"Hey,Time I am Mom Enough"

So Time magazine has stirred the mommy war pot and the millions of moms who are doing their best and probably suffer from feelings of inadequacy on a good day can now look at the Time magazine cover while they place groceries on the belt, amid children screaming can now wonder if they have done something else wrong by not breastfeeding their child for three or four years.
It plays into the insecurities of moms everywhere. Moms are under enough pressure these days not to have to face a magazine cover screaming out, “Are you Mom Enough?”
I will say with all honesty I do not judge the woman on the cover. If she wants a child attached to her for that many years, good for her. And I would think it might take a bit of courage to put your face, and other body parts, to the theory of “attachment parenting.”
It is more her child I feel sorry for. If that boy child can make it through his college days without someone finding out he is that kid and blowing that photo up to a 20x30 and hanging it in a common area of his dorm, then he can count his blessings. Of course if this child were older, as I was told before seeing the article myself that he was four or five, then it might seem more offensive to some and just plain crazy to others.
Attachment parenting isn’t new. I read about it when I was pregnant more than 10 years ago and it wasn't new then. The phrase itself was penned by Dr. William Sears and what he basically states is that the more sensitive and emotionally available a parent is the better the child will develop into a socio-emotionally stable adult. The idea is to always be available for your children, handle them with kindness and compassion and a gentle hand. Most of the parents I know do this on a regular basis.
The website for Attachment Parenting International states eight components for attachment parenting. They seem like common sense to me: preparation for pregnancy, birth and parenting, feed with love and respect, respond with sensitivity, to name a few. But anyone could take any of the eight components, twist and turn and reorganize them until they look like the woman on the Time cover — extreme.
Women have enough coming at us on a daily basis. Magazine covers scream at us constantly. We shouldn’t have wrinkles or sagging skin, we shouldn’t gain weight. We should be home with our children, we should be feeding them home-cooked, organic, healthy meals three times a day. We should be teaching our children to read, write and add before they reach kindergarten all while keeping our houses organized and our marriages exciting and spontaneous.
Just thinking about all that is expected of me makes me want to crawl into bed and emerge when my kids go to college, which apparently they won’t if I don’t read to them 20 minutes a day, seven days a week beginning in utero.
If you had asked me 15 or 20 years ago what kind of mother I would be, I would have gleefully exclaimed, ”The Martha Stewart of all Mothers!” The baking, playing, cooking, smiling queen of motherhood. That was pre-sleep deprivation, pre-sore nipples, pre-baby fat (mine, not theirs) and definitely pre- “not tonight honey because it could result in another baby.”
I am not an “attachment mother” nor am I a Tiger Mom. I am not even sure I completely understand that whole concept. My own parenting style could probably be dubbed “bubble parenting.” I have decided the best way to handle motherhood is to do what works for us in our house. I no longer read articles about fabulously organized, PTO fundraising women who seem to not require any sleep at all.
I do not compare what I am doing, for better or worse, with other moms. I don’t ask about bedtime routines or feeding schedules or video game rules. I don’t read articles on how I could do what I am doing better. The information is too overwhelming and sometimes it just isn’t the right fit for our family.
We have tried some attachment parenting, mostly by accident, like letting our kids sleep in our bed, hoping just to get them to sleep only to have a terrible night ourselves being kicked or snored at. My father never let me sleep in my parents bed when I was scared or couldn't sleep. I do remind him of this particular flaw in his parenting quite regularly but despite that, I turned out pretty well-adjusted and he got plenty of sleep.
My husband and I have tried approaching our children gently when reprimanding but until they know that behind the gentleness is a parent who means business, your authority goes nowhere fast.
The truth of motherhood is it is a messy business. It is exhuasting and exhilarating and when you scrape it down to the very marrow, it is as individual as each person. No two women will come at it the same way. Some of us are shaped by what we had growing up and others by what they didn’t have. Some women have trouble letting go and some are fine with the progress of their kids and hardly look back beyond a wistful moment or two.
In the end, we all hope to raise happy, healthy children who grow into happy well-adjusted adults. So if you are wondering if I have read the Time magazine article the answer is no.
My children are way beyond being breastfed. And if you might be wondering if I consider myself “mom enough,” the answer is yes, I am mom enough on most days. And for now ignorance is bliss and I plan to stay in my parenting “bubble” and let the controversy swirl around me.
Because let’s face it, controversy sells and Time hit the motherload.

