saying, "Oh your husband is tired at work? Well, give him some cocaine. That will really perk him up." Umm, no. He will get addicted, and it will cost money, time, and probably ruin your relationship, and maybe get you tossed in jail. And it damages your body. All of those things are true (or in the jail-time realm, true-ish, because soft porn leads to hard porn, leads to the illegal kind... but I digress) of porn as well. DO. NOT. EVER. ENCOURAGE. ANYONE. YOU. LOVE. TO. DO. PORN.
In case my capitalization and my periods confused anyone, my message is this: do not ever suggest your husband, or your wife, or your kids, or your friends, or even your enemies should do porn if your libido is down. It ruins lives. It destroys relationships. It will end yours. Trust me when I say it is a horrible, degrading, evil idea. It's not a harmless, "everyone does it" kind of thing. But the main reason it is an awful idea here is that my friend's husband is basically telling her he misses her. Turns out, my friend misses him too! Usually whatever it is (in this case, a tiny fetus) that is making YOU not want to have sex, is probably impacting your partner as well! I am hinting at my solution here, so I will stop and instead say that if your partner says, "I am feeling distance. I want us to be close, and I want to be with you," but you feel pressured by that, the worst thing you can do is toss him a magazine or video and say "Go pretend you're with someone else."
Because he might actually do just that.
3. Telling him to "suck it up" is about as close to the right answer as anyone got, or at least it does the least harm. So I guess it's the best of the bad options. It's where my friend is right now, and it has left her feeling guilty and badgered, despite her husband's best intentions not to do that. On the flip side, he is feeling unloved and alone. The problem with saying, "suck it up" is that you are thinking only of your own feelings. You're thinking, "Gosh, I don't want this. I can't deal with it, why are you wanting something from me that I don't want or can't give." Your partner is thinking, "I love and miss you and what we had. What's going on? Why can't we get back to where we were?"
Telling him (or her) to suck it up basically sends the message that things are hard and you only care about yourself. Like I said, that's the best of the options she was given, but if you're sick for a long time, or in this particular instance, when you have the baby, things will continue to be hard. And if you have more kids, lather rinse and repeat. If you tell them to suck it up, they may be sucking it up for a veeeery long time. And the longer it goes, the more hurt feelings, and the more resentment that can exist. Their love for you will not be nourished. That has far-reaching ramifications. There is a better way. Just one more bad one to refute before I elaborate on my suggestion.
4. The idea that my friend should just suck it up and have sex when she doesn't want to is on par with the first option, or perhaps worse. This is a very, very, bad idea. As I have previously mentioned, at the very least, sex is a barometer of a healthy relationship. It's not that every single good relationship has a robust sex life and every bad one has a dwindling one. I'm sure there are terrible ones with very active sex lives and great ones with terrible sex lives. I'm merely saying that in general, a good sex life is one way to measure whether a couple is happy. That is true because it is a great way for a couple to connect. It is also something couples do when they are feeling connected. In that way, it is both the cause and the effect.
To tell my friend to do something she doesn't want to do is going to have the reverse impact of option three. She will resent having to do it. She will take something that should be creating joy and trust between the couple and instead create resentment, frustration and anger. In the most extreme end of the spectrum, it might even create feelings of disgust. If this happens once, or twice, in an otherwise happy relationship, it's probably just a blip on the radar. But if it happens over and over, say every week for three months, or six months, or nine months, this can destroy your entire relationship. This is potentially poisonous to any couple, if one person repeatedly does something they don't want to do because they think the other partner "needs" or demands it. DO NOT RISK your marriage over this.
Now for my suggestion. It's so simple. Now you will all think, "lady, you wrote a whole blog on this? Seriously?"
Let me tell you, people do NOT take this advice on their own very often.
Talk to your husband about it. Talk to your wife about it. Every day. Tell them how you're feeling and why. Then you both tell the other person you love them. If the lack of desire goes past a few days, keep talking about it and come up with a list of some other things you can do instead to strengthen the bond between you. This list will vary widely by couple. I know that my husband loves to go shooting. I don't love this activity, but when I am physically able to go (not third trimester!) I could go do this and I don't hate him. I don't resent doing it, but he knows I care enough about HIM and what he likes to do it with him. Here's the kicker: even if I do hate it, and resent doing it, I am hating and resenting an activity that didn't formerly bring us together. I am not ruining something that used to improve our relationship.
If you are struggling to come up with ideas for things you can do, here are a few ideas. If you both like to cook, make meals together. If he just misses touching you, let him give you a back rub. If you aren't familiar with the "Five Love Languages", go look them up and take their free test right now.
Figure out what means love to your spouse and do things that will feed that love while your libido is down. My biggest love language is acts of service. So if my husband ever wasn't in the mood (yeah, right!) he could do some act of service for me to show me that even if he doesn't want to have sex right now, he still loves me. (Conversely, if I'm not in the mood, he can do something for me then, too, or I can do something for him. This goes both ways.)
If you aren't in the mood but your husband's love language is words of affirmation, sit down and tell him all the reasons you love him. If his language is physical touch, you're thinking DARN! I can't win! But no, for people who crave physical touch, there are so many other avenues. If you are being open with each other, you can find those. Let him give you a back rub. Sit with his arm around you. Snuggle up next to him and hold his hand.
The key here is for each of you to show the other that you still love them, that you're still connected, and that you still care, even if one of the primary ways you would normally express that is off the table.
So my advice has two components:
1. talk talk talk talk talk about it.
2. find other ways to express your love for one another so you keep growing together.
That's it! No porn. No masturbation. No sucking it up by either of you. You two are in this together, high and low, hard and easy. Don't forget that just because life has thrown you a curve ball. Curve balls will just keep coming, over and over, faster and faster and you need to be ready to catch them and move on. Just make sure that whatever you do, you do it together.
Sometimes you just don't feel like having sex.
We have all been there. Maybe you have a headache. Maybe you're sick. Maybe you just plain aren't in the mood. Sometimes this feeling lasts a day. Sometimes a week.
Sometimes it persists longer.
When I was pregnant with, well, every single kid, actually, I got really really sick in the first (and into the beginning of the second) trimester. Like, the I-want-to-die-rather-than-having-to-stand-up, or-think-about-eating-anything-even-crackers kind of sick. I have a friend right now who is in that exact spot. She is right in the middle of her first trimester with her first child and she is sick as a dog. Her body is working overtime growing a tiny human and her hormones are all over the place, and unsurprisingly, her libido is non-existent.
