I think people assume that when you quit your job to stay home, time suddenly appears out of nowhere like that annoying hair on your chin. Oh! You’ll have time to go to the gym, get your nails done, keep the house immaculate, dry your hair and pluck your eyebrows (and that errant chin hair).
But reality says, uhm, yeah, I’m staying home, not working, not commuting, but I still have A CHILD to look after. Which takes a lot of time. Loads and loads of energy-sucking, mind-bending time. I’m not saying being a SAHM or working is harder, but I will say that sometimes being a full-time mom is a bigger time suck.
I know that when I worked, I didn’t work from 7 am to 8 pm, but now that I’m home, I’m on the clock most days for at least 13 hours. This is not counting up at night, awake earlier than the sunrises, and general “I need the covers mommy” at 10:30 pm.
Now I know that when I worked, I’d have to be a mom for 2 hours in the morning, a professional at the office, and then a mom again for a few hours at night, but I remember at least being able to close the door on someone if I didn’t feel like talking. Now, there’s always Dora to help me do that at home, but I can hardly leave the room for too long.
As much as I’m making asinine comparisons, this post isn’t for trying to figure out what’s harder, what’s more stressful, what’s better for your kids or anything.
I would just like it to be known to the general public, or whoever comes to my blog via the search terms, “the smart way to quit your job” (now you’re talking!) or “signs that your boss is interested in you,” (uhm, run!?) or “old people,” (because some days I feel like I’m 90 by 6 pm), that there is no balance at home either. We, as moms, are unbalanced either way we try to do it.
When I make up my mind to do something, especially with regard to parenting, I do it. I hate being half-assed. I either decide I’m going to be very, very lazy about something, or completely obsessive compulsive. I’m like Dr. Spock and Mr. Mom. One minute I’m the sleep training Nazi, next I’m letting my kid having a snack of M&Ms and chocolate milk while watching 3 episodes of Dora in a row.
Enter the vicious world of potty training.
I had it in my OCD (or CDO if you’re Busy Mom) head that my son would be trained by the ripe old age of three. Enter Dr. Spock. Or Dr. Something.
First, I obsessively asked my son every minute if he wanted to wear underwear. Next, I twittered my few tweeps to see what the consensus of non-OCD moms were.
Then I made a decision. We were going cold turkey. Child-led, shmild-led, I had enough of diapers and thus, it was time to get rid of them. And as my husband said to my father, “she’ll be damned if this doesn’t work.” So we made the ceremonial visit to Target to procure the goods. You know, the tighty whities with various Disney characters on them. No tags! No Thomas! Of course they only had one freaking pack of Lightning McQueen toddler 4T left. Apparently, all three-year-olds are picky about who they wear on their ass. We scooped up the last pack.
And, we needed some bribery gifts. Gift du jour? More animals. Thank the Schleich g-ds the polar bear and doggie he picked out don’t have genitalia to speak of. I couldn’t deal with that. It’s bad enough the kid is diddling his you know what all day now that it’s free in the land of cotton.
That was Tuesday.
Yesterday was Day 2 of the Great Underwear Experiment. One trip to school in underwear, one poop on the potty, one nap and afternoon poop in a diaper, back to underwear for dinner time today, three loads of laundry later and I’m not sure how successful we are.
But we’re doing it, and that’s half the battle of parenting, right?
Tagged as:
potty training
Leaving town without your kids is exhilirating. Coming home is exhausting.
I took on a fair amount of risk leaving town for the weekend by myself. Leaving always means I have some sort of recalibration to do regarding my child when I get back.
Too much juice? Yes. Must do something about that.
Too much blankie time? Of course. That’s gonna be a tough one.
Too much I’ll give you anything you want as long as you don’t whine any longer? Part of the package. For me, too.
I get all of this, but why is it that the rules get all shot to hell when you leave your kids with your parents for a couple days?
My mom always says, “that’s what grandparents” are for. But she doesn’t have to live with the consequences.
