The MomSpeak

I’m not a mom, but I play one on the weekdays.  I’m one of those elusive creatures known as a stay-at-home dad: I’m one of those guys who burned out at his job right after his kids were born and his wife’s career started to get really exciting; one of those guys who missed his kids so much while he was working that he decided to quit; one of those guys who cleans the house every day, makes dinner and makes the kids’ lunches and tells them stories and plays with them all day long. I give my wife footrubs when she gets home from the office. If I was better looking, I could probably videotape my life and sell it as pornography to busy career-oriented mothers.

But no matter how much time I spend painting my daughter’s toenails or changing diapers, I am still very much a dad. And with being a dad comes that sort of unruly competitiveness endemic to my gender: If I’m going to be a stay-at-home dad, I’m going to be the very best stay-at-home dad possible, I say to myself. And that means keeping the house perfectly clean. Somehow my warped brain has turned vacuuming into a macho sport.

 

I’ve never gone for the whole “self-sacrificing mother” schtick — I don’t believe that motherhood should subsume one’s identity as an individual. I also believe — in theory, at least — that to be a good caregiver, I must take care of myself. But, though I talk a good game, I neglect myself as much as the next parental martyr. 

It sneaks up on me — I don’t consciously set out to put myself aside. But then someone needs an early pickup from school so I skip the walk I’ve been trying to take for the entire week. Or someone goes to bed late and I find myself doing laundry at midnight (instead of sleeping). I get busy with mundane details and forget to call my friends. Weeks go by before I realize that I haven’t done a single thing to renew myself. (Usually, the realization comes when one of my kids gingerly points out I’m, um, in a grumpy mood.)

So what gives? Why is it, when my work, my family, my husband and I so obviously suffer when I neglect myself, do I continue to do it?

It’s a simple fact that, beyond the basics, a family’s needs expand to fill the space available. Once the love-food-shelter-education bases are covered, there’s always more that can be done. Grocery shopping’s done for the week, but, man — the pantry’s a mess. Kids are doing fine in school, but perhaps I could learn something from this book about childhood brain development. You get the point — no detail is too small or unimportant to compete for your attention. And too often it’s easier to give in than to reserve some time (or money, if you’re a hobbyist) for yourself.

My girls have a half-gallon a day milk habit. If I’m buying organic, that’s $5 a day. If I’m going for the regular old stuff, that’s about $1.75.

Big difference.

Of course we all want to do the best for our kids, but in this economy we sometimes have to make decisions between “the best” and “won’t really kill them, right?” So I started researching which foods make sense to buy organic and which don’t really offer enough improvement to make it worth it. What I found was fascinating.

I checked sites like Consumer Reports, the EPA pages on pesticides in children and the Environmental Working Group and the info was actually really helpful for me.

First off, if you buy anything organic it should be milk, eggs and other dairy products, along with chicken and meat. If animals are eating (excuse me) crap feed, then what you’re going to be eating are crap animals, eggs and milk. Your kids are more vulnerable to the toxins in animals (hello, mad cow?) than we are, so for me, this is the priority.

 

The new year always fills me with a sense of renewal and clarity. With the buzz of the holidays behind me and the cold January days ahead, I feel like there’s extra room in my brain. I’ve been simplifying, reducing, and generally clearing out everything I can. Going through the filing cabinets and the kitchen drawers. Taking stock of my commitments. Streamlining my home routines. Starting fresh.

I’m also using the new year as an opportunity to get the kids into new routines. The chore lists and allowance charts we created a few years ago have worked well enough, but they’ve barely changed despite the kids’ growth and increased capabilities. To use en economic metaphor: they’re not keeping up with inflation.

As one should annually rebalance one’s financial portfolio, one should also annually revisit the division of family responsibility. Can your third grader now pack his own lunch? Can your kindergardener empty the dishwasher silverware drawer? The answer isn’t necessarily “yes” in each case — each kid’s capabilities are different — but it’s worth going through the chore list with fresh eyes. Perhaps your child is now ready to sort the laundry or feed the dog. Or bring in the mail or sweep the kitchen. Or empty the wastebaskets or wipe down the kitchen table.

I think every parent suffers from selective memory to a certain degree. My labor story gets less painful-sounding with every telling – I remember excitement and intensity and awe at what my body was doing; my husband remembers me howling and gasping in pain and shaking from head to toe. Huh. And honestly, if any of us REALLY remembered what newborn sleep deprivation REALLY feels like (HINT: like smashing your sinuses with a brick), would we be so willing to sign up for it all over again?

But even I’m a little surprised at how much I’ve forgotten in the three years since I last had a newborn.

THING #1: YOU NEED TO BURP BABIES.

I know! You totally do. But I forgot. A nurse reminded me about…oh, 12 or 24 or 36 hours into Ezra’s life, when he seemed AWFULLY spit-uppy and she saw me pop him off my breast and then just…sort of…sit there with him.

THING #2: YOU NEED TO CLEAN THEIR BUSINESS.

Both of my babies have been boys, so I have absolutely no excuse for this one. I also don’t think I need to elaborate, except that I got yelled at by the pediatrician.

