Ode to My Mom: An Email

Mom, how are you?? I've been baking a lot of bread and thinking fondly of you each time I do. I am "perfecting" sourdough these days ... I use a bread machine to do all the hard work, then pull it out, tuck it into loaves and bake it in the oven ... Voila! I look like a hero! But I do recall another time when you spent an hour a loaf, kneeding with your sleeves rolled up to your elbows and flour in your hair. Phew, I don't have anything it takes for that! Still, I think of you fondly when I imagine you working away at that dough on the floured countertops of 4640 Pleasant Creek Road. I laughingly wonder if my own children will remember me hovered over the bread maker, muttering and interfering from time to time. When it comes from the oven smelling like something from heaven, I quickly employ your prize bread knife, a gift from you when I left home for college three years behind schedule. I know, from you, there is no such thing as too much butter, just as "too much chocolate" does not exist. I employ this philosophy liberally to fresh baked bread.

Julien is such a love! But my goodness I'm busy with all of these little ones! It occurred to me a while ago that Claire, Harriette and Julien are just the same ages apart as Lisa, Jennie and Geran! I was thrilled when I discovered this, cringing at the bedlam that must have been your life when five year old Lisa clung to babyhood via affected speech impediments while Geran wailed from neglect and two year old Jennie challenged you at every turn. At the same time, you somehow managed thousands of pounds of laundry, many tonnes of dishes without a dishwasher, cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping, and everything else. All the while, you PLAYED WITH US.

I am certainly not that woman. Nicole does everything except raise my children and sleep next to my snoring husband : ). Baking bread is as close as I will ever get to "becoming my mother" and, for that, I use a machine. My girls are more likely to remember me pausing briefly in the morning to apply perfume to wrists bathed only every other day. My big mothering accomplishment could well be them not remembering me for my actual smell, but for the fragrant sweet cloud of "Channel Chance" that envelops me most mornings. I don't often cook, I only bake under the duress of descending visitors, I never ever can be found with a scrubber thingy of any kind in my hand, but darn I smell good.

My pinnacle of mothering this year was not giving birth to the world's sweetest boy, but wrapping all of my Christmas gifts sometime before Christmas Eve eve while the horde calls impatiently through the door. Additionally, my tree is completely decorated ( unless you count the side and back), and my great room, where the tree resides, is decorated (if you count a garland across the mantle and a mixing bowl of scented pine cones on the coffee table). Still, none of it compares to your precisely life-like arrangement of the nativity and collection of treasured ornaments from passions past ... The beans and seeds sunk into cobalt-blue glue in the shapes of stars and crosses, various macramé treasures, stained glass bits and printed scriptures varathaned to wood when burned edges were all the rage. How you, mom, found the time to exercise crafty impulses, I will never know. I don't remember you shouting, drinking, or smoking which is how the rest of us manage more than we are designed to handle. You were just superhuman, rinsing out dirty cloth diapers, baking, sweeping, cooking, teaching us the fun games from your own childhood and telling stories. You had firm beliefs about how a sink should be cleaned and perfected recipes for mayonnaise and pie crust. You once showed me the proper way to core an apple quarter. Your time tested techniques for handling laundry, from stain removal to wrinkle prevention, have the power to make a wardrobe immortal.

The homey holidays you managed to create on restricted budget may never be what my own children experience. Still, as I bake batches of sourdough of questionable character and rejuvenate the pot of mulling spice on the stove, all while smelling expensive if not clean, I hope i am creating the faintest image of a superhuman mom in the minds of three little girls and the world's darlingest boy.

You are an inspiration, mom. I love you!
Lisa

Sent from my iPad

What I Am Doing (on Earth)

As most of you know, I have full-time, live-in help. Her name is Carolina, and she makes my life possible. She cleans, does dishes and laundry and helps out with the girls when I need it. John likes to say she does everything, leaving nothing for me to do ... of course, I don't let him get away with talking like this, but in the back of my mind, I've always felt he might be right. Until January 25th of this year, a snow and ice encrusted Tuesday for which school was cancelled. John worked from home that day because our driveway was unplowed. We had breakfast together and then John retreated to his office where he spent all day. And, to give him deserved credit, he stayed in there ALL DAY, presumably leaving for quick breaks but I only saw him out of his office for lunch and dinner and he went back to his office for more work after dinner. On a whim, and curious about what I do all day if Carolina does everything, I decided to keep a log. I've added a few comments and explanations:

- 10:30 ... I put Harriette down for her morning nap and run a "warm up bath" (a scorching bath to warm myself up from Connecticut's winter chill. These baths usually work in five to ten minutes and would be relaxing if I ever managed to bathe alone). Claire and Ava follow me upstairs and ask to get in with me. I tell them 'no' but let them dangle their feet in ... they dangle so much that their clothing gets wet. I soak until I am warmed through and then get out.

- 10:45 ... Minutes spent helping them into dry clothes while denying a barrage of requests for sweets from weepy Claire (throat drops, cookies, pudding, Christmas chocolates)

- 10:50 ... I don't feel good ... Harriette gave me some kind of immortal cold that has me going through a box of tissues every day. I take my last non-drowsy decongestant and hope for the best. I sit down to check my email and facebook. Without looking up, I call out directives regarding application of final clothing items, sweaters and socks.

