Seeking: Housewife

Posted on March 13, 2010 by anyavasquez

We have reached a breaking point. Our lives are filled to the brim, thankfully with projects we’re passionate about, people we absolutely adore and jobs we love, but nonetheless, busy to the point of insanity. When we purchased our first home, we downsized to half the size, minus a double car garage and crawl space. 1,000 square feet can be a perfectly suitable size for a three person family, if you don’t accumulate a large amount of crap, that is. We have not followed suit. Three years and another kid later, we have gotten to the point where not only are our lives jam-packed, but our house is busting at the seams.

We’re both away at work for many hours during the week, and because of this, playing with our kids and enjoying each others’ company trumps the daily (and necessary) maintenance of keeping house. Honestly, who would chose cleaning up over cuddling on the couch with books, working on a new blog entry or having a tea party on the living room floor? But it is becoming increasingly apparent that our “ignore it and maybe it will go away” mentality is just not cutting it anymore. The constant state of chaos that has taken over every inch of our house is seeping into our souls and causing bigger problems.

Instead of being able to come home to a lovely sanctuary from the rest of the crazy world, we end up fighting about the house. The dirty dishes in the sink multiply when left alone for a couple hours, the living room hasn’t been vacuumed for longer than either of us can remember – heck, it would be impossible to even attempt vacuuming with the sea of clothes/toys/ laundry/stuffed animals/remainders of art projects everywhere. How can we relax in an environment where there isn’t room on the table to put a dinner plate or where we have to shovel off the couch to merely sit down? Don’t even get me started on the daily search for the TV remote, cell phones and keys. We don’t invite people over because it is embarrassing; somehow other work-outside-the-home-two-income-earner families manage to keep it together. It is stressful existing in this perpetual mess and our marriage is suffering.

When I was younger, my parents gave us a deadline of 5:00 on Sunday night to have our room picked up. Whatever was left on the floor at 5:01 got swept up into a huge black garbage bag to live in the attic. During the course of the following week, whatever items we could remember were returned – otherwise, adios. Perhaps it is time to implement the garbage bag technique for our grown-up selves.

It doesn’t seem realistic for Jake to come home and spend his mere moments of free time cleaning after a 60+ hour work week (with a schedule that changes week to week), but it also isn’t fair to leave all of the cleaning to me – since when I’m not working, I’m with our daughters, not gallivanting around town shopping and getting pedicures. But the dirty (literally) truth is that just because we both work outside the home doesn’t diminish the fact that things still need to be picked up and put away. Finding any kind of reasonable balance while juggling everything we have going on is quite irrational.

We have come to the realization that what we really need is someone to fill the old-fashioned role of housewife. Someone to be the command central of our house. Someone to be in charge of all those odd jobs we just cannot get a handle on. Someone to help us scrub the tub and mop the floors, rake the leaves and mow the lawn, run to goodwill and the recycling center, file papers, grocery shop…maybe even watch the kids while we get the house back to some kind of working order.

Is this our sanity saving answer? Too early to tell, as we have an overwhelming amount of work to do initially. But it is time, and we owe it to our family to buck up, stop whining and clean up our crap.  Hopefully sooner, rather than later, we’ll be able to hire someone…any takers?

Posted in Marriage | 1 Comment

A “Short Fuse” Kind of Day

Posted on March 5, 2010 by anyavasquez

Nothing tests a person’s patience like their own children. Being a mom has made me face the sometimes ugly realities of how I deal with my own emotions. For the most part, I consider myself to be a very patient and understanding person; perhaps even more so than the average Joe. (I wouldn’t have been a very successful babysitter if I didn’t at least have this one quality to keep me from taking my whiny spoiled brats of charges to a park and leaving them there). But everyone has their breaking point. Mine has become increasingly shorter due to a combination of sleep deprivation, balancing a busy life and adjusting to being a mom of two.

