Come Back Home with 30 Days of Truth

Well why not? I haven't posted in over a year so November 1st seems like a good day as any to start a comeback. And with the meme theme of 30 Days of Truth, it may be time to be honest with you and myself about a few things. Even more fitting - today's theme is: What I Hate About Myself. Easy. So let's dispense with what I have been up to since last October and blah, blah, blah (and no, I did not go and have a baby) and get on with the matter at hand.

Day One of Thirty Days of Truth - Something I Hate About Myself

This blog is a prime example: I am all ideas with a huge lack of follow through. There you have it. I have plans, goals and a list of things that must be done. But I just don't get them done. Why is that? I can blame the kids, the laundry, the driving, the cooking and all the other chores but the fact of the matter is, I am missing the gene that carries motivation. Clearly. Oh it's not like my kids are running around naked in filth (all the time, that is). I do get my most basic chores accomplished but usually because there is a deadline or some undesirable consequence. Must get kids to school, must get underwear washed, must buy groceries, must pay bills... You get the idea. But those other things that I want to do? They often just don't happen. I can make the time. I often just don't. Or I allow myself to get distracted by other things I think I need or want to do more.

To put it simply, I am lazy. And I am so frustrated with myself for that. (Ouch, it hurts me to read that in black and white.)

So what do you hate about yourself? Play along with us. Marty has a great explanation here and now that I remember how to even access my blog, I'll be attempting to pour out the honesty daily. If I can get over my lazy self, of course.

Confessions of a Baby Hogger

I used to tease my sister about this but now I get it. I see them everywhere I go and I just can’t help myself. They stop me in my tracks with their big eyes and gummy grins. I want to say “hello” and make them smile. I resist the urge to sniff their heads. I eagerly wait for an opportunity to hold them and it pains me to return them to their rightful parents. Those yummy, yummy babies.

Last week, I was able to visit with a friend and her newborn. I soaked in the feeling of his little head right in the crook of my neck and the weight of his infant self in my arms. As I was holding him so that he could look around, he turned his huge bright eyes onto me and smiled – a sweet gooey beam as if I were the best idea he’d ever seen. Tears sprang to my eyes and I felt a sharp pain in my right side as I spontaneously ovulated. I was overcome with the desire to have another baby and experience this all again.

Pregnant bellies elicit a similar response. I seem to be surrounded by the blossoming of early motherhood and it’s bittersweet. I wish to hold my hand where I might feel the baby kick. Instead I ask the mother how she is feeling and if she is sleeping well. I let her go ahead of me in line at the store or in the restroom. I try not to be one of those interested but annoying strangers that patronized me when I was pregnant. I saw a mother the other day at the museum. She was largely pregnant and trying to keep up with a toddler. She was walking in that way that made me know she was close to her due date – I could sense the heaviness of the baby on her bladder and the pressure on her cervix. I suddenly had to pee as if my own bladder were empathizing. So strong and familiar was that memory.

I feel like an old woman watching these younger mothers just starting out. I am a seasoned veteran. I am experienced in the arts of baby soothing, public nursing and acrobatic diaper changing. I can interpret the cries of even a stranger’s baby and tell if that child is hungry or just over-stimulated. I have all these skills that I no longer need.


There is no way to fully prepare for parenthood. So much of it, we learn along the way. We become the mothers our children need – a role that is multi-faceted and constantly changing. I can’t claim to know everything and the skills I need right now have yet to be learned. But what do I do with those skills for which I no longer have use? How do I upgrade “Advanced Baby Wearing” to "Remedial Tween Parenting"?

I didn’t expect the closing of the baby chapter to be so difficult. During my third and decidedly final c-section, I consented to a tubal ligation. I wanted family planning to be over and not to be tempted by a fourth pregnancy (which would be riskier for me given my history). Everything about Logan’s birth was relaxed and absolute. I savored each moment with him, instead of worrying if what I was doing were right. He was my third and my last baby and experience had already taught me how fleeting it would be.

I do know that I never want to be pregnant again, that my three boys are more than I can handle and that someday, there will be sleep again. I have many reasons not to expand my family. But those wistful pangs of baby newness are difficult to ignore. The days of containable children are over for me. The ease of being able to calm an upset infant with warm milk and a song is only memory. The joy of those first grins and coos pulled out as a “Hail Mary pass” by a young one after five weeks of not allowing me to sleep more than fifty minutes in a row is replaced by Big Kid delights. There is preschool, the transfer from diapers to “funderwear” and meaningful conversation. There is no baby in my future and babyhood is past.


“I’m addicted to babies,” a friend says to me. She wants to get pregnant with a fifth child. “You’re crazy!” I tell her. But secretly, I understand. “So borrow someone else’s baby for a day,” I tease. “No, their heads don’t smell the same. I only like the way mine smell.” I think to myself, I know. I know.

