I had spent the last few days contemplating on writing about this. A topic I rarely find easy to share about. I didn’t want to time it where it was close to Mother’s Day and ruin it for anyone else.
“I know this may not be the same story for everyone but it is something I struggle with every Mother’s Day.”
As a child, I spent a lot of time with extended families who babysat me for my Dad. Aunts, friends, and neighbours. I spent much of my childhood having to move around and never really being in one place. I was raised by my aunt (my dad’s sister-in-law), from the age of three to nine. She did end up leaving to come to Canada when I was seven. Her oldest son who was left behind, his wife and their baby would end up taking over. It would be another two years before I would leave to Canada. I was nine years old.
What I have learned from studying in the field of education with children is that, the first six years of a child’s life is the most critical for parents to invest the time in. It’s so important for their development, and what that time contributes to who they’re becoming.
I remember as a child thinking my aunt was my mom. I fought for her attention, fought with my cousins that I was no different from them. I did things to gain her love. I wanted to be hers, and I wanted to be claimed, someones. When she left, I was devastated. Like a piece of my soul chipped at, for losing someone closest to a mom. I was so excited to see her again when I came to Canada, but her view of me would change. There would be a wall between us, that separated me from her. She had her own family, I wasn’t hers. I couldn’t have her. A few years down the line, that broken line would have her betray me. I trusted her, I thought she cared about me, and she would out me like a bad story. The part of me who loved her is now gone. It still makes me sad.
I would later on try to build bonds with my dad’s women friends, the moms of my friends, and every other moms I would later on meet. The heartbreak it came with, was so overwhelming. To constantly fail at being someones. I tried so hard to be wanted. I just wanted what everyone had. I wanted that nurturing love, that love that’s there when your world is crumbling down, when your heart is hurting so bad, that love that comes so unconditionally because, YOU ARE HERS.
All my failures at finding HER in others, eventually made me feel numb. I stopped looking. I stopped wanting that. I stopped caring. It would eventually sit in the back burner where a ton of my experiences have been sitting and burning away.
JUST LET GO…
Here I am, a mother of three. The most wonderful accomplishment in my life. The chance I never got to have for me, but now I’m giving to my three beautiful children. Every mother’s day, my heart hurts. It hurts for what I can’t fully celebrate. A day I don’t really care for. But also a day that brings me so much pride. I am a Mother!
“Time has passed. I’ve mourn your loss. I wonder at times, if you’re okay. If you’re still alive. If you ever thought of me. The most painful thing for me is being angry with you. It affects me at any given moment. I wonder how it would have been if you were here. Do I have siblings? I would love that. Did you ever come looking for me? Did I mean much to you, even after you left? If you could have the chance to see me now, would you? Why did you give me away? Why didn’t you fight for me? Why wasn’t I enough? Does your heart hurt the way mine does, because we share one. If you could see me now, would you be proud? You’re a grandmother to three beautiful babies. I am everything, you never was. Sure you struggled. Sure you were alone. Why did he leave you? Does he even know about me? I don’t know anything about this part of me. I wish you had left me with something. I wish you had fought harder. I wish that the time I lost, is a struggle you battle each and every day. I am broken, I am hurt. I needed you. I wanted you. I just needed you to look back. This is something I will forever carry in my heart. As time lapse, I hope for one thing only, to let go of you and stop the heartbreak. — Happy Mother’s Day, from the daughter you never had.–“
HAPPY MOTHERS DAY TO ALL OF YOU!
To all the moms out there who grind each and every day for their little loved ones, to the ones who have lost theirs, to the ones who are trying to have just one, to the ones who had no choice but to give theirs up, to ones doing it all alone, HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY TO EACH AND EVERYONE OF YOU. You are most loved, no matter what!
Apollo, Artemis & Cassiopeia
“I’m not always the mom you want me to be. But I will always be the mom, you need. I won’t always do things right, I won’t always give you everything you want. But I will always be here by your side, to hold your hand through anything and everything. I will always love you from the depths of my soul. For all the moments you feel defeated, know I am always cheering you on. I will always help you get up again. I will do things you won’t always understand, but know that in everything I do..I do it because I love you. I hope nothing but for you guys to grow up to be kind people. To love one another through everything and be there for each other, always. I pray for you that your life be full and blessed. I pray that your heart achieves all the things you want in this world. Even when time has gone, remember always that Mom loves you forever.”
