The Best Kind of Mom

The mommy wars have been waged since the first ladies with babies donned their pencil skirts and heels and took their places behind typewriters.  Decades later the debate rages on over who makes the best kind of mom – the stay-at-home mom or the working mom.  And the battle is a bitter one.  Every Mom wants to feel like they are doing the best for their kids, and when you call into question a major aspect of their parenting, feelings are easily hurt and tempers often rage.  Is there a best kind of mom?

The Stay-at-Home Mom

What working-from-home looks like.

Oh those lucky stay at home moms… Their hard working husbands toil away to bring home the bacon so they can stay home making cookies and playing 1950’s housewife.  It’s all pinterest projects, lullabies and pot roasts.  Or at least that is the stereotype.  And while stay-at-home mom’s have the privilege of being the main person in their children’s lives, they have also shelved their other ambitions to be home with their kids.  They are often the moms volunteering at school, chaperoning field trips and volunteering in classrooms.   They are the moms that on a snow day, end up with extra kids at their house, so their working mom friends can make it to the office.  And while they have more one-on-one time with their kids, and can mold them into early readers and get them to memorize all the former presidents, before they are in kindergarten, it doesn't necessarily mean their children will turn out better than others.  Yet, as they are making personal sacrifices to try and do the best for their kids they can be looked down upon or looked at with envy.  When people find out “I’m a stay-at-home mom”, the response is often “Oh, isn’t that nice for you”, in a tone that makes it seem like you’re doing something wrong.  Some get the impression that because you’re not dressing up and going to the office that you’re not educated, that your decision to stay home wasn't pro’d and conned to death, that you simply hung up your Wal-Mart vest, took off your McDonald’s visor and stayed home. They expect Peg Bundy with bon-bons, when the truth is most stay-at-home moms made a choice to give something up to be with their kids, and even if the list of pros was 10 times longer than the cons, they still left something behind in the decision.

The Working Mom

Also known as the Nights & Weekends Moms, have pro’d and conned their way to the office –  they do it because they have to or because they want to.  Their kids may attend daycare, school, or spend days with grandparents while mom is at work.  And while the kids may not get as much time with mom during the day, the separation can help them build confidence and independence.  The quantity time they lack during the work week they make up with quality when they are home. They rearrange schedules, coordinate their support system for pick-ups and drop-offs, skip lunch to leave early and bargain with bosses for an afternoon off to see their kids in the holiday concert.  They not only have to keep their kids and spouse happy, but their boss as well.  When they put on their daughters mood ring while playing dress up, it instantly turns to the murky black color that means “stressed”.  These are the moms that you find racing through the grocery store at 5PM or lingering in the empty aisles with a Starbucks long after their kids are snuggled into bed. They thrive on the least amount of sleep, they’ve got the morning routine down to a science and live off coffee with a side of guilt.  Whether they have to work or they love their job, they still feel the disappointment when they miss their kids’ important moments, but they can take comfort in knowing that the people they’ve chosen to help care for their kids when they aren’t available create a special group of people that their kids can turn to and trust in   addition to their parents.  The working mom may argue that modern stay-at-home moms are a relatively new phenomenon – Not too long ago dishes and laundry didn’t wash themselves in fancy machines, food came from the family garden and livestock that needed constant maintenance and care, and family fun time was less pinteresty and more you feed the chickens, I’ll go pick carrots.  The curse of the working mom is that no matter how hard they try, or how much they do, they still lay down to sleep wondering if they are doing enough.

But What About the Work-at-Home Moms?

