note to pre-pregnant self

Brilliant posting: http://www.scarymommy.com/a-letter-to-my-pregnant-child-less-self/. I always say, I never knew as much about child-rearing as when I didn't have kids.

Incredible how humbling becoming a parent is.

I used to fight the clichés, refuse to even consider that I might become like my mother, that it's not REALLY the "toughest job in the world"; that there might be anything worth "wait and see" before making my blanket decisions and judgments on how I would act and react in all the various challenges of child-rearing. Now, I see what others see as the craziest acts of parenting, and I don't bat an eyelid. As a colleague says, when she sees a mom spanking her kid, she feels sorry for the MOM wondering what craziness was it that made her get to that point in PUBLIC.

I do think the article might need an addendum: the judgments return to older people whose children are grown. A curtain is drawn over their memories and they remember the good old days with a mixture of hubris and nostalgia, often with little empathy for the difficulties of the daily grind.

I hope my blog, and my near-incessant woe-recordings will help me remember just how tough it was, and help me be a kind "older" mom when the time comes.

feeling the love

I am feeling with number 3 what I feel like I never felt with number 1 or 2. Is that possible? Or have I simply forgotten? Can motherhood be so potently in-the-moment that even a few months or years later, one cannot conjure up a "few seconds in the emotions of"?

Let me explain:

When Nicolas looks at me and his eyes follow me around the room, I feel like a real mother, the cliché, mommy-help-email-spam type mom. The kind that they talk about in poems and "what to expect" books. Like I am the single most important person in the world (well, to this little being, of course).

When I look at Nicolas, it feels like my body expands, like the love fills up the cells in my body and I physically grow.

When our gazes meet and lock, symbiosis basically is complete; he is me, I am him.

It's not that I love him more, not at all. In fact, I probably neglect him more than I ever did Sebastian and Lucas.

What I think is happening is that the anxious, mildly neurotic, desperate-to-do-the-right-thing side of me is gone. These aspects have floated away, and all that is left is the impatient, daily-grind, hormonal mother who feels little else besides exhaustion and pure love.

a mom who drinks and swears

I make fun of the fact that I've come to understand alcoholism since becoming a mom.

It sounds like I am disdaining motherhood. But really, I am praising alcohol.

Really, though, wow. When consumed within reason, it is really a godsend. After a long day of keeping it together (or trying to), of attempting to satisfy multiple people's needs, of fulfilling a myriad of responsibilities, wearing "the professional mask," nothing is better than a beer or a glass of wine at dinner to just unwind, and let it all go: the pretense, the effort, the mind-race, the pressure.

And when I have a drink, I laugh more, I enjoy my kids more, I am a better mom because I am more relaxed.

I do see why it is a fine line between drinking for some peace, unwinding at the end of a stressful day, and drinking to escape reality. And if it weren't for hubby who is really anal about the latter, I think I might actually have to be careful. Thankfully, though (I think), I doubt it will ever get out of hand, because hubby will be there to keep me in check.

For the time being, cheers! :)

teaching appreciation?

Is it possible?

My kids act like spoiled brats. They ARE spoiled brats.

And I don't know how that happened. Is it that slippery of a slope to spoildom? Most of what I put in front of them to eat, they whine.

Every night at bedtime, Sebastian has a meltdown.

If as a special treat, I get some ice cream popsicles, Sebastian complains because he wants another one.

When I re-arrange my whole day, bend over backwards to get them to a birthday party, with gift in hand, and ready to play, they come home and have meltdown after meltdown.

WTF?

I do think that experience more than words is the methodology of choice when it comes to learning. But what am I supposed to do, starve them so they appreciate my meals? Throw away all their toys so that they appreciate the abundance in their life? Do nothing for them so they understand how much time and effort I expend to make them happy? Telling them that most children in the world don't have half of what they have is useless, they can't conceptualize things they've never seen. So what am I supposed to do?!

I can't wait until I can send them on a service-learning trip - send them do some hard labor in a poor country where people with a fraction of what they have are happier and more generous. But alas, they are 5 and 4 years old. It will be a few years yet.

