Mantra

For the last few weeks, I've been listening to my beautiful yogini friend, Kristin Luna Ray, sing mantras on her latest album One Shared Heart, which you can find and listen to here.

Mantras are like prayers, and it's fun to hear Luna describe a mantra.

Quite simply, "Mantras are powerful shit, man."

They can be in English or Sanskrit, sung, spoken, chanted, or silently run through the mind.

You say them over and over and over...and over...again. And you start to change, you start to open and see with more than your eyes. Often you select a mantra based upon something you need.

So the one that has been on repeat in my head is Sri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram.

You can't translate a mantra like you could a Chinese take out menu. Each word has a million meanings, it seems, and depending on what additional words you add, the meaning can change.

My interpretation of this mantra is truth seeking.

Ah yes, truth...

For me, it has been to be true to myself and who I am; to find honesty, and to see true colors; to be truthful in speech.

I find myself humming the tune that Luna put to these words--humming constantly. The words sometimes flow, while showering, while making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches; it's the beat I use to sway and rock Reid; it comes out and vibrates within the space, and within me.

So I wasn't entirely surprised when today in the car, while sipping a Capri Sun, I hear Will chanting, "Jai Ram, Jai Ram, Jai Ram."

He is my truth--the truest reflection of who I am.

Shanti Om.

Superheroes

Curse you Batman.

And Joker.

And Aquaman.

You've taught my kid to hit, punch, and shoot.

You've taught him to go "Pow! Pow!"

With sticks. And blocks. And harmonicas.

So today we had to have a talk.

"Hey Will? I don't like it when you say 'Pow! Pow!'"

He thought for a second.

"But Batman does that mommy."

"Yep, he does." You got me there, Will.

My turn to think. I didn't like my response.

"Hey Will, Batman is a superhero, right? Well only superheroes are allowed to hit and punch and shoot."

"Only superheroes?"

Shoot. Now he's going to think that that's all a superhero does. He'll grow up and not realize that anyone can be a superhero--we are heroic in our actions, in caring, in responsibility, in helping others.

Shoot shoot shoot.

I mean, Pow! Pow! Pow!

"Yes, only superheroes."

He seemed okay with my answer.

A few hours later we went to the park, the kind with a little water playground within it. After slipping and hitting his head on the ground and a little rest to feel better, he was ready to go back at it.

He ran to the button that turns on the water. He wanted to push it. He wanted to turn it on.

And so did some other punk little kid about his age.

I saw it coming. They were saying "Nooooo! Miiiiiiine!" and their little hands were grasping for the button and pushing and then whack!

That punk cracked Will on the head with a cup.

Tears. Oh dear. What was he going to do?

I scooped him up, tried to calm him down. I stared down the punk and his mom, who of course wasn't watching.

A sip of juice, a few grapes, and lots of hugs, Will calmed down. He stared at the boy who was still playing in the water.

"I ready to play now mommy."

He walked cautiously back to the water playground, went right up to the kid and he said, "I didn't like that! No thank you!"

He used his words. He didn't hit him back. He didn't Pow! Pow! Pow! at him.

Tonight at dinner, I brought up what happened in front of Greg. I said to Will, "You know how mommy said only superheroes hit and punch and shoot?"

"Yeah mommy."

"Well you used your words today, Will. That's even better than a superhero."

He beamed.

"And kids who are even better than superheroes? Well they get marshmallows for dessert."

And marshmallow is the magic word. So I got to be the superhero for a moment.

Mommy Blogs

It occurred to me this morning the reason why there are so many "mommy blogs" in the world.

It's simple really:

Being a stay-at-home mom, especially to more than one child, is hard. 

Working moms have it easy.

And I'm allowed to say this because I do both.

I've broken down my rationale into categories, so let's start with breaks.

There are no breaks.

Sometimes, when Greg is home, I pretend I want to do the dishes just so I don't have to watch Batman again. During the day, if I get a half an hour total when both kids are sleeping, I don't really know what to do with myself, so I sit down and spend twenty minutes figuring it out, and then I go and fold laundry or clean up lunch or a half a dozen other things. 

