Table for Three

I'm tired of dining with my kids. My gripe, and I should clarify, is that I am tired of dining alone with my kids. Don't get me wrong, the dining experience in general with this age group is not fabulous, but when you are the only adult at the table there's really not much upside. What I find challenging about dining with my kids is that I am not actually dining. I spend most of my time being a waitress. By the time I get everyone served at the table and food cut up, something has usually spilled or a drink needs to be refilled. I find that I am up from the table so often during the meal that I'm better off just standing at the island counter where I am within reach of any refills or cleaning supplies I might need. I tend to just grab my dinner when I'm "on break" from busing their table. Or I just wait until they are in bed and enjoy my dinner with a well deserved glass of wine and Access Hollywood.

But am I wrong in adapting to our situation? Dining alone with the kids is part of the culture where I live. Stay At Home Moms are not uncommon and most husbands I know are commuting into the city or traveling for work. I can't think of one husband I know who has a "9-5" job and is home every night for dinner. This week my husband is traveling for work, but even when he is in town, he gets home later than my kids can wait to eat. So, we've adjusted and I get them fed the best way I can. But with all of the research supporting "family dinners" being thrown in our faces, what are we to do? Am I hurting my kids because I don't have both parents (and sometimes no parent) at the table with them to eat? Some of these articles I've read recently would have me believe so. And that's not fair.

I get it - that mealtimes are a way to give and get undivided attention. And I'm not arguing with the research, the articles, and the public service ads running touting the positive effects of family dinners. Research shows that kids who have family dinners (some are encouraging at least 5 times a week) have better eating habits and views of food, better grades, less substance abuse, and stronger relationships with their parents. But, realistically families and lifestyles have changed and I don't think its fair to try to beckon us all back to the days of the Cleaver family. Is the act of eating dinner really bringing about these results? Or is it the conversations and modeling that are happening during this together time? With the ages my kids are, mealtimes are not the forum that they could be when they are older. An actual attempt at daily family dinners for me would likely be futile since there is very little conversation - there's a whole lot of spilling and cleaning.

So, to all of those "researchers" out there telling us that we need to have family dinners to have successful children, don't underestimate the other options for "family time". Its just food, and as I started to say, its just really not that enjoyable trying to eat with my kids. I would much rather maintain our routine of my husband joining us to read books before bedtime, or our weekend games of Horse in the driveway and walks with the dog to the coffee shop. I'm exempting those of us who have kids young enough to want to hang out with us from this research. I'll stress about trying to fit family dinners into an impossible schedule when I need to force my kids to be in the same room as me.

Finding Wedge Antilles

Today was one of those days that I have to ask myself, "What happened? How did my life become this?" I spent a good 20% of my day today looking for a small 2 inch Lego Star Wars figure named Wedge Antilles. My 3 year old has a strange attachment to this little guy, mostly because he is wearing an orange suit. But whatever the reason, Wedge Antilles' whereabouts must be known by my 3 year old at all times. And if his location becomes unknown, we must stop anything we are doing to find him. If he is missing for too long, there is preschool hysteria. Wedge's popularity waxes and wanes and he sometimes spends weeks sitting safely on a bookshelf, but today he was the "it" toy.

So, we started the morning with Wedge being lost somewhere in his room and my 3 year old in a panic. He can never remember where he last put him. My 3 year old swore he was on his bed quilt, but after tearing his bed apart, my 6 year old found him driving a monster truck parked down the hall. In the next hour, Wedge went MIA 3 more times; and 3 more times I had to drop what I was doing and come help find him. And then we needed to leave the house for school and Wedge could not be located. I had to drag my 3 year old screaming from the house, assuring him that Wedge would be safe in his undisclosed location until we came home again to find him.