She is concerned about her husband. He hasn't been complaining overtly, but she can tell he's hoping this dry spell will end soon. She is concerned enough that she asked some of her female friends what she should do, hoping for some helpful advice. The advice fell into four main categories:
1. Tell him to take care of it himself. (Her husband does not want to.)
2. Tell him to try porn. (Her husband does not want to.)
3. Tell him to deal with it. (Her husband is currently doing this.)
4. My friend should just do it, even though she doesn't want to. (She dreads the idea of this.)
After talking about this with her, I felt strongly enough about the subject I could not stop thinking about doing a blog on it, despite the sensitive nature of the subject matter. I finally decided that with a problem this universal I could not just stand by and allow the advice like my friend received to be the only thing floating around in the blogosphere.
Here is my opinion. As aforementioned, I have certainly had a day here or there where I wasn't in the mood, or I had a headache (yes, it's cliche, but true nonetheless. Hey the classics work because they're true!) There have been days in a row where I was tired, or overwhelmed, or stressed or sick. I have had weeks and weeks where I was sick as a dog from being pregnant. I can relate to my friend's problem. I believe it has most likely been your problem too, kind reader, at some time or another, and I mean that whether you are a man or a woman!
So what's my advice? You know, the advice I apparently think is soooo much better than the advice my friend was getting elsewhere. It's simple. And I will get to my advice soon, but first I am going to tell you why the advice she received was so gosh darn awful I practically couldn't stop myself from losing it right then and there.
1. Masturbation: Telling your husband, "I can't honey, I feel too sick, but go take care of your needs yourself" is a terrible idea. It might seem easy to just say that. It might seem tempting. There are all kinds of inappropriate jokes people make on this topic. The media will tell you it's so common that everyone in the world does this. The point is this: sex exists in a relationship to bring two people closer together. If you tell him to buzz off, you are sending two harmful messages. The first is that you are not in this relationship anymore. You think he should go "deal with things" himself. On his own, because you aren't a team right now. That is bad anyway you slice it. You are pulling away from him when you should be relying on his support.
The second harmful message you send is that your husband needs sex like he needs to eat. Or that he needs it like he needs to breathe. That is patently untrue. Obviously it's untrue: you aren't having it, so why does he need to? The answer that "he's not sick" is not acceptable. If you're sick you may need medicine, but your basic human requirements remain the same. You still need to breathe, you need to eat, you need to drink. The thing that needs sex is your relationship, not your husband. It's healthy for the two of you, when done together, and it strengthens your bond, but society has sold us a lie when it says men, or boys, or people need sex like we need food or water or air. It's a lie that excuses all kinds of things and leads to the absolute worst advice of all time... see below. Think this through though. If you buy the lie that your husband needs to have sex, then there is a major slippery slope. What if he "needs" it more than you? What if he "needs" things you don't want to do? Then is it fine for him to go to someone else, to other places? Where do you draw the line?
Bottom line: this is not a need. You relationship will suffer without nurturing but there are other ways to nurture it when you are sick or uninterested, as I will address below.
2. PORN? I mean, really? There were not one, not two, but SEVERAL people who gave my friend the advice that she should just "give him porn" if he doesn't want to take care of things himself. GOOD GRIEF. If this is not the worst advice for this situation anyone could have given in good conscience, I can't think of anything to top it. In my mind, this is like saying, "Oh your husband is tired at work? Well, give him some cocaine. That will really perk him up." Umm, no. He will get addicted, and it will cost money, time, and probably ruin your relationship, and maybe get you tossed in jail. And it damages your body. All of those things are true (or in the jail-time realm, true-ish, because soft porn leads to hard porn, leads to the illegal kind... but I digress) of porn as well. DO. NOT. EVER. ENCOURAGE. ANYONE. YOU. LOVE. TO. DO. PORN.
In case my capitalization and my periods confused anyone, my message is this: do not ever suggest your husband, or your wife, or your kids, or your friends, or even your enemies should do porn if your libido is down. It ruins lives. It destroys relationships. It will end yours. Trust me when I say it is a horrible, degrading, evil idea. It's not a harmless, "everyone does it" kind of thing. But the main reason it is an awful idea here is that my friend's husband is basically telling her he misses her. Turns out, my friend misses him too! Usually whatever it is (in this case, a tiny fetus) that is making YOU not want to have sex, is probably impacting your partner as well! I am hinting at my solution here, so I will stop and instead say that if your partner says, "I am feeling distance. I want us to be close, and I want to be with you," but you feel pressured by that, the worst thing you can do is toss him a magazine or video and say "Go pretend you're with someone else."
Because he might actually do just that.
3. Telling him to "suck it up" is about as close to the right answer as anyone got, or at least it does the least harm. So I guess it's the best of the bad options. It's where my friend is right now, and it has left her feeling guilty and badgered, despite her husband's best intentions not to do that. On the flip side, he is feeling unloved and alone. The problem with saying, "suck it up" is that you are thinking only of your own feelings. You're thinking, "Gosh, I don't want this. I can't deal with it, why are you wanting something from me that I don't want or can't give." Your partner is thinking, "I love and miss you and what we had. What's going on? Why can't we get back to where we were?"
Telling him (or her) to suck it up basically sends the message that things are hard and you only care about yourself. Like I said, that's the best of the options she was given, but if you're sick for a long time, or in this particular instance, when you have the baby, things will continue to be hard. And if you have more kids, lather rinse and repeat. If you tell them to suck it up, they may be sucking it up for a veeeery long time. And the longer it goes, the more hurt feelings, and the more resentment that can exist. Their love for you will not be nourished. That has far-reaching ramifications. There is a better way. Just one more bad one to refute before I elaborate on my suggestion.
4. The idea that my friend should just suck it up and have sex when she doesn't want to is on par with the first option, or perhaps worse. This is a very, very, bad idea. As I have previously mentioned, at the very least, sex is a barometer of a healthy relationship. It's not that every single good relationship has a robust sex life and every bad one has a dwindling one. I'm sure there are terrible ones with very active sex lives and great ones with terrible sex lives. I'm merely saying that in general, a good sex life is one way to measure whether a couple is happy. That is true because it is a great way for a couple to connect. It is also something couples do when they are feeling connected. In that way, it is both the cause and the effect.