I’d be remiss to not mention the work-at-home moms, being one myself. I work-at-home in marketing and design with my 4 kids.  Us work at home ladies have the best and worst of both worlds.  Being able to work at home means more time with the kids, it also means dedicating a big part of your day to getting work done – which isn’t what the kids mind.  Every day is a balancing act, every “just 5 more minutes guys” is more like 20 minutes, and every phone call is a gamble.  You wonder, if I answer this, will they be quiet? Will the littlest one start screaming from the bathroom “Wipe my butt!!”? Will they undoubtedly realize you’re compromised and take that opportunity to raid the snack cupboard/color on the wall/turn the bar of soap into a mushy mess in the bathroom sink? Those answers would be Yes. Yes. And most definitely Yes.   And those clients often have a knack for calling at the worst possible times. If you can clean up a poopy diaper explosion while talking email marketing with a customer, then you have the skills needed to be a work-at-home mom. And while we can make the daytime events at school, squeeze in chaperoning a field-trip now and again, and hit Target at 2PM on a Tuesday when there is practically no one else there, our schedules can be crazy.  We have to give the illusion of working 9-5 for our clients – which means answering emails in the Target parking lot and making calls while your kids eat lunch.  But our hours are more like 8-Noon, 2-4PM, and 8-11PM and with a little luck I manage to throw enough dishes in the dishwasher at some point to set the table for dinner.  There is no turning off work or family, they intermingle and overlap, and try as you might not to work on the weekend, you’ll end up with an urgent email from a client who needs help ASAP – and because you feel like you can’t hide: “Sorry, I’m out of the office for the day” to which they say “That’s okay, I’ll wait the thirty seconds while you walk downstairs to your office.”… you take care of it.   Managing your priorities with your sense of duty to both your clients and your family can be overwhelming, so you let the dishes stack up and the floor may not get swept for a day…or four, and you just hope your best is the enough for everyone counting on you.

The Best Kind of Mom

If we really want to know what makes the best kind of mom, we can ignore the experts, the TV talk shows and that loud mouth mom at your kids’ school.  If you want to know who the best kind of mom is – just ask your kids.  I just asked my youngest and with a darling smile he said “you”.  I have to agree. 

The best kind of mom is “You”.  You – who knows which of your child’s cries means “I’m hurt” or “I’m scared” or “man, this has been long day”.  You - who can spot a cold coming on just by how they are eating of the color in their cheeks.  You – who can cure the hiccups with some tickles and chase away the boogie monster by snuggling them in their favorite blanket.  You - who may once in a while lose your temper or not handle a tantrum just right, but You – who has the best hugs, smooches and smile to make it all okay in your kids’ world.  So let’s stop worrying about what all the other moms are doing, thinking and saying, let’s not propagate these mommy wars by pointing out the differences in how we get things done and let’s just do what we know makes OUR kids feel they have the best kind of mom.

Six More Weeks of Sniffles

I should have known when January swept by without so much has a sneeze, that something (or things) ominous were waiting for February.  And sure as that rotten little groundhog predicted six more weeks of winter, the antibacterial bubble we were thriving in popped, flooding the house with germs.

It always starts so innocently, a little cough, a sniffle, a little throat tickle. If you’re lucky, it ends there. But, I've never been lucky.  So when I saw the shadow of my youngest whimpering in the glow of the nightlight a week ago I knew there’d be six more weeks of sniffles.

The little one’s whimpers signaled a sore throat and fever that ended up being Strep, which was promptly shared with his brother… as I waited for the oldest two to follow suit, something strange happened.  They felt fine and I started to cough. 

I’m not one to get “stick a fork in me I’m done” sick.  A little cough/sniffle/throat thing one or two times a year, sure, but nothing that isn’t gone in a day or two.   I actually felt perfectly fine the morning of “the cough”.  I thought it was just a little dry throat, but by that afternoon I was wearing two sweaters and a robe, debating burial or cremation… leaning toward cremation because it sounded like the only way I may ever be warm again.

As my fever rose, I thought, at least the antibiotics worked on the younger two, they were feeling better.  Until I remembered the only thing worse than worrying about your sick kids is trying to take care of your healthy kids when you’re sick.  They still want to eat and play and be loud.   I just wanted to sit and shiver in my blanket igloo.   When I woke for the 3^rd day with a fever I thought I better go in, my throat was irritated, maybe I have Strep too.

My go-to place for this stuff is the Qcare at Cub Foods, when I got there it was closed. The staff all had strep.  The boys were diagnosed there earlier that week, so that was probably our fault (and the half dozen other people we waited with who were all there for strep tests too).   This made me feel even more confident that I must be suffering the same thing.  I followed the instructions on the door and headed to the nearest Urgent Care where I waited 2 hours to take a 6 minute test to find out from a doctor who’s shoes sound like bubble wrap popping with each step, and who smelled like a fart (I could still smell at this point, unfortunately), that I did not have Strep.   He didn't offer any other thoughts on a diagnosis, just told me to “Treat my symptoms.”, and bubble wrap-popped his way out the door.

