I'll take what I can get

My idea of relaxation has changed since I became a parent. I grasp onto any small moment of quiet, however imperfect and fleeting.

Case in point: My “relaxing” morning of coffee and shopping. I awoke one Sunday to find that my teenage daughter had indulged in a sleepless sleepover that included such rabblerousing as watching MTV unsupervised (shaking booties, “cribs” and all), painting her nails in an enclosed room and devouring all the chocolate in the house. Small infractions, for sure, but infractions nonetheless.

What did I care? I had gift certificates for Starbucks and Old Navy left over from Christmas. That meant I could enjoy a rare, guilt-free opportunity for self-indulgence. Perfect for a rainy weekend morning.

I quickly made my escape.

My shopping companion that morning was a stormy, sweet, unpredictable little person with big blue eyes - my 2-year-old daughter. For some reason, I believed that I could pick up my toddler, put her in the car and whisk her away for a spontaneous shopping adventure. Foolish, I know. I didn’t bring the stroller. I forgot the changing pad. I let everyone else in the house sleep late instead of asking them to baby sit.

Had I learned nothing from the grocery store debacle?

My toddler and I began our morning at Starbucks. A muffin, a Grande white chocolate mocha, a quiet table by the window. A perfect moment in time. My daughter scoped out a chair across from me at the table.

“Myself,” she insisted as she lifted her petite body onto the big piece of furniture. “Myself” means that Mommy should not try to help with the current endeavor – whether it be maneuvering onto a chair or opening a piece of wrapped cheese. My daughter flashed a grin after accomplishing her task, a whipped cream mustache signaling that she had already dipped into her lid full of sugar.

Sugar always guarantees a few minutes of this elusive peace.

I stared out the window for a moment and breathed in the latte-flavored aroma of a busy coffee shop. Starbucks is good for the soul.

Then, my quiet moment abruptly ended. That’s all right. I recognized its transience all along. I was just happy to pass through it on the way to the other side.

The first minor catastrophe: My child pulled the napkin out from under her piece of muffin, sending the food tumbling to the floor. I laughed. Crumbs can’t hurt me anymore.

That’s what’s great about motherhood. Laughter can erupt at any moment if you allow it to peek out from behind the go-to emotion of frustration.

Fast forward to a long, cold morning. An overflowing diaper, soiled pants, blind spots between clothing racks, helpful co-shoppers full of parenting advice (“It gets easier as they get older.”), reckless usage of the phrase “No, Mommy!”, bargains, threats and smooches galore.

By 12:30 p.m., the ups and downs of my morning throbbed in my muscles. My breathing came slower, not because of the initial calm I experienced looking out the window at Starbucks, but because of an overwhelming feeling of surrender.

I congratulated myself for surviving my “relaxing” morning of coffee and shopping.

I reached the car, my purse heavy on my shoulder, shopping bags dangling from my forearm, “sippy cuppy” in one hand, my daughter’s tiny appendages wrapped tightly in my other hand. Home had never seemed so far away.

“Myself!” I suddenly heard.

I looked down at my 2-year-old. She’d assumed the stubborn stance that said, “You won’t take me without a fight.” She doesn’t realize that by my age she’ll welcome any type of assistance. I would have let a stranger carry me to the car if they’d offered. For now, though, she’s aiming for world domination.

“Go ahead,” I said as if I motioned for her to climb into her car seat.

My toddler looked around for a minute. She picked up a food wrapper off the backseat. “Uh-oh,” she said, pointing to an object in the sky.

“Yes. That’s a birdie,” I said.

“Myself,” my daughter repeated as she eyed her car seat and signaled for me to give her the appropriate space. This would take a while and involve some creative maneuvering. A tiny leg thrown over the side of the chair, twisting, grunting, stopping to play with the cup holder, more observations about the sky.

Fast forward to five minutes later. I pulled out of the shopping center parking lot bound for home. My new clothes burned a hole in the Old Navy bag. My belly felt warm and fuzzy with happy coffee memories. My toddler sat serenely in her car seat.

Relaxation was mine. It’s all relative, after all.

Forget housework, make a home instead

We’re all searching for meaning in the minutia of daily life. Let’s face it, the nuts and bolts of existence are less than extraordinary until pieced together into something meaningful.

As a stay-at-home mom/housewife, I find that the mundane has spread like a weed through my soul. I’m being dramatic, but it has.

Laundry, dishes, junk mail, clutter. Did I mention clutter?!

Despite the obvious perks of staying home with my beautiful kids, I get lost in the mind-numbing tediousness of cleaning.

I used to accomplish something every day. Now, I stay busy all the time but accomplish nothing. I scrub dishes. I change “poopy” diapers, nag, prod and vacuum incessantly. Then, I do it all over again. Then, I do it all over again. Then … you get the picture.

For a writer, it's the equivalent of editing the same story every day. In between edits, someone adds typos to your article.

There is a way out of the redundancy, though. Running a household is only satisfying if you look at it as a labor of love - the way my Italian mother-in-law looks at cooking. A dash of spice here and there will bring the recipe to life.