To tell my friend to do something she doesn't want to do is going to have the reverse impact of option three. She will resent having to do it. She will take something that should be creating joy and trust between the couple and instead create resentment, frustration and anger. In the most extreme end of the spectrum, it might even create feelings of disgust. If this happens once, or twice, in an otherwise happy relationship, it's probably just a blip on the radar. But if it happens over and over, say every week for three months, or six months, or nine months, this can destroy your entire relationship. This is potentially poisonous to any couple, if one person repeatedly does something they don't want to do because they think the other partner "needs" or demands it. DO NOT RISK your marriage over this.
Now for my suggestion. It's so simple. Now you will all think, "lady, you wrote a whole blog on this? Seriously?"
Let me tell you, people do NOT take this advice on their own very often.
Talk to your husband about it. Talk to your wife about it. Every day. Tell them how you're feeling and why. Then you both tell the other person you love them. If the lack of desire goes past a few days, keep talking about it and come up with a list of some other things you can do instead to strengthen the bond between you. This list will vary widely by couple. I know that my husband loves to go shooting. I don't love this activity, but when I am physically able to go (not third trimester!) I could go do this and I don't hate him. I don't resent doing it, but he knows I care enough about HIM and what he likes to do it with him. Here's the kicker: even if I do hate it, and resent doing it, I am hating and resenting an activity that didn't formerly bring us together. I am not ruining something that used to improve our relationship.
If you are struggling to come up with ideas for things you can do, here are a few ideas. If you both like to cook, make meals together. If he just misses touching you, let him give you a back rub. If you aren't familiar with the "Five Love Languages", go look them up and take their free test right now.
Figure out what means love to your spouse and do things that will feed that love while your libido is down. My biggest love language is acts of service. So if my husband ever wasn't in the mood (yeah, right!) he could do some act of service for me to show me that even if he doesn't want to have sex right now, he still loves me. (Conversely, if I'm not in the mood, he can do something for me then, too, or I can do something for him. This goes both ways.)
If you aren't in the mood but your husband's love language is words of affirmation, sit down and tell him all the reasons you love him. If his language is physical touch, you're thinking DARN! I can't win! But no, for people who crave physical touch, there are so many other avenues. If you are being open with each other, you can find those. Let him give you a back rub. Sit with his arm around you. Snuggle up next to him and hold his hand.
The key here is for each of you to show the other that you still love them, that you're still connected, and that you still care, even if one of the primary ways you would normally express that is off the table.
So my advice has two components:
1. talk talk talk talk talk about it.
2. find other ways to express your love for one another so you keep growing together.
That's it! No porn. No masturbation. No sucking it up by either of you. You two are in this together, high and low, hard and easy. Don't forget that just because life has thrown you a curve ball. Curve balls will just keep coming, over and over, faster and faster and you need to be ready to catch them and move on. Just make sure that whatever you do, you do it together.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
To my LOVE on Valentine's Day--You're the reason we're here at all
I have been on a diet for the past few weeks. I check in every January and lose any weight I gained during the prior year. I had six pounds to lose this year, so I have been trying to limit my calories. If you know me at all, or even if you just read my blog, you probably know I LOVE cookies. Love is probably not a strong enough word. I obsess over cookies. What with my diet and all, I have been missing them. Okay, again maybe not strong enough. I've been thinking about them, dreaming about them. Imagine my surprise and delight when I found a recipe for cookies with only forty calories in each cookie! It was basically mashed up bananas, a dash of applesauce, a few handfuls of oatmeal and some raisins. I substituted chocolate chips for the raisins because, I mean, really. The reviews were honestly all so positive, I got my hopes up.
Even with my substitution, they were still disgusting.
Okay that might be a little dramatic, but they failed my basic test for a good cookie. To be a success, the cookie absolutely must taste better once it's done than the ingredients taste when eaten individually. I would definitely have preferred to eat a handful of oatmeal, a banana and some shriveled up grapes to these very disappointing blobs. (I now refuse on moral grounds to refer to them as cookies.)
Speaking of synergy and grapes... one November many years ago, over a bowl of (non-shriveled up) grapes, this tall, cute, kinda nervous guy came over and introduced himself. It took guts, it took daring, and in all the chaos of that night, I almost forgot about it. Then, a few days later, that same gutsy, tall guy got my number from a friend and called me up to ask me on a date. No hemming, no hawing, no, "let's hang sometime." Just, "will you go out with me on Friday?"
I said no.
I had plans, so I asked for a raincheck. I am soooo lucky he didn't just hang up. When we did go out, there weren't fireworks. No bands played. There weren't even any singing frogs. In fact, it was pretty ordinary. We went to dinner at my favorite restaurant, and we talked. He suggested we go walk around a bookstore and I knew he was a smart guy. Because bookstores are (aside from cookies) the real key to my heart. I am kidding. Sort of.
From that rather ordinary beginning, we have created something extraordinary, and I owe it all to him.
Some days I am frazzled. Some days I am really, really frazzled. Some days I throw myself down on the floor and cry because things are hard. But every single day of our marriage I have been better, happier and felt more loved because of him. Unlike those diet blobs, Whitney and I are better together than we are apart. I will now pay him the highest compliment I can think to pay: he is one hot cookie.
How can I describe to someone who has never met Whitney what a joy he is to me? Or how he single-handedly made our family something special? I think I have one photo that sums him up, at least to me. He hates this photo because it shows that his hair was thinning on top. I love it, because it was spontaneous, and completely unfettered. (Also, he looks hotter now without any hair than he did when we met with a full head of hair. So there.)
This is a photo of him dancing in the moments after our first child was born. You can see his joy for life, and the absolute abandon with which Whitney T. Baker loves. He took a poor little broken brat, who had been in a miserable marriage, who had then mucked around, not quite sure how to make a beautiful family, and he was patient. He glued me back together. He sanded me down. He glued me again. He waited and then he painted a little here and a little there. He sat out my tantrums and patiently waited (or should I say waded? haha) through my issues. I don't know what I would have been without him, but I am so glad I never had to find out.