It’s been 12 days since I wrote. 12 days since I tried to sit and write. 12 days since I’ve felt motivated to write a post or even think of anything inspiring to share. I don’t know if I have any of that for you today, I’m running kinda low on me. But this is what I got, hear me out.
J and I have always worked hard to achieve our goals in our life together. To be able to take care of our family and keep everyone safe, happy and healthy. But as you know, achieving these things isn’t easy nor does it come without sacrifice.
J has been working hard and long the last couple of weeks. It’s been quite a challenging one for the two of us and especially on the kids. They rarely see their dad during the day. But with most parents who work, this is the reality. Last night after work, J went to a concert with a few of his buddies from work. Which he deserves. Well this meant, I was alone all day with the kids. He didn’t get home until around 11 p.m. and he was out of the house before the sun even came up. Yesterday was very challenging with Apollo and it proved to me how much I feel like a failure 88% of the time, being his mother.
Apollo had managed to get under my skin, push all the buttons that trigger ‘crazy mom’ and absolutely lose all senses to him that notify him mommy is about to turn hulk. I lost the battle all day and at the end of the night, I just cried.
It was the girls crying, needing all day, on top of necessary duties around the house. It was feed the kids, change their diapers, wash their hands, give them snack, play with them, talk to them, password for the iPad, change the show, sing to me, carry me, and the day seemed endless. Then you top those requests with 2 second intervals of Apollo’s needs, right now, right here. I lost to yesterday. And I’m still paying for it today.
I am super exhausted. I’m tired. I cannot adult today nor mother today. So I’m missing steps, forgetting my knows, and I’ve lost more than half of my brain today.
I realize that in all this, that I can’t do it all. I can’t handle it all. There isn’t enough of me. Today is sad. Today is tired. Today is a write-off. But there are more days to come, I hope they’re better.
I have to prepare myself to have more days like yesterday, because sometime soon, J will be deployed for work. This means, I’ll have to do this alone. My way. My rules. Just me.
I’ve often found my past to be a neusance. It appears in moments like a puzzled film. It captures the state of my current heart only to fracture what I’ve managed to heal back together. I often like to dwell in pretending I’m some kind of superhero who can heal myself, with whatever kind of wounds that ceases my being in times when I’m strong. And one thing that always breaks me down; in moments of their weakness are my children.
I thought about the instances I’ve recently found myself in. Moments that wiggle themselves out from negative vibes. More recently it seems, I’ve a harder time finding the patience, understanding and courage to assess what’s happening with my son. He sits at number seven, and finds himself in the state of ‘bad to the bone’. I’m at my wits, trying to figure out how to ‘fix’ what’s being broken. Perhaps, I’m losing sight at the strands of what breaks him. Perhaps my visions are what needs fixing rather than catching only what he breaks.
My son is the most sweetest, kindest, purest heart I’ve ever come to know (with the exception of my two girls who share this heart). His smile, it literally lifts you up from the pits of darkness one has managed to find themselves imprisoned in. His love for fun, intimidates ones very being because, sometimes when you’ve transformed into an adult, you lose your sense of innocence. I find its harder for me to sift through my chaos, to connect with him in his state of cognitive process.
Tonight, a fellow blogger (@mikemadigan) made me see things in a different tone.
It’s been stated many times before, ‘being a mother is hard’. It’s even more difficult when you’ve got demons you’ve yet to face. Perhaps what holds me back are my annoying fears, that like to sneak up to remind me I’ve got changes to stamp in the present, so that tomorrow may not sting as much. What I don’t realize is how much my vision of tomorrow, breaks my present time.
We could all use a little less thinking and a little more feeling.
After all, those are the basis in which my son mostly functions in. I’ve forgotten to feel, so much so, he’s slowly drifting from me. My very fear in being a mother.
I shall stop blaming my past, and work on the now. My son deserves better!
I’m hungry. It’s too late to snack. Tomorrow I’ve an hour of spare with Pami. I’m taking her for a drive again.
xo, MM
“An understanding mind, may categorize the reasons you had to give me up. An understanding mind, may have been able to give you peace about the decisions you’ve made.
Time, and time again, I wonder.
I wonder, why? I wonder, how?