My husband loves boats. He loves boats the way other men love football or golf.   I didn’t know when we first started dating exactly how deep his love of boating went, although it became clear pretty quickly when we went to our first boat show together. I was  ready to call it a day after an hour or two but my husband couldn’t get enough. He would point excitedly to a boat and describe how that bow sits just a little higher.
I would squint and try to make my eyes see what he was seeing.  I couldn’t but I would nod and smile and he would smile back, confident he had found the perfect woman to share his passion.
My next clue came almost a year later when we spent Memorial Day cleaning up his boat and getting her ready for the summer.  It was a lot of washing and waxing and painting. It was hot that weekend. Record heat and there we were in a boat yard, sun pounding on the tops of our heads. We talked and laughed and he occasionally corrected my somewhat misguided attempts at proper washing and waxing technique.   I am hoping we drank some cold beer but truthfully I don’t remember.
Since we got married, a few boats have come and gone. That first boat was sold and a slightly larger, newer model took her place.  He brought her home from New Jersey, one chilly October evening when I was eight months pregnant with our first child. Apparently October is the best time to buy a boat. I won't pretend that went over well with me but I think I'll blame it on the hormones.
We had that boat for a couple years and when we took our first born out on it he was about 20 months old and wanted no part of the life jacket.  He screamed for the entire tour of the Connecticut River. He cried himself into exhaustion and my husband into despair. He thought now he would not have a fishing buddy.
That boat was sold after child number two came along. We were without a boat for a summer. I htink my husband might have cried himself to sleep a couple nights but search was on.  Internet had taken hold and he could search all kinds of web sites. Ebay was a favorite but I think he also found a site called, “your wife will love this boat.com.”   
He searched and found another boat that suited his needs for fishing since taking our young children out for an adventure wasn’t in my plan just yet.  No one liked the life jacket and in our house no one sets off on a boating adventure without one.  So a smaller boat came to live with us for awhile.  
After that boat came another one that was larger and better for our growing family of five and made me happier because the sides were high enough to keep our small children from falling overboard.
While I was on that boat last summer, I commented on how it would be better to have a "potty." That is all I needed to say. The hunt was on. He looked long and hard and a few weeks ago our boat was pulled out of our driveway off to a new home and plans were made to bring home a slightly larger model with a “potty.”
Now it would seem we would have the perfect boat. It has been a bit of a journey but when someone has a passion for something it is best to give them some room.
We all have something that makes us tick. That gives us something beyond what our career may offer us and sometimes even what friends or family offer.  It is important, I believe to have a passion. My husband has lived with my passion for books and writing all these years.
He has patiently wandered through bookstores and libraries. He has listened to my endless campaigns to get to one writer retreat or another. There is one that advertised in a writing magazine for a week in Tuscany, writing and retreating while eating and drinking. I have revisted that web site many times, thoughts of delicious food and wine pushing away daily chores of laundry and cleaning.  It’s exciting just thinking about such an adventure.
I hunt out used book stores and library book sales. I go to writing workshops and author readings. He waves happily as I drive off to these various activities that mean little to him. He has also occasionally taken a back seat to a book I just couldn’t put down. He becomes a book widower and takes that in stride.
Last week when he and a good friend of ours pulled the new boat into her place in the driveway, both men stood looking at her as though she were the 8th Wonder of the World. These men share words like transom and horsepower.
They buy lures and have tackle boxes chock full of things that just look dangerous to me. These men come alive when the sun beats warm and the fish are plenty.  And I will become a boat widow for the summer.
After our friend had left I went out to the driveway to find my husband and our 3-year-old sitting together in the boat, the orange sun setting over the bow, the music playing from the stereo and two faces glowing in pure bliss. Perhaps my husband has found the perfect boat and a fisherman to share his passion.
And perhaps for me there is a trip to Tuscany in my future.

