Motherhood

How us moms get things done

littleyellownotepad

Multi-tasking-Mom

The laundry. I need to switch the stuff from the washing machine and put it in the dryer. It should only take a minute.

I walk towards the laundry room. I pass the bathroom. I see the hand towel on the floor. Ugh, I need to get a new towel in there.

I detour to the towel cabinet and grab a clean towel. I pass through the playroom. What’s that on the floor? With the baby crawling around, I’m constantly doing a quick scan wherever I go. I grab the unidentified object and stop in my son’s room and put it on his desk; I believe it’s his. I see his hamper overflowing.

Oh right, I was on the way to switch the laundry; perfect, I’ll take this with me.

I grab the basket and notice the towel on my shoulder. The bathroom-let me get this towel there. I stop at the bathroom and leave the laundry basket at the door. Put up the new towel. I see there’s not much toilet paper left. Let me run to the garage and restock the toilet paper.

I hop into the garage and notice two bags of groceries left out there, grab them and bring them to the kitchen and put the perishables in the refrigerator. What’s that bowl of I-don’t-know-what color stuff in there? It’s certainly overstayed its invite, time to dump.

I hear a voice from somewhere in the kitchen, “Get me down! I’m stuck!”

How did he get up there?

In this house full of boys, I usually enforce the rule of if you climbed up there, you figure out how to get down from there. But this once I break my rule and help him down, I think even he can’t figure out how he got up there!

Right, the toilet paper. I stack toilet paper in the toilet paper stacker thing and head in the direction of  the laundry room, not remembering what I want to do there but knowing that that’s where I was heading.

I pass the hallway closet, and stop. I stand very still.  Sure enough, I hear muffled voices. Before opening the door, I already know what’s going on in there.

“Guys, give me my phone.”

I know I’m breaking up quite the party with my 4 and 3 yr old sitting huddled deep in the closet, posting on Facebook and Whatsapp things that don’t belong there. I reclaim my phone, one of the few things in the house I call MINE.

It needs to be charged so I dash to the kitchen and plug it in, where it had been before it was swiped. I leave it in a corner of the counter, strategically hiding it behind the roll of paper towels.

And I notice the baby monitor; it’s making strange noises. I can’t help but smile and scowl at the same time; my kids are obsessed with putting it on the “popcorn channel” as they call it. Y’know that  horrible sound you get when the two channels aren’t lined up? Well, they insist it’s the baby making popcorn in his crib. I switch it to channel B and sure enough, baby is up from his nap. I sneak into my room to go get him without my entourage.

I change him, give him lunch, clean him up, settle him to play. Uh oh dinner, the rest of the kids will be home soon. Where did the day go? I better keep my golden supper schedule…not that it guarantees they’ll eat it, but at least I have what to defend myself with. “You guys helped me make this meal plan, remember!?” 

Kids are all home. It’s the time of day I feel like I’m on the conveyor belt at the grocery store, it just keeps moving and I can’t keep up! Plates, forks, napkins, spills. Clean up and mores spills. Someone pushed someone’s something somewhere, I’m not quite sure of the details but it wasn’t me!

Crash..ice cubes dance across the kitchen floor, what is with those ice machine on the front of the freezer door!! I wonder if somewhere there’s a little sticker that says ages 12+, maybe I missed it.

And then it happened. It was time to get in pajamas. First one little voice, then two, then three. “Mommy, I don’t have any pajamas in my drawer!”

And it hits me. The washing machine. The dryer.

And I stride purposefully to the laundry room to switch the wet load to the dryer. I pass my son’s laundry basket waiting so patiently outside the bathroom and take it with me.

You know us moms; we’re wonderwoman. We just know how to get things done. And we still think that it’ll only take a minute.

Life in General

“…more than you’ll ever know.”

littleyellownotepad
RM - COL Image: http://www.collive.com


Today is a very difficult day. My mind is numb, my heart is numb, my entire being feels numb.

A dear fellow Shlucha, Rashi Minkowitz, a young mother of a beautiful family, a young wife, a woman dedicated to reaching out to all those who came her way and share the joy of Judaism, passed away suddenly. She shared the same life goal as myself and many others like me.