Case in point: we were trying to get out of the house one morning. Running late already, of course, as I was so tired and couldn’t drag myself out of bed at the first ring of the alarm. It also doesn’t help that on any typical morning, my husband, Jake, is already at work before we even wake up. Breakfast eaten, teeth brushed, diaper bag packed. “Do you need to go to the bathroom, Lily?” I ask my three-year old. “No!” she replies. Sweater, coat, hat, mittens on Lily, wrestle Vivienne into a full body snowsuit and car-seat, multiple bags for the day hoisted onto my shoulder (seriously, I have so many bags that if you ever see us leaving the house in the morning you might mistake me for a nomad off to begin a long journey).

“Why don’t you try to go to the bathroom, honey, before we have to leave?” I plead. “No!” she replies again. Door locked, kids loaded in car, turn key: “Mama?” Lily says timidly, and I close my eyes and sigh, prepared for what she is about to say. “Mama, I have to go to the bathroom.” At this point, I become irrationally angry with this little child of mine and explode. Sighing exasperatedly, I snap, “Why couldn’t you have gone when we were in the house? Why do you think I kept asking you?” I clench my teeth together to keep from screaming, “We’re late already and now we’ll be even later! You have been potty trained for almost two years – don’t you get it by now? *#$%!!!” On the verge of tears, Lily says, “Sorry Mama! I just have to go now!” Drag baby in car-seat and child out of car, unlock house, wait for pee, repeat leaving the house scenario.

And while I’m driving to wherever it was we needed to be so urgently, my brain implodes and I am overcome with guilt. Lily is a mere preschooler with a tiny bladder and developmentally, it is normal for young kids to not have to go one second and then really have to go the next. Why do I snap in this way? This isn’t the first instance where anger, frustration and annoyance have induced this kind of reaction. Are my tendencies towards displacing anger and passive aggressiveness simply coping mechanisms I learned along the way or patterns I formed growing up? And why, if I logically understand what I’m doing, does it seem uncontrollable in the heat of the moment? As an adult, shouldn’t I be able to keep my emotions in check, channel my inner zen, breathe deeply and act in a more rational way?

Regardless of the reason, I am horrified that I responded like this to my sweet daughter, who was just trying to tell me she had to go to the bathroom! (How lovely would it have been if she had peed in her car-seat instead?) A circumstance so minute does not, in any way, constitute this kind of intense reaction. I apologize to Lily for getting mad when I drop her off at preschool, but fear my bad habits of snapping suddenly have already taken root in her mind as an appropriate way of dealing with your anger.

Realizing that my children are watching everything I do and listening to everything I say is overwhelming. If you had to take a test to become a parent, the aforementioned scenario would definitely earn me a check mark in the “not suitable” category. Later that night, Jake reminds me that being a parent is hard, period. After all, we all make mistakes, and parents have the added challenge of having a constant set of eyes and ears observing our every move. Fortunately, he explained, there are hidden benefits to our kids seeing us making mistakes. Cleaning up the pieces of our screw-ups and dealing with the aftermath of our mishaps is the main point, because being able to say “I’m sorry” and owning up to your mistakes are good life lessons. While this doesn’t excuse my irrational behavior, I am thankful to have this added perspective. And I am happy to report that I’m getting better at not immediately snapping, even on those “short fuse” kinds of days.

Posted in Identity, Parenting | 2 Comments

Share the Mama

Posted on February 25, 2010 by anyavasquez

You would have expected Lily to be jealous after the birth of her new baby sister.  You would have been wrong.

I credit myself largely to starting off their sisterly relationship on the right foot.  One ice cream sundae play dough play set, which one certain three-year old had been eyeing, was gifted “from” Vivienne about a week after she arrived.  “How did she know I wanted it?”an excited but confused Lily wanted to know.  “She’s your sister.  That’s how,” was the simple answer she received.

Lily has amazed us with her incredible patience and understanding, willingness to help and genuine love for her baby sister.  Her continual commentary always prompts a smile: “Mama, don’t forget my sister!” and “Mama, she’s crying again. (sigh and eye roll).”  and “Mama, she doesn’t like those cheese puffs.  Can I have them?”  Instead of being jealous or whiny or obnoxious, she would simply wait to receive attention.