Father's Day

For my 40th birthday my sister gave me a trip with her to a very nice spot in the carribean. My husband was left to his own devices for five days. The morning I left, I got up at 5 am for a 7 am flight. No one was up when I left. I had left notes and detailed "reports" for my husband with everyone's weekday routine written down. Not that any of it was all unfamiliar since he is in charge each weekend when I go to work but having three kids by yourself for five days can feel a bit overwhelming when you haven't done it before.

I needn't have worried. He handled it like he handles just about everything else with some humor and a big grin. There is something about a guy who can just take on a challenge, no matter how big or small and just meet it with a smile. I am not sure how many husbands would smile and say," Sure go to a nice island in March for a week and leave me with three kids and have fun." And really mean it. Of course there were a few phone calls early the morning I left as I sat in the airport waiting for my flight. "What can I feed the baby for breakfast? What time does the bus come? Where is all the clean underwear?" I wrote it all down but who can blame him for not wanting to read it all. A woman sitting near me smiled after the third phone call and asked how many children he was alone with. I was tempted to say one just to see her reaction but I couldn't sell him out like that. I said three and gave their ages. Her face looked rather impressed.

A friend told me once she had read an article that women tend to find a husband who somehow mirrors the personality of their father. I am not sure how true that is. In the case of finances my husband and father couldn't be any more opposite. My father was not nicknamed "Dollar Bill" because he is a big spender. More so for the way he tightly clenches a dollar in his fist. My husband has no idea how to hold onto a dollar or even loose change. My dad likes a quiet day spent lounging, reading playing a little golf. My husband can hardly sit still. Over the years he has calmed his pace a bit but when we first started dating I had to beg for mercy, give me a day without something BIG planned or scheduled. To my husband a day that does not have three or more activities in it has been a lounging kind of day. My father might find that excessive.

So I had to give it more thought.

They both enjoy boating and fishing. A good glass of beer. But that is all superficial stuff. Most guys love a good cold beer and some version of fishing, trout , tuna. So I needed to dig deeper.

I thought back to my childhood and my father spending hours on the beach wtih me and my sister. Taking me out in the Sailfish around the Point. Trips to Watch Hill. I remembered the way our house morphed to suit the needs of my mother's disability and how it was jsut what it was adn then it came to me.

Devotion.

I managed to find a man who mirrored my father's devotion, committment to the words "I do". Both men are devoted fathers, caring and unyielding in their interest and support. My father loved my mother with a genuine heart and never let her down when she needed him most. My husband, although his challenge is keeping up with me mentally, still keeps pace and remains a devoted husband even at the most trying of times. They both give with a generosity of spirit that fills your soul and makes you realize they are paying attention and they love you.

I am not sure that we women try to find a man who resembles our fathers. That might just be too Freudian but if you find someone who loves you unconditionally, who navigates the bad with humor and finds the good at the end of each day then consider yourself fortunate. If you grew up with that same devotion then consider yourself blessed.

The Reward System

A friend sent an article from The New York Times via email this morning. I read it and then went to another one written by the same journalist on happiness and kindness in our children. I found that one even more interesting. It talked about building self esteem in our children and how that is eclipsing creating kindness in our children. Forget about generation Z. Our children's generation will be known as the "all about me" generation. Our meals are planned around our children, as is our waking, our sleeping, our time alone or with our spouse. Our kids pout and we cave in, thinking we have just made some horrible mistake in a parenting choice and now our child will be ruined.


Sometimes saying no feels awful and, at least around here is it certainly repetitious. But there is a virtue to saying no. There is a silver lining to not caving in to everything. To not saying "okay sure you can have that toy for no other reason then to shut you up while I am in this store." It is just easier to take the easy way out but the more I see in my own children the
"give me" attitude the harder I am working to not give what is not necessary and to not use toys or treats as some kind of reward for things my kids should just be doing.