From Facebook and any other forum informing of this tragic news, the comments are thousands. This is one woman. One mother. One Shlucha. One wife. One daughter and sister. Who impacted more people than she possibly ever imagined.

There aren’t adequate words to describe the emotions; the pain of her young children, the pain of her husband. No words suffice to describe the terrible loss and tragedy.

While my mind is numb, it is also racing. Racing with thoughts of what can I do to honor her.

Last week I got an email from a woman I know locally, someone I’ve had minimal interaction with. She wrote to apologize for her not being in touch or responding to my emails, explaining it is not personal and she is dealing with many challenges. And she is. I believe her. But it was the last line of her email that stayed with me:

“I respect you more than you’ll ever know.”

I thought about that line over the past week quite a few times; and today, in the hours after hearing about the sudden passing of such a wonderful, young, energetic mother, wife and role model, this last sentence rings in my ears.

“I respect you more than you’ll ever know.” 

I’ve said something like that on many occasions; we all use that line. And I can’t help but wonder; why don’t we let those whom we respect know just how much we respect them?

If we respect them so much, why don’t we tell them?

If we care so much, why don’t we make sure they know?

If they impact our life, why not communicate it to them?

If someone has made a difference to me, why don’t I share that with the person who made the difference?

We are constantly touched by people around us, people who encourage us, whether directly or indirectly. Do we tell them? Do they know?

We all want to make a difference. And we all want to be acknowledged and appreciated.

Do the people who have influenced my life, the way I am, what I believe in, my self esteem; do they know? Or do I silently appreciate them, “more than they’ll ever know.”

I don’t want to thank in silence anymore. It will take effort. At times it will take humility too. And sometimes it will even take stepping out of my comfort zone. Making phone calls that will take energy. But I want to let them know. After all, I would want to know too.

And while this doesn’t change the tragedy and pain, it gives me an outlet for my emotions.

And I hope Rashi knew how great of an impact she had on the world around her.

May her memory be for blessing.

Motherhood

Which two do you choose?

littleyellownotepad

IMG-20140303-WA0013

I wasn’t that great of a mother on Friday.

I discouraged all creativity. Anything that required using actual household stuff was forbidden. No toys were to be played with. I limited snacks to non-crumb foods. I encouraged the kids to do alternative play – like sit on the  couch and count floor tiles. They played I Spy for a bit. But we couldn’t do it all day!

But I was a good house cleaner. The house was cleaned, just the way I like it.

All week I work towards the goal of a calm Friday afternoon; with all the Shabbos prep that has to be done, there are lots of opportunities for it to be a not-so-calm day. So as I go about my week,  I plan, plan, plan so that Friday will work they way I like it.

And the secret that make it work is my house cleaner; she comes and puts the house back together after I’m done with the cooking.  And there’s a lot of cooking. And a lot of unsupervised play.

But it works. The kids are happy, I’m happy, my husbands happy and I bet the house cleaner is happy too; it’s a calm day for everyone.

This past Friday was different. The house cleaner wasn’t coming. I had two choices; hire a fill-in, which means following her around the house giving directions; not something I had extra patience for; or do it myself. I chose to do it myself. Turns out I’m a pretty good house cleaner too, if that was all I needed to focus on.

But it also turns out, that you can’t do it all. I can’t say for certain that my kids were all that well cared for.

You can have happy kids. You can have a clean house. And you can be sane. But from my experience, I can’t get all three if I’m doing all the work.

The way I see it, there are four ” seasons” of a mom’s perspective on cleaning help.

There’s the help-I-need-more-cleaning-help season, where it seems like everyone I know has more help than I do and it’s just not fair!

Then there is the guilt-starting season of maybe-I’m-just-lazy-and-I-really-can-do-all-of-this-myself season, because so-and-so does it all by herself...but that’s usually followed quickly by the well-she(this time yet another mom)-has way-more-help-then-me smug feeling of I do do so much myself…

But that one usually follows quickly by the help-I-need-more-cleaning-help thoughts…

You get the idea!

I can go through all four “seasons” in one hour.

But after walking the walk of the cleaning lady last Friday afternoon, I think I have enough proof to counteract those moments of second guessing my dependence on my cleaning help; yes, I have cleaning help. Yes, I need cleaning help. Yes, I rely on my cleaning help.

