Friday, November 9, 2012

Stereo Wars (Or How Adele Taught My Kids to Get Along)

One Monday morning, early in the school year, my pre-teen girls engaged in "Stereo Wars" - you know, when both kids turn on their favorite "get motivated" music while getting ready for school. (My roommates and I called it our "getting ready to go out music" back in the day, and we always took turns choosing the CDs. But we favored Madonna, Warrant, and LL Cool J - music that I'm not QUITE ready to introduce to my 8 and 10 year old daughters just yet. "Cherry Pie" may be a classic, but it's not age-appropriate. Also, we tended to drink while blasting the stereo. And while there are days I'd LIKE to drink while getting my kids ready for school, it's probably not a good idea... probably.) The middle schooler was blasting "Call Me Maybe," as if we didn't have enough Carly Rae all summer long, while the younger one went with Adele.

Of course, within moments, complete chaos ensued. Each one yelled at the other, "Turn it down!" and then, "No, turn YOURS down!" and "I can't HEAR my MUSIC!" And then, the one thing guaranteed to bring the early-morning, pre-coffee wrath of Slacker Mom raining down on their unbrushed heads, "MMMOOOOOMMM! She's being MEEEEEAAAAAN!"

For smart girls, sometimes they are pretty clueless. Neither one seemed to realize that if they BOTH turned up their stereos to maximum volume, NEITHER of them would be able to hear anything. Neither one seemed to realize that they could have just taken turns, or agreed to listen to their mutual favorite, Taylor Swift, or - gasp! - simply turned downed the volume. Lucky for them, they have me.

Marching up the stairs, coffee cup in hand, I yanked the plug on first one, then the other. "No more music!" I sang cheerfully. "You've lost your stereos for the day. You won't get them back until you figure out a way to work this out on your own. And if it happens again, you'll lose them for a week." (I find that cheerful singing while handing out a punishment REALLY annoys them - but it keeps me from yelling, so there you have it.)

That was three months ago. It hasn't happened again. Maybe it's because my kids are such good listeners. Maybe it's my incredibly advanced parenting skills. (Is there a sarcasm font I could use here?) Maybe it's that they figured out a mutually-agreed upon way to decide who gets to choose the morning music: One was born on an odd day, one on an even - so they let the calendar decide whose turn it is. (And sure, maybe it's also because these kids know that I mean what I say.) Who knows; who cares? All I know is that Slacker Dad and I haven't had to listen to competing stereos again. All is well in Slackerville.

And then I made the mistake of sharing this story with a neighbor - a neighbor who told me that I'm "way too hard" on my kids, that all siblings fight (duh), that I should just buy them each their own iPods with headphones because it would make my life "easier" if I "just kept them separate" rather than handing out consequences for fighting.

Now, usually I'm all about making my life easier. And I totally agree that all siblings fight and that, for the most part, parents should let kids work it out on their own. After all, I grew up wedged between two brothers, three kids in three years with a fourth arriving six years later, and we fought all the time. Alliances changed like phases of the moon; it was two against one, and then a different two against the other one, with the baby left out of everything. My mom's way of dealing with the bickering was to send us all to our rooms. Left in solitary confinement, without anyone to play with (or electronic devices - it was the 70s), we figured out fast how to get along, or at least how to keep our arguments quiet enough to avoid parental intervention and subsequent separation as punishment.

However, I also think that it's impossible to "avoid" sibling fighting, and that parents have a duty to teach their kids how to get along, how to work out their problems, and how to do so peacefully and without causing their parents headaches at 6:30 in the morning before they've even had their coffee. (Read the room, kids!) I want my kids to learn that they are a team, that they need to work together, now and for the rest of their lives. They are sisters; there are only the two of them, when all is said and done, and I want them to learn to disagree respectfully and calmly, and to work out any issues they have. Some day, Slacker Dad and I will be dead and gone, but they will ALWAYS have each other. I want these girls to love each other and be there for each other, and yes, it does start with figuring out how to decide which one chooses the music on any given day. When we give them the chance to work together to solve a problem, they learn that they CAN. Anything they face in life, ANYTHING, they can face together, they can solve together. They are sisters.

And, equally important, I want my kids to learn that there are very real consequences for their actions - you fight over the music, you lose the music. You don't study, you get a bad grade. You speed, you get a ticket. You break the law, you go to jail. Children first learn to follow the rules of the home, then the school, then their community. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Long-term parenting is harder than short-term parenting, but it pays off in the end. Doing what's right is rarely what's easiest, but there you have it. "Right" trumps "easy", even for Slacker Mom.

As for the "just buy them their own iPods so they won't fight" comment? Absurd. That's like saying, "Well, the kids didn't check in on time, and I couldn't find them. I didn't know where they were all afternoon, so I think I'll buy them their own cell phones so that I can call them when they don't come home on time." What? Are you kidding me? Sure, let's reward our kids for ignoring the rules. Let's teach avoidance rather than problem-solving. If my kids don't check in on time, they lose the right to leave the house without me. They don't get a cell phone for disobeying me. End of story.