- 10:55 ... I hear Harriette beginning to complain from her crib. She doesn't usually sleep in the morning, but has a little alone time to have a bottle and collect herself ... her "pretend" naps in the mornings really help her mood. I delay fetching her to minister to my poor nose. It is so bad this morning that I can't get anything done without stopping and using up two or three tissues at a time. It is frustrating and distracting. I pass by John's office where he sits invisible behind a desktop full of large screens. For some reason, I am annoyed by his quiet intensity in there. Jerk. No ... not "jerk" ... he is doing his job, I am doing mine.

- 11:00 ... Claire and Ava have evaporated to a distant room and are playing happily with each other. My nose distracts me from my mission to get H and I head back to my computer to answer an email from another hapless preschool mom regarding school closings (poor us!).

- 11:05 ... I get Harriette and play with her in her bedroom, change her diaper and audio monitor a developing argument between Claire and Ava next door. I hear civility give way to screaming and I rush next door to their bedroom. I take away a toy in dispute and put Ava in a time out (I use my best judgement on a case by case basis ... if you seem guilty to me, you probably are ... I play no favorites and call them as I see them).

- 11:10 ... Ava begins screaming and throwing herself against her bedroom door (this is against time-out rules) ... I give her a spank which immediately ends the assault on the door. I reclaim iPhone from Harriette ... the screen says I am locked out but may "try again" in 54 minutes. John is silent downstairs ... sweet oblivion! No, see that isn't fair ... I have no idea all that is going on in there like he doesn't appreciate what is happening in the real world (the one inhabited by his children). I reread Row Row Row Your Boat to H.

- 11:20 ... I try sounding out words with Claire, something I do every few days ... I feel she is on the verge of being able to read so I try as often as I think of it. It becomes apparent today is not the day and I hand her back her magnetic drawing board and she draws me some lovely flowers. I am writing this between admiring her work and ordering up new flowers ("three this time, please, and make them roses!"). She loves it!

- 11:25 ... Ava returns on her own accord (my time out instructions are usually "come out when you are ready"). She is cheerful. I supervise Claire writing the alphabet. She asks me how to spell various words and writes them on her board. Ava shows me a little game she has devised with a marble and plastic stacking cups. I feign interest and expand on her idea a bit which keeps her busy for a few minutes.

- 11:30 ... Harriette toddles into her bedroom with a bottle of hairspray from my bathroom. Oops, she WAS being very quiet ...

- 11:35 ... After failed attempts, I am able to read "The Napping House" through twice to an audience of three little girls who all want to sit on my lap with their static-powered baby hair flying up my nose which has slowed down a little. I finally banish them all and use up the tissues in my pockets. I go in desperate search for more ...

- 11:45 ... I flee for the top of my bed (it is made, thanks to Carolina), desperate for a little space and quiet ... they all follow me. Claire and Ava can clamor up on their own, but little Harriette needs help. She first passes up assorted toys and forbidden items (usually pens) and then holds up her little arms for me to haul her aboard. Sometimes I pretend not to know that SHE wants to come up with her treasures ... ha ha ha ... I do these things to amuse myself during especially desperate times (today does not qualify). Proximity to a full tissue box seems to accelerate things with my nose which is raw at the end and stings like a banchee when I touch it with tissue. Without warning, Ava yells "I have to use the bathroom!!" ... I shoo her off of the bed, wondering if she will make it in time or not ... sometimes she does. She shouts a report from the bathroom that my panty liners are all over the floor (from Harriette's earlier excursion) ... I ask her to put them away and she says "ok mommy" in that funny little voice of hers (sweet girl!) ... Loathe to come down from here, I send Claire in to help Ava. I try to focus on arranging preschool fundraising details while fielding awkward questions coming from my bathroom regarding the purpose of panty liners and (also found!) the thing in another neat looking box (pregnancy tests). My answers are vague and meaningless enough to not encourage additional curiousity. I think about what to do for lunch while Claire and Ava work very nicely together, cleaning up Harriette's mess. I think of jumping in my four wheeled drive wonder and hot rodding out of this place. I hear John busy in the kitchen ... he calls up "Is Harriette supposed to have a panty liner?" He sounds genuinely surprised and perplexed. Reluctantly, I touch down from the glorious height of my four poster. I meet H coming up the stairs with her panty liner ... I scold her and take it away, she cries loudly, her only defense.

11:50 ... I climb back onto my sanctuary and rush to finish another email. Harriette, back in my bathroom, empties a costco bag of throat drops onto the floor. I get back down and hurry in to pick them up before they are consumed by three very interested little girls. They all want one ... I say 'no' but struggle to say why (if I say they are for sick people with coughs or sore throats, they will all three be instantly coughing and complaining of sore throats. I settle for a simple, "throat drops aren't for children'. I help Ava button up her sweater that she has for some reason unbuttoned. I smell something cooking downstairs and Silently praise my husband ... he is far from useless! I have to send A for another time out, this time for a dispute with me about leaving her sweater buttoned and on . I intercept H waddling out of my bathroom on her knees with a bottle of my lotion. She has a dirty diaper. Eight hours until bedtime.

