A to Z

  
In poker when you lose all your chips you bust. My son did that today during circle time at his My Gym class, with his colossal tantrum.

Now, as a Mommy of a 2 year old, tantrums come with the territory. The kicker is when you are in a nice, quiet class, where all the other little kids are intently listening to the teacher and sitting with their Mommies and you don’t really see the meltdown coming. As soon as I sit down, he is screaming like I am torturing him and writhing around on the floor; trying to escape the confines of circle time. I am sweating and trying to calm him while the onlooking parents’ stares bore into me. I try not to look up; feeling it is enough.

My favorite moment was the little kid next to us. He is staring at Spence, in awe. I reassure the little onlooker not to worry, my kid is ok. Like my words really meant anything to him, as he stared with his mouth gaping open. It felt like a necessary explanation.

The assistant teacher comes over and quietly whispers that this is normal and to sit it out. Not what I wanted to hear. I just want to crawl into the nearby ball pit and hide. I did contemplate leaving, multiple times. I did second guess my decision to enroll him in the class. But, we stayed. We survived 10 minutes of circle time, torture, which felt like much, much longer. We were then rewarded with the next part of the class to enjoy jumping on the trampoline and running around.

I remain hopeful that circle time will be better for us both, the next time. Nothing comes easy with parenting, so we will keep trying. If we fail, at least Spence can enjoy jumping around in the kid gym. And for me, maybe I will go to my gym to sweat out the anxiety from the day–maybe.

  
“Monster, hide!” is a cute little game my husband plays with the kids where they hide under a blanket to hide from an imaginary monster. Imaginary to them, but, real to me.

Having children evolved fear, moved it to a more prominent space in my every day. Fear of small little things that could interfere with their daily happiness, to the heavy-hitters; bullying, sickness, accidents, being kidnapped, and death. It’s very scary to put in writing, but it’s true. There are scary monsters I want to hide them from–everywhere.

When I look at my cute little kids’ faces, with their innocence and ignorance to the monsters that exist in the world, my need to protect them is full throttle and there’s no slowing it down. I want them to only ever fear the monsters in their closet or under their beds. Because those monsters aren’t ever the real threat.

Being a Mommy heightens every one of my senses. Like a mother lion, elephant, bird, no matter what the animal–from big to small–that innate motherly instinct is ferocious–always on alert, ready to take whatever actions to protect my babies.

But along with this overwhelming instinct to protect them is my biggest fear; fear in knowing that I cannot always protect them from all the scary monsters; I sure as shit will stand guard.

The morning is always frantic. By the time I leave it typically feels like I’ve already worked a full day–go potty, shower (usually), cup of coffee, load dishwasher, throw in a load of wash (that I will forget about), feed the dog, let out the dog, pack lunch for Evie, let the dog inside, give the kids breakfast, dress the kids, brush kids’ hair, do my own hair, makeup and get dressed; can’t forget that one. All the while the kids are shower stalking, demanding things, taking my shoes out to wear them, climbing on me. Then, when it’s time to leave my poor son is screaming and crying and clinging to my legs because he doesn’t want me to leave. That whole ordeal is heart wrenching. I shut the door behind me; the freezing cold takes my breath away.

It is actually 1 degree today. That’s cold. No wonder my lungs aren’t happy. And, apparently, people have become so fancy, school now gets canceled because it’s cold out (absurd). But, work is not canceled because of the cold so I continue on to my car. The leather seats are of course freezing. If I were fancy, with the luxury of time to spare, I would’ve heated up the car before getting in. I sit there waiting for the blasting cold air to warm up.

What’s this? Some yellow alert is lit up on my dash. WTF? No clue what it’s for but I don’t want to end up stranded somewhere in this freezing cold. I rummage through our overstuffed glove compartment to pull out the manual. Oh. Great. So turns out it is low tire pressure. Likely from the 1 degree weather but I am not taking chances, especially being that I couldn’t find my gloves this morning (probably in my kid’s Stuffies–it’s what’s inside that counts). I drive to the closest gas station. Yay, free air reads, “Out of Service”. I get gas. Yay, I get that awesome nozzle that the latch is broken, so I get to stand there while my hand freezes. Get into the car to try another gas station; no free air in sight.

I drive to another gas station and check my door jam for how much air pressure is right because I have no idea–32psi. Victory! Free air found. It’s me, freezing and frantic in my nice work clothes, tall boots now rummaging around because where the hell is the tire pressure thingy to measure it? It of course isn’t in the car. I go into the store. Score. Go back to check the air in the tires. I can barely feel my fingers as I twist off the tiny black caps. The culprit–right back tire; 22psi. So I freeze my fingers and ass off some more, while I fill the tire, check it, make sure I’m not overdoing it. Success. The dashboard yellow alert light is off. My freezing frantic morning coming to a close, as I drive to work arriving a whole hour and a half late. When I sit in my cubicle to turn on my lap top, there’s a moment where it actually feels like a break to be in the office. It’s a fleeting moment, but I am thankful for it after the freezing and frantic morning.

