Am I Going Mad or Am I Just a Mommy?

Excuses, excuses

Yeah I know, I've sung this tune before.  

My poor neglected blog has been coming last in my life over the last few months.  My children obviously come first (oh, I suppose I should say SuperDad too.)   And then there's my house.  The fixing and painting are a never-ending task.  As for the cleaning, which mostly occurs during kidlet naptime, I've started something new.  My house has never looked cleaner and my attitude is definitely more positive.  However, when I try to combine the cleaning/cooking with reading and other fulfilling interests, something's gotta give!

I think what I need is better time organization and a change of format.  You can look forward to more posts about practical matters pertinent to my everyday life as a stay at home mom.  Yes, besides parenting, that means recipes, cleaning, organization, and crafting.   Makeover Monday will be reappearing starting next week, so get ready!

One last note: What with all this cleaning, cooking and sewing, you might think Moodswinging Mommy has been replaced by a Stepford Wife.  (I confess, even Super Dad is a bit surprised.)  Never fear Dear Readers!  I am still here, as sarcastic and cynical as ever.  And do I have some tales to share with you!

Yes, Mommy needs to blog, and Kidlet # 1 needs to go back to school.

What is that magic date again?

 

Where did that come from?

MSM:  RJ, for the last time, please come over here! If you aren't dressed, we can't go to the playground....Okay, I guess we aren't going.

RJ: (Runs to me, panic-stricken)  Mommy!  Don't call the fireman on the phone and tell him I'm not listening!  I don't want to be in jail!

O-kay...

Honestly, what on Earth is going on in his head?

I'd love to hear some of your huh?!?  parenting moments!

On Anonymity

Dear Readers,

You may want to click away and come back tomorrow, for Moodswinging Mommy is getting all stream-of-consciousy today.  Besides, she hasn't yet had her coffee.  (As if inventing words isn't proof enough.)   If you are of a brave sort, then by all means, read on...

When it comes to the Internet, anonymity is both a blessing and a curse.

As a blogger, I cannot enjoy one of its blessings.   My family and friends read my blog.  Some read it regularly enough to make me censor the topics on which I choose to write.  (Message to Family and Friends: Yes, I can see you,even if you don't leave me comments.  Did I mention to you that I LOVE COMMENTS?  Never mind. That's a topic for another day.) Super Dad also reserves the right to final editorial approval. Since I blog about him and have to live with him, that's just best for our marriage, not to mention that it's common courtesy.  To that, I might add that he's an open-minded fellow and has only exercised this option once or twice.

Sigh.  So much bloggable material left untouched.  And trust me when I say that it's really good stuff, too.

Damn. 

I can, however, take comfort in the greatest gift of anonymity, or semi-anonymity in my case: protection of my loved ones from the sickos who roam the Internet.  If you are especially observant, you may have noticed that I removed the pictures of my children from my blog a couple of days ago. All that remains are a few that do not show their complete faces.  That will be my policy from now on. 

Why did I post them in the first place?  Well, it isn't because I am naive.  Indeed, I have been using pseudonyms since day one.  So why include pictures?   I did so for the simple reason that this blog started out as a means to keep in touch with family and friends.  As other bloggers have found with their own creations, my little corner of the Internet has evolved into something more.  Much to my great surprise, I now have a greater audience.   In real life, I would have no qualms inviting the majority of my readers home to tea.  If I were to encounter others, I would bolt my door and possibly dial 9-1-1.  I will not elaborate on this further, except to encourage you to read Absolutely Banana's excellent post.  With its many links, it is a great starting point.

Yes, anonymity can be a great thing.

Yesterday, an incident occurred on one of my (too many) message boards that reminded me of the downside of anonymity.  A situation came up where an anonymous poster was in a desperately bad place and was appealing for help.  She was in immediate danger and was not thinking rationally.  She did not reveal enough information to allow readers to assist her.  Much to their credit, the message board founder and administration were quick to respond, contacting the police to see if her IP address could be traced.  The end result was not one we would have hoped for.   The IP was unknown, and could not be traced without a warrant.  As for the suffering poster, I can only hope that she will maintain a dialog with her support group instead of doing something regrettable.   I might add that the entire incident may have been a hoax, since trolls are a sad reality of the Internet.  In this case, that would have been preferable. Hoax or not, the situation demanded action.