So I told my neighbor that I didn't think the answer was to give in to their fighting, but to teach them how to solve their problems. Taking away their stereos taught them that they'd need to stop and think about how to work things out without simply trying to drown each other out - a lesson that many adults still need to learn. The whole even and odd day thing? They came up with that one on their own. Problem solved - by the kids, with no parental intervention. To me, that's a win-win situation.

Slacker Mom Says... raising kids is hard work. Raising siblings to become lifelong friends and partners is harder. But teaching them to work together, to figure out how to get along without constant parental intervention, will pay off in the end. I want my girls to have an "us against the world" attitude, to fully believe there's nothing they can't tackle together, to always be there for each other. I figure if we lay the groundwork now, it WILL get easier as they get older. I may be fooling myself, but there is it: I'll put in the hard work now, and then, when I'm old and infirm and incapable of taking care of myself, they'll already have figured out whose turn it is to take care of me. One gets odd days; the other gets evens.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

The Happy Homemaker, Part 1

A couple of weeks ago, my friend Adleen lent me a book called Happy Housewives by Darla Shine. It's billed as a how-to manual for stay-at-home moms. The cover says, "I was a whining, desperate housewife - but I finally snapped out of it... you can, too!" The author outlines her plan "in ten easy steps", each of which provides the basis for a chapter:

1. Please stop whining!
2. Be proud! Being an at-home mom is the most important job.
3. Stop looking like a housewife.
4. Make your marriage a priority.
5. Bond with your home.
6. Get back in the kitchen.
7. Keep your girlfriends.
8. Make time for yourself.
9. Don't take it all so seriously.
10. Don't wish for someone else's problems.

Now, I'm no Stepford Wife; I embrace my inner slacker. I pretty much have this at-home thing down to a (crazy and chaotic) science. But my friend found the book entertaining and helpful, so read it with an open mind. And although I agree with much of what Darla says, this Slacker Mom took umbrage at some of her suggestions. For example: Never leave your house without lipstick, even to go to the schoolbus stop - get up early and put your face on. Really? I've taken my kids to school in my jammies. And walked them in. Or this one: Never wear sneakers with your jeans because it's too "frumpy dumpy housewife - wear cute wedge sandals instead!" Seriously? YOU try supervising recess on a sandy playground in 3-inch heels. And my favorite: Buy new furniture with every new house, because it's good to change your look and your style. Sure, if you're married to a senior executive at Fox News. No problem. Me, I'm on my third house and I've had the same bookcases since college. Geez.

Additionally, here's a warning: Darla Shine is vehemently anti-working mom, an attitude that I cannot forgive - she's quite, um, opinionated about moms who choose to work, and a bit condescending towards women who have to work. To paraphrase, she writes that "unless you would starve or end up on the streets, what job do you have that is more important than raising your kids?" Uh, forgive me, Darla, but I am thankful for the working moms I know - my kids' teachers, their pediatrician, our school nurses, my best friend. I found it hard to read that part of her book, because Slacker Mom is all about supporting women and mothers, and never about judging and being catty - and besides, I've always felt that some women are actually BETTER moms when they work. But if you can get past her "quit your job and raise your own babies" rhetoric, she has some interesting things to say about being a mom and a wife. And if you are a stay-at-home mom, she makes some good points about being proud of the work you do - that we should embrace this stay-at-home mom gig and do a good job at it, since we really only get one chance.

But the part that most resonated with me was what Darla's mom said to her when she complained about being stuck at home with her kids - even though she had a maid and a nanny and all the material advantages that a wealthy husband can provide. She wrote about calling her mom, who was on vacation, and asking when she was coming home: "My mother told me off good. She said that I had a lot of nerve. What the hell did I have to complain about? I had a beautiful house, two healthy kids, and a husband who loved me, and I should shut up and count my blessings... She said that my friends and I were a bunch of spoiled brats, and we all should know how lucky we are."

I read that page and thought, "GO DARLA'S MOM!"

If we think we have it hard, we should talk to our mothers and grandmothers. My mother had three kids in three years, another one six years later, and a husband who made a good living but didn't lift a finger around the house. Men of my dad's generation didn't change diapers, vacuum, drive carpool, or cook. They made the money, and their wives did everything else. My grandmother had four kids in six years, and never had two in diapers at the same time - because she had to wash those diapers by hand and then hang them on the clothesline. She didn't have a dishwasher, a microwave, a crock pot, or a cleaning lady. She and my grandfather had ONE car - and he drove it work each day. She did everything that I do - by hand - and with no help. And, I'd argue, women of my grandmother's generation were, as a whole, happier and less stressed. No one took Prozac, no one ordered takeout, and no one complained. They'd lived through the Great Depression; they had no sense of entitlement. They knew something that Darla and her friends forgot: namely, that they'd CHOSEN to be moms, they'd CHOSEN to be housewives, and they were LUCKY that they could afford to feed and shelter and clothe their children. They knew something that we've forgotten: being a mom may be hard at times, but it's the best job we'll ever have.