So, I work from home. Most of the time, this is the perfect arrangement: I enjoy writing, I enjoy my children, I enjoy showering after lunchtime.

I won’t lie, though: working independently from home requires massive amounts of self-discipline. There are a zillion distractions and no one but yourself to keep you on task. I’ve never even met a good number of the people I work with now — or even spoken to them on the phone, now that I think about it. I might go six months or more in between face-to-face meetings with my employers. I work hard to maintain a reputation of being reliable and diligent and good at what I do…but…there’s also writer’s block, the Nintendo Wii, another cozy nap with the baby, and what was the name of that guy in the movie about the thing at the place? I should go check that out on IMDB.

I try not to let this sort of thing happen — I have a VERY STRICT rule about no daytime television (no soaps, no talk shows, no Showcase Showdown, alas) for myself, my work generally gets priority over everything (except my kids, of course — I do everything during naps and independent play time and preschool and I will only turn on the TV if I’m truly well behind the eight-ball on something), and I’m very careful about the aimless web surfing that can kill an entire precious naptime — but sometimes it just doesn’t work. I lose direction or focus or can’t think of an idea or I’m tired or OH LOOK SOMETHING SHINY!

At one of our many recent jaunts to the pediatrician’s office, I shared the waiting room with a couple and their brand-new, fresh-from-the-hospital newborn. The husband was puttering around, pausing to thoughtfully take in the cartoons playing on the TV, giving the wooden bead mazes a try — while his wife sat with the carseat and…I don’t know. HOVERED. She was staring at her baby with a kind of scary intensity. Like the force of her gaze alone was what kept his heart beating and his lungs functioning.

She gave off a fairly tightly-wound vibe, is what I am saying.

I had my new baby in a sling and my three-year-old running wild, probably smearing germs onto every available surface. I attempted to smile at her, all “oh! these kids! whattaya gonna do, right?” but noticed her gaze had shifted and she was full-on GLARING at my toddler, who dared to — you know — COUGH. At the DOCTOR’S OFFICE.

Her husband walked back over. He’d found a brochure on new baby care. “It says here we shouldn’t use the nail clippers. We should only use a file.”

So if you’re like me, you’ve got “get organized” as one of your New Year’s Resolutions list. Or maybe it should be “Yeah right, like that’s ever going to happen” list. Even though I have trouble keeping up the changes I vow to make every year, I still feel obligated to write them out. Even if I’m only able to keep up the exercise plan for a few months, and spend less time on the computer for a few days, I do think the idea of thinking about doing things differently and better every year is inspiring.

When it comes to getting organized, I’ve decided I need one central place for to-do lists, appointments, and every thing else I seem to write down on the backs of envelopes. And in most cases, a regular old day planner would suffice. But now that my daughter is school aged and my toddler has a few activities each week, I’m not only keeping track of my own schedule, but that of a few other people too. And that little square space in those regular old day planners just doesn’t cut it anymore.

If you’re in the same situation, that you’ll want to check out these fabulous organizers that are all mom-friendly. Alright, so maybe they don’t come with a personal assistant and built in babysitter, but they will help you keep track of everyone in the household so that you can focus your energy on other things. Like making sure you’ve got matching socks on.

My mom thinks this is something I should tell the Internet. She felt quite strongly about it, and my sister agreed. Both of them, over Christmas, responded with a forceful “YOU NEED TO TELL THE INTERNET” when I told them about my ingenious idea. My ingenious, totally weird, totally gross idea.

So. Nursing pads. I never used them with my first baby, except maybe once or twice early on — in those dark, toe-curling days of improper latchings and round-the-clock comfort nursing — to get a little padding for my poor chafed hamburger meat nipples. I had terrible supply issues and never ever leaked milk, so the box of 100-count nursing pads sat on my nightstand unused, occasionally mocking me and my pathetic boobs.

I refused to be mocked again, so this time I bought the smallest box possible, just in case. I figured I could repurpose them as doilies or pee-pee teepees, if I had to.

And of course, I blew through those suckers in record time. OVERSUPPLY. CRAZY ABUNDANT MILK. I hear a baby cry from two states over and my bra is soaked. It’s…totally insane. Awesome, really, and totally unexpected. But it’s forced me to get creative with nursing pads.

One of the most popular topics on Parent Hacks is the fearsome intersection of children and air travel. Most of us have an “if-it-can-go-wrong-it-will-go-wrong” story about that time we took the kids on that cross-country flight that got delayed, and it was IMPOSSIBLE to get the car seat buckled in, and then there was turbulence, and the sippy cup leaked all over my lap, and remember that monster diaper blowout?

Yeah. That story.

Some kids are natural born travelers, but most have a hard time with the waiting, unpredictability, and discomfort that comes with every flight. So before your next trip, make a few simple preparations that will make the experience a lot easier for everyone:

Pack smart snacks.

Novel snacks have magical tantrum-diffusing properties. Not that I’m suggesting you bribe your kids with Twinkies or anything, but a well-timed snack (given out before everyone is grumpy and ravenous) can often head trouble off at the pass. Pack stuff that’s not crumbly, not sticky, and not smooshable.