So, Dear Readers, is anonymity a good or bad thing?

Sometimes it seems you just can't win.

Rewind or Fast Forward?

I made a discovery about three months ago.

Lodged in between the dusty Tae Bo tapes, there it was. It wore a label: Cayman Islands/Wedding Shower, 2000. I should have been eager about my find, but instead my heart ached. Those who have been down this road know that there is no such thing as recovery. You adapt. That is all you can hope to do. The alternative is an act of selfish desperation.

I closed the drawer and went on with life.

No matter what I did, the memories called to me from their hiding place until I could no longer resist. With trembling hands, I put the tape in our one remaining VCR and pressed PLAY. Countless questions swirled through my mind.

What would I find?

How would I react?

Was this wise?

Would your voice sound the same to me?

All of a sudden, there you were. You looked a little older than you do in my mind, and you sounded a bit different, too. Your voice sounded higher to me, like your own mother's. My eyes welled up and I began to panic. So I had forgotten the sound of your voice after all...

Pause. Rewind. Play.

This time I delved deeper still, and it was more reassuring. Somehow you were more familiar to me the second time around. On and on I watched you while my own daughter napped beside me. (I have my own daughter now, or did you know that?) You were doing what you loved best: cooking an island feast fit for the Millennium, walking on the beach, and laughing at your brother-in-law who was videotaping a topless girl cavorting in the waves.

Much to my surprise, no tears were shed. I found myself smiling and chuckling along with you. What a joy it was to see your ever-ready smile and hear your laugh again! (By the way, did you ever realize that I have your laugh? And your habit of standing with both hands on your hips? It used to freak me out, but now I'm grateful for everything that reminds me of you. And speaking of hips, I still haven't forgiven you for passing down that gene!)

Seeing and hearing you for the first time in years was a blessing! Yes, a Blessing. Funny that I would choose this word, even though I am still furious with God for cheating you of your life. The anger and envy of all those who are not motherless sometimes get the best of me. Even though I am a Mother myself and should be celebrating, this time of year is so hard! I wish I could turn back time and be with you again. I fantasize about fast-forwarding through the month of May; anything to avoid the constant reminder of my loss.

And then, I remember my own children.

There will be no Rewind, and certainly no Fast Forward, for time flows fast enough as it is.

I left you laughing on the beach two weeks ago. Until next time, Mom...

The Present is calling and there are new memories to be made.

Why?

I am too numb to write today. Our thoughts and prayers go out to the Virginia Tech victims, their families and friends. Go and hug your children and tell them how much you love them, people!

 

Role Reversal

I'm a teacher but I'm new to this whole school thing.

RJ  started preschool a couple of months ago., after Baby C was born. As SuperDad and I rationalized, sending RJ to school would give our social butterfly a chance to be with other children his own age. It would also allow me to spend uninterrupted time at the mall bonding with the baby.

We toured schools, picked one and registered our little man. RJ and I went for orientation a few days before his start date. As soon as we entered, he made a beeline for the Thomas train set and never looked back. A few short days later, he was headed out the door hand in hand with SuperDad, clutching his blue race car lunch box in his other hand. I'd like to say that I cried the day my baby went to school for the first time. Instead, I had a huge grin on my face. Does that make me a bad mother? If you think the answer is yes, then all I can say is that you've probably never been a mother. I poured myself a cup of coffee and gleefully sat down to watch the Today Show while Baby C napped.

Over the next few weeks, we were cautiously optimistic as we waited for the honeymoon period to end. We're still waiting. SuperDad and I continue to marvel about what our son is learning at school. When we ask RJ what he does all day, we typically get the standard "nothing," or "I play cars" in reply. We long for those rare moments when we catch a glimpse of his day through an unfamiliar song, anecdote, or question. Our smiles spread wide and SuperDad and I exchange glances as we listen in rapt attention. He can discuss hibernation and spell his name, the brilliant boy!

We love the school.  It's not without its drawbacks, though, as today's lunchtime chat would illustrate:

RJ: (Eating turkey, cheese and tomato sandwich on whole wheat bread, since I'm having a good mommy day):  Mommy, do we've fluff?

