Can a Mother Give up Caffeine?

No. The end.

(Shout-out to The Monko from Taming the Goblin for suggesting that simple approach!)

But seriously...why am I even asking such a silly question? I've been an avid coffee-drinker and worshiper for two decades. Drinking coffee makes me happy and gets me through the day. Why stop now?

Well, I'm hitting middle age (although you can't really tell from the outside), and I'm trying to take my health more seriously. We've all heard the conflicting reports: caffeine is bad. No, wait, it's good. No, hang on there--it's bad again (my all-time favorite coffee factoid is that is lowers suicide risk in women. That's good). I'm perpetually exhausted, which is why I stick with caffeine--but why do so many health aficionados insist we cut it out? I had to find answers. Here are some good ones:

• Caffeine increases stress hormones (which, in turn, leads to systemic inflammation)
• Addiction to caffeine affects your cardiovascular system
• Coffee's acidity can cause heartburn and mess up your gut flora
• Caffeine may affect serotonin levels, leading to depression, anxiety, and sleep issues
• Coffee can affect liver function, making it harder for your body to excrete toxins.

(It seems there are a lot of implications for those of us with MTHFR gene mutations--if you're in the "MoFo" club, read the entire article from which the above information came. It told me everything I needed to know, including why I need to cut out the coffee itself, not just the caffeine. Damn it.)

So now, let's revisit my original question: "can a mother give up caffeine?" I certainly don't want to, but it looks like I'm going to have to give it a shot (pun alert!). It seems to be helping me get through my day, but if the experts are right, it's actually increasing my stress, affecting my sleep, adding to my stroke risk, compromising my serotonin, and making my body toxic. When you put it in those terms, I think trying to give up coffee is something that needs to be done, pronto.

Wish me luck. Hopefully a healthier mom will be a happier mom.

Yes, I Allow the Kids to Do This

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the Obstacle Course 2000, "the greatest obstacle course ever" (according to my six-year-old).

Was I upset when I walked in the house this afternoon and found the couch in the dining room and the dining chairs in the living room? A little. Stuff like this used to make me really, really angry...and I still wish it wouldn't happen...but it does. I just choose not to flip out.

Bug started walking like he was shot out of a cannon at 10 months old, was climbing ladders at the playground at 11 months, and running all over the house at his first birthday party. I'm not exaggerating.

As a new mom (who was also pregnant at the time with Pie), I was beside myself with this little ball of energy. Not long after the day I walked into the dining room to discover Bug standing on the table, about to swing from the chandelier, (which I absolutely did not allow), my mom came to visit. As we sat in the living room trying to have some coffee and conversation, baby Bug, who was probably close to two years old by then, kept climbing on and off the coffee table in front of us. I remember trying to coax him down, distract him, scold him. He wouldn't stop. My anxiety and despair and helplessness was obvious, and my mom commented, "what's wrong with letting him stand on the coffee table? Think about it in the grand scheme of things. Is it really worth getting so upset over?"

We knew how agile Bug was, and knew that he probably was less likely to hurt himself than a kid who was less acrobatically inclined. So I took my mom's advice and chose not to pick that battle. And that's why my first floor is still, on most days,  home to some incarnation of the Obstacle Course 2000. It's not the perfect solution, but for now, it's one that works.

The Mompetition Is Us

Scroll down for this week's Sunday Parenting Party.

First of all, let me say that I did not invent the word mompetition. It popped into my head the other day during one of those moments when I was doing something totally over the top for my kids (like making an elaborate, gluten-free rolled fondant cake in the shape of an Angry Birds Star Wars pigtrooper that no one outside our family was going to see) just to prove that I am a loving mother.

The mompetition is the pressure we moms put on ourselves to measure up--but to who? The moms of the other kids in our kid's class? Our best friends? Our mothers and sisters? Mom bloggers? Our skewed ideas of what a perfect mother should be doing? Our very selves?