The only thing that keeps me going is that when they are out and about, they are absolute angels - they are only spoiled brats with me. As they say, a true measure of whether a parents is doing a good job is the way they act and behave when they're out in the world.

So maybe I AM doing something right.

Crossing my fingers, that's for sure.

the joy of ironing

Alas, it has happened. I have begun ironing.

It happened suddenly, out of the blue, caught me completely off-guard. It was a combination of seeing SAHM neighbor/southern Italian mamma/friend quickly fold all my laundry on a play date one day this past May, along with a newly renovated and spacious downstairs bathroom with our washer and dryer in one convenient place...

I couldn't help it. I had visions. A long work table. A mini-closet to hang up shirts that are still a little moist. The iron always out on this table.

Now I'm hooked. I can't stand putting clothes away without giving them a quick swish with the iron. I get annoyed when hubby does the laundry (cuz he is still adamantly anti-iron), because they get put away all wrinkly.

I iron underwear. T-shirts. Bibs. Sheets. Jogging pants. Pyjamas.

And I find it calming, therapeutic. It gives me a sense of peace, when everything around me screams chaos. Incredibly, I feel like I have gained an insight into the minds and souls of millenia of mothers who have wasted - or so I thought - countless hours trying to straighten clothes for the sake of some beholder who actually gives a s**t about what our clothes look like.

And you know what the secret is?

It is the joy of seeing a wrong righted. Taking the ugly and chaos of wrinkles, and making them beautiful and orderly. Something all mothers want so desperately to do with our homes, our children, our marriages: take that one little temper tantrum, that one little refusal to eat vegetables, that one little spilled glass of water, one little misunderstanding with hubby, and with a powerful swish of our hand, make it all go away.

Once I was blind. But now I see.

Eulogy

Thank you, Mom, for using your hard-earned salary as a single mom to make sure that you took us on all your vacations with you. When most parents were leaving their children with family or nannies, you were taking us with you to the States, throughout South America, and Europe. Some of my fondest memories are from our annual trips to Peru to visit our family. Those relationships and traditions are still a source of immense joy and richness in my life now, even though I live so far away.

Thank you, Mom, for the stress you put on education, when you sent me to a home stay program France in 10 grade. It was probably one of the most difficult years of my youth, what with the culture shock, separation anxiety, linguistic obstacles, not to mention the usual array of adolescent angst, the things I learned about life, Europe, and my own self, set me on a different path that has made me who I am today.

Thank you, mom, for giving me a sister, who was able to take care of you and accompany you in these painful last few months when I was unable to. Not only was I able to finish my pregnancy knowing that she had a daughter to help her, I have someone with whom to share the memories of you, as only a sibling can. We promise you that we will always stay united, and never let anything divide us.

Thank you, mom , for one of the most important gifts you gave me was the absolute, unconditional and very special love you showered on my children in these past five years. If I had any uninterrupted nights of sleep, or any sleep-ins at all, in the past few years, it is thanks to you. My boys would wake up at the crack of dawn, and go running to your bed to crawl in and watch cartoons snuggled up to you. Not only were you their precious abuelita, who was the source of unrivaled patience, play, toys, giggles, I could tell that in a way, you yearned to give them all the love you felt that I hadn't received enough of growing up.

Mom we love you with all our hearts. We will truly miss you.

Rest in peace, mom

Gloria Marcela Santa Maria Otoya, born in Trujillo, Peru on February 18, 1945, passed away this past Tuesday, May 22, 2012 at the Montreal General Hospital after a courageous fight against lung cancer. Marcela was an energetic, adventurous, feisty and generous woman, who knew how to throw a party, and make all the people in her life feel truly special. She touched everyone profoundly, and will be missed by communities in Canada, Peru, and Italy. She is survived by her two daughters, Christina and Natalie Philpot, her siblings, Danilo, Amalia and Betty Santa Maria, and her three beloved grandsons, Sebastian, Lucas, and Nicolas Airolo. The funeral will be held at Rideau Memorial Gardens on Sources Boulevard at 2:30pm on Friday, May 25, 2012.