MamaBlogga

Mother’s day began with only the best intentions. But, let’s face it, it can be a really rough day for moms, even if they get the day off from dishes and laundry. Here’s why

1. Make one day of the year that special day we all remember our mothers, and it’s okay to forget them the other 364 days. (And bonus on leap years!)

2. No matter how hard you try to keep your expectations low, your children still act like they do every other day of the year—disobeying, fighting, crying and sloughing off. Even though it’s your “special day.” (Is it just that they don’t care, or do they actually hate you? Maybe their therapists know.)

3. Everyone shares stories about the most wonderful mother in the history of creation (usually theirs), reminding us once again that we SOOO are not that. Even though it’ll probably be our kids saying those same things in 20 years.

4. Major takehome of Mother’s day: whatever the heck it is moms do all day/year long, it’s roughly equivalent to the value of a bouquet, a card, and one day off a year. Or half a day.

5. An alarming percentage of women who are now mothers have “an issue” with their own mothers. I don’t really get this one, but whenever I did a group writing project about mothers, I had people tell me they couldn’t participate because of this. And, thus, celebrating motherhood is bad.

6. The perceived emotional negativity of every little argument with you is enhanced approximately 10,000% because it’s the one and only day of the year they’re supposed to be thinking of you.

7. Our four-year-olds with the I-can’ts will doubtlessly refuse to join in singing one measly little not-even-very-mother-oriented song in church. Even though we completely expected this, and spent the whole week trying to encourage and prepare him, it will still hurt. Of course, it hurts a lot worse when the second the song is over, he throws a tantrum because he wants to go on the stand (to sit with his dad, best of all). And it’s even better when he smacks his sister with a book 10 minutes later and you have to drag two crying children out of the chapel again. But then you just have to laugh. Because Mother’s day sucks.

8. Inevitably, some well-meaning person (usually a man) suggests we should do this every day. No. Please.

Um… no personal experience in there or anything.

Had a disappointing—or hilarious—Mother’s day? Share—because sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying.

Photo by Chris A

I’m not really going to get into a theory of evolution debate here—really, the more appropriate headline would be “Natural selection works.” I totally believe that and I see evidence of it in my everyday life (“natural selection” is just a lot longer than “evolution”).

Genetics at work: my mother and my daughter

As a mother of very young children, I can tell you exactly how demanding and frustrating babies and toddlers can be—but I’ve come to believe that a babies’ cuteness is, in fact, an inherited defense mechanism against some of their most motherly-frustration-inducing behaviors. My evidence:

1. Cuddling: Although waking me for the eighth time in six hours is decidedly not a good way into my good graces, a quiet, sweet, snuggling baby is pretty tough to stay angry at.
2. Gurgling giggles: It’s five AM and the infant thinks it’s time to get up for the day. But before I can burst into tears, she sees my face and wham—instant gales of excited laughter. Even if I’m not quite as happy to see her at that hour, it’s hard not to forgive her when she’s just so happy to see me.
3. Nap time: When I reach my wits’ end, I know it’s time for a nap (for me and/or the kids ). This can be a double whammy, especially if the baby or toddler is obviously tired but still averse to said nap, and spends half an hour screaming—because when they finally succumb to the much-needed sleep, it’s all the sweeter to peek in on the peacefully slumbering angel (and pray it lasts!).
4. Baby talk: Sure, you can argue their articulatory muscles aren’t fully developed enough to appreciate the nuances of the lateral approximate, but let’s face it: somewhere in his DNA, my son knows that “I yub you!” melts even an annoyed heart faster than plain old “I love you.”
5. Stoic tears: Okay, this one might not be entirely genetic, but who wouldn’t forgive a tantrum from tiny child who bravely insists that he must wipe his own tears?

What other naturally cute behaviors have you seen that totally take the wind out of your frustration?

About a month ago, I happened to weigh myself one morning. This doesn’t happen very often because I am afraid of becoming addicted to the scale, afraid of what it might say—and because I keep the scale in a cabinet in the guest bathroom.

But on this day, the scale was out so I stepped on. And, of course, at two and a half months post partum, I was disappointed with the reading—in fact, I’d even gained weight since the last time I’d ventured onto the scale.

That night, as Hayden brushed his teeth at the sink, I lamented to Ryan that I was still struggling with my weight. To illustrate my point, I stepped on the scale.

“Oh, I don’t believe this!” I exclaimed. “Since just this morning, I’m like ten pounds heavier!”

Ryan smiled sympathetically, reached out—and took Rebecca from my arms. That’s one way to lose the baby weight.

Today, Ryan, Hayden, and my sister and her husband went to a college football game. While there, Hayden informed Ryan, “Mommy is God.”

Naturally, Ryan wanted to make sure he was hearing Hayden correctly. “God?”

Hayden affirmed that was what he meant. Ryan clarified that I was not, in fact, God, and Hayden seemed to understand.

My son makes the most interesting sartorial choices. This doesn’t include earlier this week when he unzipped his pajamas and pulled his legs out of them—quite a sight to see the boy jumping in his crib, pajamas flying, when I walked in his room that day!

Hayden is convinced that this is a hat:

They could double as swim trunks. No comment on which is their intended purpose. But Hayden’s expression there reminds me of this guy:

And today, when he woke up from his nap, Ryan called out for me to see him like this:

That would be his shirt around his waist.

I realized last week that I’ve been having the same argument for the last twenty years. I have three younger sisters, and you’d think we were all here, reliving our Barbie-and-clean-up-time-induced blow outs. Seems like every other sentence out of my mouth could be a direct quote from our childhood.

Stop that.

Don’t touch that.

Stop, you’ll break it.

Don’t touch it.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

Please don’t do that.

Ouch—you’re hurting me.

Stop—you’re stepping on me.

Please don’t mess with that.

Leave it alone.

Leave me alone!

I imagine that by the time Hayden’s old enough to not need these constant injunctions, he’ll be giving them (and receiving them) from his siblings.