I was in my therapist's office the other day, railing about the fact that it never ends: the whole-class birthday parties that have to be planned and pulled off, the Halloween costumes that have to be made or tracked down, the from-scratch cake that has to be made and hand-decorated because it's a tradition--and this is all on top of the pants that still need to be taken in because your kindergartener has been wearing floods for a month, the laundry that constantly needs to be done, the three meals that no one likes that still need to be prepared every single day.

When I stopped to take a breath, my therapist asked me, "were you required to have the whole class over for a birthday party, or did you make that decision?"

All right..I get it.

Who am I really trying to prove something to? Myself.

Would the birthday boy felt just as special had I served a store-bought cake? Yes. Would he have cared if we had taken two friends to Pump It Up to celebrate instead of having a party? Probably not. Would Bug have felt less loved had I come home with a Darth Maul suit for Halloween instead of a Darth Vader one? No.

Do my kids know I love them? Yes. Do they care if I live up to my unrealistic expectations of the perfect mother? I don't think so. Am I a better, calmer mom if I'm not focusing my energy on beating myself up? Ummm...yes.

So, you know what I think? We, as moms, might want to blame our guilt-ridden misery on the other moms, the mom-blogosphere, Facebook, Pinterest, the media, society, and the like, but the truth is this:

The mompetition is me, and I can choose to drop out. Join me.

Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Here are some of my favorite submissions from last week:

• The Secret Life of a Blogger (Dirt and Boogers). Spoiler alert: Amanda, my esteemed fellow SPP host, reveals a shocking secret...her life is not perfect! My favorite part of her confession is that she Photoshops the background messes out of her photos. High five!
• November Table Topics (Growing Book by Book). Here's a fantastic list of questions to ask at the dinner table to get everyone talking. I love playing Table Topics at adult dinner parties, and this post has a ton of open-ended questions about gratitude and being thankful that my six- and four-year-old would be able to handle (plus, I was just having a conversation with my husband about teaching the boys to be less self-centered and more cognizant of others. These questions are totally apropos).
• The Evolution of a Halloween Costume (The Sadder but Wiser Girl). Sarah is a girl after my own heart: why buy your kid a Batman costume for $35 when you can compromise your sanity and play "beat the clock" on the night of October 30th making one for ten dollars less? (BTW, Sarah, you did a great job. But, like me, are you asking yourself if it was worth it? I go through the same struggle every year.)

The Family "Vacation"

Look at that posture. I look totally dejected.

We just got home from a weekend at the beach, and I feel the need to pose the following question: is a family vacation ever really a vacation for the mother? If the answer is yes, I'm doing something terribly wrong and I need advice (see what my Facebook friends had to say).

It just seems to me that all I'm doing is taking my work on the road (that is, as soon as I've finished with the madness of packing clothes and sundries, trying to forget as few items as possible, and wishing I could measure up to Prickly Dad's idea of the right way to do things, all while attempting -- unseccesfully -- to stave off a panic attack from all the pressure). I'd venture to guess that no matter what your job is, it's going to be especially difficult and stressful to do it in an unfamiliar location and without your complete toolbox with you. Mothering is no exception.

It must get better at some point, right? Will there come a point when I can sit on the beach like I used to and listen to the ocean or read a book without the perpetual intrusion of "Mom! Look at me! Mom! Look! Mom! Mom! You're not looking! Mom! Mom! Mom!" Will I ever be able to have a meal in a restaurant without a kid insisting on crawling under the table or having to be placated with a Kindle game? Will the boys eventually grow out of their compulsion to jump on the hotel beds and, instead, act like civilized human beings?

Somebody just tell me it gets better.

I'm Afraid of Art

(Scroll down for this week's Sunday Parenting Party.)

I know I'm not alone in being a mom who heads for the hills at the very mention of doing a potentially messy or open-ended art or craft project with young children. In fact, I know I've read more than a few blog posts on the subject.

The completely embarrassing element of my mortal fear of kids plus art materials is this: I'm an artist.

I want to be creative with my kids -- I do. I even have a Pinterest board filled with the projects I'd like to do with the boys. I would love to sit in the front yard with Bug and Pie and do pastel sketches of the flowers. But I can't do it.