When I was emailed my lab result later I found the dictation for the visit in the Patient Portal, imagine my surprise to learn that “Treat my symptoms” means: “She is encouraged to take vitamin C and zinc supplements in combination with increased water consumption to alleviate her discomfort. She may also take Acetaminophen 500mg 2 tabs p.o. q.i.d. p.r.n.; or Ibuprofen 200mg 4 tabs p.o. t.i.d. p.r.n. discomfort. Use of lozenges is also encouraged.”.  Fabulous advice I never heard.

The dictation also said “It is not necessary for her to remain home from work or school at this time.”  The “all-clear” to spread my fevery germs far and wide.  Not so fabulous advice.

Two more days of fever later, as I’m serving up roast beef, taters and gravy for the kids, my temp’s running about 102 and I’m feeling a little wobbly, but I’m not supposed to take anymore medicine for another hour.  I’m pouring gravy on a plate while holding it, not realizing its tipped ever so slightly until the scalding hot gravy starts pouring through my fingers.   The jolt of pain transports me back to the last time I felt this sick. I was 17, so sick I could barely move, I really wanted a cup of tea, so I put some water in the microwave that hung over the range.  My mom had just taken dinner off the stove, and as I waited for the microwave everything went black. I passed out and when I came to I had this strange burn on my hand, apparently from trying to catch myself on the hot stove.   It was the flu then, and I realized, even though my brain has been slow-cooking for the better part of a week, that it’s the flu now.

Hours later three of the four kids are coughing, two with a fever.  Another trip to the Urgent Care and luckily a visit with a much (so much) better doctor, and now our fridge has more medicine in it than food. But this morning, while the horrible cough is lingering, no one’s temp is above 100, a small victory.  The next week will probably be a long one.  I was too far in for Tamiflu, so I’ll just have to wait this out, on the bright side, I could almost smell my coffee this morning.   So I’ll leave you with this advice Nyquil Severe Cold and Flu pills actually let you feel almost normal when you’re trying to fall asleep, and if you’re at Urgent Care and hear bubble-wrapped footsteps coming your way, plug your nose and get a second opinion. 

No One Ever Told Me About "The Lasts"

Pretty soon the training wheels will be a thing of the past too.

I’m hyper aware of how much my baby isn’t a baby anymore.  As I’m directing the morning production of “Let’s make it to the bus stop without having to run!”, my youngest groggily stumbles into the kitchen and raises his arms for the big morning squeeze that wakes him up for the day.  At 4, he can best be described as an afternoon person.  But that morning hug from mom is pretty much all he needs from me these days. 

I set him down and ask what he wants for breakfast as he gathers his own cup, bowl and spoon.  “Cheerios, please.” followed by a “I said pleeeaaassseee!” because I told him it’s always important to say please and he wants me to notice that he did.

He pours his own milk and cereal like a big boy, gobbles his cereal and when done announces he’s going to get dressed, all while I’m still trying to get the other three out the door. 

A little voice in my head tells me those must-have morning hugs won’t last.  Pretty soon my youngest will be cast in the off-to-school production and the “I can’t find my library book!” panic will eat into the hugging time. My heart breaks a bit thinking of it.

No one ever told me about “the lasts”.  Every baby book only ever talks about the firsts.  The first poop, tooth, word, sit, roll, crawl, walk, and on, and on, and on.

 As the kids get older you start to realize their firsts are your lasts. Their first time getting dressed themselves is almost your last time helping them, their first shower is your last bathtime fun, the first time you forget to do the silly bedtime tuck in routine and they forget to remind you is the day after the last and you rarely go back. Sigh. Most of the lasts signal the end of a routine and special little daily moments parents share with their kids.

The impact of my older kids’ lasts, while still bittersweet, were not as profound as my youngest’s.  With the others, there was always someone still working through their exciting baby firsts to make the “lasts” of the others seem less final.

Now I find myself having changed my last diaper, given my last bath, dressed my last toddler and frantically looked for my last pacifier or blanket at bedtime. Those moments went without the fanfare of the “firsts”, there was no proud documentation in the baby books, probably, because they sneak by so slowly.  It feels like you’ll never change your last diaper until you finally realize you have, three days later.

