"The few syllables you got out were absolutely devastating."

Once upon a time, I was able to write missives (missives, I tell you!) about Very Important Things.  You know, like Mother's Day and stuff...

These days, I can't even put a sentence together.  Or if I AM able to, it's usually heavily-laden and dripping with Mommy and aimed at my children.

So, bear with me while I get a few devastating syllables out.

I've spend the better part of this month of May so far thinking about mothering and motherhood and all the trappings. 

Today, while rocking my baby to sleep, I started thinking about the concept I had of a mother's love when I was younger.  I think as a child, I believed my mom's love for her four children was a shared love, and that an equal portion of that love was reserved just for me.  As I grew into adulthood, I knew my mom's love was a perfect love bound and shaped and constrained inside an imperfect being (as we all are).  But, I suppose until today, I still believed my childish concept that her love was a sum of that grand mother-love portioned equally amongst her children.

Today, in my 3rd year as a mother and my first as a mother of two, it hit me: That's not how a mother's love works at all!  My love for my children is not 100% divided by two.  It is 100% for C and who he is AND it's also 100% for A and who he is.  One Hundred Percent for each and every child. 

There it is.  Not earth shattering.  Not new.  But new to me and I am grateful for it. 

P.S. I've been reading some posts over at The Orange Rhino about how sometimes we feel inadequate compared to others, or that we aren't good enough, but we keep on trying to become the mom we want to be.  You know, if you want something slightly more meaty to read.

[Title quote is from "Music & Lyrics"]

"I came down in my invisible submarine. Don't you see it?"

I step between the twin canopies shading my eyes 

and find a wide, flat ocean of fatigue 

waiting for me there.  I step into it, 

walking deeper and deeper, 

almost submerged.  

I pull my head 

underneath the liquid.  

Into sleep.

[Title quote is from "Lost"]

"It's like my heart is a tooth, and it's got a cavity that can only be filled with children."

I was reading in Dinner: A Love Story the other day and Jenny used the phrase "existential angst".

And I went "existential angst, huh?"

Existential angst.

And then I went "YES!  Finally a diagnosis!"

I think it started around the time I was scouring employment ads looking for ideas for a future career.  That's just one symptom of this particular sickness.  It also manifests itself as the soul-crushing dread of not fulfilling one's "true potential".

While searching for future career options, I've considered the following: health coach, nutritionist, dietician, systems engineer, contracts administrator, public procurement specialist, web content developer, environmental engineer, graphic designer, visual communication design.  Once I even thought "med surg tech" sounded really great until I really thought about it for two minutes and changed my mind.

But, here's the thing: Right now, my "job" is to be Mom: Boss and Nurturer of my Children (and work part-time out of the home on the side).  And while having babies and raising young children, this will be my only job in the foreseeable future. 

I read an article about how some parents are treating parenting much like a career.  It wasn't a good thing.  Then there's this woman, who asked "what is my job as a parent?".  A question along the lines of my own brainwaves this week when I felt like I was missing the mark (again!) and thinking that I should think back to my 20 year old post-childcare-worker self and remember the lofty ideals I held out for my future-SAHM self.  I seem to remember things like "lesson plans" and "art projects" being near the top of that list.  

And then I started thinking long and hard about what kind of mom I want to be.  About what I am doing right.  About what I want to do better.  About what I want to start doing.  

[All the while, a whole other mental list was forming.  The list of Things I Would Do If I Had Pre-Mom Freetime Again: take art/painting classes, go to yoga classes, read more. . . Then I read this quote from ReeseDixon, and it made me take a really deep breath and then I felt better: "Every woman I know – those that stay home with their kids and those that don’t, those that have a job that pays them money, and those that don’t – struggles with balance. Work/Life balance, Family/Self balance, the balance between what goes in and what goes out."  See? Don't you feel better too?]

So.  Anyway.

What I Am Doing Right:
~Family Dinner.  6 nights a week.
~Record Keeping.  Photo albums, picture books, memory boxes, baby calendars, mom calendars, kid journals.
~Story reading.  Every night before bed.
~Hugs & kisses.  All day.

What I Want to Do Better:
~Be OK with staying in.  Weekly.
~More face time.  More get on the floor and play time.  Less screen time.  Daily.
~Prayers.  On my own, with the kids, with M.  Daily.
~Art projects.  Weekly.