Just the thought of the mess and all the unknown variables sends me running for the Xanax. Bright colors all mixed together into a muffin tin full of muddy brown. Paint all over pants. Brand-new pots of Play-Doh smushed into a glob of smoky gray (but naturally not the same shade of gray of the carpet it will eventually be ground in to).

I can't even do my own artwork because I don't know what I would do when the kids started to grab at -- or even asked politely to use -- my pastels or charcoal pencils or sketchbook paper. I don't know what I'd do ... so I just don't do it. Every year my husband plants an award-winning entryway garden, and every year I want to paint pictures of it. But I can't, because I'm afraid of the potential mess.

This afternoon, my four-year-old asked if we could paint rocks. We saw some painted rocks last week while we were camping, and he's been asking almost every day if we could make our own. I would have liked to put it off indefinitely (even though I knew he really wanted to paint rocks). I recently read a great post on another mom blog about how to contain the mess when painting with littles ... I didn't have all the supplies to carry it out, but I did the best I could. Pie and I portioned the paint in a muffin tin. He helped me mix the primaries to make the secondaries. I showed him how to wash his brush before changing colors, and he paid attention. And we painted rocks out in the driveway. My five-year-old bundle of energy even ended up joining us (and I cringed as he decided to mix colors in our communal palette and proceeded to add black pinstripes to his rock, Jackson Pollock style). But it worked out. I didn't panic. I didn't necessarily like the twelve different shades of green that we ended up with, or Bug's action-packed brush handling, but we did it, and the boys were happy.

I guess I am capable of surviving a mess. If Mommy is an artist, I have to assume that at least one of my kids has talent, too, and I should be nurturing that talent. I just have to keep reminding myself of days like today when the boys and I made art and lived to tell about it.

Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party! This week's hosts are denoted by the word {host} behind their link’s title in the list below. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, developing and caring for children, as well as honest posts on the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Some of my favorite submissions from last week's SPP:

• Kids Stuff World: Slash summer stress by staying home
• Connecting Family and Seoul: Finding your own happiness

That's It ... No More Carnivals

It's times like this that make me think of a classic episode of The Simpsons, in which Homer, upon the family's return from their latest disastrous outing, states something along the lines of, "I think we should all agree to disband as a family."

Totally.

Of course, I'm not serious. I love Prickly Dad. I love Bug and Pie. I love this little family we have built. But I have to be blunt about one thing: I can't do carnivals. I, the mom, have a meltdown. Then one or both kids have a meltdown. Then Prickly Dad gets angry. This is the way it goes pretty much every time.

Why does this happen to me? There are too many variables and too many snap decisions that have to be made. Where is the ticket booth? How long is the line? How much are the tickets? How many tickets am I going to need? Do I buy a whole sheet now and risk having a bunch of leftovers, or do we buy a few now and a few later? Why is my 40" tall kid not allowed to go on the swing ride at this carnival when he was allowed to go on the same, exact ride at the other carnival, and how am I supposed to explain it to him? Why does this ride cost two tickets and this other ride cost three tickets? Why are none of the entrances to the rides clearly marked? Where do you line up? Where is the food truck that has plain hot dogs for the kids? How do I tell the boys they can't keep playing the carnival games because they're fixed and overpriced, and we could just as easily stop at the dollar store to get a cheap stuffed duck? Why don't they put lids on the lemonade (isn't this chaotic cluster-eff supposed to be for kids? Kids need lids)? And where the hell are the porta-potties?

On top of all this chaos, my boys, as is to be expected, want to do everything now, now, now ... and I can't respond to them properly because I'm having a meltdown myself.

I'm a "Highly Sensitive Person" (someone who, these days, might be diagnosed with a sensory processing issue). I don't do loud well. I don't do chaos well. I don't do over-stimulation well. I have a hard time making decisions under normal circumstances, let alone amidst the sensory bedlam of a carnival.

