Changing Leaves

Changing Leaves

It’s my favorite time of year again, y’all: fall.  Autumn.  Harvest…  whatever you like to call it.  I love the word “autumn”, myself, but living in a small-ish town in Louisiana, I get looked at funny when I toss that word around.  So I simply leave it at “fall” and go on with my days loving the cool(er) weather and, per the stereotype, pumpkin spice everything.  I loved pumpkin spice before it was trendy, so I make no apologies for the warmth and goodness of a good pumpkin-y, nutmeg-y latte.

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Anyway, I’ve always found that fall brings more changes than just crisp, cool air and falling, beautifully colored leaves; it always brings life changes — at least for me it does.  As if on pattern or cue, fall delivers to me different, sometimes intimidating, but always good change.  I seldom know what I or my family is facing, but I can usually rest-assured life will find its way of sorting itself out.  Fall has been closely followed by the birth of my children and brought with it the marriage of me and my husband.  It has been with me when I’ve faced new jobs and their challenges; it has even carried with it new friendships that I am blessed to still have today.  This year, it has given us the loss of my job.  As of last Wednesday, I am officially at SAHM status.  Things came up and it was made plainly evident that I needed to be home.  I. Am. TERRIFIED.

I have never not worked.  I have held at least one job (sometimes two or three!) since I could legally work and drive.  I had three jobs during my pregnancy with Gabe (talk about exhausting — working three jobs pregnant [two of which I stayed on my feet and even climbed ladders, etc.]), and stayed with my office job when I went back to school for my marketing degree (for which I still have not obtained).  I have always liked to stay busy and am not averse to working my tail off.  So this new stay-at-home-mom thing… it’s flooring me.  I love my boys, but I’ve never felt like I’m “stay at home” material.  I am gruff and grumpy… total momma bear.  I’ve never, ever been super good with kids and it’s always seemed easier for me to go to work and let them go to school or daycare for our “space”.  Admittedly, I hated only being with them from 5-7 every morning and 5-bedtime during our evenings and it really was vital at the time that both my husband and myself work; in today’s economy, it really does take two incomes unless you’re a Kardashian.  Well, I don’t know about you, but my hidden talent ain’t balancing a cup on my behind, so there goes that idea.

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Since I’ve been “home”, Connor and I have not been “home” for entire day… at all.  It may sound silly, but I get the housework done quickly and we bolt.  I’m too antsy to be hemmed in all day, so off we go.  What have we gotten done?  A little grocery shopping, a few errands here and there, and a lot of mall walking.  I’m pathetic.  I’m going to have to give it up eventually, I know.  But Ev can tell you — I don’t even do good staying home on the weekends.  I don’t have to spend a dime, but I absolutely do not want to be locked in a house all day.

But I have decided to make the best of it.  Starting Monday, Connor and I are going to do things at home.  He’s two, so potty training needs to take priority.  I forgot how hard that is to do in town (been four years since I’ve had a two year old, y’all) and he’s showing signs of being ready.  So I suppose we’re going to batten down the hatches and poop-proof the house until he gets the hang of it.  Tonight, we’re making homemade pizza and painting pumpkins (Gabe wants to paint his like Luigi from Super Mario®) after homework makes its painstaking existence known.  I have decided that just because I’m not used to being a SAHM, that it isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  I will make the most of it even if it means I pull my hair out and look like Britney version 2007.  Afterall, fall has always brought with it changes for me — and how often has this season given me bad luck?  Fingers crossed for me, y’all.  Can you add SAHM to a résumé?  I already feel like a poorly informed, unpaid intern.  Sigh.

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Lackluster Potty Training 101

Lackluster Potty Training 101

Potty training.  It’s a bitch.  I hate it, y’all.  I know it’s a necessary evil, but gah.  It’s awful.  I started potty training Gabe around 18 months.  He didn’t care for it then, and, if I’m being honest, he still doesn’t like taking the time to go do the doo.  He does it anyway, obviously.  But he was a tough one to teach.  His SPD didn’t help matters and by the time the four year mark rolled around we were both a crying mess.  Finally he caved and I never figured out why he did.  I chose not to question the potty-training gods, though, and let well enough alone.

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Nearly two years later and Connor is actually showing signs of wanting to train.  So long as all he has to do is pull off all his clothes and run around bare assed.  The moment his little cheeks touch the plastic kiddy toilet, he’s up and done.  Running through the house in a flash.  Gabe liked books and small toys, so getting him to sit on the toilet was never an issue.  It was getting him to go while sitting on the toilet.  But Connor doesn’t like to sit still; he’d rather be climbing and streaking.  I figure he’ll be 40 by the time he’s finally trained to not drop trou and to use the toilet efficiently.

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Anywho.  A few years ago, Huggies had this PullUps commercial that I loathed.  I was a little bitter (okay, a lot bitter) about Gabe’s lack of progress and the Huggies mom was all put together and had built this sort of kinetic speedway for her kid’s first flushed BM or whatever.  Who the hell has the time for that?!  I mean, let’s be real here.  I’m not even going to lie; the whole premise behind it was genius.  And mad props to whoever put that bad boy together.  But I am not about to put together a kinetic freaking speedway the span of my entire house just because of a movement.  I’m not.  Because who’s gonna have to pick up that mess?  Mom.  Not to mention, that kind of thing gets to be expected and I am most definitely not constructing a different kind of celebratory racetrack every time one of the kids decide to save their underwear.  Not until I get a volunteer to do the dishes.  Which, with my luck, will never happen.

I’m kind of aggravated with all the hype of speed-training and over-rewarding-training.  Whatever happened to simple potty training?  Why make everybody feel like a parental failure and a potty training flop because we’re not throwing confetti and showing off engineering skills for something is natural?  It’s just ridiculous.  I mean, I’m not offended.  Really, I’m not even bitter (regardless of how the post sounds).  I’m just irritated.  Who the hell does that?  I’m the ultimate shortcut taking mom.  It’s not that I don’t care and it’s not that I can’t be enthusiastic.  But I keep it real.  And, real talk?  I’m up every freaking morning at five.  I get us all dressed and ready, fed, and chauffeured to various locations.  I work from 8-5 and in-between random doctor visits and occupational/speech therapies.  I maneuver around this errand and that errand and come home to clean my atom-bomb survivor house, cook dinner, and hose off the kids who appear to have trekked through a mud-pit at some point earlier in the day.  The fact that I’m not bribing my kids with candy and junk food is a friggin miracle and they’re doing good to get there chore list tackled.

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I guess bottom-line what really chaps me is this constant pressure to be a perfect parent.  I hung that dream up years ago.  And I’m alright with that.  Because making mistakes is part of the learning process.  And at the end of the day, I’m entitled to screw my kids up at least a little bit.  I love my boys and if I haven’t made that clear enough then I guess I’m not the mom I hoped to be.  But I make my kids learn by trial and error.  They have their own duties (even the one year old) and they answer for their mistakes (even the one year old).  They’re smart little guys and I put probably too much faith in their abilities.  So if my one-year old can load clothes into the dryer, wash his own hands, and bring me a diaper when he’s dirty, then he can potty train a la old school.  If constructing expressways in my bathroom is the only standing between me and good parenting, then so be it.  I’m too busy wiping butts and cleaning pee off the walls to care.