[Title quote is from "Despicable Me"]

"Scream all you want, small mailman. None of your mailman friends can hear you."

I could not have planned the scene any better, even if I were playing actor/director/producer of the Hollywood film version of that moment in my life.

The morning had been Crazy supersized – what with several mid-night wakings topped with a dollop of early-morning rising of both kids. The one that can speak was decidedly cantankerous from the get-go: “MOM! Mom! Where is MOM!?” JUST as – and I am not kidding you – the baby was getting back to sleep after being up for 2 hours.

Even though the whole lovely crazy mess (think: Nachos) was sprinkled with moments of calm, I once again stood at my sink about three quarters of the way through my pre-work routine and said silently to the heavens “thank god I only have to do this two days a week!” (I do that almost every day I have to work.)

(I love my work. Really. I just don’t love the ‘getting there’ part.)

I loaded up everyone (and everything) in the car and we set off for the day, la-de-dah-ing down our street.

Suddenly: panic! C had forgotten his beloved Mongo (monkey-slash-blanket) at home! “Turn back home, Mom!”

C had forgotten to bring his Mongo with him, but brought his mean mother instead: “No! Mommy has to go to work.
Commence full-scale, earthquake-inducing (back-of-seat-kicking) meltdown! I started pulling EVERYthing I had out of my Magic Bag of Tricks – Felix the Cat style. . . only faster! Soothing mommy voice: fail! Fast-food reiteration, Harvey Karp-esque: fail! Distraction: fail! Stern mommy voice: fail! Threats: fail!

Oh, but he was heartbroken! (And underslept!) AND MAD!: “Turn back home and get my freakin’ Mongo!!! Go get him! I want him!!! I can’t see him!”

I pulled over and pulled the “you-can’t-ride-in-my-car-anymore-if-you-don’t-stop-kicking-the-seat-here-take-a drink-of-water”. . . Fail! “I want to walk to get Mongo!”

So, magic bag now empty, naturally, I turned on the radio to drown out the screaming.

And heard Green Day, summing up “Holiday,” completely in tune with the anarchist spirit spewing from my back seat:

“Just cause, just cause, because we're outlaws yeah
I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies
This is the dawning of the rest of our lives
I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies
This is the dawning of the rest of our lives
This is our lives on holiday”

And then, Tears for Fears, with:

“Welcome to your life
There's no turning back
Even while we sleep
We will find you
Acting on your best behaviour
Turn your back on mother nature
Everybody wants to rule the world….”

He was dragged, screaming, into Nana & Tata’s house. . . where he was distracted with a box of 20-year old retro cars that had been stumbled across in storage. Any word from me brought another barrage of sobs and whining. And tears. Oh, the TEARS!

Driving to work, I took some really deep breaths. I’m not going to lie.

And, for maybe the first time EVER, completely related with the Cranberries’ wailing of “Zombie”:

“In your head, in your head,
Zombie, zombie, zombie,
Hey, hey, hey. What's in your head,
In your head,
Zombie, zombie, zombie?”

Why, yes, yes I am.

[Title quote is from "Up"]

"Dang! You got shocks, pegs. . . Lucky!"

A Mother's Prayer:

Heavenly Father,
     Thank you for my soft bed
     Thank you for my warm house
     Thank you for clean sheets
     Thank you for a washer to wash them in
     Thank you for hot showers
     Thank you for feeling better today
     Thank you for helping me remember magnesium
     Thank you for tylenol
     Thank you for water
     Thank you for my beautiful home
     Thank you for squishy babies
     Thank you for breast pumps (did I really just say that!?)
     Thank you for husbands who go grocery shopping
     Thank you for three-year olds
     Thank you for seven month olds
     Thank you for LOVE
     Thank you thank you thank you for families
     Thank you for my life
     Thank you for 11:00 bedtimes
      and please bless that my baby will sleep through the night.
      
AMEN.

[Title quote is from "Napoleon Dynamite"]

"If you think about it, your favorite memories, the most important moments in your life... were you alone? Life's better with company."

So.  Life is moving by at breakneck speed.  (Dude.  Thanksgiving is in a week!)  This life pace is giving me anxiety.  And a special brand of guilt complex.  The mom kind, wherein I am anxious over not kissing on my baby enough and staring at and memorizing his chubby face and getting my face close enough to his so that he can put his little hand out and touch my cheek (oh!  that is my favorite!).  Also wherein the "momma/mommy" phase has passed into a grown-up-three-year-old "mom" and my heart aches over what's around the corner (what!? no more sitting on my lap?  no more pretending not to want my kisses, but secretly loving them?  no more pre-sleep snuggles? OH MY HEART!  it breaks! it breaks!)