Prickly Dad tried to placate me last month at the State Fair with a deep-fried Reese's Peanut Butter Cup on a stick (I have to admit, it was heavenly), and I tried my best to stay calm. (Sidebar: I have to give a major shout-out to Wade Shows, the outfit that ran the carnival at this summer's fair -- they replaced the ticket system with swipe-cards and had excellent signage throughout the midway that clearly showed prices and entrance and exit points for each ride. They obviously understand frazzled parents.)

I wish I liked going to carnivals, but I just don't -- and we're going to have to figure out a way to be okay with that. Prickly Dad can take the kids on his own if he really wants to go. Or if he absolutely needs me to go, I can take a time-out and sit under a tree until I calm down if I need to (I had to do this recently with Bug -- he's been mentioning lately that he doesn't care for carnivals either). Everybody can't like everything, right?

That way, we don't have to disband as a family. Yet.

Some helpful links:
Characteristics of Highly Sensitive People
10 Tips for Highly Sensitive People
Planning a Disney Trip with Sensory Processing Precautions
SPD Kids and Amusement Parks

And now to the Sunday Parenting Party!

Last week was my debut as a co-hostess of one of my favorite blog linkups, and I was happy to discover another great mom blogger, Hannah, from Paint on the Ceiling, who submitted a post called "9 Things I've Changed My Mind About." Chelsea, from Moments a Day (who I discovered through Pinterest a few weeks ago), submitted "10 Life Lessons for Kids," which is also applicable to grown-ups. Thanks for posting, ladies!

An InLinkz Link-up

I Hate Summer Vacation.

I'm going to stick my neck out and say it: summer vacation is stupid.

Think about it...in the United States at least, summer vacation for schoolchildren was created out of necessity. The kids were needed during this time of year to help out on the farm during the harvest. Ma and Pa needed young Johnny and Gertrude to work the fields and pitch in with all the extra canning and whatnot.

News flash: we haven't lived in a mainly agrarian society for a looooooooong time. And I don't know how to find accurate statistics, but I would assume that there are more families in which both parents work outside the home than not. So why do we continue with this summer vacation thing? Aside from teaching, I can't think of any work situation that offers nine consecutive weeks of vacation (the thought is laughable, actually).

Why do we have to force moms and dads to scramble every spring to find appropriate "camps" for the kids and then shell out $200-$250 per week, per kid, to keep them safe and occupied during work hours? It's insane. It's absurd.

Who is perpetuating this nonsense? I know the teachers' unions are powerful in this country, but I can't imagine they're powerful enough to keep holding the rest of the parent population hostage like this.

And it's not like I'm totally against giving kids a break: they're kids, for goodness sake, and they need a chance to play before they have to join us grown-ups in the rat race. But a two-and-a-half month vacation is totally unrealistic in modern society. How about breaking it up into a few three- or four-week blocks or something? I think we could all happily deal with that, right? How do we get this beach ball rolling?

(I still have more to say about summer vacation. Stay tuned.)

My Life in Tabs

Is it just me, or do other people keep track of what they need to do by opening up a new browser tab?

It's kind of like a snapshot of my brain...a window into my soul...the story of my life at the moment. But after a while, there are too many tabs to fit on one screen, and some of them have to be closed. So what do I do? Write a blog post, of course (come on...'tis the season for the "roundup," right?).

Here's what's on my plate during Christmastime, 2012...

Natural Stress Relief: I really want to learn Transcendental Meditation, but it's just way too expensive (over $1,000). This alternative method claims to teach a similar technique for $25. I have to get my stress and anxiety under control.

Pinterest | Search Results for "Self Regulation": I recently discovered what is termed "self-regulation" in the autism community--the ability to conduct yourself appropriately in a given situation despite an overflow of emotions. I, myself, never learned how to effectively self-regulate. Now my son is struggling with impulse control and I need some ideas (for both of us).

Sears Home Services: Our ice maker has been dead for a month.

Victoria's Secret Kiss Tees: I have boobs that are way too big for my body (I'm 5'2" and 125 lbs. and take a DD). Who deals with giant hooters better than Victoria's Secret? Their T-shirts are cut in such a way that flatters my figure without making me look like a freak (or a "ho"...or pregnant).