Me:  What's that, sweetie?

RJ: Do we've FLUFF?

Me: Fluff?  What do you mean, fluff?

RJ: It's white stuff, like butter. I like it!

Me: (in horror) Where did you get Fluff? RJ: Bobby Kelly* eats Fluff.  Always.

Me: Oh, does he now?

RJ: He eats it with bread. At school.  I want some.  All I have to eat is bread and cheese.

Me: (defensively) Not just bread and cheese! Mommy and Daddy make you yummy sandwiches for school with turkey or ham. You don't like your sandwiches or your fruit salad?

RJ: I want fluff......"Okay. Can I have a cheese stick, then?" he adds, grudgingly.

Me: Ok.  (handing him his favorite brand of packaged mozzarella stick which SuperDad thinks are too expensive.  He wants to substitute "sticks" cut off a block of cheese, and RJ is not convinced.)

RJ: No, I like Daddy's cheese sticks better! I want homemade ones.  (Woohoo!  Victory for SuperDad!)

Me: I'll have to get some more of Daddy's cheese sticks at the store.

RJ: Can we've Fluff? Me: No, sweetie.  No Fluff will ever enter this house. It's not good for you.

RJ: Yes it is!

Me: It's like candy. It tastes good but is not good for you or your teeth.

RJ: Okay Mommy.  (Pauses, thinking)  Mommy?

Me: Yes, love?

RJ: Can I've Fluff tomorrow?

Yes, as wonderful as preschool is, it is not without its downside. It is a hotbed of germs, and a place where our child learns unwanted behavior (not to mention a taste for Fluff). We have learned to watch what we say. "Mommy is upset because Daddy's brain is broken!" exclaimed RJ to his class one day. A few lighthearted chuckles later, SuperDad and I wondered in earnest where that came from.

School has also raised more serious questions and uncomfortable feelings for me. I recall the first time my son told me another child pushed him, and down the stairs, no less. And that he cried. We hear variations on this theme weekly. I suspect he's exaggerating, or even making up stories. "Teachable moment, don't let it pass by!" says my Inner-Teacher. But I have the heart of a Mother Lion, and all I want to do is march over to that school and defend my cub.

After ten years of writing report cards, I now receive one for the first time. How my hands tremble when I open it in the car! It is just a preschool progress report, for goodness sakes, and I can't even wait the three minute drive home! "What do you mean, his verbal expression is 'In Progress'?" questions the Mother Lion to herself. "The kid's a genius who never stops talking!" I prepare a mental to-do list. Practice writing tasks. More computer time. Increase use of tricycle. Then suddenly, the Inner-Teacher takes over. I breathe deeply and regain control of my sanity. He's doing fine. We all are. But somewhere in the back of my mind is the memory that periodically returns to irk me. It is that of a parent, expressing her belief to me that in order to be a great and caring teacher you must be a parent as well. I still don't agree one hundred percent. But now I know where she's coming from.
Tomorrow, my son will go to school. He will walk hand-in-hand with Daddy, swinging his blue race car lunch box in his other hand. It will not contain any Fluff whatsoever. I will prepare my coffee and read the paper while Baby C naps. And my Mother Lion will sleep peacefully until the next time she awakens to duke it out with my Inner-Teacher.

*Names have been changed

A Conversation

RJ to Moodswinging Mommy: "Are you my mommy?"

Me: "Yes, love."

RJ: "Is Gwanma Brenda my mommy?"

Me: "No, sweetie. I'm your mommy. Grandma Brenda is our auntie, but she's like a grandma to you."

RJ: "Is Gwanma Marsha my mommy?"

Me: "No. Grandma Marsha is Daddy's mommy. She's your grandma."

RJ: "Is Gwanma Marsha your mommy?"

Me: "No, love. My mommy is Grandma Linda," I say, as I show him a picture.

RJ: "Can Gwanma Winda come and see me?"

Me: "No, sweetie. Grandma Linda can't be here with you. She is in Heaven. She is an Angel."

RJ: "Who, who, who's Heaven?"

Me: "You mean "What's Heaven."

Quick! I need an answer!