I’m now a mother of two, and a third one, on the way. I wonder, if I ever felt the poverty, the unfairness of life, the unluckiness, the inabilities; even half of what you felt, would I have done the same..oh wait… I know how it feels to struggle. To live, paycheque, to paycheque with a child. How worrying it is to not know where, or how the rent was going to be paid, or any of the bills, for that matter. I know how it feels to buy just enough for what we need because..LIFE!
Would I have given up as easily, as you did? Would I have not tried? Would I have been able to look at my child for the last time, and spend the rest of my life, however, wherever, not being able to look at my kids again?
I wonder, would I have the strength to give them up? Could I have done it?
It isn’t a matter of strong hearts, strong minds, or greediness.
I could’t. I wouldn’t. I am greedy for it. But I would have died trying to survive, to GIVE MY CHILD a future, MYSELF. I would have died, with them in my arms.
How could you? Why didn’t you become better, and came back for me? Why wasn’t I enough? What you thought was best for me, also left me in the long run. Are you still proud of your decision?
The root of the anger, the root of the sadness, the root of my shortcomings, the root of things that I never came to know, and learn, is because you left. I can’t seem to shake off the feeling, the resentment..it eats at me, when the moment presents itself. When those moments arrive, I lose grip of what I’ve worked so hard to mend. All the pieces I’ve managed to glue back together, shattered again.
Now that I’m older, it haunts me more often. It breaks me, more often. It kills me, more often. While I use the happiness, of the blessings that have come from it, I still find myself lost, unable to let go.
You left me, when I couldn’t yet cry out to you. You left me when I couldn’t yet say to you, I’m worth it, just give me a chance. You left me when I couldn’t yet, tell you I can eventually help us. You just gave up.
For the sake of memories. For the sake of being able to scream, and daily, confess the love for the blessings of being a mom.
For as long as I can remember, I wasn’t a celebrated child. I didn’t have birthday parties, every year, nor had one because I meant a lot to someone. I had a couple that i recall; for the sake of photos that’ll eventually find its way to my adopted father, elsewhere in the world. I wasn’t treasured, the way you treasure someone, with tangible memories like photographs, or letters, or daily blogs of confessions about how much they are loved and cared for.
I wasn’t fussed over. I wasn’t valued. I wasn’t worth enough, for anyone to claim me. I wasn’t enough, for someone to ‘keep’ me. No one cried for me. No one hurt for me. No one would have given their life for me, the way you do when you love someone so much.
Because of this…
I am one of those individuals, who flood your Facebook news feed, instagram, twitter, and tumblr, of photographs, status’, notes, and shared articles about my children; about having children; about being a mom; about the struggle of being a parent; about the chaos of marriage, and everything in between. I AM THAT INDIVIDUAL, because I want to be able to look back at the memories I’ve built with my family. I want my children to be able to find these memories when they’ve grown, and one day they’ll wonder what, who, how, why, they are who they are. It isn’t merely for the sake of bombarding others, or attempting to show I’m better than anyone, or that my family values are better than yours. I do this for me. I do this for the legacy of my family . I do this so that my children will remember to value what is most important in our family, each other. I do this so that they remember what it means to fight for those you love, to always give heart, to always be humble, to find meaning in real life, and so much more.
One day my children will have questions. One day they’ll wonder about all sorts, one day these memories will become reminders, it may bring us together when time is distant, or when our minds have found heart elsewhere. It will rekindle deeper appreciation for one another when that is lost or forgotten, it may be a light that helps redefine relationships in each of our lives, maybe it’ll help recall values, or find comfort, bring smiles, provide happy tears, but one thing for certain, it will always bind us together, always and forever.
I woke up at fourthirty to feed Cassi. She hasn’t been eating consistently. She’s all backed up and crying most of the day. She doesn’t always finish the four oz she usually downs. I hope she’s alright. I hope she poops soon. #thingsthatmomwishesfor
Anyway, it’s now eight past five. The sun is slowly creeping through the living room window. I had gone to the kitchen to get a gatorade, but I opted for water instead. I couldn’t go back to sleep. I feel really conflicted. My heart feels a certain weight of trouble and I just can’t seem to shake it off at this time. J’s alarm has just gone off. This staying up when I could get a few more hours of sleep is probably going to catch up with me come seventhirty when I have to get Apollo up for school. But let’s see where this goes.