I recently had a meeting at my son's school. I meet once every couple months with his teacher, principal and some others involved in helping him improve his reading. It amazed me as I sat in this meeting and it went from academic discussion to discussion of his "fixation" on getting a "Good Choice Award". I had all I could do to not ask whose brilliant idea is the "Good Choice Award"? Because really you are rewarding children for being good people by giving them some treat from the dollar store. It only sets some kids up for disaster. My son received two good choice awards in one day and was so thrilled at his luck of getting two items from the principal's box of treats he talked about if for days at home. So I can understand why the teachers might have been a little frustrated if he was fixated but they have managed to create their own problem.

It is not that I think we shouldn't recognize our kids for the good things they do, but do they really need a trophy for participating in Saturday morning rec basketball? Will they be awarded when they are out in the workforce each time they do what their job description expects of them? Are we teaching them to be good citizens by rewarding them with dollar store goods or are we teaching them that being good brings rewards other than the feeling of satisfaction that they have done something good for another person.

As a kid I had chores and just did what I was told because, well I was told to do it. I did try to get out of doing those chores but once they were done there was no treat waiting for me or a trip to the store to pick out a toy. I was kind because it was expected of me adn because I watched my own parents and they way they treated people around them. We are our children's best teachers and if we teach them to do good things so they get a reward from it then we are not doing our job and our kids are really missing the greatest lesson.

My kids are completely wired for treats and rewards. They walk around the house with their hands held out in gleeful expectation. It is going to take a lot of work but I think we can change the way we do things at home and give our children the lesson that hard work and being kind has an internal reward that never stops giving.

My friend,the Librarian

When I was growing up our town had a small library. It was a two story building wth the second sotry more or less the basement. The parking lot had about 5 spaces and if it was a busy time you had to park on the street. You walked down a ramp and into the building. To the left was the children's department and to the right was the small elevator and the narrows stairs leading to the adult area. The children's department was cramped, as I remember it. There were cinder block walls above the shelves of books. The windows were small and too high for me to reach or see out of. But that wasn't the point. I didn't need to look out on East Main street I was there for books. My father would take almost any time I wanted to go and it always seemed to me that Mrs P was sitting behind the desk. She was the kind of person who made you feel as though the library was made for you. She had suggestions on books and after a time would know what authors I liked best and would tell me when something new had come in. She introduced me to "Runaway Ralph." She stamped books with the return date and always had a smile. It stunned me then that she could be so happy working in a basement. I had not yet come to realize the thrill of sharing books. I was just learning the thrill of reading.

As I grew older I had to move to the upstairs to get my books and it never seemed as pleasant. The librarians seemed to me to be older and didn't smile nearly as much. As time went on a new library was built. It is a beautiful library. Large and spacious, light pouring in from all directions. Mrs P is still there handing out smiles and books to a whole new generation. Her smile is still the same even though the space has changed. For a time we lived close to that library and I chose it over the large city library where we lived. I walked into the city library and no one knew who I was. No one smiled in a friendly way, the whole atmosphere was out of sync with what I knew growing up.

When we moved out to the country, the first place I went was the library. I fell in love. It is small, but open and light filled and the librarians smiled and commented on the books or movies my young son picked out. It didn't take long for some of the librarians to call us by name when we came into the library.

Over the past fives years we have frequented our library weekly. The librarians know us by name, all three children now. One of those librarians reminds me of my friend Mrs.P. I had quite an over due fine recently , which sadly is the norm not the excpetion for me. I walked into the library and smiled at Mrs.L. She smiled back and said,"What did you do now?" Relief flooded me because really I am , or at least it seems to me, always "doing something" that causes someone else to pick up my slack or help me along the way. But when she said it it was not with frustration but with that same smile she has given me and my children for the last five years. When I explained my dilemma of being unable to unearth four books she looked through the stacks and then renewed what she could and I paid the bill. On the way out she asked if my son had any more bags he might hide his books in and I had a thought. He has many bags adn he likes to hoard thing. We may show up on one of those shows one of these days. But it gave me a thought to look under the back seat of our SUV, a place I really try not to frequent and sure enough there were the books.