Me: "It's a place in the sky where angels like Grandma Linda can watch over you and keep you safe."

RJ: "Can I take an airpwane and go and visit Gwanma Winda?"

Gulp.

Don't I wish.

My Little Prince

Yesterday morning, I sat on the edge of the bathtub in a fog, rubbing sleep from my eyes. RJ was perched on a step stool trying to go pee pee. It was taking forever!

"Ohhhh, Mommy, your eyes are red! Who did that to your eyes, Mommy?" he says, full of innocence and concern.

Nice! How do I answer that one? I laugh. It is funny! And at the same time, not so funny...

It makes me wonder what he's going to notice next. The dark circles under my red eyes, the graying hair? Or will it be the loose skin around my middle, perhaps the not-so- small red scar, souvenirs of my latest pregnancy? (Mental Note: Gotta start those sit ups sometime soon! Get on the treadmill, already!)

How do I answer this one? I consider the possibilities. Do I say

-"Sweetie, if you'd only sleep past 5:00 am, it would help!"

-"Mommy's tired because your sister is getting teeth and was crying all night."

-"Mommy has trouble sleeping because she's cold." (SuperDad steals the covers.)

- "Mommy is awake at night while all of you sleep because she can't stop worrying and thinking about silly things."

All of a sudden I don't feel so well.

I am jolted from my dark thoughts by warm arms that wrap around my neck. "Mommy, you need an RJ scarf." This is our son's term for a hug around the neck.

I do need an RJ scarf! Lots of RJ scarves!

He takes my hair and piles it on the top of my head. "There Mommy, now you look like a Princess."

And I feel like a Princess, bloodshot eyes and all.

Caution! Deep thoughts ahead!

I never took religion in high school or in university. I considered myself lucky at the time. Now I regret this missed opportunity, and find reading and hearing about different religions very interesting. (That is, when I can find a moment to myself.) I can say that religion became more important to me once I had children. Or was it when my mother died? The time line isn't quite clear. My husband is Jewish and I am...well, I'm not.

I think the desire to pass on traditions is stronger in me than an actual spiritual longing. But I can't be sure. I tend to be skeptical of most organized religions, concentrating more on trying to be a good person than on following a particular dogma. That's what makes this feeling so much more confusing to me. What does that make me?

Call me skeptical, yet fascinated.

In that spirit, I decided to take the Belief-O-Matic quiz.

Here are my results, with the highest ranking religions supposedly representing those closest to my personal beliefs:

My Top Ten:

1. Reform Judaism (100%) Ha ha ha! This should make my Mother-in-Law very happy!

2. Liberal Quakers (97%) Funny! My college boyfriend was a Quaker. I could see that! If you've never been to a Meeting House, I highly recommend it.

3. Unitarian Universalism (96%) Yep, this makes sense.

4. Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants (93%) Take Mainline outta there and we can talk.

5. Bahá'í Faith (84%) Hmmm, interesting!

6. Sikhism (80%) I think I need to do some more reading.

7. Secular Humanism (75%) Okay, that fits.

8. Orthodox Judaism (73%) Sorry, don't see it.

9. Neo-Pagan (71%) What?!? I'm 71% Wiccan? How cool is that?

10. Islam (67%) Interesting. More reading required here, too.

The Bottom 17:

11. Mahayana Buddhism (67%)

12. New Age (65%)

13. Orthodox Quaker (65%)

14. Theravada Buddhism (65%)

15. Scientology (59%)

16. Jainism (59%)

17. New Thought (55%)

18. Taoism (51%)

19. Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormons) (49%)

20. Christian Science (Church of Christ, Scientist) (47%)

21. Nontheist (46%)

22. Mainline to Conservative Christian/Protestant (42%) Not surprised to see this here.

23. Hinduism (41%)

24. Eastern Orthodox (39%)

25. Roman Catholic (39%) My maternal grandmother would be rolling in her grave!

26. Seventh Day Adventist (39%)

27. Jehovah's Witness (38%)

So that's me in a nutshell, at least as far as the Belief-O-Matic is concerned. You might want to do the same just for kicks. C'mon, you know you want to! Who knows, you may just confirm, or learn, something about yourself.