Motherhood Uncensored

Just another day in paradise

I've been going solo for over a week now, with just one short evening of respite before going back on duty in the wee hours of the morning. The end isn't readily in sight.

It's a regular occurrence around here to spend the weekends alone, but when it's a holiday, even if one of them happens to be a Hallmark one, I'm a little more emotional.

I blame it on being a celebrator who's married to a not-so-celebrator, and no matter how much  grandeur you provide for everyone else, no one will be able to match it.

I'm the one with the flowers at the violin recital. And the bouquet of balloons stuff in my trunk for a birthday.

Lately, I've been less worried about my own interpretation of events and experiences and more about how my kids see them. I've got two that are old enough now to notice that mom's birthday and Mother's Day aren't a big deal.

And a vacillate between just sucking it up, smiling, and accepting that "we'll celebrate later" which means in 2014 I've got a good week of birthdays and Mother's Day coming to me or getting visibly annoyed because it's not right and I don't want the kids to think that it's okay. 

I bandaged my disappointment in spending my Birthother's Day alone without so much as a card from my husband by spoiling the kids at the Super Target toy section.

Later, I made myself cupcakes and icing.

And after a couple of "woe is me" shots of tequila, I decided I was done with all this nonsense and went to bed early, hoping to start today with a rested spirit and a better attitude. 

I can't think of a better way to celebrate Mother's Day than with the four little people who made this day more than just any other day.

And really, when I close my eyes and imagine myself in paradise, I'm not sitting alone on a beach with a drink in my hand.

I'm sitting on a beach, drink in hand, with all my kids are right there with me playing in the sand.

Happy Mother's Day!

Judge not lest you have a daughter who grows up to be a stripper

It rings true that the parenting reality you're experiencing right now seems like the hardest. But fast forward a few years, maybe a couple more than that, and there's a good chance you'll be wishing for those nights when the biggest problem you have is that your baby is teething.

Soon enough, your baby who won't stop putting stuff in her mouth might just been your teen that won't stop putting stuff in her mouth (if you get my meaning) and suddenly you're willing to pay money for the sleepless nights when at least you knew your kid was confined to a crib.

It's easy for me to say that I'll be the parent who will support my child regardless of their decisions and life choices right now. I know how bad it can actually be, so the regrettable tattoos, the scary piercings, the goofy boyfriend with quite possibly the worst haircut I've ever seen seem like a walk in the park.

I'll see your blue hair streak and give you a septum piercing.

But when it actually happens. When my sweet baby comes home with some dragon tattoo on her leg, or a belly button piercing, or some older guy in a snazzy car, I bet it'll be harder than cleaning up the pee off the floor.

I don't even want to think about all the other decisions I might have to deal with as a mother of teenagers. And then adults. Decisions that I can say now I'll be supportive of but when they actually happen, well, who the hell knows.

I hope I can be as supportive as my own mother, who, oddly enough, has always been as non-judgmental as they come. She's had her moments, and rightfully so - when I told her I was getting a divorce. When I announced that I was having a baby out of wedlock.

That's not necessarily like saying I'm working as a stripper for a living, but for someone who's super religious, I might as well have been. 

My mom and I disagree on a lot - religion, politics, the list goes on - and yet she never guilts me or preaches to me or tries to change who I am.

I can only hope that I approach my own children's decisions with the same open mind. Until then, I'll take the butt wiping and temper tantrums while I can get them.

Happy Birthother's Day to me.

Every year my birthday falls within a few days of Mother's Day, which isn't exactly like being born on December 23, but close enough that it creates quite a challenge for my husband.

This year it's on the same weekend.

He can usually handle about one gift giving holiday a year. And by "handle" I mean cobbling together some sort of odd last minute something or other after calling my friends to get ideas that he could also get from the shopping site THAT I PUBLISH.

But combine two days where celebrations of some kind are required and his anxiety takes over and he under shoots. Like waaaaaaaay under.

A couple of years ago he flew Liz and Thalia down to surprise me, which was by far the best gift I've ever gotten, so much so that when I get the fake wood display case for my running medals, raise my eyebrow, and say something like "Hmmm, now this is nice..." he gives me the "Remember that time I flew Liz down!" speech as if that's supposed to cover me for at least five more birthdays to come.