But on the flip side, I’m also sane. My kids are happy. So is my husband. And so is my house cleaner.

Behavior & Discipline, Motherhood

Kitchen grout and kids

littleyellownotepad

house

“What happened to the grout?”

Huh??

What grout?

“The grout on the kitchen floor, between the tiles;  why is it that color?”

I stood there staring at my landlord, baffled.

There are pros to renting a house and not being a homeowner; namely, when something breaks, it actually gets fixed! A downside, though, is when the owner wants to do an annual inspection and see how the house is doing.

I know he’s not coming to judge my housekeeping abilities per se, but it’s hard to shake the feeling that my capabilities are being scrutinized. As many times as I tell myself he wants to make sure we didn’t knock down any walls or paint the kitchen  without permission, I still can’t help but feel it’s the dreaded housekeeping police, the type every mom has nightmares about, that walk in unannounced when the house is an absolute war zone.

But I was ready and  I was pretty pleased last week when the landlord arrived; the floors were clean and the toys were put away. Even the sinks were empty of dishes!

And the kids – they were all dressed. In matching clothes. No, not matching to each other, that stopped when baby #3 was born. But they were wearing pants and shirts that matched each other, respectively! And some even had socks on. They had all brushed their teeth the night before, their faces were clean. I was proud.

All the more reason why I was standing there speechless when he started asking about the grout.

At first, he gave a quick scan of the living room. All was in its proper place, we hadn’t taken down any walls, or build any new ones either. But it was during his quick look at the kitchen that he stopped to frown.

My first thought was -there are no dishes in the sink! Not a trace of last night’s dinner! Why are you frowning??

And then came the grout question.

You’ve got to be kidding! This house is still in one piece, the place is clean, the beds are made, kids are dressed, and you are worried about the grout?!

But of course, I didn’t say that.

I smiled sweetly and shrugged, “The floor is washed a couple times a week. I guess it’s the sign of life.”

He nodded slightly, not totally convinced.

And I silently counted my blessings. The many blessings that consume my life so that things like tile grout isn’t something that made it to my stress list. To me, that was the sign of a full life.

And later that evening, during bedtime, when I was doing a quick scan of each bedroom before checking off the kids’ charts; to see if clothes were in the hamper and things were put away, I caught sight of some little toy/thingie hiding in the corner of one of the rooms.  I caught myself as I was about to point it out to the kids.

I thought of the grout. Of how I felt when all my hard work on maintaining this house, (ok, with the help of my housecleaner!) was unnoticed, and all that was mentioned was the measly kitchen grout that refused to stay its original color.

The kids had cleaned their room. Their clothing was in the hamper. Their things were properly stowed. And one measly toy, cast aside, was forgotten and unnoticed…well I wouldn’t notice it either. I wanted to motivate them; and mentioning the one didn’t-do instead of the many did-dos would not help them want to do it all again tomorrow.

And later that night, when all was quiet, I did a quick google search just to clear my conscience. And guess what. There is no long term solution for keeping grout clean! Unless you get on your hands and knees and scrub it each night. I’d rather keep it the color it is. As a constant reminder that my life is full of more important things.

Life in General, Motherhood

When your best plan falls short

littleyellownotepad

shopping cart with kids

The downside of always planning out my day is that when things don’t go according to schedule, I don’t have much wiggle room to replan.

Last week I had it worked out to the minute; each week I have one slot of 2 hours during the day that it’s just baby and me and I can do whatever errands I need in a more efficient manner (than with the whole gang!).

So after a shopping trip to Smart & Final, figuring out precisely which containers/lids/trays/covers i needed for various upcoming events and making sure I got the right size for each container (not an easy feat!!) and stopping my not-such-a-baby baby from climbing out of the shopping cart a couple times, I was ready to pay and leave, and I was perfectly on schedule.

Until I reached into my handbag and discovered my wallet was not in there.

MY WALLET WAS NOT IN THERE!

I panicked, I froze, I worried, I rambled, I wracked my brains; did someone take it or did I leave it somewhere?

