I AM THAT MOM: Jane

Check out my guest post to McCall's fantabulous blog!! SO much fun to visit her page, checkk out all the other "I m THAT Mom" posts too!!

Lee, Me, and the Girls: I AM THAT MOM: Jane

Merci, beaucoup!

Things in the Smith household have been running smoothly for quite some time now and I couldn’t be happier. And in the interest of science I felt I needed to pass along my findings from the ‘household experiment’ I was conducting. I have found the best tool at getting the appreciation and recognition needed to prevent any feelings of neglect or resentment. It all stems from enjoying some ‘female bonding’…

I was talking with a friend who was griping that all she wanted was a ‘thank you’ from her husband for taking on the responsibility of being the breadwinner of the family, she felt that he didn’t really appreciate the amount of stress that added to her load. Hearing her talk about how unappreciated she felt made me really take stock of my situation and do some serious damage control. Yes all I really wanted was for Tarzan to really realize what all I did for him and our family on a daily basis, but how could I expect him to take that step when I was unwilling to do the same.

What is it that makes saying ‘thank you’ so hard? All this time I was getting some sort of sick pleasure in knowing that I could do all the chores around the house, cook all the meals, get Cheetah ready for the next day, take care of the animals, and have some down time for myself. Why? To prove I don’t ‘need him’, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Wasn’t that the whole reason why I married him?? Not because I needed someone to help me live my life but because I WANTED him there, in my life, so why wasn’t I letting him be present in our life we had built together? Was the way he folded clothes, spiced supper, walked the dog, or cleaned the house really that important? No. What was/is important is that he DOES fold the laundry, cook supper, clean the house, and love Cheetah and I wholeheartedly.

That night I sat down beside Tarzan on the couch and held his hand, I looked into his eyes and smiled. I went on to tell him how much I valued the stress and worry that went along with being the breadwinner and how I knew I would never be able to understand what it’s like being in his shoes every day but that I appreciated him getting up every morning and going to work…for us and for our life. I wanted him to know how much it really means to know that someone is that invested in Cheetah and I, and that he makes his choice every day to work so that we can buy food, clothes, books, cds, and go on trips. He then went on to say how easy it was when I was there to make sure food was on the table, clothes were clean, the house was clean, and that he could count on me to help with Cheetah.

I really went about this whole ‘experiment’ in the wrong way. I didn’t need to find ways to trick him into doing chores or make a point (at his expense) so that he learns to do things on his own…I need to say ‘thank you’. What a difference two little words can make.

Arguing like a 4 year-old

In the past I have taken many speech classes and have contributed in a few debates, but it wasn’t until recently that I have found myself in the ‘ring’ with a very ardent lobbyist. We spend hours, if not days, arguing our sides and bargaining to get our desired results. I’m not proud of this fact and honestly I have no idea what brings it about, I have become an active participant in a daily arguing match with my 4-year old. All I know is that my usual eloquent points and witty quips have been replaced with a ton of because I said so’s, I’m the Momma’s, and Nuh-huh’s. I am a very well-read, bright, and decently educated woman so how am I letting my own child reduce me to the antics of my not so distant past? Haven’t I used these tools on my own mother? Don’t I know that my combativeness is only adding fuel to his 3 foot fire?

Maybe it’s brought on by the constant rapid-fire form of interrogation that my 4 year old captor uses on me: What’s fog? Do fog, dog, and hog come from the same thing? What’s a rearview mirror? Can you see rears with it? Why did a bird poop on your car? Is all bird poop black? Why not? What color is cricket poo? If you ate it, would it taste like grass? Are alligators like vampires? Then why do they eat blood? Are we driving on the grass? Why is water underground? Why can’t we eat rocks? What’s diarrhea? All of these questions in a span of 12 minutes and he gives me less than a second to begin my response, half the time my response is met with a resounding, “No it’s not!” Oh really…well if you know why are you asking me!!! Oh yeah it’s the questions, defintly the questions.

For now I am perfecting counting to 10 and TRYING to remember that I want Cheetah to be smart and I want him to feel comfortable coming to me with all of his questions, but if I don’t find a more productive means for arguing I may find myself using other gems from my arsenal. Not sure he’d know what to do after hearing, “I’m rubber, and you’re glue…”

Somehow you weathered the storm.

My head is too full tonight to allow sleep to claim me captive. I lay awake thinking of you, longing to run to you. I wish nothing more than to hold you and line the sandbags up around your heart. Just at the start of hurricane season and lives are already unrecognizable.

Unable to sleep I organize cabinets and drawers of junk that are always there to help me sift through my thoughts. How do I help you cope, how do I pull you through this, how do I pick up the pieces? You had these plans, hopes, and dreams of the future and now you are left demolished. I let you know I am here with one short message. I know you need your space, "I love you". I am upset for you, sick for you, distraught for you, emotionally eating for you.