The cruelest part of parenting is that you teach your children to do without you.  And while there’s some days their independence can’t happen soon enough, most days it’s hard to imagine them not needing you… and you not being the most important person in their life.  And while I can’t stop them from growing up and doing for themselves, now that I’ve realized the significance of “the lasts”, I’m going to watch for them, and take a minute to mostly celebrate them, and maybe mourn them, just a little, while I wait for the next big kid firsts to happen. 

9 Reasons Moms Can Only Hope "We'll sleep when we're dead"

When they say “a baby changes everything”, they mean everything, from your body to your brain and even your relationships.  While the stretch marks fade, the “mom-brain” lessens and the Daddy finally realizes it’s just easier to do it all mommy’s way, there’s a change so prolific its effects last for years. And years.  And more years.  It’s the relationship with  your pillow.

I expected, like most, the sleepless nights with a nursing infant, the predictable awakenings of the toddler years, even the random bad dream or “I’m sick” snooze wrecker here and there, but not the near decade of substandard sleep I’ve endured since my first was born.   While the rest of the world REMs away, I am the nocturnal creature stumbling about the darkness herding children back to their beds with water, reassurance, new sheets or a puke bowl.

So I offer you 9 reasons Mommy can’t sleep.

1.  Moms sleep like a baby.  Let’s be real here, babies are crappy sleepers.  Sure, when they’re out, they’re out, but it never lasts long and grown up brains don’t really function on a two hours down, one hour up sleep pattern.  The result is actually sleeping like a baby, falling asleep on our lunch, at the computer or even while folding laundry.  I remember being so tired I actually felt nauseous.  I’ve put the milk in the cupboard and the cereal in the fridge. The only upside was that when my kids were babies, I never had trouble falling asleep at night 
2. Rotten Little Deal Breakers! After a few months, my tiny kids and I were able to strike an agreement – I fed them at 11PM with the understanding that they would then sleep until 4 or 5AM.  We were both happy, or so I thought, and the arrangement worked for weeks.   Then one night I hear rustling and a whimper at 2AM.  What the hell!  We had a deal! As I tried to console their desperate cries, my sleep deprived mind takes a journey through an emotional jungle – from concern and confusion (What. About. The. Deal?!) to “Why are you ruining my life, child!?” until we’re both crying until we fall back asleep.  In the light of day you notice the new tooth or that their 9 month pants are now suddenly an inch too short and it makes sense. Luckily within a few nights the deals back on, for now.
3. . Night Ninja  Once the kiddos start sleeping through the night (or so you tell people, it’s never actually through the night, most nights).  Of course, I have the quantity disadvantage – even if it’s just one kid waking up once a week, with four kids it’s still 4 nights of crappy sleep.   So you try to prevent the waking and to do so you develop Night Ninja skills.  Let’s set the scene:  its 4AM and the youngest wakes to a dark and eerily quiet house and panics, wouldn’t you?  As a mom, I can miraculously sleep through the snoring next to me, but my supersonic ears perk up to hear the telltale rustle of the waterproof mattress pad, the littlest baby moan or the PLINKO sound of the pacifier bouncing down the crib bars to the floor.  Like a ninja I slide out of bed, avoiding squeaky floor boards and knowing instinctively where the paci dropped, finding it by feel and returning it to the fussing baby without him even knowing I was there.  The ninja maneuvers are especially crucial for someone as nearsighted as I am.  My crappy vision puts me past the threshold for being legally blind and wasting time feeling for my glasses before “Operation Paci Retrieval” is the difference between a whimper and all out house waking wail.
4.  Sleep, the Musical  If you miss the whine to wail window, you’re in their room for the long haul, but that’s nothing a little choreography can’t fix.  One and two and three and four – five and six and seven and eight, rock-rock-rock, lay down slowly, three and four and butt pat, butt pat, butt pat, drop to floor, five and six and seven and army crawl, two and three, watch that floorboard, seven and eight.  Slide into bed … and sleep, or repeat.
5. Small Bedfellows  When the choreography falls flat and I give up, having my head on or at least near my pillow is more important than keeping my child in their own bed.  You 0, Them 105.  They win again, but I take comfort as a loser just having my own bed under me, even when there’s a toddler’s butt  on my head.
6.  Polk High’s Best Football Player  Now that the kid is in bed with two giant people on each side some precautions have to be taken, especially when one side could roll over the tiny human without even noticing.  So I give up my pillow to the little one and position myself in what can best be described as “Al Bundy’s 4 touchdowns in a single game” pose.  One arm around baby, one straight out, locked against the wall of dad to prevent or at least alert you to an impending roll.  Ahh, sleep, kinda.
7. Sick and Scared and Wet and Tired  My oldest is nine and I haven’t slept through the night once since she and her three younger brothers were born.  Even with my youngest, now four, every night someone is sick, or has a bad dream or gets up to use the bathroom and tries to pee in a closet, or just forgets to get up before going to the bathroom.   I’m beginning to think this is the longest phase and it requires the most supersonic senses and the most alertness in the wee morning hours.  You’ve got to assess the situation, find puke bowls and new sheets, banish mountain lions, white wolves and bears, oh my.  And then try to go back to sleep.
8. Spooked Sleep  On the rare occasion I don’t hear the rustle of the waterproof mattress covers, I usually awake with near heart attack to a small, dark figure standing bedside near my head, whispering “maaaamiiii” Ahh!  After you get them their glass of water or whatever, you’re heart’s still racing too fast for you to fall back asleep.
9. Did you hear that?  Even when the odds of a full night’s sleep are in my favor, my brain won’t let me believe a full night’s sleep is possible.  As I lay, one ear pressed to my pillow, trying to clear my mind, the white noise from the fan, the dishwasher, the furnace or the #&%$@ rock tumbler rumbling downstairs, starts to sound like a child.  Was that a cry? One of them talking? I lift my head and listen, and hear nothing.  Just the fan/furnace/dishwasher/handful of rocks on their 8^th day of rotation.  But, every time I put my head down, I hear it again, like the phone ringing when you turn on the vacuum or shower. 