I recall this one moment, a few years ago, when I took a moment and just looked around my life. I saw my beautiful home, my adorable and beloved children, my fuzzy animal, my loving family, and my handsome, funny, supportive husband and I just felt this overwhelming feeling of serendipity. Somehow I lucked into meeting and attracting the attention of this man. A man who swoops in and does anything I need, without complaining. This man who earns a good living, is humble, is kind, is sensitive and who really listens. This man who cares about people, who gets up with kids, who changes poop, who takes care of my sick babies and who will give up anything and everything for me and his family.
Honestly, I have seen a lot of guys fall short of Whitney, and I have thought that I must be the only woman in the world who is quite as lucky as I am.
But lately, in the last few months, I've been blessed to see quite a few friends whose husbands have done similarly impressive things. It makes me so happy to see other men who have supported their girlfriends or wives, cared for them, and cherished them in much the same way that mine does. I have come to believe that although guys like this do not promote themselves, maybe Whitney isn't totally alone in always doing the impossible. Maybe I'm not the only one with a husband who is always there for her, who is the rock of their family.
Valentine's Day has always been my favorite holiday, right after Christmas, because I adore the idea of having a day to celebrate all the love in my life. (Also, I love pink and I love sparkles, and that's sort of the Valentine's day theme.) I love my God, my husband, my family, my friends. I love America, and my pets, my opportunities. I love reading and writing and I love singing and crafts. I love TV, swimming, cooking, working out. I love a lot of people, a lot of places, a lot of things. I love celebrating all the joys that make up a very happy and blessed life. I see Valentine's as a corollary to Thanksgiving but less about food and more about living.
As I think about all those people, and places and things that I love, they all come back around to Whitney. When my faith in God has waned, or I have wavered, he was there to steady me, to bear his testimony and to buoy me up. When my frustration with our kids has gotten out of hand, he helps me relax, and see the beauty. When I need a break from kids, he gives me one. When I am happy with them and smiling and full of joy and wonder, he is there with me, soaking their little personalities in right alongside me. When I need to do something for myself, like write or do legal work, he supports me in that. When my family needs help, or his does, he is there, doing it, cheering me on, getting things done.
With all my talking and even with my chronic surfeit of words, I don't think I could ever articulate quite the right ones to encompass the depth and the breadth of the love and appreciation I have for the joy that Whitney brings me, just by being the man that he is. He has taught me what love is: a verb, an action, a dedication to something and someone. He is as steady as the moon, and yet, like the moon, he is always changing.
On this happy heart day, I would encourage you to share with me, with that person, and with the world the joy you have in your Whitney. Tell him (or her) that you love them, and why. Don't get hung up on the flowers or the fancy-ness of the dinner venue. Put your phones down and look around at the world. Talk about what you want to change (together) and what you appreciate that you've already built. And I would love to hear about the one you love, and how he is (almost) as fabulous as my Whitney T.
I don't usually include photos, but here's one of me and Mr. Perfect from our family photo shoot not long ago. I am so grateful for this man, and the choices we made that have led to our family!
Happy Love day!
Bridget
PS- If you forgot to make reservations someplace fancy, you can join Whitney and I at the Waffle House. If you're lucky, there will still be room.
Even with my substitution, they were still disgusting.
Okay that might be a little dramatic, but they failed my basic test for a good cookie. To be a success, the cookie absolutely must taste better once it's done than the ingredients taste when eaten individually. I would definitely have preferred to eat a handful of oatmeal, a banana and some shriveled up grapes to these very disappointing blobs. (I now refuse on moral grounds to refer to them as cookies.)
Speaking of synergy and grapes... one November many years ago, over a bowl of (non-shriveled up) grapes, this tall, cute, kinda nervous guy came over and introduced himself. It took guts, it took daring, and in all the chaos of that night, I almost forgot about it. Then, a few days later, that same gutsy, tall guy got my number from a friend and called me up to ask me on a date. No hemming, no hawing, no, "let's hang sometime." Just, "will you go out with me on Friday?"
I said no.
I had plans, so I asked for a raincheck. I am soooo lucky he didn't just hang up. When we did go out, there weren't fireworks. No bands played. There weren't even any singing frogs. In fact, it was pretty ordinary. We went to dinner at my favorite restaurant, and we talked. He suggested we go walk around a bookstore and I knew he was a smart guy. Because bookstores are (aside from cookies) the real key to my heart. I am kidding. Sort of.
From that rather ordinary beginning, we have created something extraordinary, and I owe it all to him.
Some days I am frazzled. Some days I am really, really frazzled. Some days I throw myself down on the floor and cry because things are hard. But every single day of our marriage I have been better, happier and felt more loved because of him. Unlike those diet blobs, Whitney and I are better together than we are apart. I will now pay him the highest compliment I can think to pay: he is one hot cookie.
How can I describe to someone who has never met Whitney what a joy he is to me? Or how he single-handedly made our family something special? I think I have one photo that sums him up, at least to me. He hates this photo because it shows that his hair was thinning on top. I love it, because it was spontaneous, and completely unfettered. (Also, he looks hotter now without any hair than he did when we met with a full head of hair. So there.)
This is a photo of him dancing in the moments after our first child was born. You can see his joy for life, and the absolute abandon with which Whitney T. Baker loves. He took a poor little broken brat, who had been in a miserable marriage, who had then mucked around, not quite sure how to make a beautiful family, and he was patient. He glued me back together. He sanded me down. He glued me again. He waited and then he painted a little here and a little there. He sat out my tantrums and patiently waited (or should I say waded? haha) through my issues. I don't know what I would have been without him, but I am so glad I never had to find out.
I recall this one moment, a few years ago, when I took a moment and just looked around my life. I saw my beautiful home, my adorable and beloved children, my fuzzy animal, my loving family, and my handsome, funny, supportive husband and I just felt this overwhelming feeling of serendipity. Somehow I lucked into meeting and attracting the attention of this man. A man who swoops in and does anything I need, without complaining. This man who earns a good living, is humble, is kind, is sensitive and who really listens. This man who cares about people, who gets up with kids, who changes poop, who takes care of my sick babies and who will give up anything and everything for me and his family.
Honestly, I have seen a lot of guys fall short of Whitney, and I have thought that I must be the only woman in the world who is quite as lucky as I am.
But lately, in the last few months, I've been blessed to see quite a few friends whose husbands have done similarly impressive things. It makes me so happy to see other men who have supported their girlfriends or wives, cared for them, and cherished them in much the same way that mine does. I have come to believe that although guys like this do not promote themselves, maybe Whitney isn't totally alone in always doing the impossible. Maybe I'm not the only one with a husband who is always there for her, who is the rock of their family.
