The Salty Chip Dilemma

Have you ever been eating potato chips, and you get one that's drenched in salt? It's perfectly crunchy, super salty and it's the reason you eat chips in the first place. The salty chip is perfection in a snack; totally satisfying. Except, if you're like me, once you get the salty chip, you can't help yourself -
you want

    just     one     more.

I guess it's greed, and unfortunately the salty chip dilemma seems to apply to several aspects of my life. I struggle constantly with my desires. "If only the girls would sleep all night in their own beds..." Well, they do now, but it's not enough. Now I want them to fall asleep in their beds, and to do it without meltdowns or me sitting in the dark for a half hour. I want time to myself at the end of the day, but I don't want to be up until midnight to get it. I want my husband to do something besides sit in his recliner engrossed in tv. I want to be able to take a shower in the evening without it meaning the girls will stay up even later. I want the house to be clean, but I don't want to do it all myself. I want to be a stay at home mom, but not a housekeeper, and with time to myself each day. (Oops, there it is again.) I have beautiful children and a wonderful husband, but at the end of the day I resent them for "making" me take good care of them, while I set aside my own needs. So there you have it: I'm greedy and selfish. I get the salty chip every day I look for it, and then I spend the rest of the day looking for another one. Maybe the first step to recovery really is admitting you have a problem...

And once everyone has settled in for the night and I finally get that time to myself - I thank God for giving me such a great family. I look back on my day and become aware of all the great moments I had - tons of salty chips. In fact, it turns out I had to eat the whole bag before recognizing how good they were. And the dishes will be just fine sitting in the sink overnight.

A little about me..

So, inspired by Momastery, (thank you Glennon and Please see my recommended blogs) I have decided to try blogging. I used to write many years ago, and I get a lot of good comments on my facebook posts, so I figured what the heck? I’m raising two young daughters with my husband. Until August of 2011, I had lived most of my 40 years in my childhood home in rural Illinois. My husband and I bought the house in 2003 from my parents when they moved. After experiencing a couple of years of very little employment for my husband, and several talks between us convincing him that I truly was fine with moving away, he began searching other states for a job in the summer of 2011. Rather quickly, Randy was offered a position on a farm in South Dakota, and then even more quickly – we packed up, I quit my job, and we moved 12 hours away from our families in a matter of about a month. Everything about the move felt right, as if God had laid out this plan for us, and we didn’t look back.

Now, I’m once again a stay-at-home mom. My eldest, Lauren*, is in Kindergarten this year. My youngest, Paige*, turned 3 last November, and spends all of her time with me. We volunteer at the YMCA twice a week – I get adult contact, she gets to play with some other kids. We didn’t want for me to work right away after moving here in order to give the girls plenty of time to adjust. And frankly, Paige was never happy with daycare. She cried at drop off every single day for over a year. I’m hoping to get her into a preschool program next fall.

My goal with this blog is to have an avenue in which to vent. I believe humor is the best way to bring people together and the only way to survive the craziness that is our lives. I also think that mothers should support each other with honesty and empathy. We can all contribute to each other’s happiness by sharing the truth. And, blogging is a lot cheaper than therapy.

*Yep, names changed to protect the innocent. :-)

Motherhood

When I graduated high school, the only thing I knew I wanted to do "when I grew up" was to be a mom. Maybe all women feel compelled this way to become mothers, I don’t know. But when it finally happened for me (after many years of struggles), I spent the first 3 months of her life thinking "I was wrong! So wrong!" I was convinced that the poor child was doomed because I was her mother.  I couldn’t get anything right.  She cried, she spit up constantly, she didn’t nurse well.  The wave of pure love didn’t wash over me, natural instincts didn’t kick in; sure I loved her, but I was terrified of her.  This wasn’t how motherhood was supposed to be and since no one had warned me, I was positive I was the only mom who ever felt this way.  I was in a constant state of panic.  Someone was going to see how unfit I was and take her away from me.

The funny thing is: that while all of this went on inside of me, I don’t think anyone realized.  Her first daycare provider even commented on how calm I was; she’d assumed I had other children.  The truth was that I was frozen in fear by this screaming child.  I didn’t know what she wanted; I didn’t know how to calm her. And I was grateful that someone else could hear her, because I’d begun to think I’d lost my mind.  I handed over my baby for two reasons: 1. because I was desperate, and 2. so that I would know my daughter was safe there.  I then quickly became friends with that caregiver for two reasons: 1. because she was compassionate and sympathetic, and 2. so that I would know my daughter was safe there.  Turns out my maternal instincts were in fact, in working order.  They were just hidden behind the thick walls I’d built around myself.  (But that’s a story for another day.)

I still question myself daily on my mothering abilities, and my daughter is 5 now.  Her sister who’s 3, shares the struggle with us.  I get it wrong all the time.  I beat myself up over my feelings.  But the older I get, and the more these children love me despite my flaws, the more I realize I am good at this.  Motherhood is an emotional rollercoaster.  Many of us get overwhelmed; most just don’t admit it publicly.  Thanks to my tendency to be overly honest and blurt things out and especially thanks to other mothers who have, in turn, shared their struggles with me and the world; I now know I’m not alone.  I’m not crazy, although sleep deprivation and constant calls of “Mama?!” do make me disorientated.