I’m sure the tween and teen years will bring all sorts of new sleep issues and by the time the kids are out of the house, I hear menopause packs an insomnia punch.  The catch phrase “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” is a favorite with the party crowd, but I’m pretty sure it started as a mom’s mantra.  So, we’re gonna own this no sleep thing.  We’ll pretend the giant, puffy bags under our eyes are high cheek bones and maybe cereal tastes better from the fridge. If not, at least our pillows will have a longer than average lifespan.

Ruts for Dinner

Meatball Soup again?!

It’s 4 o’clock again and I know that within the next 15 minutes four or more people are going to be asking me the question I’ve already been asking myself for the last two hours, without answer. “What’s for dinner?”

We've got beef and pork and chicken.  There’s pasta, potatoes and rice.  At least some frozen veggies in the freezer, why can’t I think of anything for dinner?

The dinner rut happens a few times a year, usually as the seasons signature meals lose their novelty.   Meatloaf, soup, pasta and hot dishes have lost my interest as they've been taking turns on the menu for the last couple months.  When you cook for your family 325-plus days a year, you’re bound to run out of ideas at some point.  And, we’re in a rut at our house.

I start my grocery shopping prep by planning 10 days of meals and it usually works great.  But lately it’s a pasta dish, Mexican dish, meatloaf/roast, pizza, soup, repeat.  I recently found myself looking to the kids’ school lunch menu for inspiration. 

I've got over 500 pins on my Pinterest “Yummy Things” board, the AllRecipes.com app on my phone and no less than a dozen cookbooks in my house.  I should be able to crawl my way out of this rut somehow!  A year ago I even went through all my “pins” and recipes and made a kind of index of meals, sorted by type of meat, type of cooking, quick meals, kid faves, etc.  There were 125 ideas on there at least, but it went missing – probably has a crayon drawing of a tractor on it and is probably mixed in with the kids’ stash of “Mom!!! Don’t throw that away!” artwork.  I haven’t been motivated to recreate it.

So what’s for dinner? Tonight it was meatloaf and besides the side of peas there were no complaints.  Maybe the rut isn’t the food itself, but my enjoyment in making it.   It might be time to work a few new recipes into the rotation, trying something new is always fun, even if my picky, 7 year old, food critic doesn't approve.   And if that doesn't work, it’s only a few more months until nights of pasta salads and grilled steaks, brats and burgers with the occasional longing for a hot bowl of soup.

An Elf's Open Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

Waiting for Santa to fill their stockings,

For a few weeks now you’ve been making your appearances, shacked up at the mall with daytrips to schools, businesses, bars and more.  You’ve gobbled your share of cookies and slurped an unfathomable amount of cocoa.  You’ve had thousands of kids plopped on your lap, and probably been sneezed on, coughed on, cried on and maybe a few other less desirable things on you, too.  You still see the flashes when you close your eyes and by the end of the day your Ho, Ho, Ho! Is more of a croak, but you’re the star of the show, the CEO of Christmas. 