Valentine's Day has always been my favorite holiday, right after Christmas, because I adore the idea of having a day to celebrate all the love in my life. (Also, I love pink and I love sparkles, and that's sort of the Valentine's day theme.) I love my God, my husband, my family, my friends. I love America, and my pets, my opportunities. I love reading and writing and I love singing and crafts. I love TV, swimming, cooking, working out. I love a lot of people, a lot of places, a lot of things. I love celebrating all the joys that make up a very happy and blessed life. I see Valentine's as a corollary to Thanksgiving but less about food and more about living.
As I think about all those people, and places and things that I love, they all come back around to Whitney. When my faith in God has waned, or I have wavered, he was there to steady me, to bear his testimony and to buoy me up. When my frustration with our kids has gotten out of hand, he helps me relax, and see the beauty. When I need a break from kids, he gives me one. When I am happy with them and smiling and full of joy and wonder, he is there with me, soaking their little personalities in right alongside me. When I need to do something for myself, like write or do legal work, he supports me in that. When my family needs help, or his does, he is there, doing it, cheering me on, getting things done.
With all my talking and even with my chronic surfeit of words, I don't think I could ever articulate quite the right ones to encompass the depth and the breadth of the love and appreciation I have for the joy that Whitney brings me, just by being the man that he is. He has taught me what love is: a verb, an action, a dedication to something and someone. He is as steady as the moon, and yet, like the moon, he is always changing.
On this happy heart day, I would encourage you to share with me, with that person, and with the world the joy you have in your Whitney. Tell him (or her) that you love them, and why. Don't get hung up on the flowers or the fancy-ness of the dinner venue. Put your phones down and look around at the world. Talk about what you want to change (together) and what you appreciate that you've already built. And I would love to hear about the one you love, and how he is (almost) as fabulous as my Whitney T.
I don't usually include photos, but here's one of me and Mr. Perfect from our family photo shoot not long ago. I am so grateful for this man, and the choices we made that have led to our family!
Happy Love day!
Bridget
PS- If you forgot to make reservations someplace fancy, you can join Whitney and I at the Waffle House. If you're lucky, there will still be room.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
I am a failure at being a SAHM (Stay at Home Mom)
Today was going so well. My husband is working a 24 hour shift so I was all alone, but I still managed to get the two big kids off to school. I got all four kids fed, groomed (okay, you caught me, I didn't brush Dora's hair. I think I miss that more than I catch it. I have no idea what her teacher thinks of me...), but I think everyone had something to eat and that's the important bit right? The big kids even had long pants and coats on, which I consider to be a miracle. (For some reason, even on cold days those kids HATE putting on pants and fight wearing coats as though I'm trying to brand them. It's baffling!)
I'm not saying there weren't setbacks. I forgot to put up the dog blockade and Foxy pooped on the stairway to my craft room, aka, that stupid dog's favorite potty spot. Dora spilled a full bowl of cereal on the floor. Emmy peed through her pull-up and onto her clothes. Blarg. These things happen. I kept calm and I carried on.
Then after I got the big kids off to school and all the messes cleaned up, I folded laundry. I picked up. I cleaned from breakfast. All the while, I was playing with kids. My two year old was "helping" me with everything and I was so patient. Patient. Patient.
Really, you would have been impressed.
Then I had a friend come over, a brilliant, beautiful, talented friend named Liz. Like me, she has four children. Her youngest is only three months old, but she got them all over to my house, also all groomed and fed, and right on time. We played with the kids, got them all situated and then managed to complete a one hour workout (in about two hours, but we finished!) We blew bubbles for the kids. There were no cheetos handprints on my sofa or rug. There was no blood spilled, and there weren't too many tears. A success!
After Liz left, I fed my kids lunch. I cleaned the kitchen. I blew more bubbles for the two little ones. I put the baby down. I got some legal work done while Emmy played quietly with toys. I got some emails handled. I navigated neighborhood drama. In general, I rocked it. After the baby woke up, I got laundry put away, more laundry folded (is it just me, or does it never ever ever ever end??) and the house looked amazing. When Tessa woke up, we sang the numbers song from sesame street, we sang the alphabet song, we blew more bubbles. We colored, we played with playdoh, and I cleaned all those things up.
In general, I was about the best SAHM in the world, second only to Liz.
Then the kids came home. I was still amazing. Hugs, support, love, listening to their day. And then we started homework. Groan. They didn't want to do homework. They saw the stupid bubble container and wanted to blow bubbles of all things.
But wait, Eli always does all his homework on Monday so he is homework free for the rest of the week, and this is a Tuesday. We suffered through everything last night so tonight would be fun! Dora rarely has more than a worksheet and two books to read, so tonight should be easy, pain free. Except, since we'd been gone the entire week before on a family vacation, we discovered Eli had done LAST week's makeup homework yesterday and we were essentially reset to Monday. Double blarg. Spirits were uncharacteristically low for a Tuesday afternoon, I won't lie. There was more blathering about the bubbles. I was in the middle of helping Dora read, and spell her sightwords aloud, and complete THIS week's worksheets, when Emmy demanded my presence upstairs. Tessa insisted I sit with her and requested I stop talking because she was trying to watch a show in the iPad. I helped Eli, I helped Dora, I calmed Tessa, I mollified Emmy. I fielded phone calls. I was generally amazing.
After all the agonizing mess was over, I ignored another bubble request and made the requested dinner. Pancakes with fresh strawberries and scrambled eggs. Dora helped me set the table. All four kids were in the kitchen, spending time together, Tessa eating strawberries, Eli making jokes, Emmy jabbering incessantly, as is her wont.
I have no idea where things went wrong.
My best memory of where things went south is that somehow, Eli discovered he had yet another task to complete. Something about drawing the moon. He was whining and terribly sad. Tessa was furious about something to do with the stool. I have no earthly idea why Emmy started screaming, except that perhaps she felt left out. Only Dora was being good. And then she pointed out that someone had knocked over the very large, very full bottle of bubble soap. The very bottle that a dozen kids (yes, I know the math doesn't work because I only have four, but I am telling you, a DOZEN kids asked me about those ridiculous bubbles!) had asked to play with. It had poured all over the counter. On important paperwork, down the cabinet, into drawers, under my kitchen mat and was just a disaster, generally. While I tried to see to that, the pancakes I had poured burned. Tessa decided to ignore my very clear and oft repeated instructions and move her stool over to where she could "help" by placing her fingers on the hot griddle.
