Internet Search for Self Actualization

Confess.  Have you ever asked the internet a personal question?  In a weak moment, have you ever asked your friend Google, "Who am I?"  "Should I leave him?"  "What am I going to do?" Or, not a question at all:  "Please be quiet!" 

I'll assume by your silence that you are guilty.

While I am not considering leaving my spouse, it is possible I may have asked the internet god a question or two in a moment of desperation that would be more appropriately put to the good Lord himself or at very least a therapist. 

Maybe you refuse to confess, and that's fine.  If you insist that you are far too centered to resort to such silliness, it's no big deal.  I won't feel alone. 

And here's why.

Let's take a look at how often Dr. Internet is asked these existential questions in a single month:

• "Should I leave him?" 1600
• "What am I going to do?" 6,600
• "Why are we here?" 14,800
• "Who am I?"  ONE MILLION searches a month.

Only a 119 people a month ask the internet oracle to tell them how to stop yelling at their kids, so I guess I'm still not as normal as I'd hoped. 

It was in just such a moment of desperation that I was recently pondering the chaos of my life and wondering how to get my act together, get my house together--the noble thoughts of womanhood.  I resolved that I needed to get the kids back to helping out around the house after the pandemonium of the holidays.

So, I sat down to make a chore chart.  I was just about to ask Señor Internet for advice on the matter when something came back to me through the echoing, alzheimery corridors of my mind.  There was a site filled with all sorts of child slavery advice, complete with the chore charts I needed AND the cheerful fatalism I so enjoy.  In fact, it was written by someone I knew--in fact, someone I loved dearly, despised deeply and indulged greatly. 

Yes, it was the ghost of me past, who died a tragic death due to complications related to a stressful move, financial turmoil and becoming a working mother.  Now, as I prepare to resettle back into at-home motherhood, I'm in the amusing situation of having to turn to my old dead self to remember how to do things, like parent children.  That said, I'm actually more organized, responsible and tidy than she was, albeit much grumpier. 

Yet, as I read through the blatherings of this naïve woman, I realized that one, I miss her.  Two, I have a practical thing or two to learn from my old self, and three, I think the past two years have given me a little more insight into these things.  So, I decided to return and co-blog with my old, dead self.  Kind of like Natalie Cole. 

I'm hoping that in the process, I'll resurrect not just the blog, but some of the enthusiasm I once had and remind myself how hilarious raising children can be.  That way, maybe my future self, once she's also forgotten both how to parent and that she had a parenting blog, she'll stumble upon me, the long dead ghost of me present, and the three of us together will manage to hold on for more than one week the lessons of life. 

So, in the end, my very own forgotten piece of the internet solved some of my child rearing questions, and because my mind is a sieve and I can't remember squat, it's all fresh and new to me!

Which leads me to my next internet search, "Do I have alzheimers?"  Me and 91 other inquiring minds want to know.

Note to Self: Give the Big Picture

I cause myself a lot of grief by assuming children understand the "big picture" when I ask for a chore to be done.

Case in point, today I say, "Ben, please sweep up the dining room." At the time I asked, in addition to dirt, there were lunch scraps, silverware, crayons, paper and some play-dough toys under the table. When he was done, under the table were now just a few little scraps of lunch and paper, one cookie cutter--AND the broom, the dustpan, his hat, and the tape gun, which he was holding when asked to sweep. He was no where to be found.

To be honest, yes, there is some serious ADHD involved, if you believe in that type of thing. But once again, it was another daily crossroads where I have to decide--is this funny or infuriating?

My lesson for today (once again) is to remember to give the big picture in assigning work. I need to explain what it needs to look like in the end, as well as put a little follow-up in there: "Ben, I need the floor to have absolutely nothing on it when you are done with it, let's look at it together when you are done."

I need to explain the end, not just the means. Theoretically it will help him feel less like an exploited worker to understand the big picture, all the overpaid corporate gurus say so. Until I learn this, you can know one thing when at my house--whatever you're looking for, it's under the table.

How to Take a Sick Day for SAHMS

On days like today I long for the good old days where I could muster my sickest voice to call into work (even when you really are sick you still feel compelled to sound it), and then I could curl up in blankets of down and self-pity for the rest of the day. These days are long gone.

I learned as I advanced in my career that the preferred method for professionals is to replace this by going in in the morning without makeup or hair done, looking pathetic and coughing on people, until your boss sends you home. To which you are to respond, "Are you sure? I (hack hack) don't want to bail out on you." Then he'll insist and you are off to Jamba Juice scott free, without appearing the flake.