These are the fires I now put out. I went from a career of saving lives, to saving Wedge Antilles. And sometimes I wonder: while I'm finding Wedge Antilles, am I losing myself? Isn't my time worth more than spending it looking for rogue Lego pieces? Maybe. But other than the frustration of having to find the same Lego piece over and over again, I'm not unhappy. I gave up my career life for full-time family life and yes, my life is different now and admittedly sometimes ridiculous. But, maybe I didn't lose anything at all. Being a parent has taught me to be "selfless" and I've learned that doing this full-time doesn't mean you have less of a self. On the contrary, I think there is so much more to me now that I've opened my life up to these little people, Wedge included. The key is finding balance amongst the ridiculous fires that blaze. So yes, maybe I was at Chuck E. Cheese at 10am on Saturday and that is ridiculous. But I was also out with my husband at a hip restaurant in the city at 10pm that night and that is balance.

And Here We Go . . .

So, out of nowhere today my 6 year old asks me, "Mom, do you think Santa is real?" We were in the car and he was sitting behind me driving so he couldn't see my face. I paused for a good long moment to think about how I was going to answer this. Here it was; my opportunity to blow the whole Santa thing out of the water if he was ready. But I cautiously approached the question; or maybe I chickened out. I replied with my own question, "Maybe, what do you think?" My wise 6 year old said, "Well, maybe he's not really REAL, I'm thinking he's more of a spirit." Okay, I can work with this. I can go with the "spirit" theory without ruining all of Christmas. But I needed to clear up one major piece of the Santa story, "If Santa is just a spirit, where do the presents come from?" To this my son replied, "The Reindeer bring the presents. Reindeer are real Mom, they're deer." That's an interesting theory and I didn't want to press for anymore specifics. So, just to recap: Santa is not a real person, just a spirit. But Reindeer are real and they do in fact fly to deliver presents. Well, at least my 6 year old has the answers.

Santa Claus, The Easter Bunny, and The Tooth Fairy

I found myself saying to my kids the other day, "I have Santa's cell number and I WILL call him and tell him to skip our house this year if you don't behave". Am I a horrible mother? I use lies as threats to get my kids to behave. I've resorted to making up a story about calling a made up person. But since I've been feeding them this story about a fat guy in a red suit bringing them presents every year, is it really so bad that I just added to the story? They never questioned the validity. Of course I would have Santa's number; why wouldn't I?

But I feel bad. I feel bad about all of it; all the lies. I know they are the same tales that were told to me as a child and I never harbored any resentment against my parents when I learned the truth, but still, I hate lying to my kids. Especially when I have a hard time keeping all the made up stories straight. Like, for instance, how does the Easter Bunny get into our house again? I think the first Easter my oldest son asked I told him the mail slot. But then when he asked me again another year, I forgot what I had said before. We settled on that rabbits are just "tricky" and probably use some sort of magic.

We're going on the assumption that Santa uses some magic too. We have documented proof in all of our bedtime Christmas stories that he comes down the chimney, and so that bypasses any question about our alarm system. But he makes it down both of our chimneys to deliver presents to both Christmas trees we set up; and one of those chimneys was sealed shut when we had a gas log installed. Don't think my kids haven't looked up there wondering how Santa could get past a steel plate. Magic. And when "magic" doesn't stop the questions, I resort to bringing up the real meaning of Christmas. Throwing around phrases like "Christmas spirit" makes that magic seem more believable. And, talking about baby Jesus gets them off the subject of Santa, at least temporarily.

But I have to just stick with plain "magic" for the creepy Tooth Fairy. What else does she have? I don't even know where this crazy woman who collects kids' teeth came from. If you look her up, she's actually a mouse which is even creepier. But regardless, she is the talk of the Kindergarten class and they expect her to show up. I didn't have her back story prepared when my son lost his first tooth. And when he lost his first tooth, he lost it, as in no tooth to put under the pillow. I didn't have the Tooth Fairy's procedural guide to help me in this situation. All I had was her first name. Apparently Tooth Fairies service generations of families because we have inherited my husband's Tooth Fairy "Blanche". So, I found myself not only telling my son a story about a fairy lady named Blanche, but at midnight that night I was writing a letter from her in the best frilly script I could produce that would look like a fairy. It all seemed ridiculous to me. But the next morning, it seemed perfectly logical to him that Blanche would have looked for his tooth on his school bus that night and found it. He never questioned how she got into our house to leave him money and a note under his pillow.