So many of us complain about our lives - if only I had a cleaning lady, a new cell phone, more money, a pedicure. So many of us think we "need" certain things to be happy - a bigger house or newer car or nicer clothes. But how many of us take a good, hard look around us and think, "Wow. I have healthy kids and a loving husband. I live in a safe neighborhood; my kids go to a good school. I don't have to work to pay the bills. I have a car. I turn on the faucet and clean water comes out; I can put healthy food on the table." How many of us are grateful for the opportunity to be home with our kids, even for a few months or a few years, even if it means making financial sacrifices?

In the end, we CHOSE to become mothers. We CHOSE to quit our jobs. We CHOSE to be the one in charge of, well, everything. We made a conscious decision to be the at-home parent - and that means that WE are the ones who take care of the home, the kids, the chores and errands. That's not to say our spouses shouldn't pitch in; they should, and we need to train our kids to help, too. But is it really fair to expect the working spouse to do half? Or even a fourth? I have a stay-at-home mom friend whose husband works nine hours a day, with an hour commute each way. When he walks in the door, he'd like to see his kids, have a nice meal, and then relax. She, however, feels that when he gets home, he's on kid duty and she gets a break. Now, while I understand the need for time away, and we've ALL had those days where we need to hand over our kids for our sanity and their safety, it shouldn't be every day. Why not take her "me time" while her kids are napping? Or arrange a "kid-swapping" with another mom? That, or pop in a video and park them on the couch for a few minutes. (Don't judge; you've done it, too. It won't knock off more than a few IQ points.) She could let some housework go so she can enjoy that time with her husband before their kids go to bed. In my world, "me time" comes after the kids' bedtime - and I'm OK with that.

My sister recently called me "a 1950s housewife." She was mad at me when she said it, so I think she meant it as an insult. But when I thought about it, I decided to take it as a compliment. I mean, I don't work; I am a stay-at-home mom. It IS my job to get my kids up, fed, dressed and ready for the day. It IS my job to run the errands, do the chores, make dinner and oversee homework. I DO think my husband should come home to a decent meal after a long day at work. It IS my job to run the household as smoothly as I can. Sure, there are days it looks like a bomb exploded in my family room. There are days where I order a pizza and call it dinner, without feeling guilty. There are days where the dishes have taken over the kitchen and I'd be completely mortified if a neighbor stopped by. There are days where no one has clean jeans and the library books are missing and I forgot to pack snacks and there's no milk so breakfast is a piece of toast eaten in the car. And then someone drips butter on her shirt and cries. It happens. Life happens. But I'm not going to whine and cry and say that I have it so hard. You want hard? Talk to a working mom, a single mom, a military wife. My life is not hard. My life is a freakin' walk in the park.

Slacker Mom Says... why not just decide to be a "happy housewife" rather than a "desperate housewife"? We signed on for this gig; we can embrace it and enjoy it. It won't last forever. Before we know it, our kids will be gone and we'll have nothing but time on our hands. Then I'll have plenty of "me time" and money for pedicures and a cleaning lady.

But I'll still wear sneakers with my jeans and leave my house - occasionally - without lipstick on.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Toss Out the Labels

As I was leaving the elementary school parking lot this morning, I saw a giant SUV with those stick figure family drawings on the back. You know the ones - adults, kids, pets, and little stickers that you use to indicate what each family member likes to do. Now, cute as they are, I've never wanted to put them on MY car. But I've never had an opinion about anyone else having them on HER car, either.

Until this morning.

What changed? Well, this particular car showed two boys, each with a football in his hand, as well as a third boy holding a baseball bat. Now, that in itself is not a problem, but I wondered: what would my girls put on their little stick figures? How would they pick just ONE sticker to state who they are? I mean, they dance, play sports, love animals and museums and books. Sure, my youngest is completely obsessed with horses, but that's not the ONLY thing she's into. And my oldest has recently been bit by the acting bug, but she also adores reading and dancing and basketball and talking on the phone. My kids are not single-mindedly pursuing one activity at this point in their young lives, but are fairly well-rounded with a wide variety of interests.

So that got me thinking: if we put one interest sticker on our kids' little stick figures, are we labeling them, pigeon-holing them? And do we do this with their personality traits, too?

Last night, my book club met to discuss Jodi Picoult's Nineteen Minutes. This should be required reading for any parent as soon as the stick turns blue; there are so many important themes in this book that it's impossible to fully discuss them all here. But in one scene that I found thought-provoking, a Kindergarten teacher asks parents to choose one word to describe their children. Innocent enough, right? One mother says, "Sensitive." Another mother thinks, "Mine." While reading that scene, I wavered between "sensitive" and "brilliant" for one daughter, "funny" and "generous" for the other. But then I started thinking about my choices. Is my firstborn ONLY brilliant? She's also witty and empathetic. Is my younger child any less intelligent than her sister? Isn't she creative and smart and brave, too? Does the fact that my little one would give up her last drop of water to anyone who needed it make my older daughter selfish, or is it just that she's got a better sense of self-preservation, and that makes her slightly less generous by comparison? And why in the world am I comparing them? How could I possibly choose only one word to describe these complex, amazing people?