As those days are over, I pine for the genteel era of old when the slightest sneeze would earn me a full day in bed, with the housemaid mopping my fevered brow, while the nursemaid attended to any children, as she did everyday anyway.

A sick modern mother is expected to suck it up, and thereby draws out the illness past its natural life if she were able to rest. I'm sick of this method, so I decided I would actually I take a "sick day."

Based on my results, here's my advice:

1. On the way out of bed, before the feet hit the floor, kneel and desperately mutter, "Dear Lord, help me get through this day." (If you don't know God or if there is one, simply insert, "if you're there" right after "Lord.")

2. Take your great-granny's advice and squeeze two lemons into a tablespoon of honey, add 1c hot water, and drink. A spoonful of raw honey has been shown to be as effective as cough syrup (see Penn State study) It bought me a few hours of cough-free sleep last night.

3. Cancel your guilt subscription for the day and cancel everything, call moms of kids going to the same school to prevent ever having to leave the house.

4. Say yes to all the relatively educational TV and videogames you have or can find on the net.

5. Go back to bed. If you have toddlers, camp out on the couch.

6. Let your kids feed themselves and you. My kids love the independence of adult drudgery. The menu: Toast and bananas for breakfast, cold cereal and apples for lunch, pasta for dinner (w/mini carrots as token veggie). Yesterday morning I begged my eight-year-old to get everyone toast, and ended up being brought up a tray with toast, juice and an array of get-well letters.

7. Don't freak about the mess that surely will ensue. Right before bedtime, which just extra-special for today will be 7 p.m., pull out the best treat to be found in the house and explain that all people in jammies who have cleaned both their own room and another assigned room can come get their share.

8. Do a nice long storytime and go to bed as soon as the last kid nods off (still working on this one myself, but it's a goal).

Get well soon!

Brooms Clean More Than Dirt!

I'm talking to my son in the living room. He is almost finished with an apple. I finish our conversation by saying he may play outside. He exclaims joyfully, drops the finished apple, and darts out the door. He did this, you see, because he was done with it. And that is where he was standing. Overwhelmed by the glorious prospect of playing in our amazing concrete yard, how could he possibly think to put it anywhere else?

Yes, I yelled him back and made him put it away after explaining again to him that he is a human being and slinging other accusatory rhetorical questions about barns, zoos, barbarians, etc.

So that is my eight-year-old. Among my children, I also have two other small people who strew random items about the house because it is actually still developmentally appropriate.

And that is why, just two hours after a very thorough (semi-annual) housecleaning, my bedroom alone will have on the floor: a kitchen strainer, an oven mitt, a hairbrush, a variety of toys, the ever-present scattering of legos, and most of my underwear (I have a low drawer).

Enter, the broom. No longer for dirt alone, the broom is now the universal symbol of "Mom is throwing away my stuff!" Now, I have hardwood (a.k.a. dirty and loud) floors, but my friend with carpet uses a garden rake for the same purpose. It goes as follows:

1. Pick up my own stuff I want to keep (like underwear)
2. Get the broom and loudly announce, "Ah, there is a lot of garbage on this floor, it's time to sweep it up!"
3. Kids come running to frantically salvage their treasures out of the dust bunnies, yelling accusingly, "MOM, that's NOT trash!"
4. And I, sweeping slowly, with the pleasant, blank look of a pod person, explain: "But honey, this stuff is on the floor, it must be garbage."
5. I give them just enough time to save their goods before scooping the appalling amount of sand, dust and unwanted toys into the dustpan and off to the trash.
   

This does several things for me:

1. I don't have to bend over and pick them up, ensuring that I don't accidentally burn any unnecessary calories.
2. I'm quickly able to discern the staggering amount of toys my kids have and don't care about, thus persuading me to buy less for the landfills.
3. It reminds my children that if it is on the floor, pod-mom thinks it's garbage, so maybe they should put things where they go. (I just imagine this last one)
4. When no one is home to claim junk, and I'm fed up with the floor situation, I sometimes just sweep it all into a pile in the corner, just to give the rest of the room that tidy, fresh, not-covered-in-garbage look.

So, that's how I solve the floor chaos for just a brief moment in time. Although the savage broom doesn't solve the apple situation--unless I use it as a paddle!