  
Showering is a luxury. When you do find that time to shower, it’s a Christmas miracle to shower without shower stalkers–you are never alone. If it feels like someone is watching you; they are. Your days of spa-like showering are gone when kids are introduced into the mix. Even if they are happily playing downstairs, they hear that shower sound and they are on the prowl.

My stalkers are quiet, at first, but I can sense their presence. I see their little silhouettes on the other side of the curtain. In the moments that follow, my 4 year old peers around the curtain and this is where the fun begins with her comments that reaffirm what I know has happened to my body after having children, that I try not to think about.

“Mommy why do you have spots?” “I like your fur.” “You have a funny belly button?”. These are my favorite, they linger in my brain making me feel like a freak. There’s nothing like a 4 year old to tell it like it is. Now, as I answer these questions, and try to remember to wash my face and body during this time, my son stalker is taking my soap, body wash, whatever he can get his little mitts on, and thinks it’s funny to drop them into the tub. Sometimes there is a sudden toe fatality–ouch!

They stare, and stare, somehow making me feel more naked than I already am. Finally, they realize it’s been long enough that I am in the shower and start whining or crying. They need me. Shower time is over. Over before clean even had a chance. My sole saving grace is that both of them are scared of taking a shower. So, at least there is a line of demarcation between us, they will never cross that curtain line, but they unknowingly cross other lines in their stalking actions.

And if you’re curious to know. I showered today–it’s a Christmas miracle. My stalkers were present, throughout.

Today a co-worker who is new to my business area asked me, “what’s on your business card?”. My response, “I don’t have a business card”. It was a short conversation, but it stuck with me. I’ve been with my company for almost 13 years and have never requested a business card. I’ve never felt any of my roles required one. If asked, I’ll provide my business partners with my contact information. I’m armed with my electronic signature that’s on every e-mail I send. I can send my contact information via text. Do I need a business card?

I don’t need one. I don’t think anyone needs one in this day and age of smart phones, web enabled devices, clouds and big data. But, this conversation kept running through my brain because maybe it’s about time I feel important enough to need a business card. “What’s on my business card?”–Rachel Papke, Super Mom, Text me; don’t call because talking to me on the phone is an impossibility.

Being a Mom is the job that makes me feel important and worthy of a business card. “What’s on your business card?”.

Ok, my 4 year old doesn’t have a therapist. But, if she did, this is what she would tell her therapist about her Mommy:

“My Mommy makes me so mad because she makes me wear pants, a shirt with sleeves and socks when it is cold outside. She also always wants to wash and brush my hair. She is ruining me. I don’t like when she won’t let me watch my TV shows. I don’t like time out. It makes no sense why she won’t let me eat ice cream or lollipops for breakfast.  Why does she make me eat meals? I just want Go-GURTS.

I refuse to wear my coat, and I like to walk around in either my princess dresses or be shirtless. That should be ok because I am not outside, right?  Oh, and another thing, why won’t she let me play with her make-up and jewelry, and draw on the walls? Why do I have to flush the toilet and wash my hands? So annoying. I wish she would let me play on the iPad more. I wish she didn’t put water in my juice. She thinks I don’t know; but I know. I don’t like sharing with my brother. It’s pointless. Why can’t I jump on my bed and pee on my carpet in the middle of the night? I just want to be 4! Is that too much to ask?”

  
I am mediocre at a variety of things. I’m ok with that. But, being a mediocre Mommy is not on that list of things. Being a Mommy suits me because it plays to my strengths; my patience, empathy, loyalty, dedication and creativity. My little family of four is my greatest life achievement to date. So, why not blog about it, and cover Mommy topics from A to Z.

I don’t think most people set their sights on being mediocre when they grow up. I know I didn’t plan for it, but it’s where I am. I couldn’t figure out where I fit. I didn’t want to be the doctor or lawyer, my parents wanted me to be. I’ve evolved into what most might classify as a well-rounded person. I can play the violin, piano, dance, play soccer, tennis, softball, bowl, ski, snowboard, surf, paint, draw, rollerblade, sing and do many other things. But, for me, being a little bit accomplished at a whole lot of different things, leaves me feeling mediocre. It’s like learning a whole bunch of different words without any context.

I’ve left out one skill. The one I want to share with you; writing. As an only child of parents who divorced when I was in high school, I was very lost. Writing was my outlet to express feelings that I didn’t know how to convey, otherwise. As time passed, I let a myriad of things take precedence; work, life, family, children. I could make up a lot of excuses as to why I stopped. But, I’m back. I hope you enjoy my blog, don’t judge. Journey with me.