Couple that with the stick figures I saw today, and I've got a dilemma: How do I appreciate and understand the whole person that each of my children are? When we label our kids "smart", "shy", "sensitive", "brave", or "athletic," are we putting them in a box and making them into who we think they are, rather than letting them be who they really are? Why can't they be more than one thing at different times of their lives, at different times of the day? And even if we only use labels with positive connotations, aren't we simply telling our children who WE think they are? What about letting them become who they are meant to be?

Now, I'm a firm believer that kids are basically born with their personality pretty much intact. Take my kids, for example. My older daughter came out screaming, and hasn't stopped talking since. She talked early, and she talked often (much like her mother). She exhausts me with her play-by-play of everything everyone said all day long. My younger child was completely silent at birth; her huge eyes looked around and took it all in, and to this day, she's more likely to sit back and observe before jumping in. She doesn't like to talk to strangers; she's not shy, just slow to warm up to new situations (much like her father).

But I also feel that, as parents, it's our job to encourage our kids to develop or strengthen certain traits, while helping them gain some measure of control over others. My older child tends to worry about things that she can't control, and it's my job to help her deal with that. She can't freak out at every little imagined slight of middle school existence, or she'll fall apart. My little one is far too persistent at times, and she needs to learn when it's in her own best interest to just let it go and move on.

Which brings me back to the stick figures on the SUV: In the end, does it really matter if this family labels two kids football players and one kid a baseball player? I mean, maybe those boys eat, sleep, breathe their sport. I'm probably way overanalyzing things, as usual. But as a mom, I want to embrace my children's personalities and encourage them to try many, many new things. I don't want them to specialize in one sport, in one activity, at this age. I want them to find out who THEY are, what THEY like, rather than get too focused on what and who I think they are. That's not to say we can't compliment our children; we can, and we should. But I think we have to be careful about what we say and how we say it. No matter how smart my daughter is, she's going to make mistakes and she's going to fail at something, sometime. I need to remind her that she IS smart, but that doesn't mean she is ONLY smart. And I need to avoid saying things like, "she's the smart one" or "she's the funny one", because what does that say to - and about - my other daughter? I have to guard against saying, "This one is my dancer; that one is my artist." Why can't they BOTH be BOTH?

Slacker Mom Says... beware the labels. Kids will live up - or down - to our expectations. As parents, we can't pressure them into being one thing or another, but we should encourage them to be who they are. Constantly putting labels on kids - even so-called "good" labels like "smart" or "kind" - might tell our kids that we value them for only these qualities. Nobody is any one thing all the time - and isn't that OK? I used to wish, desperately at times, that my younger daughter wasn't so stubborn. But I soon realized that her stubborness will serve her well as a preteen. No one's going to get that kid to do anything she doesn't want to do - no boy will talk her into something she's not ready for, no amount of peer pressure will work on her. She's definitely her own person, and has been since birth. Kids have a lot of pressure on them from many sides - parents, teachers, peers, society. It's a different world than the one I grew up in. I want my girls to know that I love them for who they are, not who I think they are or who I want them to be. My children are amazing people, and I could never in a million years have predicted how they've turned out so far. I can't wait to meet the adults they become.

That is, if we all survive the teen years.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Motherhood: The Most Powerful Job in the World

The other day at school pick up time, I overheard a couple of moms talking in the hallway. One woman asked her friend, "Do you want to see a movie Thursday night?" and the other one replied, "I don't know. I'll have to ask my husband if it's OK with him. He doesn't like me to go out during the week, and I don't know if he'll babysit the kids." (At this point, though my blood pressure was definitely on its way up, it was all I could do to keep from smacking this woman. Must. Not. Explode. It makes PTA meetings awkward.)

Immediately, I had a flashback to a Moms' Night Out group I started when my kids were toddlers. Several of us got together once a month for drinks, dinner, maybe a movie, if we weren't too drunk - although someone was always pregnant or nursing, so it was easy to find a designated driver. (That's the benefit of hanging out with younger moms, by the way. I'm finished with those non-drinking, baby-making years while they are just starting out.) A mom in our group had had an unfortunate haircut and coloring incident, so I asked if she'd found someone to fix it. She said, "My husband won't let me talk about it anymore. He's tired of hearing about it." OK, first of all, WTF? And secondly, HE'S NOT EVEN HERE. But even as I was formulating a response, another mom called and said, "My husband won't let me come tonight because he doesn't want to babysit the kids." While most of us immediately began (loudly and drunkenly) mocking him, one woman asked, "What's the big deal? My husband won't let me go every month, either. It's too hard to do dinner, baths and bedtime by himself."