Seasons Pizza: I guess I can close this tab. (BTW, if you're gluten-free and you're ever in Delaware or Maryland, their GF crust is fantastic. Just sayin'.)

Money Saving Mom | How to Develop a Routine that Works--and Stick to It: I'm currently working on her plan. She's all about starting small and building on your successes.

Pendle Hill Retreat: A mom friend of mine recently attended a weekend workshop here and I want to do one, too. I need some restoring...badly. For those of you across the Atlantic, I've discovered through Google that there's also a Pendle Hill in England...that's haunted. I'd like to hit that up sometime, too!

And last but not least, everybody's favorite site, Amazon.com. What are they suggesting for me today? Meditation books for kids...a balance board...a butter lamb mold...Walking Dead comic books...oh dear...I think they've figured out how to mind-meld with me. I'm going to go downstairs now and make myself a tin-foil hat. Happy holidays!

37 Tips for Frazzled Moms

I was feeling overwhelmed and discouraged the other day and forced myself to sit down and make a master list of everything I've been meaning to do to help make my life run more smoothly. I don't know how long it's going to take me to tackle the entire list (#29 accidentally became the first "done"), but I hope it's before Pie turns 18 in 2027.

Thanks to all the mom bloggers who provided inspiration for this list. You seriously keep me sane.

37 Things I Think Would Help

1. Being able to reflect/collect my thoughts first thing in the morning before the whining/demanding starts
2. Exercising in the morning by myself (treadmill or yoga)
3. Having designated shower days/times
4. Having everyone's outfits picked out the night before
5. Knowing what I was going to make for breakfast
6. Having "breakfast boxes" on the bottom shelf of the fridge (ideally for the kids to get themselves)
7. Knowing more quick/healthy breakfast options that the boys will eat
8. Making a daily to do list (with or without pictures)
9. Having a more organized shoe/coat situation
10. Making checklists for the boys with morning routine tasks (potty, get dressed, eat, play, shoes/coat, etc.)
11. Having a plan to deal with begging for treats throughout the day without having to argue
12. Planning lunch/snack options in advance
13. Making the boys do chores (collect dirty dishes, put back pillows/cushions, clean up toys, scrub floors)
14. Having a chore schedule for myself
15. Making a daily schedule for myself (with designated laundry/dishes/meal prep times)
16. Making a weekly schedule for myself for school hours (meal prep, cleaning, phone calls, nap)
17. Enforcing rest/quiet time for Pie (and myself)
18. Making a calendar with designated "I get to choose/I get to go first" days for each boy
19. Having "busy bag" or "file folder"-type activities on hand for when I'm working in the kitchen
20. Making an "Okay, Mom" reward chart
21. Figuring out how to teach the boys not to interrupt/take turns speaking
22. Talking in a quiet voice when I get angry
23. Extinguishing tantrums the John Rosemond way
24. Running or kicking a ball around
25. Going outside more
26. Playing with/enjoying the boys instead of worrying
27. Scheduling one-on-one time with each kid
28. Knowing in advance what was for dinner
29. Enforcing "The Kitchen Hour" for myself
30. Feeling less defeated about pleasing everybody at dinner (make what I want instead of worrying about everyone else)
31. Making rules about daily milk and juice consumption
32. Making the boys get their own drinks
33. Serving a bedtime snack/milk every night
34. Making a tradition/routine of checking the weather with the boys and planning tomorrow's outfit
35. Having "candle time" (a quiet reflection/meditation time…maybe with the bedtime snack)
36. Starting bedtime earlier…or prescribe an "end time" with the Time Timer
37. Making husband do bedtime a couple times a week

Deep Thoughts

The Power of 100

This all just came together so beautifully. The other day I was cooking dinner, and Pie was whining and demanding I do something right now. "How much I count to?" he asked after I told him I'd help him in five minutes. "Oh, about 100," I replied in exasperation, just wanting to get some food on the table before one of us had a meltdown.