I am sorry to admit that I completely lost it. As in, collapsed on the floor into a pathetic puddle practically sobbing that I hated my life and didn't want to do this anymore! How had my day collapsed so completely? Eli ran to his room crying. Pancakes and little fingers burned, soap everywhere, eggs getting cold.
Utter and complete disaster. See? I told you I'm a failure as a stay at home mom.
This all got me thinking. Why in the world would anyone choose to stay at home with their kids? I the past seven years, I've been slobbered on, boogered (as in, had boogers wiped on me. Why is this not a real word?), peed on, pooped on, and puked on. I have run 9,465,785,001 loads of laundry. I have changed almost as many diapers. I have filled landfills with my diapers, because I am a failure and use disposable diapers. (Yes, I hate the earth and want to see her go down in a pile of stinky, non-biodegradable poop wraps.) I have been screamed at more hours than I could possibly count.
I'm a lawyer, for heaven's sake. I went to school for years, I worked for years, I'm bright and talented. I write novels and I'm hoping to one day publish some of them and become horrifyingly rich and disgustingly famous. I gave up a promising career and a boatful of dreams to feed and clean and feed and clean and feed and clean and also, to wipe snot. What was I thinking??
If a genie in the bottle came to me and offered me the chance to take it all back, to focus on me, to fulfill my potential and make different decisions, ya know what? I might be tempted to revisit my choice to become a Stay at Home Mom (SAHM). I might be tempted to say, "Umm, I think six weeks maternity and then right back to the world of the adults who speak and think and pay me money and tell me I'm fabulous (okay, at least some of the time), please." I might be really, really tempted. On days like today, I might close my eyes and imagine a big blue genie coming and offering me that very thing.
But ultimately, if it did happen, I would choose my life, exactly as it is, every single time, over and over, again and again. Even when I'm a failure. Even when an outside observer would think I was clinically insane for doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome. I would choose to leave the life where I focused on all the things I could make for myself and give my life, at least for now, over to my kids.
Why?
It's precisely because I'm a failure that it's so important for me never to quit. God didn't send me here to Earth and make me a mother of four so that I could fail and then never try again. He knows we will make mistakes. Every single parent does. The important part is that you wipe the bubble soap up, toss the charred pancakes, use a potholder and stand on a stool and wave it in front of the fire alarm until it stops moaning, and then wipe your kids' tears away. Get up and try again. Try harder. That is what turns me from the biggest failure to the greatest success. It is precisely my failure that makes my ongoing effort worth something.
I have read so many blogs about feminists of varying philosophies who lambast SAHMs for leaving the workforce, for staying home with their children. Guess what? I'm a feminist too. I believe women are every bit as good as men. I believe we are worth every bit as much, we are just as smart and should be just as valued. I also believe being a mother is a Divine Calling, not just a job.
I am not saying that women who choose to go to work are wrong, or evil, or selfish. Not at all. What I love about our present day is that we all have CHOICES. I am also not saying that men can't be wonderful primary caretakers of children. Of course they can, and they frequently are! Bravo!! (Of course, in our situation, my husband makes more than I could, so it makes sense for me to be the one who stays home with our kids for now.)
When I meet someone new, they usually ask the following question early on: What do you do?
I'm tired of feeling embarrassed about saying I stay home with my kids. I usually mention that I am a lawyer, that I work part time, that I write novels, and I am hoping to be published. As if somehow, those are more legitimate, more valuable, than raising children.
The absolute truth is that at my core, the most valuable thing in the world to me is my children. Taking care of them, raising them, is the very best and most impressive thing I have done, to date, and I'm far from finished. My biggest and most important dream is to care for them, to teach them, to protect them, to raise them and to help them become the best person they can become. I will do that until my dying breath, not until they turn 14 or 16 or 18 or 28. It's what I was taught by my mother and it's correct, being a mother never ends. One day, I will have a lot more time to pursue other things, but for now, this greatest goal takes up the lion's share of my time.
In society today, the value of the person raising a child has been reduced to the cost of daycare. Basically, if you could put all four of my kids in daycare for $800 a week, well, that's what my "job" as a SAHM is worth.
That is wrong.
I'm going to repeat that in case it didn't sink in. That. Is. Wrong.
It's as wrong as saying you judge people by their skin color, their age, their clothing, their speech patterns. I am not just keeping my kids from dying. I am not just making sure they have something in their bellies. I am teaching them proper nutrition, I am teaching them how to treat people, how to live. I am instilling integrity in them, and I am trying to tattoo into their very beings that they are loved, they are cherished, and they are valuable. That is not something you can put a price tag on, and it is not to be taken lightly.
So now, when you ask me on the street, in church at the kids' school party what I do? I will look you in the eye and say, "I stay at home to raise my kids." I may be a failure, but I am a failure who keeps getting back up and trying just a little harder the very next day. Unlike the insane person banging her head against the wall, some days I wake up and I see enormous leaps ahead. I do the same thing over and over and I do get different results. Some days, things are easier, better, more wonderful. I love those leaps.
If you aren't a SAHM, please do all women the favor of respecting that what we have all fought for is a choice: we aren't wrong for choosing to leave the work force to raise our children. We aren't less than you and we aren't setting back the cause of equality for women. We are living that cause every day, by choosing where we find our value and our place. Please do us the favor of supporting our decision. Keep blazing your trail for any of our little girls who decide they don't want to stay home, or for any mothers who aren't financially able to do so. I am so grateful for all those amazing women out there who are working hard outside of the home. I am also grateful for the moms I know who work like dogs at a chosen career and then come home and work even harder to be wonderful mothers. The one who comes most clearly to mind is my dear friend Jennifer Charzewski. She is a fantastic human being, a beautiful mother and a talented architect. I mean you, and any other working moms, absolutely NO disrespect. I love you. I am grateful for you keeping that option open. All I am trying to say is that SAHMs do not deserve your disdain.
If you are a SAHM too, keep on trying, even when you know you are a complete and utter failure. Don't let anyone make you feel like what you are doing is not the absolute best, most impressive, most important and divine thing you could be doing. You are a shining light, even when things feel dark, I promise you that.