So every year, save the "Liz and Thalia year" (Yes, it totally has a name), he asks me what I want and then tells me how hard it is to pick something for me "even though you have those gift guides and stuff" and I just tell him not to worry about it because I bought myself a "little something" while I was in NYC last month and he says "what did you buy?" and I say "oh nothing much" which is code for "I was just trying to pick up a lipstick for Liz at Bendels and this Rebecca Minkoff bag gagged and bound me and wouldn't let me leave the store until I bought it."

What I really want is to enjoy the company of myself, perhaps some close friends, toss back a few tasty drinks, and not have to say "We don't talk about 'ginies' or 'butts' at the table" while I eat delicious food that is hot and served to me.

I was fortunate to get just that and more last year, which I fondly call "The Day Chef Sam Talbot Told Me I Was Too Hot to Be a Mom and I Nearly Forgot I Was Married and Pregnant" followed by "The Night MetroDad Got Us Thrown Out of a Karaoke Joint" as well as a few weeks ago, so I told my husband during the yearly "I waited until two days before your birthday to get you a gift can you tell me what you want" talk that I'm perfectly happy just getting a little extra time in my bed, a little extra cake on my plate, and for the love of God, one evening where I don't have to participate in the bedtime routine of at least 3 out of 4 children.

But then when I was out yesterday afternoon, I remembered that I'd been wanting a pancake griddle and a real tea pot, not just a regular pot like my mom who uses her wok for everything (tea water, popcorn), so I sent him a picture and a few links to help him out.

And then I told him to include a membership to AARP.

Fifteen years ago when I was starting my post-undergraduate internship, I was asked what age constituted "middle age." I said 35.

Apparently, I wasn't that far off.

This ordinary life

If you ask any parent what they want most for their kids, I'd wager a bet that they'd say "happiness." Too bad there's no manual to tell you how to make that happen. Though that doesn't mean there aren't ones that try.

The attachment parents will tell you to keep them close. The free rangers will tell you to let them roam. And the tiger moms will tell you to go practice your violin, you piece of garbage.

Ha.

Somehow, we've equated an anti-baby boomer child glorification and a self esteem that is based on achievements and skills with happiness.

But the longer I parent, the more I realize that it's all a trap.

I imagine my method (if you could even call it that) might be seen as lazy. Kids, even the littlest ones, are required to contribute as functional members of the household. Beds made, dishwasher emptied, and if you want clothes to wear you'll help sort and/or fold them depending on your fine motor skill set.

My love for them is shown in hugs and kisses, also punishments and consequences. I'm present when I need to be, and detached when I need to butt out.

And instead of wanting for nothing, my kids want for something. Because I think it's good for them.

I didn't always feel this way, but as I added more kids to my brood and the pressure built up inside me to try to do and be everything at the price of my own livelihood, I realized that I wasn't happy.

And if I'm not happy, then I'm actually depriving my kids of the happiness I want so much for them to have.

Much of this has come not from self-analysis and introspection, but purely out of function. I have a lot of kids, all of whom I parent alone quite often and there's not enough of me to go around. And so, by force of nature, I've had to come to grips with the fact that my kids will always have a store bought birthday cake. Homemade cookies will most often come from a box. And my dinners will never be featured in the pages of Food & Wine magazine.

For this Type-A person, that was tough to swallow. My tendency is to completely outdo myself until there was nothing left of me.

Here lies Kristen Chase: Her kids were bilingual damnit and one time she made a chocolate cake from scratch!

I'm happier as a parent now than I've ever been before. I can hear about my friends' glorious achievements, domestic and otherwise, with pure appreciation and admiration rather than a looming guilt complex and a determination to one up them.

I can give my kids unpeeled carrots and send them off to play with the hose knowing that they'll be just fine.

Maybe even better than fine.

Because sometimes the ordinary is extraordinary. It just depends on how you look at it.

[Postscript: Due to complete lack of sleep, or something like that, I published this without acknowledging the inspiration for this post, my two dear blogging friends Meagan Francis and Kyran Pittman, both of whom, through their writing and most recently their books "The Happiest Mom" and "Planting Dandelions," make the ordinary extraordinary. You will make yourself - or a mom you know and love - very happy by reading these].