Librarians are special people. They are a public servent that most of us probably take for granted or may not even give much thought to what they do. But for me my love of books grew out of a small basement and a special woman with a big smile and has remained because of the other special librarians I have found along the way.

Compost how I love thee

I can see grass. My lawn is appearing after a very long hiatus. I am happy to see some dark green through the grey snow. I can see where my perenial gardens have been sleeping. The snow receded overnight to reveal shovels,sleds and some miscellaneous objects that don't belong on the yard. Our garden fence took a beating and needs more then just some simple repairs. The weight of the snow collapsed the tree trunks that my husband so carefully placed. It looks sad and battered but my husband has already drawn a new plan for this years crops and some seeds have already been bought. A new fence will be in place soon. I passed the garden center on my way to work this weekend and their door was open, not open for business but I can tell it is near. It is March and the rhythym of spring is bouncing in my veins.
My compost bin,which has been devoured by snow since January has been discovered. I had forgotten exactly where it was. My counter bucket just reappeared on the back porch where I eveidently left it before that first storm. It has been cleaned out and returned where it belongs. I hate to admit it but I have not composted this winter. It has been impossible for me to muster the stamina to get to the bin in the backyard. It required too much preparation. Boots, gloves,hat, coat, scarf. It is just like dressing your kids to play outside and having them back in the house in five minutes. Not quite worth all the effort. I did throw many things out into the backyard ,hoping some animals who were scrounging for food would help themselves, but for those of you who don't compost this is not a standard or recommended practice. All I can see now are some very fat squirrels barely able to run through my yard.
This morning I can see more of yard then I have seen since January. There was a layer of fog only seen in a bad B movie, hovering just slightly above the ground. The snow is melting at an incredible clip and the air smells sweet. The metallic smell of winter has faded. I have pulled my gardening gloves from their resting place to replace my winter gloves. My wool hat has been exchanged for the billowing spectacle known as my "shade hat" My Wellies are standing at attention next to my rake. My snow shovel is put away and my flat garden shovel ready to make a new garden in the coming weeks. I can taste the sweetness of food grown in my backyard and smell the tender air that will surround my honeysuckle bush.
My compost is back in business. My counter bucket is full this morning and ready to be placed among the other scraps that will work their magic, turning peels and coffee grinds into sweet smelling soil that will give us another round of cucumbers,eggplant and tomatoes. The walk is easy now, I don't even need a coat and who doesn't love sloshing through the mud?
For those naysayers who say snow could still come, I'm sorry I can't hear you. There are some birds chirping in my ears and I am blinded by the bliss I see just around the corner.

A Moment of Silence: Day One

My children have been home from school for a week now. I won't go into the gory details. We all have our stories, don't we? Last week I was watching Oprah and she and Goldie Hawn were talking about finding true happiness. What in life makes us happy. Oprah swears having time alone and being quiet will raise you up, bring inner peace, be good for your spirit. Dropping my kids off at her house for a week would bring me some inner peace. But since I cannot do that, I decided I would try some silence.
So for my first attempt I did as Oprah suggested I locked myself in the bathroom.
5:05 pm Shut bathroom door.
5:05 pm Knock at the door and it opens, thought I locked it.
Cooper: "Mom why are you sitting on the toilet all dressed?"
Me: "Please shut the door!"
Cooper: "okay but can you get me a drink? I haven't had one for all day." Sticks his tongue out to show me just how dehydrated he really is.
One millisecond later:
Drake "MOM! MOM! Where are you?"
ME:
Drake: "MOM!? " Door opens and a surprised 8 year old stares. "What are you doing sitting on the toilet like that?"
ME: "Privacy! Can I have some privacy in my own bathroom?"
Drake "Okay but you're doing it wrong. And can you tell Cooper to leave me alone? He keeps bothering me, saying stuff like..."
I get up and shut the door on him. I can hear him still talking through the door but it is muffled enough that I pretend not to hear. I look at my watch I have spent a minute in the bathroom and I have succeeded in having one millisecond of silence. I think Oprah asked for just one minute a day. She said give her just one minute. I guess she really doesn't know how long a minute can be in a house with three kids. Oh well there is always tomorrow...