Update: When my husband is working all night, I let one of my big two kids sleep in with me. It's quite the treat for them. Last night was Dora's turn. We usually wake up around 6:45 am to get ready for school, but Eli (my seven year old) always wakes up around 6 and comes downstairs and unloads the dishwasher and gets his school bag ready, as part of his daily chores. Anyway, this morning, I heard my door open and Eli walked around to Dora's side. No one said a word. Dora got up and walked out and they closed the door. I checked my phone, assuming it was around 6:15 or so. It was 5:30.
I was super annoyed he was up so early, and that he woke up Dora, but I figured if I went to fuss at him, I would either wake up the two babies or not be able to sleep anymore myself, or both. So I made a mental note to ream him about it later and rolled over. When my door opened again at 6:15, it was my two big kids with a tray with cereal and yogurt and grapes and a few pieces of candy. They said they wanted to make me breakfast instead of me making it for them. They had already eaten themselves, gotten dressed and unloaded the dishwasher. They were trying to pack their own lunches, which would have been great if they'd included anything other than snack and dessert items.
Even without success on the lunch packing front, it was probably the single sweetest thing my kids have ever done for me all on their own. Eli did most of the heavy lifting I think, but he did acknowledge that the whole thing was Dora's idea. Don't I have the sweetest kids ever? I think this was one of the "leaps" I was talking about above, and it came right after my significant failure.
I'm not saying there weren't setbacks. I forgot to put up the dog blockade and Foxy pooped on the stairway to my craft room, aka, that stupid dog's favorite potty spot. Dora spilled a full bowl of cereal on the floor. Emmy peed through her pull-up and onto her clothes. Blarg. These things happen. I kept calm and I carried on.
Then after I got the big kids off to school and all the messes cleaned up, I folded laundry. I picked up. I cleaned from breakfast. All the while, I was playing with kids. My two year old was "helping" me with everything and I was so patient. Patient. Patient.
Really, you would have been impressed.
Then I had a friend come over, a brilliant, beautiful, talented friend named Liz. Like me, she has four children. Her youngest is only three months old, but she got them all over to my house, also all groomed and fed, and right on time. We played with the kids, got them all situated and then managed to complete a one hour workout (in about two hours, but we finished!) We blew bubbles for the kids. There were no cheetos handprints on my sofa or rug. There was no blood spilled, and there weren't too many tears. A success!
After Liz left, I fed my kids lunch. I cleaned the kitchen. I blew more bubbles for the two little ones. I put the baby down. I got some legal work done while Emmy played quietly with toys. I got some emails handled. I navigated neighborhood drama. In general, I rocked it. After the baby woke up, I got laundry put away, more laundry folded (is it just me, or does it never ever ever ever end??) and the house looked amazing. When Tessa woke up, we sang the numbers song from sesame street, we sang the alphabet song, we blew more bubbles. We colored, we played with playdoh, and I cleaned all those things up.
In general, I was about the best SAHM in the world, second only to Liz.
Then the kids came home. I was still amazing. Hugs, support, love, listening to their day. And then we started homework. Groan. They didn't want to do homework. They saw the stupid bubble container and wanted to blow bubbles of all things.
But wait, Eli always does all his homework on Monday so he is homework free for the rest of the week, and this is a Tuesday. We suffered through everything last night so tonight would be fun! Dora rarely has more than a worksheet and two books to read, so tonight should be easy, pain free. Except, since we'd been gone the entire week before on a family vacation, we discovered Eli had done LAST week's makeup homework yesterday and we were essentially reset to Monday. Double blarg. Spirits were uncharacteristically low for a Tuesday afternoon, I won't lie. There was more blathering about the bubbles. I was in the middle of helping Dora read, and spell her sightwords aloud, and complete THIS week's worksheets, when Emmy demanded my presence upstairs. Tessa insisted I sit with her and requested I stop talking because she was trying to watch a show in the iPad. I helped Eli, I helped Dora, I calmed Tessa, I mollified Emmy. I fielded phone calls. I was generally amazing.
After all the agonizing mess was over, I ignored another bubble request and made the requested dinner. Pancakes with fresh strawberries and scrambled eggs. Dora helped me set the table. All four kids were in the kitchen, spending time together, Tessa eating strawberries, Eli making jokes, Emmy jabbering incessantly, as is her wont.
I have no idea where things went wrong.
My best memory of where things went south is that somehow, Eli discovered he had yet another task to complete. Something about drawing the moon. He was whining and terribly sad. Tessa was furious about something to do with the stool. I have no earthly idea why Emmy started screaming, except that perhaps she felt left out. Only Dora was being good. And then she pointed out that someone had knocked over the very large, very full bottle of bubble soap. The very bottle that a dozen kids (yes, I know the math doesn't work because I only have four, but I am telling you, a DOZEN kids asked me about those ridiculous bubbles!) had asked to play with. It had poured all over the counter. On important paperwork, down the cabinet, into drawers, under my kitchen mat and was just a disaster, generally. While I tried to see to that, the pancakes I had poured burned. Tessa decided to ignore my very clear and oft repeated instructions and move her stool over to where she could "help" by placing her fingers on the hot griddle.
I am sorry to admit that I completely lost it. As in, collapsed on the floor into a pathetic puddle practically sobbing that I hated my life and didn't want to do this anymore! How had my day collapsed so completely? Eli ran to his room crying. Pancakes and little fingers burned, soap everywhere, eggs getting cold.
Utter and complete disaster. See? I told you I'm a failure as a stay at home mom.
This all got me thinking. Why in the world would anyone choose to stay at home with their kids? I the past seven years, I've been slobbered on, boogered (as in, had boogers wiped on me. Why is this not a real word?), peed on, pooped on, and puked on. I have run 9,465,785,001 loads of laundry. I have changed almost as many diapers. I have filled landfills with my diapers, because I am a failure and use disposable diapers. (Yes, I hate the earth and want to see her go down in a pile of stinky, non-biodegradable poop wraps.) I have been screamed at more hours than I could possibly count.
I'm a lawyer, for heaven's sake. I went to school for years, I worked for years, I'm bright and talented. I write novels and I'm hoping to one day publish some of them and become horrifyingly rich and disgustingly famous. I gave up a promising career and a boatful of dreams to feed and clean and feed and clean and feed and clean and also, to wipe snot. What was I thinking??