I wanted to clarify or expand a little bit on my previous post. It appears many of you guys have split into two in wondering about where I’m coming from. First, I want you to know that the part of me that deals with this aspect of my life has always been quite complicated. For the most part, my relationship with my father was never one to fully grasp or compare to with any other kind of father-daughter relationship. While it seems that any adult and child relationship could withstand the obstacles of being in a family and having to go through the motion of that, it was never the case for the two of us. Forget what you think and know about parent-child relationship. What you know about raising a child. What you think father’s and daughters are.
I like to think of my relationship with my father as some kind of story in a book. One where you piece two people together from halfway through the story and kinda see whether or not it’ll become something.
My father and I had one thing in common, which was dancing. We both loved to perform and we both appreciated the beauty of dance. That’s as good as it gets. Literally. There is absolutely nothing else we have in common. Well when you adopt a child privately at eight months old..an adoption that wasn’t planned, it would leave a certain question in the future about whether or not this would work out.
See, I’m not against adoption at all. I think that it’s one of the best ways to give love and sometimes find love. It is in those unfortunate circumstances that people find real love, sometimes. J and I want to adopt. We want six kids, four to be biologically ours and two to mix into our family and share our love with. But..when an the adoption wasn’t something you thought through and really wanted, eventually there comes consequences from that.
My dad had moved to Canada, after his father passed away. I was three. He tried to leave me with his aunt, but that didn’t work because apparently I cried and cried and wouldn’t stop. So she then sent me to my dad’s sister-in-law, where I would eventually spend the next six years considering as my family (this chapter is a whole other story on its own).
Fast forward to when I was nine. It’s October of ’97 and snow coated the land so well. I’ve landed and my bone marrow could feel the cold as the plane sits to allow people off. A fellow flyer had walked me to baggage claims because the stewardess that was supposed to have been watching me from the Philippines to Canada-maybe got left behind. The whole trip, this lady from the plane took care of me. Anyway, I could see my aunt through the glass windows; who I’d met a year back when she took a trip back home with her giant son (he’s half white). I had finally figured out how to get to them and there he was..my father. He hugged me and covered me with a coat. He wouldn’t stop hugging me, and I wasn’t used to him so I said, “stop hugging me. I don’t even know you.” You probably think I’m a brat, but if you haven’t figured it out by now I’m that person with the foul mouth who says anything and everything as if I’m not aware of what social filter is. He went on to say, “I’m your dad. I’m the one in the pictures.” Well, that statement never did sit well with me.
Moving forward, the first few months were probably the most awkward in our relationship. Here’s an image of my father. Don’t worry you won’t need to close your eyes to imagine.
He’s about 5’8 / 5’9 probably the tallest in his siblings. He’s got a steep nose, with dark hair..wait there’s a photo up there already. He’s literally a spitting image of Antonio Banderas, mixed with a dash of Marc Anthony. The thing is he looks very Spanish. His features are from his uncle. His family is part Spanish, on his dad’s side. Moving on..
We never really had those first six years you’re supposed to have when you have a child. Those years are the most critical in a child’s development. So when you have nothing that you started with or built a foundation from, you’re starting at something half-way completed. It was only a matter of a few years before my next milestone. He had missed the character I’ve become, the mannerisms I had, the person that I was becoming, the toys that I liked, the TV shows that I liked, the kind of friends I liked, the type of clothes I liked, the kid I had become.
He had slowly began to understand my personality. A good kid with a bad temper. Countless troubles at school began, not academically but socially. Being in his mid forties already, he had no clue how to help me socially adjust. This caused chaos in my mind that then transfered into our relationship. I began to grow as a person, and eventually made friends. Having friends who were boys were an issue. Wanting to hang out with friends was an issue. So because we couldn’t find common ground and he refused to find it in him to understand what I was going through; normal stages at that it really became a struggle for the two of us.
My father worked as an accountant, and this means I’d spend the time he was away at work with my aunt who lived near us. In the summer time, during off days from school, I’d bounce around between his family members and his friends. Never finding consistency and balance.
Finally at the end of grade school, I had started a fling with a boy that would eventually become my first puppy love. That lasted till I was sixteen. Those three years would prove to be more trouble between my dad and me. It lead to me going into foster care.
I spent a year in foster care, with an Italian family. It was one of the toughest and confusing time in my life. I wondered why my dad had bothered uprooting me from where I was from to half raising me here. I couldn’t understand why he couldn’t get me. Why our relationship was so complicated. After turning sixteen, I was able to make decisions for myself and what would happen with my status in foster care. A child of the government. I chose to live on my own from then on. And I fend for myself, figuring out life on my own, in my own terms. I would eventually be in and out of his house, because a part of me still cared for him. But it wouldn’t last. And we lost contact.