Here are a few tips for finding purpose:

1. Solve a problem. It’s all those broken appliances, looming worries and unsolved dilemmas that make housekeeping so tedious. Fix the dishwasher, hire a gardener, make a doctor’s appointment. You'll feel a sense of accomplishment. What a coo!
2. Beautify something. Clean the glass on the back door so you can actually see the trees outside. Buy a bouquet of flowers for the kitchen table. The smell of nature will permeate your senses and the colors will lighten your mood. Take time to do your makeup. Light a candle. Make your world a better place.
3. Organize something. As you unclutter your closet, you’ll unclutter your mind. You’ll discover that it was actually that tattered suitcase full of old clothes that was jammed into your subconscious, giving you a headache.
4. Take a risk. Break the routine. Routine can be effective, but rarely satisfying. Get out of the house. Go somewhere new. Take a class. Write a book. Dream an impossible dream. Call an old friend. Try a new recipe. Get the juices flowing. Simmering, if possible.
5. Be silly. Don’t forget that most of the petty little things you do all day mean absolutely nothing to anyone except you – not in the long run, anyway. That pile of laundry will regenerate itself even if you actually make it to its murky bottom. Play with your kids, they’re waiting for you.
6. Ask for help. Enlist the family to pick up after themselves and to help you whenever possible. Make Saturday morning “family cleaning day.” Put on some music and everyone will get involved.
7. Reach out. When the stress reaches its peak, pick up the phone. A good venting session with a friend makes all the difference. Like the housework, the feelings of frustration and helplessness may seem repetitive. Find a friend with similar frustrations and take turns sharing.
   

When I feel buried under a huge pile of chores, I dig myself out one grand gesture at a time. That doesn’t mean I don’t clean anymore. It’s just a shift in focus so I feel fulfilled. My whole family is better for the change.

Imagine that. A fulfilled housewife. Better yet, a fulfilled housewife who can move on to the next story.

Question for readers: What are your tips for making housework more creative and satisfying? Do you dance while doing the dishes? Do you hire a housekeeping service and go shopping instead? Any tips would be appreciated!

Silence is golden

Here’s my parenting tip of the day: (How do I put this gently?) Shut up before you blow it. If you can control your natural affinity for making a point, you can better run your household.

Here’s what I mean. We all believe our children will understand our motivations if we just talk about them long enough. Long, passionate lectures. We’re all experts at those. “Your room is a reflection of yourself. Make it sparkle.” “It’s disgusting to leave a half-eaten candy bar under your bed for three years.”

Rewind. Delete. Edit. Your children already stopped listening. You have to keep it simple.

“Clean your room or no phone tonight.” Short and to the point.

There are times for reasoning and explaining, but when it comes to the basic rules, you should only have to answer the question, "Why?" so many times.

Now, I’m no parenting expert. I’m just a parent who’s tried many techniques to make my teenager and toddler understand why my husband and I have rules. In the end, I’ve found that the only thing that matters is that we do have rules and they have to be followed.

Your children are like lawyers looking for loopholes. The more you talk, the more they’ll find.

When my eldest daughter was 3 years old, she fought me on getting dressed for preschool every morning. When I say fought, I mean she ran away, wriggled, wiggled, cried, yelled. I reasoned with her. “You can’t go out of the house naked, and I have to get to work on time.” More wriggling.

That’s it, I decided. I’m the parent here. I held her little arm still enough to pull on one sleeve of her Winnie the Pooh shirt. She pulled that sleeve off while I tried to get the other one on. Looking back now, it’s kind of funny. Oh wait, no it isn’t.

What ensued was a ridiculous wrestling match with a flailing, rubbery child who had more energy than I ever will. The end result: My daughter always ended up getting dressed, but I was always late for work in the process.

Then, I received one of those unexpected nuggets of information that seemed small at the time but which literally changed my life:

Step 1: Tell them what you want them to do.
Step 2: Tell them the natural consequence if they don’t do it.
Step 3: Let them incur the consequence. In other words, don’t chicken out.

This works on every stage, every age. In the situation I just outlined, here’s how it goes down:

My daughter refused to get dressed for preschool. I said, “We’re leaving the house at 7:30 a.m. whether you’re dressed or not.” I resolved myself to taking my little girl to preschool naked with her hair standing on end if that was her condition at the time of the big 7:30 deadline. It wasn’t easy. I have pride, after all.

At 7:30 that first day, my daughter was only half dressed and she hadn’t let me comb her hair. My heart pounded. My bluff was called.
As if nonplussed, I announced our departure. My adorable little 3 year old just stood there in her disheveled state. I scooped her up under my arm and took her out the door.

The next morning, my daughter didn’t fight quite as hard, but I’m sure she wasn’t polished walking out the front door. The next day, she believed me when I said we were leaving at 7:30 a.m. It got easier from there.

This method works even better once a child is old enough to be horrified by the idea of showing up at school with no pants on.

The reason this technique works is because it’s black and white. You can’t argue with black and white.

The reason this technique proves so difficult is because we like to talk and we like to have people listen when we talk. We want to believe that our children will be adequately reverent to our years of life experience. We see ourselves as …

Maybe I should just shut up now. I’ve said all I need to say.

By the way, check my Links section under "Effective discipline" for a story about consistent discipline techniques.