If a genie in the bottle came to me and offered me the chance to take it all back, to focus on me, to fulfill my potential and make different decisions, ya know what? I might be tempted to revisit my choice to become a Stay at Home Mom (SAHM). I might be tempted to say, "Umm, I think six weeks maternity and then right back to the world of the adults who speak and think and pay me money and tell me I'm fabulous (okay, at least some of the time), please." I might be really, really tempted. On days like today, I might close my eyes and imagine a big blue genie coming and offering me that very thing.
But ultimately, if it did happen, I would choose my life, exactly as it is, every single time, over and over, again and again. Even when I'm a failure. Even when an outside observer would think I was clinically insane for doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome. I would choose to leave the life where I focused on all the things I could make for myself and give my life, at least for now, over to my kids.
Why?
It's precisely because I'm a failure that it's so important for me never to quit. God didn't send me here to Earth and make me a mother of four so that I could fail and then never try again. He knows we will make mistakes. Every single parent does. The important part is that you wipe the bubble soap up, toss the charred pancakes, use a potholder and stand on a stool and wave it in front of the fire alarm until it stops moaning, and then wipe your kids' tears away. Get up and try again. Try harder. That is what turns me from the biggest failure to the greatest success. It is precisely my failure that makes my ongoing effort worth something.
I have read so many blogs about feminists of varying philosophies who lambast SAHMs for leaving the workforce, for staying home with their children. Guess what? I'm a feminist too. I believe women are every bit as good as men. I believe we are worth every bit as much, we are just as smart and should be just as valued. I also believe being a mother is a Divine Calling, not just a job.
I am not saying that women who choose to go to work are wrong, or evil, or selfish. Not at all. What I love about our present day is that we all have CHOICES. I am also not saying that men can't be wonderful primary caretakers of children. Of course they can, and they frequently are! Bravo!! (Of course, in our situation, my husband makes more than I could, so it makes sense for me to be the one who stays home with our kids for now.)
When I meet someone new, they usually ask the following question early on: What do you do?
I'm tired of feeling embarrassed about saying I stay home with my kids. I usually mention that I am a lawyer, that I work part time, that I write novels, and I am hoping to be published. As if somehow, those are more legitimate, more valuable, than raising children.
The absolute truth is that at my core, the most valuable thing in the world to me is my children. Taking care of them, raising them, is the very best and most impressive thing I have done, to date, and I'm far from finished. My biggest and most important dream is to care for them, to teach them, to protect them, to raise them and to help them become the best person they can become. I will do that until my dying breath, not until they turn 14 or 16 or 18 or 28. It's what I was taught by my mother and it's correct, being a mother never ends. One day, I will have a lot more time to pursue other things, but for now, this greatest goal takes up the lion's share of my time.
In society today, the value of the person raising a child has been reduced to the cost of daycare. Basically, if you could put all four of my kids in daycare for $800 a week, well, that's what my "job" as a SAHM is worth.
That is wrong.
I'm going to repeat that in case it didn't sink in. That. Is. Wrong.
It's as wrong as saying you judge people by their skin color, their age, their clothing, their speech patterns. I am not just keeping my kids from dying. I am not just making sure they have something in their bellies. I am teaching them proper nutrition, I am teaching them how to treat people, how to live. I am instilling integrity in them, and I am trying to tattoo into their very beings that they are loved, they are cherished, and they are valuable. That is not something you can put a price tag on, and it is not to be taken lightly.
So now, when you ask me on the street, in church at the kids' school party what I do? I will look you in the eye and say, "I stay at home to raise my kids." I may be a failure, but I am a failure who keeps getting back up and trying just a little harder the very next day. Unlike the insane person banging her head against the wall, some days I wake up and I see enormous leaps ahead. I do the same thing over and over and I do get different results. Some days, things are easier, better, more wonderful. I love those leaps.
If you aren't a SAHM, please do all women the favor of respecting that what we have all fought for is a choice: we aren't wrong for choosing to leave the work force to raise our children. We aren't less than you and we aren't setting back the cause of equality for women. We are living that cause every day, by choosing where we find our value and our place. Please do us the favor of supporting our decision. Keep blazing your trail for any of our little girls who decide they don't want to stay home, or for any mothers who aren't financially able to do so. I am so grateful for all those amazing women out there who are working hard outside of the home. I am also grateful for the moms I know who work like dogs at a chosen career and then come home and work even harder to be wonderful mothers. The one who comes most clearly to mind is my dear friend Jennifer Charzewski. She is a fantastic human being, a beautiful mother and a talented architect. I mean you, and any other working moms, absolutely NO disrespect. I love you. I am grateful for you keeping that option open. All I am trying to say is that SAHMs do not deserve your disdain.
If you are a SAHM too, keep on trying, even when you know you are a complete and utter failure. Don't let anyone make you feel like what you are doing is not the absolute best, most impressive, most important and divine thing you could be doing. You are a shining light, even when things feel dark, I promise you that.
Update: When my husband is working all night, I let one of my big two kids sleep in with me. It's quite the treat for them. Last night was Dora's turn. We usually wake up around 6:45 am to get ready for school, but Eli (my seven year old) always wakes up around 6 and comes downstairs and unloads the dishwasher and gets his school bag ready, as part of his daily chores. Anyway, this morning, I heard my door open and Eli walked around to Dora's side. No one said a word. Dora got up and walked out and they closed the door. I checked my phone, assuming it was around 6:15 or so. It was 5:30.
I was super annoyed he was up so early, and that he woke up Dora, but I figured if I went to fuss at him, I would either wake up the two babies or not be able to sleep anymore myself, or both. So I made a mental note to ream him about it later and rolled over. When my door opened again at 6:15, it was my two big kids with a tray with cereal and yogurt and grapes and a few pieces of candy. They said they wanted to make me breakfast instead of me making it for them. They had already eaten themselves, gotten dressed and unloaded the dishwasher. They were trying to pack their own lunches, which would have been great if they'd included anything other than snack and dessert items.
Even without success on the lunch packing front, it was probably the single sweetest thing my kids have ever done for me all on their own. Eli did most of the heavy lifting I think, but he did acknowledge that the whole thing was Dora's idea. Don't I have the sweetest kids ever? I think this was one of the "leaps" I was talking about above, and it came right after my significant failure.
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