At work, if I need a break, I sit down. I check email. I give the kids a worksheet that takes ten minutes so I can breathe. And it happens to be mandatory that I get a plan bell, and my plan bell happens to be during the nearly two hour lunch period which means I really do get an incredible break in my day. 

It's hard to make friends.

Those other moms--the ones who are at home 365 days a year--they are hard to penetrate. 

We went to the park last week and there was a clique of them sitting on top of the rock climbing wall as though they were reigning over their park kingdom. 

At gymnastics class every monday, I scoot Will in the direction of the moms' kids who I know are all playmates. I interject an "Oh he's so funny!" here and there, but my lack of outgoingness is totally a disadvantage.

I compared last week's park experience to walking into the high school cafeteria as the new kid in school, which I never had to do, and I'm incredibly grateful for that.

At least at work there is always someone to talk to, to avoid the awkward being-engrossed-in-something-on-my-iPhone moment. 

You would think this is an incredible club, "Moms," with new members always welcome to commiserate with and swap crock pot recipes and teething advice with.

But no.

There's no time for anything beauty related.

At least while working my 5 a.m. alarm insured a peaceful shower and the opportunity to not only do my hair but to apply makeup.

My showers are currently a multi-tasking one minute in length so I can hop out and make sure the loud thud wasn't my own little Batman launching himself off the back of the couch at "the enemy"ie; his baby brother.

I don't dry my hair. Ever. That's just asking for disaster.

And I now carry mascara in my car so that I can apply it while backing down my driveway (not to worry--I use the mirror that has the rear camera so I'm still multi-tasking and not putting lives in danger...totally).

I would ask how the moms at gymnastics class have time for full make up, if only they'd let me in their group! 

Things that used to be fun have lost their allure.

Shopping at Target.

Driving in the car and singing to songs.

Drinking a cup of coffee.

I love Laurie Birkner and the Wiggles. I do. But my Britney-esque dance club car moves just aren't the same to "Rock-a-bye your bear." They're just not.

And coffee. God where would I be without it. I wish I texted this to my friend more often, but I don't. "Just got the coffee made and had five minutes to enjoy before both boys were up."

Instead, "Cleaned up poopy diaper explosion before I could get any coffee this morning. Poop before coffee. Something wrong," is more common.

I know this will all get easier. I know that my kids are both at really difficult ages right now. And the fact that a trip to Target just isn't the same doesn't make me love them any less. 

I simply felt like blogging the truth. 

Apparently lots of moms do.

Thank goodness for each and every one of them.

Being a stay-at-home mom is hard.

But it's a cool club to belong to. 

Now if only I could figure out how to get into the cool groups...

Captured

Life with two is crazy hard.

Crazy funny.

Crazy good.

How Lucky

On Friday afternoon, around 1:30 p.m., I texted a few friends the same text:

"This stay-at-home-mom thing is harder than teaching. I need a nap. When is happy hour?"

Today, at 1:30 p.m., I collapsed into my big green chair in the family room just as both boys had gone down for a nap and I thought, "Good grief, 1:30? Where did today go?"

Even teaching has more downtime than this.

I chase, wipe, change, feed, dress, scrub, wash, soothe, pick up, rock, sing, pour, stir, fold, watch, yell (yeah, I yell), scold, help, bake, rush, clean...and repeat...non-stop.

And now here I sit.


I crossed that out because it became a non-truth. Reid woke up as I typed that sentence, and an hour later Will was up, and we were off to the library and here I sit again at 4:00, although I'm surrounded by The Wiggles and iPad games and I think Reid may have a dirty diaper.

But I'm persevering.

And this post suddenly needs to be about something else, because downtime is certainly not it.

At gymnastics class this morning, and again at the library, I had some thoughts, and they can basically be summarized by this:

How lucky are my kids? How lucky are the kids of the moms who are reading this blog? Think about it: they get to run around on play equipment, and play games on cool technology, and have moms who take them to the library and help them pick out new movies and books.

Not only that, our kids have parents who just this past weekend alone took them swimming, rented bounce houses for their birthdays, picked strawberries at a farm, spent time on the beach, and taught them how to ride a bike (thank you Facebook for allowing me to collect data so quickly).