Because as soon as I get home the proverbial #2 hits the fan, the light fixture and the nice painting hanging over my bed. I always have to break my son back into reality whenever I let him go to the wolves, er, the family.
Don’t get me wrong – Nana and Papa get the job done. My son adores them, and I can’t ask for anything more. I just sometimes wish there was a little flip I could switch on the kid. Up: Nana. Down: reality. It bites.
Oh, it’s gonna be a long week when I get home.
I’ve spent no money this week. Well, not zero, but not enough so that when my husband asks me if I have cash on me, I can actually say, “yes!”
I wish I could say it’s because I’ve been living up to my frugal promise. Alas, the real reason behind my full wallet is that all week we’ve been sick. Sick as a dog, we pretty much didn’t leave our house sick.
And, I don’t do sick very well. Almost nothing makes me more crazy than not being able to go anywhere or do anything (except go to the doctor). Add a sick toddler to the mix and I thought I was going to lose my shit all week.
The clincher, though is that we’re on spring break this week, and with no schedule I only have one option to keep my sanity (and my wallet from emptying): Go visit my parents.
I’m hoping their generosity of time and funds will get me through what otherwise would be another very long week.
I had a meeting today. Like a real business meeting with real managers at a real company. Which meant that I actually took a shower, put on a button-down shirt and then attempted to put on “work pants” which didn’t exactly fit like I remembered. (It’s probably from all the sitting around and eating bon bons all day.)
It was like the good old days. I left my son screaming bloody murder (same scene, two years later), hurried out the door (forgot a notebook), and worried about my babysitter’s competency for the next two hours.
When the meeting was over, and because my old friend guilt came surging back to me, I rushed home so that I’d be around when my son got up from his nap. When he awoke, he was more startled by my outfit than by my presence. And now that he’s three, he can articulate as much.
Mommy, will you go put on a comfy shirt and sweatpants?
Why?
Because I want you to.
It was my worst nightmare come true. My son only thinks I wear sweatpants.
Have I been that lazy? Was it my undying love for lululemon? The fact that on most days I am not in “normal clothes” with makeup until about 12:30? (It’s not like he remembers I go to the gym when he’s in school. Those lululemon aren’t just for loungin’, folks.)
Whatever it was, I knew that I had to act fast. Even though mommy doesn’t have a real job, I can sure fake it every now and then with a good shirt and khakis.
So I rebelled and stayed in my “work outfit” all afternoon. (Boy, are button downs uncomfortable during bathtime.)
Young minds are certainly impressionable. And no kid of mine is going to think his mom belongs in sweatclothes. Every day.
What do you get when you take one unnoticed ear infection + one remnant case of tonisilitis + lots of family hounding a cranky child?
A birthday party semi-disaster. Because really, there’s nothing worse than watching your kid cry through half of the fake-cheap party you threw him. (No photo necessary. Trust me.)
But, it’s the week of Passover. That Jewish holiday that makes you remember your ancestors suffered way worse than you, even if you spent a gazillion dollars on something that netted you only 15 minutes worth of good video. Ma Nishtinah.
So I’m trying to make good. By sharing my best sweet matzah kugel recipe. Enjoy, and Happy Pesach!
Sara’s Sweet Matzah Kugel
- 1 box plain matzah
- 8 large eggs beaten
- apricot jam
- 2 tsp salt
- 1/2 stick unsalted melted butter (optional)
- 1 1/2 cup sugar
- generous portion of cinnamon (you can never have too much)
- 2 cups (or more) sliced and peeled Granny Smith apples
Break matzah into medium-sized pieces and soak in hot water until soft, not mushy. Drain water.
Layer matzah and apples in the dish
Beat together eggs, cinnamon, salt and sugar
Arrange matzah in 9 x13 pyrex dish
Pour mixture and butter over matzah and mix around to make sure matzah is coated
Sprinkle top with more cinnamon
Bake at 350 degrees for 60 minutes
For the last 30 minutes spread a generous coat of apricot jam over the top of the kugel. That’s the clincher!
Tagged as:
Passover recipes