Where do I start? Are you kidding me? I don't know about you, but I have never in my life asked my husband's permission to do anything. He's my husband, my partner, not my father. I guarantee you, the words "my husband won't let me" have never come out of my mouth - and they never will. On my wedding day, I promised to love, honor, and cherish him, all the days of my life, but that "obey" part? Took that right out of my vows. And "babysit" the kids? What, is he 16? Does he need a little extra spending money? Aren't they his kids, too? He's never once asked ME to "babysit" the kids while he goes to the gym or Home Depot or even to the office on a weekend. I'm not sure he could afford me, anyway. (And for the record, I'm not talking about using common courtesy and talking to one's spouse about one's plans. I always tell my husband in advance when something comes up that will affect our family's routine. I just don't ASK him if he'll LET me. C'mon.)

So, as usual, I started thinking: Why do some women feel the need to ask permission to do something for themselves, or ask their husbands to "babysit" the kids? He's not your father; he's your partner. What is it about being a mother, about being home with the kids, that makes some women feel that they have to be subservient? Is it having a job, making money, that gives one power and authority?

I say no. If anything, being a mom is powerful stuff. I make thousands of decisions every day that impact all areas of our lives. From budgeting to education to health to the daily running of our lives, I'm in charge of everything - except bringing home a paycheck. I'm raising the future; I'm educating another generation; I'm creating people who will go out into the world and make it a better place. I am all things to all people, all the time. I'm the mom. What could be more powerful than that?

To his credit, my husband points out all the time that I am the heart of our family, that I make our house a home (otherwise, our "home" would be a recliner, a TV, and a lot of takeout), that our family is what it is because of me. The traditions we have, the friends we make, the memories we cherish - don't they usually start with us, ladies? Not to minimize my husband's contributions, which go far beyond financial support and killing spiders, but mommies provide something essential to the family - the nurturing quality that makes little girls pick up and cuddle a baby doll while little boys are bashing their cars into the wall.

So, back to my original question: Why do some women feel the need to obtain "permission" from their husbands? I guess it's because they don't feel valued, or valuable, at home. Maybe their husbands don't tell them often enough how much they appreciate all that they do. Maybe they feel that money equals power, that the breadwinner gets to make all the decisions for the family, that their contributions to the family have less value because there's no monetary amount assigned to them. But I disagree. There is no price that we can put on being the person raising our kids. Forget all the crap about society not valuing the contributions of stay-at-home moms. We have to value our work ourselves! What we do is important, to our kids, to our husbands, to ourselves. We need to take pride in our work, just as we did when that work came with a paycheck. How many times have your kids walked right past their dad to ask you a question? And who do they cry for when they get hurt, or scared, or sick? Yep. That's right. They want Mommy. Ask any child, "Who's in charge at your house?" Every single one of them will say, "My mom."

Slacker Mom Says... when you get right down to it, we moms rule the world. Motherhood is power. Whether we work or stay home, moms do the bulk of childcare, housework, and decision-making for most American families. We determine how our kids are raised, what they learn about life, how they learn to cope with adversity; we give them roots and wings. Whether we work or stay home, we exert our considerable influence over an entire generation of Americans. We are raising the next generation, the ones who will, with luck, find a cure for cancer, solve the world's energy crisis, and fight for freedom and equality. We are moms; we are the world. Embrace the power.

Friday, January 28, 2011

Multi-Tasking Causes Mommy Brain

My mom is the queen of forwards. You know what I mean - one of those people who forwards every single e-mail anyone ever sends her - the religious stuff, the cutsy ones with kitties and puppies dancing around, the chain e-mails, the "if you don't forward this to 294 friends, disaster will befall you!" stuff, the political rants, the so-called safety alerts. True or not, she sends them on. (I keep telling her about snopes, but she just doesn't get it.) Over the years, I've learned to just hit "delete" when I see a subject line that says "FW:FW:FW:FW: true inspirational story!" But now and then, she hits the jackpot and sends me something that makes me laugh out loud.

Most recently, she sent me something called "A.A.A.D.D." or "Aging Adult Attention Deficit Disorder". (Now, seeing as she gave me Nora Ephron's "I Remember Nothing" and "I Feel Bad About My Neck", for Christmas, I'm wondering if my mother is trying to tell me something. Ahem. Thanks, Mom.) This particular e-mail was all about the aging person's forgetful brain, and how you scatter from one activity to another because you forget what you were doing at the time and get sidetracked easily. Sound familiar? Yeah, it did to me, too. But I'm not sure it has anything to do with aging. I think it has more to do with being a mom and having too much to do and too little time to do it.

I think it's Mommy Brain.

You want proof? Fine. Case in point, last Friday. I went to take a shower and realized it was time to clean my bathroom. I thought sharing a bathroom with my brothers in high school was bad, but now that I've been sharing with a boy for 12 years, I realize I had it pretty easy then. My husband's mirror is covered in what I can only guess is stuff that came off his teeth while flossing; his sink has what my girls call "boy spit" in it, and I'm pretty sure he never wipes down the counter after he shaves. When my girls use my bathroom, they refuse to use his sink and fight about who gets to use mine. And I can't say I blame them.