I'm That Mom

You know that mom you see in Target wrestling with a toddler to keep him in the cart and hissing at her other kids through clenched teeth, "This is why I never take you anywhere?" Before you judge her, please come read my comeback post over at Triangle Mamas.

Is Susie Home?

It seems the longer I go without posting, the harder it becomes to create one.

When I was younger and kept a diary, I’d often start entries with, “Dear Diary, I am sorry it has been so long since I have last written.” I would then go on to explain what I have been up to so that Dear Diary might understand why I had been so neglectful.

I used the same tactic with my pen pal. Usually, months would pass between receiving and returning a letter. I would start each letter with “Dear Pen Pal, I’m sorry it has been so long since I have last written.” I would then go on to explain everything I had been too busy with so that Dear Pen Pal might understand why I had been so neglectful.

I suppose I could do that here. “Dear Blog Reader, I’m sorry…” But to write about all the minutiae of my life for the last month seems like old news, even to me. Blogging has been the one thing that I have not taken the time to do during this time. Suffice to say, I have been living my life and drafting posts only in my head. It’s easier to post there anyway. Writing is a simple task where words flow freely. Seems to happen best while I am in the shower or behind the wheel. Once I have pen or laptop in hand, however, my world becomes riddled with doubt and interruptions.

Actually, that last statement is true about anything I have tried to accomplish lately. The other day, it took me over thirty minutes to start a load of laundry thanks to the presence of young children. I once told my husband that it would be easier to be a stay-at-home-mom if I didn’t have children. I suppose the same could be said for mommy blogging.

In some research on back-yard chicken keeping, I came upon a blogger who referred to herself as the Blurt Blogger (I tried to create a link but now it is password protected) as she tends to blog in a few posts at a time with several weeks in between “blurts.” One of her posts was titled, “Too Busy Living Life to Blog About It.” I thought that title was a pretty adequate summary to my own life.

So if there are any readers out there who haven’t given up on me, let me bring you up to speed:

1. The boys finished school and are in the middle of their incredibly short summer break. By the time I get into a manageable summer routine, they will be back in school – in two weeks to be exact. My best method of coping is to simply Just.Stay.Out.Of.The.House. And while I don’t like to be the type of parent who overbooks her kids, they seem to do much better with less downtime. I often feel guilty about not liking being home with them but there are some factors that make me lose my mind hanging around the house. For one thing, they are just not the type of kids to just go play independently. And if they are, it’s probably not GOOD. Secondly, getting anything accomplished is an infuriating chore (see laundry story above). When trying to get a business email out the other day, I found myself begging Jess to just give me five whole minutes without bellowing my name. Third, if I am in my house, I have an uncontrollable urge to try and keep it clean which you know what an unsatisfying task that can be with kids home. And after the third time of cleaning up the kitchen before lunch, I realize that I won’t need to clean it again if no one uses it. So we leave – for my own sanity.
2. I have decided to start my own chicken flock for reasons that I can’t explain. I’ve just always wanted chickens and so my husband gave me some for my birthday. This new endeavor has required much library and Internet research to learn about the differences in breeds, poultry health-care, housing requirements, etc. Not to mention the actual hands-on care of baby chicks is rather intensive.
3. I have spent a lot of time in the yard cleaning and rearranging my garden. Everything was doing quite well until this past week. Never before has our garden been hit by so many different pests in one season. Aphids, Japanese beetles, squash bugs, squash vine borers, some fuzzy white insect that I don’t know its name, fungi and deer (by God the deer) have decimated everything. Everything I tell you!
4. Each of my children seems to be coping with some sort of regression. Dean is afraid to go outside because of the flying insects. He believes that he is their number one target (he even has nightmares about them) and I hope this phase passes soon. Jess is stalking me, not letting me out of his sight for half a minute. If I leave the room or walk outside to check on the chicks, within seconds he is calling “MOOOOOOOOM?!” If I had a nickel for every time he has yelled for me… And Logan seems to wake up more at night now than he did as a newborn. We all wake up tired.
5. I am trying to jump-start my business but as a standby, I have been applying for jobs. Since my resume was part of the data that was lost (along with years of pictures) from my computer, I had to rewrite it. This is apparently not the best economy to be looking for a job in health/human services, no matter how awesome I think I am.
6. Can you still call it Spring Cleaning if you have been cleaning for months and now it’s summer? I have been clearing out, reorganizing, moving and shuffling stuff in a way that makes more sense for our needs. This also includes making trips to the thrift store to donate our cast-offs and then shopping for more stuff to organize the stuff that we are keeping.
7. Finally, I am trying to make more time for myself. Reading, taking pictures, gardening, baking and planning sewing projects. I usually only have a moment or two at a time, but I think the desire is a start.

So now you understand why I have been so neglectful. Happy Summer everyone. May your days be filled with bubbles and your evenings with fireflies.