At eighteen my first serious relationship began. J and I hung out, and didn’t become an item until a year after. Eventually at twenty, J and I became parents. Two people trying to figure out adult life was complicated. Relationship in its own was complicated, but we got through it. A few months before I was due to have Apollo, I e-mailed my dad and figured this thing between us will have to quit. He was becoming a grandpa for the first time ever. I was becoming a mom and it was time to mend the pieces in the aspect of family. I wanted him to be there. I wanted him to know my son. I wanted him to be a part of his life. And with that, things were like nothing happened. My dad would eventually become a part of my life again; a part of Apollo’s life.
March 4, 2009 – Apollo’s birth
My father would be a part of my life for the next several years, helping me while I worked and eventually deciding to take on post-secondary academics. We would still bicker about the petty things of life, from his disapproval of my tendencies of caring for my home, to my way of parenting. This would lose us a few weeks here and there, but my apologies for things even when I wasn’t at fault, would mend these breaks.
A few Christmases ago, he had began his trips to The Philippines where he would spend six months a time. It was the first time he had ever gone for that long. He’s made trips there before but a month at most. Our relationship would become second to his new life after that. He had find no relevance to be around, as I had began my own life, had a child, had a family of my own and would eventually feel as if he was no longer a part of, even with my reassurance that I still needed him. It appears that the chaos of life is all the time when I needed him, but it wasn’t like that. I wanted him to be a part of my life, I wanted us to be better. I wanted us to figure out what this thing was between us that we couldn’t sort through. But his way was way beyond what I was willing to compromise, and I couldn’t find it in me to make mends.
The last month he was in The Philippines, I had informed him that I was due to have a second baby. That J and I were ecstatic to be having another. From his end, this wasn’t a good thing. He had left me with, “Why would you have another one? It’s not cheap to have more kids. You aren’t financially stable, you are just ruining the lives of your kids.” I thought differently. While we did struggle financially, we acquired help from J’s family when were really needed it. And perhaps, they did better in the true definition of what it means to be there for your kids. My dad was no where. But we made it the best we can. It wasn’t easy, it never is, but it was all worth it for the sake of our son. Two years would pass, and we’ve lost everything between my father and I.
Last Christmas was the first time I seen him in over three years. Apollo would still know him as his grandfather, like things never changed, but it would be different for Artemis.
It would also be the last time I’d seen him, except for the brief five minutes he gave me and refused to see me during Easter. I would spend countless times calling him, and he wouldn’t pick-up or return my call. The last I spoken to him was a few weeks back, over facebook video chat. I had shown him our new house, and intended to talk longer to update him on my life and the kids. But this call wouldn’t last longer than ten minutes before he had shoo me away for another incoming call.
At this point, I’m uncertain, as I always have been. That relationship you’re to have with your parents is said to get better as you get older. Well, we’ve been stuck in this ever since I can remember. It hasn’t changed, it wont change and it’ll have to do.
So please be a little more understanding when I say, I do not relate with most child-parent relationships. I do not relate with most emotional attachments between child and parent. It isn’t a thing for me to know or begin to understand how these types of co-existing works. While it sucks that this is the way that part of my life has waved about, I do not regret the efforst I’ve made or in whichever way he figured I haven’t.
There will come a time, when I’ll have to figure all this stuff out. Until then, when I have found it somewhere deep down to understand why this is all acceptable in defence to our differences, then that’ll be the day I find closure. Until then, like most things in my past which I’ve no control of in trying even a tiny bit to fix, it’ll have to sit somewhere between I halfly cared to none.
The good of all this? I’ve my own family now, and my family is the best thing that has ever happened to me. It’s what I have always wanted, it’s what I have always needed.
It’s that time again.. I’ve spent a couple of hours trying to get this out. It was that hard for me to dig in there and find it in me to share. So please be kind.
First, I wanna give a shout out to my husband who worked really hard in the last three years. He started again. Became a student, while tending to the needs of our family and home. He never ceases to disappoint. Always giving his best in everything he does. Even at times when he faltered, and had his head above the waves, he never gave up. He achieved honours in Electro-mechanical Engineering Technologist, at Humber College, and being the oldest in his program. He managed to create friendships, and enjoy his time as a student again. In the last three years, it was hard. It required him to piece himself in more ways than one, to accommodate and achieve every want, need, and requirements from his home life. He never complained, and was always apologetic for not being able to do better than exceptional for his family. I saw him at his lowest, with topped-up schedules, but never did he say I can’t do this. I am so honoured, and proud of the person he is. He continues to make me proud with every bit of him.