As I talk to you days and weeks later I realize I have been rocked to the core by what had happened to you while you dealt with it in stride. I am awed by your calm and grace. Shaken by the lack of purpose I have for you, I make some excuse to let you go...citing something about, "needing your rest". I now realize where all my sadness and hurt came from, you had faced one of my greatest fears and handled it far better than I could have ever hoped to.

I'm the one left gasping for air.

To help mark the past 365 days without my wonderful grandmother, I wanted to re-post something I wrote to help ease the pain of her last few weeks with us. On most days the pain is dull but there are others where the hurt engulfs me and I sob, gasping for air. Of course I have felt this saddness before, it's different this time knowing how much her being gone really changes things for me.


As I sit here watching you "rest" I can not believe how fast time has flown. I am amazed how I still feel instantly comforted by merely being in your presence...I doubt that connection will ever really go away. You are my peace, my love, my strength...myself lies somewhere in your beating heart. Will I lose it when you are no longer there to make it beat?

For my nearly 31 years on this earth I have considered you and Pop as my home, my reference point. Will I feel utterly lost when you are no longer here?

The constant gurgling of the oxygen machine that breaths air into your tired lungs is almost haunting. I just can't believe that it is you lying in that bed. If I close my eyes I hear you laughing, reading to me, teaching me, loving me. I am blessed knowing that you truly know everything about me (the good, bad, and ugly) and you have never judged me or stopped loving me. You have shown me how to be a good mother and grandmother, giving love unconditionally. Your tired broken body stands as proof that you didn't merely live your life...you gave your life to show others how to live and love.

You are etched in my brain and will forever reside in my heart.

Hand it Over Lady!

Bad words in my house are beginning to have a whole new meaning; I firmly believe I could go my whole life without ever hearing the name ‘Brady’ as long as I live. Every day when I pick Cheetah up from school I get to hear the synopsis of “A Day in the Life of Brady” and it’s a very boring read; Brady has this new toy, Brady has cooler tennis shoes than me, Brady says that frogs can’t be poisonous…etc. Last week I tried to explain that sometimes it may seem that his friends may have nicer things, cooler parents, or a better house but it’s not always the truth; sometimes it’s all a show. I even tried the whole ‘the grass is greener story’; all he got from that what sadness when he realized that his momma wasn’t aware that ALL grass is in fact green. Oh well. I decide I am being over anxious and convince myself that four is a bit early to begin a full scale war on my son’s lack of self-confidence; I‘ll let nature run its course.

Yesterday I picked Cheetah up from school and he was so stinky and sweaty, I said, “Dude was it a rough recess?” He sighed, “Yeah, Brady pushed me because I was yelling at him”. WHAT, do my ears deceive me?? Is he cracking the façade that four year-old Brady is beginning to perfect? Curious I asked him what made him so angry at Brady. He proceeds to tell me that Brady said he had to leave him his silly bands to him when he dies, I was shocked. What the heck is going on at Brady’s house?!? “I told him ‘no’ that I wasn’t going to die. Then he said everyone HAS to die and you better leave me all your stuff!” Kind of baffled I asked what his thought about Brady’s demands. “I think Brady just wants all my green grass” he explained.

I was amazed; he was using Cognitive Reasoning at such an early age. We headed home to do the nightly bike ride and prepare supper; Cheetah proceeds to deliver an unyielding stream of questions while I banter back and forth over the tacos we are preparing. Ten minutes later as we are finishing up he looks at me and demands, “Hand over all your green grass lady and no one gets hurt.” Laughing, I kiss him and mutter, “We were so close.”

My Personal Cheerleader

This past weekend with Cheetah was so wonderful, it’s amazing to watch him growing into his sea legs and getting a handle on his self. Don’t get me wrong I’m still seeing a few meltdowns, tantrums, and boundary pushing; but he’s beginning to grasp how he has to act and is slowly building confidence. He’s trying things he’s been scared to do before and succeeding.

For the past 2 years he has been terrified of ‘fun jumps’ and although all sorts of kids are having the best time he won’t even go inside. That changed this weekend. He got in the fun jump and after about 10 minutes he realized what he was doing, he yelled, “Momma, I’m in the fun jump and it’s fun!” He stayed in for over 2 hours and didn’t want to leave. I was so proud, I wish I could take all the credit but I know some kudos must go to my mom.

A few weeks ago she taught him how to ride a bike and although I hear that this was traumatic for both of them, he’s been a different boy ever since. It’s so funny to follow behind him as he rides, the whole time he is talking. He is living this whole imaginary situation that involves him driving fast, fighting crime, and going on adventures. It’s all smooth sailing until he reaches the hill; he turns his head and smiles at me in relief. There I am, giving him a boost up the hill in front of him. Hopefully bike riding won’t just foster a feeling of confidence and accomplishment but also one of reliance. I want him to know that I am the wind at his back, the cheerleader in the stands, and the sage sound of wisdom he can call on at any hour.

After several times around the lake, I am beaming. I yell ahead to him, “Good job dude!” as he leaves me in the dust. I begin walking back home while he waits for me on his bike. I smile sweetly at him as he begins to yell, “Come on Momma you can do it, you’re almost there”.