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The Silver LIning

A friend who is raising a daughter was recently telling me that the one thing she is missing about not having a son is the protectiveness that boys have for their mothers. Since I have no daughters, I can’t say if girls share this tendency or not. But I can attest to my own nine-and-a-half year old. I can always count on Dean to come to my aid and take my side – I don’t even have to ask.

Last week was a prime example. Dean was a witness to our marital storm and knew that I was upset with Luke. When I decided to put aside the argument and left the room, Dean followed me to make sure I was all right. I felt the need to reassure him that parents often disagree - that people who love each other will get angry, discuss their feelings and then make up. The important thing is to be respectful and never lose sight of how much you love one another. He patted me on the shoulder, assuring me that I was right and Dad was wrong. I may have giggled when I forced myself to say, “Well, that isn’t always true.”

A few moments later, I found this note waiting for me. Dean watched me expectantly as I read it. “It’s from Daddy,” he tried to tell me.




When I looked back at him, tears of gratitude in my eyes, he admitted, “OK, it’s really from me. And if I had more time, I would have made Dad one too and said it was from you.”

It’s a true gift to find comfort and nurturing from my own child. Dean certainly brought me beauty after the ugliness, the silver lining to the day’s dark clouds. May love always give you shelter from the storm.

We Weather It Together

Marriage is much like the weather. Most of the time, temperatures are comfortable with sunny skies and warm breezes. Occasionally there are storms, like the short refreshing ones that come and go quickly on a summer’s evening. While sometimes unpleasant, they harmlessly water the plants and clear the air from the heat of the day. Other times, the storms build up ominously over time and when you see the dark clouds and hear the warning rumbling, you know you need to secure the windows and test the flashlights. Even the best of relationships have to weather such ugliness – mine is no exception.

With the way that I censor myself here, it would be easy for you to think of my husband as a perfect, coffee-bearing gentleman who supports me unfailingly. And that is almost always true – except for when it’s not. He is my biggest fan but also my harshest critic. His words can make or break my self-esteem most easily. And let’s be honest here, sometimes men do not do criticism in the most constructive fashion. Last weekend, conditions were most favorable for sever weather.

The signs had been there all week, with a flippant comment here and some passive aggression there… storms clouds were looming all around our house. Despite the distant grumble of thunder and other warnings, I was still taken aback by the harsh wind and icy hail. Luke’s advancing cold front met with my area of low pressure and an atypical storm ensued. Luke let loose all his frustrations in a tornado of accusations aimed directly at me. At first, I tried to find reason in what he was saying, and then I realized there was no space in his rant for rationality. I put up my hand and walked away from the argument, post-poning the resolution and violating one of our fundamental “Fighting Rules.”*

That evening, when the storm clouds had cleared and we had given each other some space, everything still felt a little off. Feeling exactly like the air right after a storm, electrified from all the lightning and the light still a little green from the cloud cover, things were calmer but not finished. Nothing felt resolved and I felt betrayed. His criticisms tore at all my own insecurities of not being good enough, of not doing enough, not being enough. That night, I went to bed still angry (another “Fighting Rules” violation), still trying to make sense of the source of the fight. It’s taken just about the whole week to survey the damage.

Monday, I woke up resolved to be more of the wife and mother that Luke expects and deserves. More importantly, I resolved to be more of the wife and mother that I want to be. That night, he restated his complaints and conceded that his delivery of the information was wrong. I agreed that he had been an ass. On Tuesday, he apologized. He feels the way he feels but he was sorry for being a jerk about it. I let him know that I heard what he was saying. I didn’t disagree with his argument but I’d prefer he speak to me in a more respectful manner to voice it next time. And each day since has brought us a bit more to a place of understanding again.

I won’t go into any more detail of what we actually argued about as the content is so deeply tied into other posts that I want to share. But I will say that I am not perfect, nor do I pretend to be. If anything, I am most uneasy with my skills as a parent and my ego is a fragile thing. But Luke likes to think me perfect and finds it shocking when I am not. When he leaves for work in the morning, he wants to be secure in the idea that I have it ALL under control – the kids, the house, the finances… But this parenting/household CEO/maid/woman-trying-to-reenter-the-work-force gig is a juggling act that I am not handling with all the grace and style that I would like. I easily get over-whelmed. I often muddle through rather than leap forward. I often let our chaos run amuck rather than reining any true control over it. But I’m working on it.

And as for Luke, since he really is perfect 98 percent of the time, I can forgive the stormy 2 percent once in awhile. Besides, he did bring me coffee this morning and that is all the perfection I need.



*Susie and Luke’s Fair Fighting Rules were developed from our first argument as a married couple almost 15 years ago. I can’t remember what we even fought about but we did learn from our mistakes and outlined the following rules for future conflicts:
Never walk out on an argument, Never go to bed angry (you can’t sleep well), Never plead your case to your mother (she will only take his side anyway), and Never end an argument with the words “Fuck You.”