And I curse you Santa.

While you smile and wave at your adoring adorable fans, the elves, most of us taller than five feet and holding that adorable fan’s hand, do your bidding, and for Ho Ho Nothing.
 

While the story says we toil away in your Toy Shop all year for minimum wage in candy canes, in reality we have it a little better.  While the job is unpaid (and in fact costs quite a bit), it only takes about two months to complete.  But there are certainly challenges, especially with three of my four charges on the good list at any given time. 

Santa, have you considered our hours of brainstorming, making lists (and checking them twice, which by the way, I thought I was your job!), comparing each kid to make sure Santa doesn’t give one too much and another too little.  Then, more hours searching Amazon.com for good deals on items that ship free. Not to mention, Santa, there’s the risk of looking like a shoplifter when trying to sneak an item in your cart while shopping with your kids.  And then, looking a bit loopy at the register, as the item is exposed for the world to see before it’s scanned and bagged, and you’re trying to distract the kids by getting them to look elsewhere, “Hey, is that uncle Casey?”  “Look at that!” “I think your shoe is untied”, only to have the cashier hold the item up and ask if you want it bagged. Curse you as well, Target.

There’s hiding items in your house and making those areas off limits to certain people, which makes said certain people even more interested in said area.  “Don’t open that closet!”  “Why, Mom?” “I think I saw a huge spider in there… and a bat, and probably a snake or porcupine…”.  

There’s the godforsaken wrapping. It takes hours to do, and they have it littering the living room in about 3 minutes on Christmas morning. Santa, can’t you just be lazy one year?  Send out a little press release that you’re saving trees for Christmas and no gifts will be wrapped? Just a thought.

Mr. Claus, it’s a lot of work to be your elf.  But you can keep your cozy, red velvet seat, and your cookie crumb beard and peppermint breath.  Because, even though it’s tedious, and tiring, and, so dang expensive, I’ll keep up the charade for as long as I can.  While it would be nice for the elves to get credit for making it all happen, the truth would set the magic free.   The stuffed stockings in the morning would just be a tradition without the anticipation, the stories, the letter writing, and the terrified faces of toddlers asked to sit on your strange lap for the first time. 

But, if you don’t mind, Santa, I have a request.  All I want for Christmas is for my mostly good little boys and girl to keep on believing.  The oldest is 9 and I know time is running out – but a couple more years of tucking her in with sugar plums dancing in her head would be much appreciated.  A few more years of the boys waking us up to tell us Santa came would be great.  And most importantly, being able to use “Santa’s watching” to instantly stop whatever troublesome thing
they’re up to for a while longer would definitely make my day. 

Sincerely,

Angie Elf 

Spin Cycle: Lessons in a Messy House

Standing at the sink, trying to figure out how to fit the day's 32^nd cup into the dishwasher rack that holds a maximum of 30, my almost 4 year old runs into the kitchen with legitimate excitement, wiggles his little orange and gray toes and announces “I found matching socks!”.  There’s crumbs and dirt (so much dirt, that is in no doubt related to the dirt/mud/ice/snow driveway we have right now), there are piles of tractor pictures on every flat surface, along with a baseball hat, mate-less glove, a half eaten granola bar.  Eeew.  And that is just the kitchen.

It’s not that I’m a bad housekeeper (I tell myself).  In fact, before we had kids, even in college, our house was always clean, my husband never had to wear damp from the dryer pants to work and the kitchen sinks were empty – even though we didn’t have a dishwasher.  How did it all go downhill so quickly?

I don’t think its laziness.  From about 6:20AM to 10PM I’m always doing something: the off-to-school rush, the banishment to my office for hours, after school chaos, dinner, homework, practice spelling and vocab, bath time, read stories to all four of them, tuck them in, make lunches for tomorrow, chase the kids out of the bathroom and back to bed, check out and/or clean up whatever science experiment they started in there, then finally sit down on the couch about 8:30PM and plan my work for the next day, make a grocery/birthday/Christmas/whatever is coming list until I put down my pen at 10PM for the news.

