The whole world knows how hard being a mom is. There are thousands (maybe millions?) of mom blogs, facebook posts, magazine articles and even the media to remind us. We hear what the stay-at-home moms should make based on what they do in a day ($115,000 a year according to Forbes). We know working moms have to make tough choices to be able to pay the bills, and that work-at-home moms are probably just crazy to begin with because who would ever try to get work done with the kids around. Even the stay-at-home dads get their 15 minutes of fame every once in a while, but the working dad NEVER gets credit, even when they meet the crazy high expectations of what society thinks a "dad" should be. My kids have an awesome working dad that makes me want to let the world know that working dad's have it hard too (shh...maybe even harder).
Hear me out.
When our children were born, I was prepared. I had a plan. The marsupial instincts kicked in, and with baby strapped to me, life went on as normal - if at a slower pace. I am woman, hear me roar. And roaring never sounds like a cry for help, even if you intend it to be. So Dad is on standby mode as you juggle bottles, diapers, and dinner. We whine about having to do everything, but we don't want anyone to help. Frankly, we're impossible and if Daddy holds, changes or feeds the child we are inches away supervising -- correcting the hold, the angle, the burping. And lord help him if he tries to fill the dishwasher or make dinner. I imagine the constant supervision and direction doesn't quite inspire them to take an overactive role in the child rearing. Mom's just naturally take charge, we pick and schedule doctors, schools, and activities. We are the Boss which leaves Dad the role of assistant. Affectionately abbreviated to Ass.
My hard-working hubby has been the delegated ass in our house for years now. He doesn't mind so much as long as there is beer around. And after a few of those beers, the tough exterior drops just enough for me to learn that how even though he's happy he doesn't have to manage the chaos that is 4 little kids, sometimes he feels he's not even part of it. My husband works 60 hours a week, often nights, occasionally weekends and he misses out on the fun, but also the routine. When he's home, it's the kids' schedule or my plans, my interior design and style of home management (which consists mostly of putting out fires, having a glass of wine and then putting out more fires). He works so hard to provide for us, but barely gets any say or time to enjoy any of it. I'm sure we're not the only family like this.
Ma usually has the house spinning like a merry-go-round, while Pop is just trying to figure out when to jump on. They literally made the in-crowd, but aren't always part of it.
Working dads have it harder.
Dads, just like moms, have unreachable expectations. They feel bad when they miss school functions and t-ball games because of work. And every hunting, fishing, boys weekend trip also becomes a guilt trip when they leave Ma and the kids at home. A dad today is still supposed to be the strong, hardworking, "wait until your dad gets home" disciplinarians, while at the same time a sentimental teddy bear, soapbox car building, fishing partner - and when you're not busy can you please see why the car is making that funny noise - guy. There are only so many hours in the day.
My husband, and all the other working dads out there, need to know they are appreciated and vital. They may not be able to attend every school concert or sports event, but they are setting a great example for their kids. Something moms should make sure the kids notice.
The silver lining is seeing the moments the kids get to spend with their dad, even if it's just helping him with the yard work. It may not seem like much, but I know those quality moments will mean so much more than seeing Dad on the bleachers at their t-ball game when they are older.
The days when Dad is around to connect with the kids and I are so important, maybe, just maybe, I could let him be Boss for a day. Or at the very least, when I see him trying to find the right moment to jump on our merry-go-round life - remember to slow it down a little and reach out my hand to pull him on, because we're always happier when "Daddy's Home!!".
Monday, June 9, 2014
Monday, June 2, 2014
Pride and Panic: Please Pass the Bubble Wrap
Children, I think, are more detrimental to heart health than salt, booze and a sedentary lifestyle combined. Not a day goes by that my heart does not melt, swell, break or stop because of my kiddos.
We've got "Country Kids", and there's nothing they want more than to be like their 4-wheeling, snowmobiling, mechanic daddy. My boys are tough and strong and proudly redneck -- and my husband encourages the ol' growin' up in the country tradition of kids learning how to drive before they can even
write cursive.
When my oldest boy was just 5 years old he could drive our old riding lawnmower (with the blade removed and my husband walking next to him, calm down), in reverse down the driveway with a trailer attached. This is something I don't think I could easily do at any age, and he did like he has been for years.