12:00 ... I shepherd them all downstairs for lunch ... John has made dumplings : ) ... we eat a WHOLE BAG! Harriette has as many as I do! Claire has a little self-inflicted drama about not seeing her grandparents again when we go skiing this coming weekend. John eats peacefully while I reason things out with her, wondering what touched off that scene in her mysterious mind. We work through it and she and Ava eat their dumplings and giggle together with humor that eludes me. My nose is going crazy. Two bites, two tissues, sneeze, two more tissues, two bites, sneeze sneeze sneeze, many more tissues. I am being asked questions non stop ... no one seems to notice I am dying which is irritating.

12:30 ... I let the dogs back in from a bathroom break ... they look freezing! I distribute "dessert" (yogurt) which is eaten with gusto but three tiny people who eat as much as anyone else who lives here.

12:35 ... John finishes mine.

12:45 ... I divvy up a banana and slices of cheddar ... it all disappears. I release H from her high chair and she wobbles out of the room. I light a fire and hear Carolina working on the lunch dishes. Harriette is surrounded by a suspicious odor which I ignore as long as I can. I am trying to write all of this down but my nose!

12:55 ... I change her diaper and head back downstairs ... I leave her in her bedroom alone. She follows me downstairs directly.

1:00 ... I turn on some hip hop to pass the time ... The girls are dancing ... I video them for a minute with my iphone and turn it over to a circle of little brown heads and listen to them giggling wildly over their performances. Even H seems to appreciate herself on camera : ) I love those little brown heads! It is so fun to see them enjoying each other ...

1:15 ... H goes down for her "real" nap, the afternoon nap when she actually sleeps. I bump into Carolina on her way down from the top floor ... she was probably working on laundry. We dirty volumes of clothes! I estimate she does seven loads a week, depending on the girls' activities.

3:30 ... I spent two hours writing and on the computer by the fire. Then I team with C and A to make Valentines ... we finish 20 or so before I lose my patience. It is hard assembling anything with their little hands everywhere ... I try to keep them busy with jobs "Claire, please put a candy box in this bag ... Ava, choose a ring for Anastasia ... Claire, put this sticker on this envelope" ... I can only take so much! I decide, in a moment of weakness, that we will watch Angelina Ballerina at 4:00 ...

3:45 ... I read Zin Zin Zin a Violin ... they love it. I read The Napping House again. I read Rain Babies, a book I bought as a gift for a friend who is adopting a baby soon. We are limping slowly toward tv time.

5:00 ... I collect H from her crib and we watched Angelina Ballerina and a cartoon about wild animals ... the bad guy is a designer who wants to turn Monarch butterflies into hair bows. So scary! I use all of my powers to turn the tv off and the four of us head into C's and A's bedroom to play. Claire gets into a toy dispute with H and pulls her hair. I send her to the bedroom next door for a time out. John is still working in his office, I'm not even sure he's left to use the bathroom. I wonder about dinner.

7:00 ... John made Udon which was perfect for a cold winter day. I took the girls upstairs after dinner and read King Babar (the most ridiculous book of that series), a story about a little girl who dreams of being a ballerina, a few consecutive bible stories (they LOVE these) until I say it is time to read quietly to themselves in bed. They protest!

8:00 ... I duck back in, turn off the lights, pray and sing every lullaby song in my repertoire (eight). I finish, like I do every night, with Brahams Lullaby. Reflexively, they yawn.

8:30 ... I had two call backs, both by Claire, both ridiculous. I threatened her after the last one ... she disappeared with a dramatic wimper and I haven't heard a thing since. I think they are asleep!

I know you did not read all of that ... it is tedius to accomplish, tedius to write and then type ... honestly, I wouldn't have anything to do with any of it if I didn't believe in its value. My conclusion after meticulous tracking of my activities for a day is that, what I am doing for my daughters by not working outside the house, has nothing to do with folding laundry or cleaning or even doing dishes. My big accomplishment around here is that I am PRESENT!!! All day long I am WITH THEM!!! They come to me for their needs ... they know that, even if I am on the computer or distracted in some other way, I am THERE. I set the tone, make the rules and enforce them, all day long every day. Those little girls operate in my domain six days a week (A and H are at baby spa on Thursdays). It didn't matter that John was in the house working that day because he wasn't actually present at all. It doesn't really matter if I am scribbling notes between reading them stories or on the computer for hours at a time because I am still here.

It is worth noting that I am accomplishing things via email and facebook ... setting up play dates, communicating with the school, etc. In addition to managing, for three people, virtually EVERYTHING they require to grow and mature properly ... nutrition planning, manners training, play dates, activities, education, cultural training, spiritual growth, etc etc, I also GENERATED THEM WITH MY OWN BODY. Sheesh. Am I crazy for thinking I earn my keep? (no)

John is flat out wrong. What I do is HUGE. No one else can do what I do! I don't think I could hire someone to be engaged all day long because I'm not sure anyone else would really care enough to do that.