But I digress.

So there I was, armed with my blue cleaning gloves and a bottle of bleach. Realizing that I was out of Clorox wipes, I returned to the kitchen to get more, and noticed that I hadn't done the breakfast dishes yet. So I finished those, along with another cup of coffee, put the dish towel in the laundry room, and realized that I hadn't finished the laundry I started at 6:00 that morning. So I folded that, moved a load from the washer to the dryer, and took the kids' laundry upstairs so they could put it away after school. (Yeah, I make them do it themselves. Even a 3-year-old can put away her socks and pajamas. C'mon now.) While upstairs, I realized it was time to change their sheets, so I stripped the beds, grabbed all the towels from the kids' bathroom, fed their frogs and fish (not my job, but don't want the pets to die), found a lost library book, and turned off all the nightlights that had been left on. (My dad would laugh. I've become just like him.) Noticing that my sneakers were next to the treadmill, I decided to get in a quick workout and watch the Today Show - which sparked an idea for an article, so I went back downstairs to my computer to make some notes. By then, of course, I needed to move laundry from washer to dryer again, and fold the load that was dry, and then head back into my room to put it away. Then the phone rang at the same time as the doorbell, and I had a quick chat with a friend who needed to arrange transportation for her kids to practice that night while taking delivery of my husband's "protein shakes". (Another rant completely.) That led to a phone call to my husband to make sure he could get home early enough to pick up extra kids on his way to coaching the team practice, which led to his asking me to do some online banking and bill-paying that needed to get done RIGHT NOW TODAY. By that time, I was dying for a bathroom break (funny how long you can hold it when you get busy, huh?), so I headed back into my bathroom.

And that's when I realized that I STILL hadn't finished cleaning the bathroom that I'd started cleaning TWO HOURS EARLIER.

Am I the only one?

They call it "multi-tasking": the idea that we can (and should?) be doing several things at once, in order to accomplish more. Sometimes, it's necessary. I mean, I can nurse a baby while cooking dinner and talking on the phone. I can help both kids with homework while folding laundry and unloading the dishwasher. I can drive while refereeing backseat dramas over whose side of the car is whose and which kid gets to eat which snack. I can get both kids showered and in bed in less than 20 minutes, a job that takes my husband at least an hour. (Oh, wait. That last one has nothing to do with multi-tasking. It just annoys me that it takes him so long.)

But at other times, multi-tasking is just another way for me to feel inadequate. I can't truly pay bills while cleaning a bathroom while e-mailing a teacher while paying attention to my kids. I just can't. I'm always telling my kids to "finish the job," but what am I SHOWING them? Sometimes, I feel like I'm doing everything halfway and doing nothing well. And that makes me feel really bad. I want to be the kind of mom who gives my kids her full attention when they're talking to me; I want to be able to look at them, for them to feel I am fully present in the conversation. Sometimes, they'll have to wait, and I'll say, "I need 3 minutes and then I can listen to your story." And then I do. But I don't want to be an "uh huh" kind of mom. You know, where you say, "Uh huh, uh huh" as your kid babbles on and on about some really boring thing that happened at school. It IS boring, but at least she's telling me about her day! At least she WANTS to talk to me. If my friends with teenagers are right, the day will come when she won't.

Slacker Mom Says...multi-tasking is a crock. It's just a way for us to feel even busier, even more hassled and harried, even MORE inadequate than we already do! So I've decided to really limit my multi-tasking. Sometimes, it's necessary. Sometimes, it's unavoidable. But I'm making a conscious attempt to focus on whatever task is at hand, to really listen to whomever is speaking to me, to get one thing done - and done well - at a time. And if less stuff gets done, so be it. If the laundry sits unfolded for a couple of hours, fine. My husband knows where the iron is, and he knows how to use it. If the dishes sit in the sink for another hour, I can live with that. And if I have to wait until tomorrow to clean the bathroom, I doubt my husband will even notice.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

I Have A Dream, Too

As we celebrate the life, mourn the death, and honor the work of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, I've been thinking about what his words meant to a nation divided by racial tensions, by fundamental beliefs about equality, and by political differences. Have we come very far since 1963? If he were alive today, what would he say? I mean, I think things have gotten significantly better, but have they? Are the improvements merely on the surface? Schools are desegregated, but I can count on one hand the number of non-white, non-Christian kids in my daughters' classrooms. Living in California, and later, Florida, my students represented many ethnic, racial, and religious groups. Living in the Midwest? The South? Not so much.

No easy answers here. While racism, age-ism, ethnicism, sexism, and many other "isms" are surely - and unfortunately - alive and well, I wasn't around in 1963, so I can't really speak to the progress made in the last 40+ years. I think things are better - kids today are appalled by the idea of slavery, segregation, and racial bias - but I can't be sure. My dad says things are better, but he's nearing 80; is he really in touch with the feelings, the perceptions, the attitudes, the realities of today's youth?