I wonder if the house would be neater if there were more hours in the day to get stuff done, then I realize that would just give the kids more time to mess it up.  So, while the “Mom Scouts” are off earning their badges in sock-matching, sink scrubbing and crumbless carpets, I decided to do what I do best, spin.

In my day job as a marketing professional I get to frame products and services to give them a purpose, and make them sound appealing or desirable.

My “spinspiration” came during parenting time at my youngest’s ECFE class, we were discussing the building blocks of math, and one of the first math skills kids learn is to group, match and organize items, recognizing similarities and differences.  How could I deny this learning opportunity to my offspring by matching their socks for them? And, what other important lessons can be learned from my shotty housekeeping.

So far, I've found a few lessons in my messy house:

1.  Perhaps when the 5-year-old can’t find clean pants because he put his clean clothes on his bed, instead of in his drawers, like I asked him to, asking him where he put them results in critical thinking and recognizing sequence of events.

2.  Maybe when there are only 4 forks left in the drawer because I haven’t yet emptied the clean dishwasher, figuring out how many are needed and finding them in the dishwasher is subtraction and addition.

3.  The investigation into the spilled juice that has mostly glued my foot to the floor is probably a good attempt at storytelling or persuasive speech, and cleaning it up anyway, is a good lesson in personal responsibility.

4.  The thin coating of dust on everything is most likely a better, organic immune system booster than vitamin C, I think I read… somewhere.

5.  The little pebbles that find their way in the house in the grooves of their boots serve to toughen our tootsies, no soft soled sissies here.

6.  Hurtling the heap of winter outdoor clothes that never seem to stay on their hooks most definitely improves agility and balance.

7.  Finding their homework in the tower of paper that arrives home in three backpacks each Friday afternoon teaches determination.

8.  When there’s no cups left for that 3^rd or 4^th glass of milk or juice in a day, Finding and rinsing the cup you used for drinks 1, 2 or 3 seems like problem solving to me.

9.  The mom’s fed up with all the toys everywhere and you have 10 seconds to get it in your room countdown is a daily lesson on how to count backwards.

10.  Avoiding discipline for the latest act of destruction: coloring on the wall, gum in the carpet, is a good start for Law Concepts 101 – pleading the fifth, deflecting blame, or pleading mom’s insanity (But Mom, it’s been there forever!).

11.  The long lived leftovers in the fridge, a science experiment in progress and quite possibly the next best thing since penicillin.

I’m still trying to spin a few things, like the clumps of SpongeBob toothpaste that magically appear on the bathroom sink daily and the tiny scraps of paper that look like a notebook had its own surprise party and didn’t clean up. 

I can tell myself how nicely the sandy dirt from the backdoor that trails into our kitchen exfoliates my feet while I cook dinner, but really the spin is just a final last attempt to not feel rotten about having a house that could probably apply for national disaster assistance 350 out of 365 days a year.  Trying to keep a clean house with 4 kids under 10 is a challenge, and when you’re not passionate about spotless windows and clutter-free counters, it’s nearly impossible. 

So I’ll try not to be jealous and maybe a tiny bit ashamed when the Mom Scouts parade around with their sashes full of super mom/housekeeper badges.  Instead, I’ll focus on my achievements in other motherly things. 

For example, my kids eat well, the freezer has just meat, veggies and a tub or two of ice cream, one may be coffee flavored (in other words, mine).  But, there are no frozen pizzas or chicken nuggets, if we have those I make them from scratch, that ought to count for something.  And probably is the reason I have so many dishes to do all the time. 

I write a note for their lunch boxes each day, I read to them all each night, really look at their pictures, even if it’s the 40^th green tractor of the day.  I remember, most of the time, to thank them or tell them about a good thing they did that day.  We talk about what’s on the evening news, even if it’s a bit scary, because I think, as they grow the more “reality” they know the better and being the one to explain the scary and strange things to them is important to me.

I demand their best, congratulate them on the best tries and help them understand their failures, so they can get better the next time. I come up with fun ways to remember their spelling words, for my 2^nd grade boy, that almost always includes potty humor.  I try to make their birthdays special by drawing their decorations, designing and constructing cakes and making the food they want.  I discipline them. I show them I love them.  And, I think, I hope, that when they’re grown, they’ll remember all that more than the daily search for matching socks and the towers of pieces of papers in our messy house.