Of course my mind was blank, with my earliest memory being unloading the contents of my cart on to  the belt.

I did the first thing all frazzled moms/wives do in a fix; I called my husband. Just as I expected, he did not know the whereabouts of my wallet. Why would he?

The kind guy at the register smiled sympathetically (don’t want to know what he was thinking of this poor mom) and promised me he’d hold the cart till I get back with my wallet. The items were packed, rung up and all.

Only hitch; home was 27 MINUTES AWAY!

And home I did go; hopped in the car, got to the house, jumped out, quick scan of the closet I keep my bag in and what do you know, no menacing guy had been following me and grabbed my wallet at an unnoticed moment; it was right there on the floor.

Hop back in the car, quick plan of action. Pickup rest of the kids. Go to Smart & Final. Park at the door. Put on my hazards while I run in, pay, load the car. Should take 2.5 minutes, especially if there’s no line. And hopefully I wouldn’t get a ticket. Well, I wasn’t really parking in the no park zone. My kids would be in the car, I would be right there, seeing them the whole time. Perfect plan.

Picked up everyone, got to the store, parked the car. So far so good. Run into the store; different guy at cashier.

“Sir, where’s my cart?”

“Cart?”

“Yes, my cart full of stuff, it was right here and I told the guy I’d be back by 5 to pay.”

“Oh sorry Ma’am, we just put it all back.”

“You what?”

“We put it all back on the shelves.”

“Please tell me you’re joking, because that is not funny.”

“Sorry, ma’am, we put it all back.”

“You. Put. It. All. Back. ?!?!? Why???”

My head is splitting, I  see the kids in the car shifting around, the guy is looking at me un-helpfully and I realized this was not gonna work.

Back to car, collapse in my seat, and 6 pairs of eyes on me, asking at the same time, “Where’s the stuff, what happened, why didn’t you get everything??”

Deep breath, Deep breath.

I turn to see all the little faces; adorable little faces I didn’t feel like leading into the store.

“They put it all back.”

“OK, so let’s go in and get it all, we’ll help you!”

“Yeah, we’ll help!”

“Me too, I’ll be a helper!”

“We’ll behave!”

“I’m being-hayve-ing,” chimed in my three year old.

Quick mental calculation; take them all in with me and get it all done, or try to find another time that doesn’t exist in the next few days to redo this trip.

Deep breath.

“Ok guys, we can do it, but this is the plan.”

Bribe time. Any trick that works. Everyone gets a partner. Everyone would get a squeezy bottle of Orange Juice. No running. No touching. No screaming. Yes helping. And an extra special treat after for the helpers. And chips. And of course, everyone in the store will be so proud. And a quick lesson on everything happens for a reason and who knows why this happened; probably because someone needs to see these kids behaving so nicely.

“Yes, Yes, Yes!!” was the enthusiastic reply.

Park the car. Load the cart with as many kids as possible.

Pause, deep breath. Quick mental calculation; I needed to have realistic expectations.

They will not be perfect. They can’t be perfect. I know what it’s like in a big store. They will get distracted. They will touch things. They will ask me to buy things that I’m not planning to get. I will not lose it. I will stay calm. I will remind them what we’re shopping for. I can do it. It’ll be ok. It’ll be ok. IT’LL BE OK!

And as we walked in, the whole troop together, I caught site of the security video over the door. The kids all stopped to jump and make silly faces and watch themselves on the big screen.

I stopped too. Not to make silly faces; although it was tempting. But to see what we looked like. I don’t get to be the observer very often. As moms, we always get to be watched – stared at! (whether we like it or not!) but how often do we get to see what we really look like, what all the people are really seeing?

And I stood and watched. And made sure to smile. And smile until the stress signs weren’t visible; no, this did not have to be stressful. I looked at the cooky-cheerful kids in the video. What a happy crew! This was an adventure. I was not going to ruin it for them!

And we zipped through the store, me calling out directions, kids getting what we needed, me directing, them following (most of the time). Me replaying in my mind the scene on the big screen at the entrance,  and them replaying the silly faces and cheerful hellos to all passerby-ers – only they were doing it live, replaying it for whoever missed seeing it on the screen.

They were being kids. And they were being-hayve-ing.