Moving Forward
We have ventured into new adventures in the beginning of this month. We have taken on quite a handful of changes, with relocation, job opportunities, and family. While sometimes, changes are scary, it makes me feel assured with J, by my side.
Windsor, is still something to get used to. It’s very different from where we come from. But at the end of the month, the goal is to finally get my G2, to be able to drive without having to depend on J. It goes a way with having three kids. Doctor appointments, grocery shopping, drop-off and pick-up from school, and personal errands. That’s exciting!
Writing, though I haven’t been as consistent as I would like to be with frequent blogs, nor starting on my paper and pencil tip to begin my journey of writing my book, I am certain that in the next few months, this will change. I mean, when have I given you guys a date, and not have proved to give you something new to take on with me? In the near future, the goal is to invest full-time to writing, whatever kind of writing. So stick with me, it gets better from here.
Family, I’ve got to get planning for Cassiopeia’s baptism. I have yet to round up ideas on having this done. Soon!
*Apollo has began making friends at school and with that said, the “hanging out” part has arrived. Is it just me or do you also have this concern?
He had asked to go hang out at R’s house, one afternoon, after school. I didn’t feel comfortable with allowing him, since I had never met his parents nor have any kind of stable, consistent relationship to know them well enough. So I said no. I had offered for R to come over instead, but R’s dad, had a dental appointment he felt R, had to be there for. Well, I think he felt the same way as I did. Having just moved to Windsor, we have yet to make friends or have any sign of making close bonds with anyone. This makes it a little difficult to entertain Apollo with activities and pass times that he likes. I feared that because I didn’t know R’s parents, I didn’t know their ways, I didn’t know their beliefs, I didn’t know who they were. Was I acting too attached to Apollo? He’s seven. Is it okay to allow him to take on these experiences, and make that call? I couldn’t. I wouldn’t mind his friends over, but I’m still uncomfortable with the idea of letting him be, alone, with another family, that I don’t really know.
Long weekend, during the week
We arrived in Toronto on Tuesday night, to attend J’s convocation Wednesday afternoon. We’re settling at my in-laws to spend time with them and to enjoy the extra time J was allotted with work. Tuesday-Sunday we’re here! So if you’re in Toronto, and you wanna hang, give me a shout! My mother-in-law has planned a party for us, birthdays and graduation. How nice! There’ll be cake, and candles, and food, and family. What a great way to spend our little mini-vacation.
See you on the other side!
Studies show that children best flourish when one mom and one dad are there to raise them.
In the chaos of motherhood, you rarely get to sit alone, to ponder about whether or not you’re doing this ‘job’ right. There have been so many moments in motherhood where I question my parenting methods. Am I too strict? Am I allowing my children to learn on their own with my guidance? Am I dictating, rather than helping them grow through their own experiences?
My children: Apollo, 7 / Artemis, 17 mos / Cassiopeia, 3 mos.
The gap between Apollo and Artemis are quite big. Big in terms of the type of experiences they’re going through. Apollo is in grade 1. His experiences are mostly brought on from his social relationships. Being able to be out there to meet other people, whether it be just his teachers, friends and peers at school, he’s got an idea from the kind of experiences he has throughout the day. I struggle with trying to understand his thought process these days. He’s appeared to be mischievous in the choices he makes while he’s out of the house. While they are mostly petty incidents, it feels like the pressure we receive from school to constantly correct his behaviour, has effected my parenting. While I believe that others’ perception of him doesn’t matter, because we know our child best, a part of me believes that these small, petty, incidents is not something to be ignored. Perhaps I come off as an authoritative mother and not very understanding of what he’s going through, but is this not all a phase between ‘parent and child’ in these stages?