I remember my husband coming to get me - "come see this!" - and me freaking out appropriately, applying a defibrillator to myself and then lecturing my husband on 5 year old driving anything, while secretly being amazed and proud of how competent my little boy was. I've learned over the last few years that pride and panic usually come as a combo -- the short of breath, anxious feeling you get as your child leaves for the first day of school, their first bike ride without training wheels or performing in the school talent contest... morphing into a burst of pride when they succeed.
As your kids grow, their firsts become more panic inducing -- their first solo step is a big deal, but compared to their first solo drive... I can't even imagine, hopefully in 8 years we'll all be floating on fluffy cushions as a mode of transportation and I'll never have to worry about my kids behind the wheel of a car... on a highway...driving 70MPH. (Pause for deep breath).
As a mom, your desire for your child's success and well being amplifies the emotions of the situation. I'll never forget the tornado of emotions as my first-grade daughter and kindergartner son took the stage to sing God Bless America in front of about 300 people at the school talent show. The pure adorableness, their obvious nervousness, and their bravery to stand in front of that crowd, these two tiny people on stage, huddled together, sharing a mic, singing sweetly out-of-key with determination. Heart stopping. Melting. Swelling. And then not winning. Breaking. I can't believe the stress of that 3 minutes didn't do me in and if I hadn't been distracted by my video camera crapping out I probably would have been a blubbering mess.
All our life's experiences give us the insight of what can go wrong when we take a risk, and our super-mom persona wants to deflect all that agony. But a life without risk, making an effort, putting ourselves out there, is a life without the satisfaction of success and pride in our own abilities, even if we (and our moms) have to deal with a little defeat along the way.
So we take our pride with a side of panic. We pack our bucket to collect the pieces of a broken heart and try to remember to breath when our hearts stop, just so we can be ready for the swell of pride - and that moment your kid looks up from whatever amazing feat they just accomplished to catch your eye and see your excitement for them. Melt!
We've got "Country Kids", and there's nothing they want more than to be like their 4-wheeling, snowmobiling, mechanic daddy. My boys are tough and strong and proudly redneck -- and my husband encourages the ol' growin' up in the country tradition of kids learning how to drive before they can even
write cursive.
When my oldest boy was just 5 years old he could drive our old riding lawnmower (with the blade removed and my husband walking next to him, calm down), in reverse down the driveway with a trailer attached. This is something I don't think I could easily do at any age, and he did like he has been for years.
I remember my husband coming to get me - "come see this!" - and me freaking out appropriately, applying a defibrillator to myself and then lecturing my husband on 5 year old driving anything, while secretly being amazed and proud of how competent my little boy was. I've learned over the last few years that pride and panic usually come as a combo -- the short of breath, anxious feeling you get as your child leaves for the first day of school, their first bike ride without training wheels or performing in the school talent contest... morphing into a burst of pride when they succeed.
As your kids grow, their firsts become more panic inducing -- their first solo step is a big deal, but compared to their first solo drive... I can't even imagine, hopefully in 8 years we'll all be floating on fluffy cushions as a mode of transportation and I'll never have to worry about my kids behind the wheel of a car... on a highway...driving 70MPH. (Pause for deep breath).
As a mom, your desire for your child's success and well being amplifies the emotions of the situation. I'll never forget the tornado of emotions as my first-grade daughter and kindergartner son took the stage to sing God Bless America in front of about 300 people at the school talent show. The pure adorableness, their obvious nervousness, and their bravery to stand in front of that crowd, these two tiny people on stage, huddled together, sharing a mic, singing sweetly out-of-key with determination. Heart stopping. Melting. Swelling. And then not winning. Breaking. I can't believe the stress of that 3 minutes didn't do me in and if I hadn't been distracted by my video camera crapping out I probably would have been a blubbering mess.
All our life's experiences give us the insight of what can go wrong when we take a risk, and our super-mom persona wants to deflect all that agony. But a life without risk, making an effort, putting ourselves out there, is a life without the satisfaction of success and pride in our own abilities, even if we (and our moms) have to deal with a little defeat along the way.
So we take our pride with a side of panic. We pack our bucket to collect the pieces of a broken heart and try to remember to breath when our hearts stop, just so we can be ready for the swell of pride - and that moment your kid looks up from whatever amazing feat they just accomplished to catch your eye and see your excitement for them. Melt!
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