As he started counting into the high 20s, I realized he probably wouldn't remember what came after 29, so I started to count with him: "30...31...32...33...34..." until we made it all the way to 100. And I realized, I was calmer. Calmer because of the joy I felt in seeing my little guy exercising his giant brain (as Daddy likes to say), and calmer because I had successfully shifted my focus to something other than my frazzled nerves.

I've been trying for years to figure out ways to diffuse my ragged emotions in the split second between "last straw" and "screaming banshee." It usually happens so fast, and the standard calming technique of counting to 10 just always seemed to stupid and hokey to make me actually try it more than once. But that's the thing: I guess for my temper, 10 might not be enough to work. My wits might be so far gone that I, personally, need to go all the way to 100.

You know what? Even though it might make me sound like a complete nutcase, I don't care. I found a strategy that kept me from yelling, was educational for my son, and brought us closer together. Score!

(Read more about my ongoing struggle with anger management here: Getting Advice from the Airlines.) 

I Don't Even Have a "Plan A"

It's raining today, the boys aren't cooperating, Pie's month-long tantrum continues, Bug is screaming because he got play dough in his eye. And I'm exhausted. Yes, Pie (aka "The Little Dictator") had me up and down all night, but it's not even that: I'm exhausted on every plane: physically, mentally, spiritually...and any other planes that might exist.

Today's last straw was when I finally found a minute to sit down on the couch. Pie found me immediately and demanded another scrambled egg right now. I started to explain to (read: plead with) him that I needed a minute to sit down; he could eat anything else on his plate while he was waiting...blah, blah, blah. Then it hit me: he doesn't care. He. Wants. His. Egg. All I am to him at the moment is a scrambled-egg dispenser, not a separate individual with her own needs and feelings.

While the second egg was in the microwave, I made notes on the back of an envelope: try to find out how to deal with feelings of being overwhelmed, feelings that it's me against them, and the realization that I'm responsible for what kind of tone I'm setting for myself (and in turn, the kids)--there's no one here to help me.

One of my go-to bloggers, Meagan Francis of The Happiest Mom, sums up my current state of mind almost exactly:

In my post a couple of weeks ago about obstacles to happiness as a mom, I listed “being overwhelmed” as one of my top 5. While commenters chimed in with a whole list of other obstacles–things like lack of time for oneself, loss of control, and unrealistic expectations–I reflected about how all of those things can, for me, lead to feeling overwhelmed. So maybe being overwhelmed isn’t so much a single obstacle as it is the end result of many of the things that are part and parcel of a mom’s life: noise, mess, chaos, ever-changing routines, an incredible sense of responsibility, never enough time in the day…etc.

Francis suggests identifying your triggers and getting a plan (at least that was my personal take-away). So now I'm revisiting a concept I've put off again and again for over four years now: getting the boys and myself on a schedule. Another blogger I read today (Mommy Ponders) wrote a post about getting on a schedule and planning an activity (which flopped that day)--and not having a "Plan B." Then something else hit me: I don't even have a freakin' "Plan A!" Could that be the heart of my problem?

I seriously don't think I can conquer these feelings of utter exhaustion unless I do something, and maybe putting a plan or a schedule in place is what that "something" is. That, and coming to terms with my principal role as scrambled-egg provider. Bawk.

(Post-script, September 2012: I hashed these thoughts out with my therapist soon after writing this post, and discovered that things weren't as bleak as they appeared. I will write a more in-depth update on this soon. Eggs to you!)

Getting Advice from the Airlines

Print this and post it on the fridge.

Have you ever listened to the safety spiel they give on an airplane as you're waiting on the runway to take off? No, I don't mean taking in every ninth word an you consider whether you should really order the Miracle Tank Top Bra for $75 from the copy of SkyMall you pulled out of your seat-back. I mean really listen (well, at least to one very important statement).

"Make sure to secure your own oxygen mask before assisting others."

Okay, if you're anything like me (high-strung,  a "Highly Sensitive Person," chronically anxious or depressed, etc., etc.), you know about this piece of advice. However, when my mom pointed it out to me a few years ago, it actually sunk in for some reason. I'm not saying I follow this principle like I should, but at least I know I should.