What has perplexed me the most is that lately, the jealousy has been coming from the other side.  Now that Vivienne is almost 11 months old and able to maneuver through obstacles and get to where – and what – she wants to, I have a small, constant companion at my feet.  Being only 18 pounds and having a shriek that can pierce your inner eardrum, she is often hoisted onto my hip and carried about.  If I am interacting in any way with Lily, Vivienne zips right over and unleashes the demon within if I take no notice right away.

Tonight, dinner and play and bed time were all on me, as Jake was at work.  I was lying on the floor of the living room, giggling and cuddling and engaging in general silliness with Lily, when Vivienne decided she had had it up to here with all of the attention being paid to her sister.  Throwing herself on top of me, grabbing with an iron grip, she wept and screamed so incredibly that I thought she might start choking or possibly throw up.  She also batted at Lily with her angry little fist and tried to rip shreds of hair out of Lily’s head.  “Gentle!”I told her, maneuvering her hand to softly pat Lily,”Sisters are nice!”

And Lily, true to form, just shrugged the whole incident off as we were walking up the stairs to start bedtime.  I later heard her telling her sister, “Yes, Vivi, it’s hard to share. But we have to share the Mama.”

Posted in Parenting, Siblings | 4 Comments

Cow, Part 3 & 4

Posted on February 24, 2010 by anyavasquez

Stay tuned for:

Part 3: To Wean or Not to Wean

Part 4: A Love/Hate Relationship with the Breast Pump

Posted in Breastfeeding | 1 Comment

Cow, Part 2: The Purpose of Boobs

Posted on February 24, 2010 by anyavasquez

I find it somewhat amusing when people are grossed out by breastfeeding. Sorry to break it to you, folks, but breasts do not exist solely for you to ogle at and play with. I triumphantly nursed both of my babies in public, every time hoping just a little that someone would sneer a rude comment my direction so I could reply, “I don’t get offended when you eat.” Depending on the commentator, I might find it appropriate to also squirt them across the room with my milk. Sadly, I was never able to whip this comment, or my boob, out at someone.

But in all seriousness, how amazing is it that our bodies are capable of producing this nutritious and perfectly balanced substance that sustains another human life? When I was pregnant the first time, there was no question that I would breastfeed. Months leading up to Lily’s birth, I had visions of picturesque nursing scenes: a soft, Thomas Kinkade-esqe light glowing around us, angels voices softly piercing the air, my white, billowy nightgown flowing softly in the breeze. Suffice to say, that dream scene was thrown out the window after Lily arrived and I found breastfeeding to be a miserable and challenging experience. How could something “natural” be so difficult? I will never, ever forget the first thing the lactation consultant said to my tear streaked face when Lily was almost a week old and not gaining weight yet: “This is the first time you’ve ever tried to breastfeed someone, and this is the first time your baby has ever breastfed. You can’t expect to get something perfect the first time you’ve ever tried it!”

Lily did eventually catch on and ended up nursing for over two years. Being the new, neurotic parent I was, pushing her to take a bottle was something we tried only a handful of times. And lo and behold, at three months she absolutely refused any kind of nipple that wasn’t mine. Even worse, she was convinced at six months that “real” food was poisonous and I continued to be her sole source of nutrition for many, many months. Her demands were exhausting, but the emotional rewards from breastfeeding outweighed the negatives and I was grateful for the opportunity to connect with my baby in this way.

Needless to say, after the birth of Vivienne three years later, I was determined to introduce the bottle. I simply could not fathom the thought of having another baby who wouldn’t take a bottle – not only for logistical reasons, but for my own sake of sanity as well (Nighttime feedings? Any takers?). I wanted the best of both worlds – being able to nurse my baby when we were together and not have to worry about her eating habits when we were apart. It turns out that any worries I had about experiencing a repeat of her sister’s eating habits were a waste of time. Vivienne latched on moments after she was born and is a vivacious eater of anything in front of her to this day (cheerios, broccoli, cheese = good. Dust mites, tiny Polly Pocket shoes, coffee beans that fall on the floor = bad).

The purpose of boobs becomes evident after you become a parent. Of course, this purpose will not be the only purpose for the entirety of a lifetime (insert my husband’s cheer here). But for now, for these short months and possibly years, I wear this aspect of motherhood like a badge of honor.

Posted in Breastfeeding | 3 Comments