When they wear out a pair of shoes, we go and we buy them a new pair.

When one day care provider doesn't work, we spend hours researching and interviewing new ones.

When they beg to have pizza for dinner every single night, we keep their health in mind and only give in one out of, oh, ten times.

A wise Hindu teacher told me when Will was born that when a soul chooses to be born to parents in America, it's like picking Heaven on Earth.

I'll smile at this as Will continues to watch Mickey Mouse Club House...on YouTube...on the iPad...in Russian.

I'll continue to smile as I pick up Reid and chase, wipe, change, feed, dress, scrub, wash, soothe, pick up, rock, sing, pour, stir, fold, watch, yell, scold, help, bake, rush, clean, and start dinner...

...lucky kids.

Luckier moms.

Surrender

"Good things fall apart so better things can come together."

That's my motto these days...

My last day of school is today. In about 30 minutes, I'll be joining my colleagues in a kick line down the front hall. It's one of my most favorite traditions, as the "Hallelujah" chorus plays over the intercom, followed by the "na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na, hey hey hey, good bye."

Teachers do it up right, yo.

And I'm clinging to that exhilarating feeling today--that knowledge that a few months of freedom await me starting at 2:30, and that I get to spend my days working my favorite job as mom--because a little bit of sadness sits in my heart.

Maybe it's more than a little...

We took our house off the market yesterday.

We broke our contract with the builder.

This

is no longer our future home.

Maybe it wasn't mean to be our dream home.

Maybe it fell apart because something else completely amazing and wonderful is waiting for our little family.

"Someone is trying to teach you a lesson in disappointment, huh?" a friend said.

But I don't think so.

If this were a lesson in disappointment, I'd walk around being gloomy and glum like the Pout Pout Fish in this book.

If this were a lesson in disappointment, I wouldn't want to talk about it. I would roll my eyes, cry, sigh, and otherwise stomp around like, well, my toddler.

And that's not me. It's not this blog.

But it's okay to be sad. It's okay to mourn it for just a bit.

Then it's time to move on.

We have lots of exciting things planned: trips to the pool, vacations at the beach, gymnastics class, library hour, and cuddling! I'll be redecorating the dining room, purchasing a new couch, and making my space feel refreshed.

Sort of like me.

With all of the stress that has been selling the house behind us, it's time to rejuvenate.

Surrender to happiness.

Smile on my face. Deep breath. It's time to dance.

Mr. Show Off

The last few pick-ups at school, Will's teacher says, "Will had such a good day today!"

It's almost as if his little ears perk at that moment, he hears it from way out on the playground, and he thinks, "Oh really? Well I'll show them!"

Today, he took his squirt gun and threw it at poor little Evie's head.

Last week, he pushed Jonas over in the red car--car and all.

The week before, he just ran around and hit all of his friends in the face.

And it was with a sad realization today that I accepted the teacher's explanation that he is showing off. Greg and I were (and still are!) such people pleasers. We would put on our best manners to show off: clear tables, help pick up toys, give hugs.

But Will hits his friends.

With tears I fear: Is my kid a bully?

Now yes, he's two-almost-three. And I think he knows better, as hitting doesn't fly in our house. Greg and I aren't exactly violent people, and we explain that Mr. Incredible only hits the bad guy because the bad guy hurts people.

So what gives?

I was retelling my bully boy fears to a friend who said, "At least you don't have the kid who sits there and lets other kids steal his toys."

In my mind, wouldn't that be better?

I worry about my kid not having friends because he's weird, not because he's mean.

Ten years from now, will my son be the one the teachers look at when talking about what a bully is?

After a time out from the teacher, and helping Evie get an ice pack for her forehead, I put Will in the car, informed him there would be no playing outside, and no iPhone games--the two things he lives for--because of his actions. "If you hit your friends, then you don't get to do the things you like."

"Do you understand?" I asked.

He looked at me, reached for my face, and planted a kiss.

No, he doesn't understand--not completely anyway. Eventually he will get his emotions in check. Eventually he will use his words and not his actions. Eventually this mom will stop worrying about what will happen in the future and start rectifying the present.

And until then, we will work on our show off techniques.