So, I guess as long as my kids keep buying all of these tall tales, I'll keep selling. But at the first sign of doubt on their part, I might cave and come clean. I don't want to spoil the wonders of childhood, but I just don't know how many more excuses I can come up with for these make believe people. Last year when Santa delivered a broken toy, I had some explaining to do. I had to explain why the Elves would not have tested it first. And why were we able to exchange it at Target? I could see my son's thought process in motion and I think I heard him mumble, "Why couldn't Santa just buy it at Target? Why does Santa need Elves?". I was waiting for "Why do we even need Santa?" But that question didn't come. Not yet.

Hidden Moments

I read a quote today by Charles R. Swindoll: "Each day of our lives we make deposits in the memory banks of our children". How sweet; its such a nice reflection on how we as parents impact our children's lives daily. However, as I was thinking about my day today, I realized that the tirade I went on this morning when we were late leaving for the bus stop is not a memory I want my children depositing in their long term savings account. The nagging at the table last night to finish their dinner in under an hour isn't either. But how do you balance out those necessary parenting moments, that get your children to school on time and keep them nourished, while providing those good memory moments too?

Recently I've felt like I spend all of my energy just getting my boys to do the basic requirements of life and it involves a lot of instruction, reminding, nagging, and finally yelling. My best friend, who also has two boys ages 7 and 4, has told me that she is "really just trying to keep them alive right now". She counts her day as a success if they all got where they needed to be dressed and fed and arrived there and home again safely. That is not to say there are no good moments ever; my friend and I both share the same bedtime routine with our children of reading books and snuggling, but is that enough? Are those brief moments each day of calm happiness enough to fill up our children's memory bank?

I attended a talk by Dr. Stephen Treat, CEO of the Council for Relationships, a few weeks back and his "take-home" message was to make time to "peerage" with your children. His emphasis was to not spend every moment of the day parenting your children; there should be some amount of time each day where you are interacting with them, talking with them, or playing with them on their level as a peer. There should be time that you spend with your children where you're not reminding them of the things they haven't done or aren't doing correctly. When I think about the time I spend with my kids, I realize how much time I do spend parenting and when I'm not parenting I'm just background noise cleaning up or prepping for the next activity. Sure, its necessary, but its not much fun for either one of us. But creating a "peerage" situation seems like it takes planning and forethought and I'm not sure how much energy I have left for that. I tried to plan a special evening last night of an early dinner and PJs for the three of us followed by snuggling in front of a Charlie Brown Halloween special. But before we had even finished dinner, there was yelling and whining because my kids weren't following the plan and we were running out of time before bed.

I've had the "peerage" advice in my head for a few weeks and have been trying to pay more attention to the quality of time I spend with my kids. But reading that Swindoll quote about memories really put it into perspective for me. What do I want my children to remember from their childhood? They'll probably remember the Charlie Brown special, but they won't remember watching it with me because I was cleaning up the mess they left at the dinner table. Are they going to remember that I got them to school on time everyday, or is there a better memory of us belting out an 80's rock tune in the car together while we were waiting for the bus? I think its those hidden moments - those unplanned opportunities that make the best memories. I'm guessing the quantity of time doesn't matter as much as the quality of time for peerage. So, those silly conversations we have in car line and our impromptu kitchen dance parties when a good song comes on Pandora should be worth something. I just need to remember to look for those hidden moments each day.

A Mother's Love

I watched a kid pull a long wet booger out of her nose this morning and proceed to stick it in her mouth and eat it. I honestly felt sick. Recounting this right now is making me a little queasy. But, I'm guessing that if my kid was the one who did this, I would probably laugh a little; maybe scold him for poor manners, but I doubt I would feel the wave of nausea I felt this morning. What is it about motherhood that makes us love our own kids no matter what?