That's a special sort of sickness right there.  The culprits?  Too much Facebook?  Possibly.  Too much screen time and too little face time? Sure.

In short, I have anxiety over not enjoying this period in their (and thus my) life as much as I possibly can.  I need to squeeze the juices out of this time of our lives and then sit/play/wallow around in those juices until I'm downright wrinkly and worn out! 
SO?

So, I devised what I've come to call "The Gratitude Project".  It goes a little something like this. . .

The Gratitude Project:  to more fully live each day in thanks giving. . .
November 15 - November 22, 2012 (and beyond?)

~ no internet when kids or husband are in the room (give them my undivided attention)
~ ponder and write about one blessing every day (explore blessings in order to more fully understand and appreciate them)
~ prayers of gratitude (not asking for a single thing)

See you on the other side!

[Title quote is from "Up in the Air"]

"Mini-Me, no, we don't gnaw on our kitty."

I realized I never closed the loop on this post about travel food.  And I'm nothing if I'm not a loop closer.  (Not.)

So.  Here's the dealio.  We stayed in University Heights.  We thought we'd been all over San Diego in the 13 years we've been traveling there.  But we were wrong.  It's a good thing to be wrong about, as it turns out, because that means there's that many more areas to explore. . . I digress. 

One of our first nights there, on this recommendation, we tried out Burger Lounge in Coronado.  We parked and walked down to the restaurant and it was a bit of a stress when we arrived and realized the restaurant was so narrow it must have been built for ants (thank you, Derek Zoolander!).  But, patience paid off and while M was ordering, a spot opened up outside and we parked the stroller and had a good burger.  I also tried some of the chicken tenders, which were served on kabob sticks - so fun for kids older than mine (and ones who actually eat chicken).  All in all, it wasn't really a standout in my mind - it was pretty good, but just good - and at least I know where to get a decent burger in San Diego.  The ugly truth is that I was more taken with the dynamics of the family dinner conversation at the table next to ours.  Now that is something I will never forget about our dinner at Burger Lounge!

We took the recommendation of our hosts/rental property managers and ordered some takeout from Bahn Thai, walked to pick it up and then walked to a nearby park.  Let's just say I'm still thinking about their basil fried rice and chicken.  Definitely a must-have on our next visit!  Plus (!) our kid eats rice, so it's a win-win.

We drove to downtown and picked up kebabs from The Kebab Shop and ended up eating picnic-style at Seaport Village since Embarcadero Park was closed for an event.  I freakin' LOVED this food!  I had a chicken kebab and loved every bite of it!  And we will definitely go for some again next time we are there. 

Here is the part where I must note that my sweet husband, who against all odds has turned into a loving, protective dad-type (read: old man), has formed a new criteria for restaurants: they have to be "family-friendly" meaning they have to actually LIKE families, FIT our family (whether it's with an infant seat or a stroller), and not have music blaring so loudly that it SCARES our family.  {The Kebab Shop's music was too loud for my husband's taste.}

We attempted to eat at Parkhouse Eatery for breakfast.  By "attempted" I mean we did a drive-by and M decided it wasn't "family friendly" so we headed to 222 Cafe, which we had tried on two previous trips.  Driving by, seeing the line, and recalling having eaten there with our oldest when he was 10 months old, he deemed 222 not family friendly either.  He wanted to go, instead, to some IHOP Express we had seen on the way to 222.  AS IF!!  So, we drove back north to Parkhouse, parked, got out of the car and walked inside.  We asked for an outside seating (music too loud inside), pointed out a table, and it was promptly given to the people behind us. 

So, positively seething (and now starving), we went back to the car and I proceeded to have a MAJOR tantrum over NOT going back to our rental a block away and STAYING OUT and finding SOMEWHERE ELSE TO EAT NOW!  (Poor husband.)

We drove until we found Bread & Cie in Hillcrest, which was barely to my husband's "family friendly" standards (even though there were two similarly young families sitting right next to us.  I had a french toast panini and a few bites of my kid's oatmeal.  It was pretty good, but not fantastic.  Then again, the bitter aftertaste of vitriol in my mouth may have soured things just a bit.

