Invisible

My job as a stay-at-home mom  is to make everything invisible.  The goal is to make it seem like no one lives here.  No dishes on the counter, no clothes in the hamper, no dust on the TV.  No one uses these things.  One person (me) has the job of making our house seem like there are no inhabitants.  I spend the days undoing the signs of our existence, only to have it redone.  WHY? Then I figured it out. 
We DO live here!!
As neat and tidy as I make it, as many hours as I put in scrubbing on my hands and knees, it will never end, I will never have a clean house.  BECAUSE WE LIVE HERE. 
I cleaned the kitchen before a visit from my cousin this weekend and before she came we had to eat lunch.  So immediately there were dishes, crumbs and (eek!) children eating food at the table! They get crumbs on the floor.  They get stains on the chairs.  I could try to put them in bubbles, but they'd just get fingerprints on them.
I have a hard time justifying an hour long task that will be immediately undone as soon as I finish. I get extremely frustrated.  I like to see the results of my hard work.  Knowing it will have to be redone makes me want to not do it. 

To Be

moth·er

NOUN: A woman who conceives, gives birth to, or raises and nurtures a child.

My entire life I have wanted to be a "mom".  When you're small, you don't see the trials and tribulations of the day-to-day, only the kisses, the soft skin, the tiny arms around your neck.  Being a mom is more than those things, as the definitions states, raising and nurturing is more challenging and rewarding than most other things you will do in life.
Nurturing includes loving, caring, helping them grow, but also letting them experience life on their own.  Allowing them to make mistakes and guiding them back on the right path.  Nurturing can mean not giving them what they want, but rather what they need, and that may cause backlash and fighting.  Our jobs are to make them healthy, happy, successful humans, not the entitled, selfish, needy beings that come into this world. To transform them into independent adults is the goal...and during the molding, you have no idea if you're on the right track.

Some days

Some days, like today, I don't even realize I haven't gotten out of my pajamas yet.  There is SO much going on in the mornings that I cannot even conceive spending (wasting) the time to get myself dressed when I'm just gonna get messy anyway. 

I hate being "that" mom.  But it has happened, and since Owen is tiny, I don't see it changing anytime soon. 

I usually get around to brushing my teeth, taking a shower around 3 pm.  By that point, everything I've done all day has undone itself and I don't care anymore.  I've never been too keen on housekeeping, I figured I've got better things to do (like read) but having Owen has forced me (for my own sanity) to try harder to be organized, on top of things and less lazy.  This doesn't necessarily mean my house is clean, but now most everything is in a place where anyone could find it, not just me.  Being pregnant magnified my stupidity to a level I had never experienced before and I don't ever want to feel like that again.  I want to be on top of things. I  want to have a clean, or at least, presentable house.  If only I didn't have all these kids, I'd be great!!

Elusive sleep

(It might as well be called the "elusive 2 seconds to do anything" post, as it took me 35 minutes to get beyond the title, but that's another post!)

Getting a baby to sleep is a delicate operation of skill and silence. While the baby is tired, it may fight the inevitable closing of the eyes for reasons unknown. This leads to much fussing, crying and thrashing around. After what may seem like hours of patting, bouncing, 'shhh'ing, feeding, changing and anything else you may come up with in desperation, the baby's eyes flutter closed. At this point, you may feel like praying desperately (something like "Oh, please God, let him stay asleep!:), but prayer rarely works, since God has "been there done that" and he thinks this is funny.
Now comes the elaborate dance to lay the child down. If you are standing, the baby will immediately recognize the transition to a sitting position, no matter how careful you are. If you plan on laying the infant down, you now have to walk the 20 miles it seems to take to get to the younglings room. Every step creaks, every noise is magnified. When you finally get to the crib, you realize that the position you are holding your offspring is counter intuitive to laying them down. Your arms are wrapped around the child in a way that will jar them to wakefulness. You will stand there for a few minutes, working out this complicated procedure and finally coming to the conclusion that you will " just do it and get it over with". This rarely works, unless the infant is deeply asleep, which infants rarely are. Most likely, you will have to set the child down on your arms as they are holding it, and them slowly slide your arms out. Your sweaty skin will stick slightly to the baby's skin, but this won't be an issue. You are finally free, the baby is quiet. You sigh in relief, smile at the tiny person who has just so recently been the cause of much irritation. It's easier to love them when they're sleeping. You turn, and your first step hits that one squeaky floor board in the nursery. The fruit of your loins awakens and wails, and your long journey begins again.

A New Flame

When I was pregnant with Bennett, I had a conversation with a library patron about growing families. She said that having another child was like lighting a candle from another flame. The first flame does not diminish any when you light the second, and the second isn't any smaller than the first. They end up equal, but different.

I've added a third flame and though this is totally true again, I find that the flames are glowing brighter than ever. I look upon my (existing) children with new eyes. Soon, too soon, Owen will be as big and capable and intelligent as these two are. Weren't they just this small? Wasn't I just worrying and fretting over nursing them? Those are the eyes I used to gaze into while they drank, whose tiny hands I held.

We have our issues. Maddie is finding her "Trombley Temper". Bennett suddenly has forgotten how to do things he's been able to do for a long time, in response to me not being as available as before. Owen is unreliable in the eating department. This makes planning of any kind really difficult. But I watch them interact with one another and know that this was (mostly) worth it.

A New Chapter

I have been without a computer or internet (with the exception of my husbands Droid) for three months...So much has happened in that short amount of time, so many things I wanted to say and was unable. This pregnancy had gotten me exhausted to the point of no return, but thankfully, that chapter in my life is over.

Owen Henry was born April 3, 2010 at 12:01 pm after 7 hours of labor. He weighed 7 pounds 15 ounces and was 21 1/2 inches long. In the week that we've been home, he's fallen into place in our family like he was always there.

Does every mother feel this way? Do we all feel like we are giving 7,000% percent yet nothing is accomplished? Do we all get walked all over, hearts stomped on daily, yet expected to give some more after all is said and done?

How can it be that I feel emotionally drained after staying at home all day, yet the house is a disaster, the kids are bad and I'm a wreck? What have I accomplished? I haven't taken a shower in three days because someone always needs one more than I do, or the laundry needs to be done (when doesn't it?) or the dishwasher need to be run. Which are all thing I need to do anyway, so when do I have the time and when I do where does the energy come from?

A friend recently put as her Facebook status that she just wants to be appreciated. Ha. Between a messy house, wild children and looking like a homeless person, who can appreciate that? Yet all our time and evergy goes out each day, pushing us backward with each forward step. If we do manage to get ONE thing done, a miracle, it is now expected to be the norm.

We spend 24 hours on call with no break, no stopping the constant worrying, no minute to think what might be best for us. We take care of every minute detail. Is it any wonder that when something is not done right, or completely, or at all, this is upsetting to us? Who is looking out for us? Who wipes our tears?

We get to live with the pain of everyday life, the ups and the mostly downs. The guilt of feeling inadequate, of failing your children. We are forced to do things we don't like, say things we don't want to, and then hate ourselves.

When our lives are spent putting others first, why is it surprising that it hurts when we aren't put first with others. I want to scream,"What more do you want, my blood?!"