I think I may have mentioned before that I'm not a crazy kid person. However, I really like my own gross kids. They're boys: they're dirty, sweaty, and they often don't smell that great, but I love them. Last week in Target I noticed a horrible smell filling the whole aisle we were in. When looking around to try to find the source, my eyes met my 3 year old's. He smiled and said in his little voice, "Excuse me." I had to smile; at least he is polite. But I doubt another parent would have thought he was so cute at that moment. And I know if he wasn't my own kid, I would want to get far away from him.

But that's the thing about a mother's love. I still see my kids through the same loving eyes no matter if they just stepped out of the bathtub smelling like soap or off of the soccer field smelling like sweaty feet. I guess that's unconditional love? It must be a little trick human nature plays on us to make sure that we're always there for our kids; to see them through childhood until they can fend for themselves. It enables us to deal with the diaper changes and the potty training; to not want to run when our kids our yelling from the bathroom that they need their butt wiped. And it ensures we soldier on through the puke and snot to care for our kids when they are sick, doing what ever it takes to comfort them until they are better. Its easy to love them when they are cute, clean, and well behaved. But we can't just love them part of the time; they need us all of the time.

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

My 6 year old came up behind me the other day and threw something at me. I turned around to see a quarter fall to the floor. When I asked him why he just threw change at me, he answered with a little giggle, "Dad says you can bounce a quarter off your butt and I wanted to see if its true". Really? "Well?", I asked him. He answered honestly, "It didn't really bounce like I thought it would."

But that's the hard truth, or not so hard, as it may be. My husband makes that quarter bouncing comment quite frequently as a joke when he thinks I've been logging more miles running than he has. But, despite all the exercise I try to squeeze into my already crazy schedule, I am just a mom. And I've learned to accept, "You look really good - for a mom", as a compliment. In fact I embrace those sentiments now because if the stories I heard when I was pregnant were true, I'd be overweight and much more out of shape now. I had very bitter women tell me (while pregnant nonetheless, as if I didn't already feel fat enough), "You never lose all the weight", "Your hips will always be a little bigger", and "Your feet will grow at least a shoe size". If it wasn't for my best friend, who lived 3,000 miles away, telling me "work at it and you can lose the weight"; if I didn't have her own little post-baby body to hold as a reference, I might have just surrendered to a life of frumpy mom jeans. But I did work at it; I did work-out and I literally ran my ass right off. Three months after both my sons were born, I was back in my skinny jeans and all of my shoes. The truth is, you can go back to being the same size or even smaller than you were before kids and you can do it multiple times; it is possible. But there are other truths and they are bad; some even ugly.

Despite losing all of the baby weight and then some, no amount of exercise is going to undo what my two kids have done to me. I let them each live in my body until their exact due date and although I am grateful that they didn't trash the place; they didn't leave it as they found it when they moved out. Thankfully, I don't have stretch marks, but my skin and muscles will forever feel the lasting impression of being "stretched". No amount of crunches will ever get my stomach back to exactly how I remember it. And I miss my old belly button; I never contemplated how the belly button would be collateral damage with the "stretching" too. I am forever reminded that I was once 50 pounds larger when I lift something heavy and that familiar sciatic pain shoots down my leg. And when I push myself too hard on a long run, those ligaments, that I didn't even know I had until they were stretched beyond repair, flair up and I'm crippled for days. And yes, I did run my ass off; its gone along with any other curves I once had. Nursing two kids for 9 months each didn't help that cause either. Exercise can only repair so much - there is a reason plastic surgery exists.

So quarters don't bounce off of me. Maybe I should have gone for a run this morning instead of running errands; and maybe I shouldn't have passed off a Pop-tart as lunch because I ran out of time. But I am a mom after all and I embrace that. I'm not holding my new body against my children. It may have a few tell-tale signs of motherhood, but I'm actually a smaller size and in better shape than I was before kids. Am I a candidate for Dr. 90210 Rey's "Mommy Makeover"? Absolutely. And I'm not opposed to fixing what exercise can't, but I'm also a chicken when it comes to pain. I somehow managed to have two kids enter this world pain free. Unless I can be guaranteed to be allowed to go home with an epidural still intact, I won't be making any trips to Beverly Hills any time soon.