On our last day there, we were planning to try Con Pane.  Sadly, we did not get the chance.  We did, however, get to try Girard Gourmet in La Jolla and dropped a pretty penny on what ended up being another picnic lunch, this time eaten at Spanish Landing Park across from the airport.  They slice the bread for sandwiches from fresh loaves, but waaaayyy too thickly.  Their baked goods were fantastic, but the sandwiches and the rest of the food was just way too overpriced and I just won't ever make that mistake again.

This experience definitely enlightened my understanding of myself, of my husband, and of the intricacies of San Diego dining.  In a word: each of us is kooky in our own delightful ways!

[Title quote is from "Austin Powers"]

"I couldn't hear you. There was a crack in the planet. WOW... that was noisy!"

OK.  So here's the bloody, graphic truth of it all:

Having a second kid has totally been kickin' our trash.

But it's good!  It's all good!
. . . Now.

Sort of.  Mostly.

When we were hoping and praying and waiting for our first, we were more than happy to sign ourselves up for a lifestyle upheaval.  We were all bring it on, kid!

And with our second, we fell right into the trap of all who have a little seasoned experience: we were too casual.  We were all pssshhhhh, another baby?  Eh.  We got this!

{insert facepalm here}

Ever since baby A graced us with his lovely, happy, healthy, cottage-cheese-thighs-and-butt presence, we've been all loop de loop de loop de loop de loop. . . . and then we were just plain loopy loopy loopy loopy.

We kept waiting for it to get normal.  And waiting.  And looking around, mouths agape, going whaaaaaa???? and then more with the waiting.

Now, I know some people who are all like "going from 1 to 2 was easy!  it's going from 5 to 6 that was the kicker!"

We are not those people.

No.  WE are the people who are all "we totally love our comfort and order and normal and we eschew chaos and crazy and abnormal wherever possible".

And babies?  Babies are the kind of people who are all "hi!  I brought chaos and crazy and abnormal home with me. . . good thing I'm cute, right?"

Seriously, people.

Seriously.

There are nights when M and I look at each other and say "do we really think we can do this again?" and we shake our heads and sigh.  And then we fall asleep.  It's a circular kind of conversation, really.

But, it's getting better. And better.  And better.  Especially when my boys are kissing on each other and my heart grows five times bigger and everything feels pretty right in the world.

I just hope if there really is an "again" that I won't forget that it won't feel normal for a long long time. 

*Note to self: look up this blog post next time so you won't be so danged surprised when the world falls out of orbit and gets stuck on the dark side of the moon.  Mmmmmmkay?

[Title quote is from "Spanglish"]

"You're messing with my Zen thing, man."

If you know the title quote, you know that every parent must feel like this some time or other.

Sunday was my turn.

Too little face time.  Too much whining and crying.  Too little patience.  Too much fussing (about EVERYthing).  Too much "no".  Too much doing it anyway.  Too much yelling. 

Too much tattling on Mama to Dada ("mama made me upset because she said 'no! no! no!'") (I was sort of impressed with his dramatics.) (My only critique was that I did NOT say "NO!" in quite that harsh a tone. . .)

And then there was the episode of mommy hand slapping a toddler arm when it insisted on slamming the fridge door shut even after I blocked it three times in a desperate attempt to keep the baby sleeping in his swing. . .

Game over.

I went to bed feeling like I failed that day.

And it bled over into the next day.

I made up for it with extra squishes and kisses and face time and eye contact the next night.  And I hoped it was Better enough. 

And now the stupid dog is acting out by chewing up the diapers in the diaper pail outside.

Dude.

I can't win!

[Title quote is from "Tron: Legacy"]

"I was thinking how nothing lasts, and what a shame that is."

Here I am on the eve of my return to work after a 15-week hiatus (a.k.a. maternity leave, a.k.a. having a baby, a.k.a. "journey into madness and back").

BUNCH-o-thoughts running through my mind, and this is where Facebook fails me and I return to my trusty rusty blog to get them all down so I can maybe sleep a little tonight and not be so much the zombie worker tomorrow.

{WOW!  That was a crazy run-on sentence right there.}

[blog post interrupted by husband who had lots of his own thoughts and needed to talk about them to me.]

Do you see people?!?!?  Do you see why I never blog anymore?

And why I am destined to be a zombie?

[Title post is from "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button"]