Right now, he tests’ his limits, pushes all the right emotional buttons to get you all wild up. His vocabulary has expanded to, “what the heck”, “stupid”, “idiot”. I’m sure you’re thinking, what are we teaching him? But let me tell you…These words, he would never assume is okay in the house, but would freely flaunt while he’s at school, because it’s words he consistently hears out in the playground with his, i’m-grown-enough-to-be-saying-this, crowd. I can’t really control the things he hears. I can’t constantly keep him out of his interests like, “Roblox”, video games, etc., just to shield him from retaining negative behaviour and unlikable speeches. You say, I should just let him learn to understand between wrong and right and make the right calls, right? Well that’s the issue, between the kind-hearted child, and fun personality that he has, he’s become oblivious to the social standards. I guess that’s not really so bad right? Well…I’m at my wits, trying to figure out how to be his mom, his friend, his confidant, and his teacher.
That’s part 1 or Am I doing this right.
Artemis is quite a funny character. She is fun, loving, thoughtful, sweet, but also an agent provocateur. Slowly she’s learning that her actions can extend to hulk-smashing, kicking is hilarious, and holding her breath till the vein on the side of her head protrudes. Creating a balance of understanding her emotions, and allowing her to let out her inner crazyness in accepting that it helps her emotional development, has me torn between whether or not I should instill the same parenting method that I use with Apollo. She’s 17 mos, what does she really understand at this point? Well she’s quite a smarty pants, not only because she’s my child and every mom is entitled to saying they’ve got unbelievably, intelligent children. But really..she’s pretty competent at 17 mos.
Aside from Apollo and Artemis being two different sexes, they are also two different ages, and personality. I feel like parenting should cater to their characters, rather than one kind of parenting that suits my likeness and convenience. With that said, again, i’m wondering, Am I doing this right?
Some tuesday blues for ya?
…I should finish my coffee that I made 2 hours ago.
I was walking home to my in-laws after a day at the salon getting a much needed manicures pedicure, and I seen my younger brother-in-law shootin hoops with Apollo. He disappeared behind the car parked in the driveway. As I got closer, Apollo came back running with a small plant in his hand with two, beautiful, red, nicely-bloomed flower.
It isn’t every week that a busy mom like myself gets a treat to get pampered for a couple of hours. Perhaps those are the little luxuries I took for granted as a single gal, so many moons ago.
It isn’t because of my children that I’m unable to keep some kind of level of ‘pretty-ness’. I never wore make-up on the daily–before the whole ‘kids thing’ to say I’m missing that these days. Nor did I pride myself on dressing up a certain way before I had children. Therefore, a lot of the time I look like, your everyday, exhausted looking mom because the dark circles I had before I even had any children, has become more permanent from the lack of sleep, I choose to have for the sake of my children. Yes, I’m that kind of mom.
I wear, what I wear because comfort is a big deal. When you have children seven years old and younger, there’s no point in wearing fancy, name-brand outfits. If you are the type of mom to get through the day using your shirt as every type of cloth, may it be to: wipe hands, snot, milk drips, dirty mouths, etc., then there is absolutely no reason for you to dress like you’re about to attend an adult, weekend bbq.
There are better things that matter to me most, than how people perceive me through my outfit of the day. I do, however, give kudos to my fellow-moms who keep their exterior portrait on point.
I live in this hoodie
(Off topic but..)
A few weeks ago, I had dinner with an old friend. Pinks and I go way back, to twelve and thirteen year olds, trying to figure out if, one day we ever married one of the BSBs or N’Sync hotties, how would life be?
We rekindled our friendship in high school, taking summer school together. I think we spent one class, just chatting up one time, and never actually made it to class. A three hour class wasted on high school drama. That was our life then, and it was important to be able to discuss this and give that the priority.
A few years down the line I had Apollo, and then she had B, and all of a sudden, mothering and all the attachments to that, ran our world.
Through all those changes, one thing never changed..Pinks had always kept up with her extroverted image. She was always into that kind of stuff, the girly stuff. I, more of the tomboy gettup.
We’re all different. We mom different. We do us different, and that’s ok. That’s what makes us unique.
What I’m trying to get at is…
While sometimes I wish I could give myself the attention to be able to ‘fix’ myself up every morning, I choose not to. I don’t bother because I would rather spend that fifteen minutes glamming myself to get some extra few minutes in bed, with my kids. I would rather spend those fifteen minutes, staring at how beautiful my children are preciously growing, each day. I am willing to give all of me, in this way, to my kids. And I am ok with that.
My life
I am, every bit still loved, still wanted, still appreciated, still needed, STILL their mom.
…and gestures as sweet as that, need no change in my type of love.
xo, M.
“I am proud of many things in life, but nothing beats being a mother.”
I,Mommy 