I don't know what the answers are, and I'm no expert in this area. While I wish I could answer that question definitively, intelligently, and effectively, I can't. But I can tell you that Dr. King's speech stands as one of the most influential in our country's collective memory. And because of that, school children across the nation are encouraged to share their hopes, their dreams, their wishes for our country's future. In the spirit of celebrating the work of Dr. King, I, too, have some hopes and dreams for our country. I, too, wish to see positive changes in our society's collective consciousness. However, in the vein of "write what you know," my dreams fall along the lines of motherhood.

So, for what it's worth (and don't get excited and tell me that I'm no MLK and I shouldn't flatter myself that anyone really cares what I think; no duh. As if!), here it is - and, in true Slacker Mom style, it's a day late.

I have a dream. I have a dream that, one day, the "Us vs. Them" mentality of motherhood will end. That there will be no more "Breast vs. Bottle," no more "Working vs. Staying Home," no more "Immunize vs. Don't." That women will finally realize that cooperation trumps competition every time.

I have a dream that one day, mothers will work together, support each other, realize that the work of raising children is so much easier when you have other women on your side. That we belong to a special, wonderful group called MOTHERS, and that we share a sisterhood born of love and devotion to our kids. That no matter how we arrived at motherhood - adoption, foster parenting, or biology - we are all in this together. It's not a race; it's a journey to be savored and experienced fully.

I have a dream that one day, we will teach our sons and daughters basic respect for all human beings, that we will insist on certain values and behaviors from them: personal responsibility, hard work, respect, kindness, and empathy. That we will teach our sons to honor women, our daughters to treat each other like sisters, and that we will set a good example by refusing to gossip and judge. That we will teach by example, treating our fellow human beings with compassion and generosity rather than scorn and ridicule.

I have a dream that we will live by the tenets our grandparents taught: "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all" and "Think before you speak." That mothers will teach the concept I first saw posted on a principal's office wall: Before you say it out loud, think, "Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary?" Wouldn't the world be a happier place if everyone followed that rule?

I have a dream that mothers will realize what truly matters: raising self-sufficient, socially-conscious, happy, healthy (physically AND emotionally) kids who are ready to leave the nest and fly on their own. Roots and wings, my mother called it - kids who know where they come from, with a good foundation, who have the skills necessary to form healthy relationships and be successful at their chosen careers.

Slacker Mom Says... think about what matters to you and your family. Putting down others doesn't build us up; it cuts us down. Happiness has nothing to do with others and everything to do with ourselves. Like Lincoln said, "Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be." Choose happiness. It's easier than unhappiness. Choose the life you love. Choose to raise kids to be the kind of adult you wish you were. Be the kind of adult you wish you were. I have a dream: that mothers will embrace this crazy, messy, unpredictable time of life, and enjoy the ride. It's a short one, but it's the best ride we'll ever take.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

I Spy With My Little Eye...

Last night, while watching an old episode of "Reba" (I LOVE that show - besides the fact that Reba has always reminded me of my gorgeous red-headed friend, Anne, Reba's all about no-nonsense parenting with humor and grace), I saw a hilarious exchange between Reba and her oldest daughter, Cheyenne. Reba explained how she always knew when Cheyenne liked a boy: she'd doodle his name on her notebook and wear a certain pink sweater and a certain mint-flavored lip gloss. Cheyenne, horrified that her mother knew so much, asked, "How did you know about the lipgloss? Were you spying on me?" Reba answered, "I found it in your pocket." Cheyenne exclaimed, "How could you? Going through someone's pockets is called spying!" - to which Reba responded, "No, it's called doing laundry."

Now, I don't know about you, but I could fill a huge trash can with the assorted items I've found in my family's pockets over the years. Aside from enough money to take all my girlfriends to Starbucks, I've found rocks, lip balm, notes, receipts, pens, toys, sand, tissues, Barbie shoes, ponytail holders, bobby pins, erasers... the list goes on. Never once have I considered checking their pockets to be an invasion of privacy; it's more a "I can't afford a new washing machine every week" thing. My rule is, if you leave it in your pocket, you must not want it - so finders keepers!

But I digress.

In this particular Reba episode, the real issue at hand is spying on teens to find out what's going on in their lives. Reba's pretty sure that her middle child, Kyra, is keeping something from her. Her ex-husband's new wife tells her that she reads Kyra's email and snoops through her stuff. She sees nothing wrong with it, nor does Kyra's father, but Reba is horrified at the thought.

So, as usual, this got me thinking: is it OK to spy on your kids? Is there ever a situation where parents can justify snooping? For me, the short answer is hell, yes, just don't get caught. The longer answer is, well, maybe, in certain circumstances and under certain conditions, when other methods have failed and you're pretty sure that your child is in danger or in trouble, and you're not merely being nosy and annoying and controlling - sort of like we all thought OUR moms were when we were teenagers. If I trust my kids, and I trust that they're being honest and open with me, then I have no reason to go looking for information. But if I start seeing secretive, scary behavioral changes, then I feel a responsibility to investigate so I can help my kids.

Now, I'm not justifying random nosiness. My oldest daughter keeps a journal, and I can't imagine reading it. (Really, it'd be pretty dull anyway. It's likely to say stuff like, "My sister is really annoying me. I wish I were an only child." Or, "_____ is soooo cute. OMG I luv that new Taylor Swift song. Team Jacob! I wish my mom would let me see 'Twilight' but she says it's 'inappropriate.' Whatever.") Like I'd want to read that. But she's only a fourth-grader. As she gets older, will I feel differently?

My Reba look-alike friend, Anne, has a teenaged daughter. Years ago, when Lauren was 10 or 11, Anne gave me some fantastic advice: be the mom who hosts every sleepover and get-together. All the girls hang out at her house, and she moves in and out of the room, bringing more popcorn, wiping up spills, refilling drinks, setting down a pizza, sitting in a corner reading a book. Meanwhile, the girls? They don't really notice her. They go on with their conversations, spilling everything to each other, and she's all but invisible to them. Yep, she's a sneaky one - but smart, that Anne. She's hearing it all; she's privy to all their secrets, and they don't even realize it. (She also told me to never force kids to cut out an undesirable friendship, because that just sends it "underground" and you stop knowing what's going on. Instead, make sure that the kid is welcomed into your home so you can watch exactly what's going on. Hmmm. She's good.)

A few years ago, I found a notebook under the couch, with "Top Secret" written on it in my daughter's handwriting. Yes, I opened it and read it (I thought about it for a moment, but again, if you're leaving your "top secret" stuff under the couch in the family room, really, how private can it be?), and I was really glad I did. It was full of some dark poetry - especially considering that she was in second grade - about lost love, depression, sadness, and longing to fit in. So I did what any mom would do; I panicked. Then I calmed down and called my best friend, read it to her, and asked her advice. She suggested that I tell my daughter I'd found it and then ask her if she wanted to talk about it. My husband and I were both worried about the content; my daughter seemed like a happy, well-adjusted little girl with no worries.

Imagine my surprise when I sat my daughter down for a serious heart-to-heart. As soon as I pulled out the notebook, she exclaimed, "THERE IT IS! I've been looking for my song book!" Um, songbook? Turns out, she'd been writing lyrics, not poetry. And when I asked if she felt sad or lonely, she looked at me like I was a complete moron and said, "Why would you think THAT?" Um, the lyrics? They're pretty depressing? Big eyeroll. "Mom, seriously, don't you realize that ALL lyrics are about lost love, or not fitting in, or being depressed? I'm not sure I got it right, because I'm a little young for all that, but what else does anyone write about?"


So yes, I've learned a little lesson about panicking after snooping. And I really don't think that there's anything going on that I don't know about. But she's only 8. The teen years loom ahead, dark and mysterious, full of worries and woes. Right now, she tells me everything. And I mean, EVERYTHING. Much more than I care to know. I mean, do I really NEED to know who likes who and what the entire class ate for lunch? No, thanks, I'd rather not. But I love that she wants to talk to me; she opens up, shares her day and her feelings and her dreams. Because I have another daughter, one who usually responds to "What did you do at school today?" with "I dunno. Can't remember." She tells me relatively little, and that worries me for HER teen years. Oh, she's an open book right now, sure, but she doesn't have an incessant monologue going on, and I'm not sure she'll ever develop one, what with her chatty older sister and her conversation-hog mother around. She's the one I need to watch.

Right now, my kids are too young for Facebook, email, texting their friends. But middle school is nearly here, and with it will come increased distance, increased access to technology, and a cell phone. There will be different pressures, boys won't be so gross, and cyber-bullying will be an issue. They'll need more freedom online, around the neighborhood, at school, in the community. So I reserve the right to snoop and spy on my kids - if I feel I need to. I WILL read their texts, monitor their use of social networking sites, retain access to their email accounts. I will continue to monitor their moods and behaviors and friends. It's a scary world out there, and it's my job to keep them safe. If they won't open up, if I suspect there's a problem, if I think they're in trouble, I will get to the bottom of it. If it makes them mad, fine. If they hate me for it, so be it. If they give me no reason to mistrust them, I won't. But they've been told, and I'll keep telling them: just because I trust YOU does not mean I trust the rest of the world.

Slacker Mom Says... sign me up for the spy gear and the night vision goggles. I'm keeping tabs on my kids and their activities, within reason. It's probably not a popular stance, but my job isn't to be popular. My job is to raise kids who are intelligent, who make good decisions, who are equipped to leave me someday and be independent, fulfilled individuals with sound judgment and good ethics and morals. If I need to supervise them closely so that they can learn from their mistakes, I will. There's a fine line between overprotective and protective; I'm trying to find it and stay on the right side of it, but I'm still learning. I'll make mistakes, and so will they, but we're in this together.