The SAHM Experiment: I really suck at being a mom

I don't have enough fingers to count the amount of times today that I yelled at my 3.5 year old to "just leave me alone, I'm trying to do something!"

This kid, who is so aggressively extroverted and who has the imagination of a science-fiction writer thrown in a blender with a fantasy writer, just wanted some attention. He always wants my attention. He never stops talking, even when I'm not in the room. I find him talking to himself frequently when I'm not around, especially if I'm in a bad mood. I am 99 percent positive he is talking to me, but he feels so bad when I growl, "What do you want?!" that he just says he's talking to himself.

During this whole SAHM Experiment so far (we're technically on week #4), I've had some amazing days and I've had some really lousy, "Why am I filled with so much rage toward such tiny people?" moments. It's been demoralizing, embarrassing, and it's given me a terrible bounty of guilt in which I continue to ask myself, "Seriously, you're a mother?"

The thing is, I can easily pinpoint why I suck at being a mom sometimes. It's easy for me to know when I'm going to lose my mind and be a total jerk to my kids. The one thing that causes me to go off the handle and treat my kids like they're employees in The Devil Wears Prada?

Work.

And it's not even like it's earth-shattering, deadline-driven work. It's not like I'm racing to cure cancer or something. It's "Oh did you post this to Facebook?" or "Hey can you let us know when you can finish that flyer?"

Yes, people have businesses to run and livelihoods to consider, but at the end of the day? None of this is an emergency. These adult people won't remember in a month whether a tweet went out at noon or if a Facebook event got posted two weeks prior to the even or three weeks prior to the event.

But my kids? My kids. Sigh.

I'll be honest in that I don't remember much about my childhood. The moments I start remembering are the ones that are painful, hurtful, the ones that make me angry. Why is this? I don't really know. Did I have a terrible childhood? I don't think so. My mom stayed home with us, my dad had a decent job, and we were comfortably middle class until I was in middle school. After that, I remember everything, but what brooding, angsty teenager doesn't?

I have so many regrets about the past two weeks. Not so many about the two weeks we were in England because I was completely and utterly shut off those weeks. I didn't dwell on Facebook (I just plastered photos of my awesome trip) or Twitter, and I didn't obsessively fall down the Wikipedia rabbit hole. I conversed, I schlepped, I read, I watched British quiz shows, I relaxed, I just was. I was with my family. And it was good. I had patience, I had kindness, I had understanding.

I didn't once tell my kids to shut up because I was working and just needed to finish this one ... last ... thing.

So why do I struggle to prioritize? Why did I sit on my computer this morning instead of sitting at the table while the kids chowed down? Why did I fidget with my phone nervously checking emails instead of ignoring my phone and engaging my kids in something they wanted to do? Why am I so anxious all the time about whether there's something I'm supposed to be doing but I'm not?

I never wanted kids. I always remind people of that. I was always career-minded, career-driven. In one timeline, I would have been on the copy desk at The New York Times by now. Maybe even running the show. Unmarried, living in midtown, my spare time spent in coffee shops and book stores.

When I met Mr. T that all changed. I wanted kids, I don't know why. I wanted kids and to be someone important and influential. I wanted to be a career woman with kids and a happy husband and a perpetually clean house and at some point I was convinced I could do and have all of those things.

What a crock.

The thing is, you can't have it all. Because when you try to have it all, something, someone, usually gets left behind. As I stay home with my kids, all day every day, and as I flee the moment my husband comes home when I can in order to regain some sense of who I am, and as I cry in the car listening to "Glycerine" by Bush and thinking of high school and how I wanted so desperately to be a writer someday ... I realize that I have to stop running at full speed.

I'm 33, almost 34. I've got time. I can't rush through it all and miss something, or someone. I don't want to scream at my kids because my attention is misplaced. I don't want them to see me that way. I want to be able to capture every ridiculous moment and second of who they are.

Yesterday, Little T was eating ants in the backyard. Today, she ate sand at the park and then came home to eat day-old macaroni off the floor. She loves having her neck tickled and kissed and she does laps in the house like it's going out of style. She's so smart. You can ask her to do anything, and she knows exactly how and what to do. "Go get your shoes," "Go find your doggy," "Take a drink of water, please." She's going to rule the world, she is.

Today, Asher told me a story about a "Very Tired Mommy" and her extravagant adventures kicking things, and it somehow ended up with a duck and a policeman. We played a game where he put a Target diaper box on his head and we pretended it was his house, so I'd knock on the door with a Duplo Joker figurine and the Joker would try to sneak his way in. He thought it was hilarious and we did the same thing, over and over, for a half-hour. He's brilliant, my son, creative and silly to excess.

I can't imagine missing out on who my kids are now. I can't wait to someday tell them about the way they were. I just hope they look back and, if they remember, they can say I was good to them. The best I could be.

On Elul and Being Present on Shabbat

Ah, Elul. That big, beautiful month full of reflection on the Jewish (Hebrew) calendar. It's the month leading up to the High Holidays of Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur and Simchat Torah and Sukkot. It's one of my most favorite times of year because it means that fall is coming, my birthday is coming, and that winter is right around the corner and that boots, scarves, and jackets are soon a necessity.

It also means October is going to be a mess of time off from work, multiple days in a row without the ability to use technology, no daycare, and general chaos. But, you know what, that's okay.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I've really, truly, honestly embraced Shabbat and days of rest.

You see, I'm a highly anxious workaholic (no, who, me!?). Shabbat was one of the hardest things to accept as I became religious all those years ago, because I've always been a hyper plugged in person. It's what I do professionally, and it's how I connect with friends near and far, not to mention family, too.

But recently, I've started going to shul (synagogue) on Shabbat again, after a good probably nine months of skipping Saturdays at home so I could sleep while Mr. T and Asher were out of the house. Once baby showed up, I slept in, woke up, fed the baby, read trashy magazines, and so on. But when Mr. T was out of town a few weeks in Israel for iBoy's bar mitzvah, I knew I couldn't have Asher in the house for hours on end lest we both go bananas. So I hauled myself out of the house and we went to synagogue.

Now, wearing a sort-of sleeping newborn and trying to daven (pray) with focus is next to impossible. So I spent most of the morning (roughly 9 a.m. until 12:30 p.m.) in the baby group, where you can drop your little ones off starting at the age of six months (they have programming up through the age of teenagers). They sing songs and there are toys and the other babies like to see my baby, so it's a win-win because I get to talk to the adults in the room and we're out of the house.

When Mr. T came back, I kept going. The baby doesn't sleep so late in the morning anymore, and it's good to get out and see people, right?

During those few weeks where it was just me and the kids, I found myself doing a lot of observing. I watched people coming and going from shul, I watched the kids outside playing with their teenage teachers in groups, I watched the entire theater of Shabbat happening around me. And it was beautiful.

The thing about Shabbat is that, when you're really inside it, when you're really present and experiencing it, the anxiety of the rest of the week really does disappear. Recently I've found myself just enjoying being present from sundown to sundown. I'm not rushed to turn my phone back on, and that moment when I do turn my phone back on I feel a huge pang of regret and sadness. Because I've noticed that when Shabbat ends, after we make havdalah to separate the sacred from the profane, my fingers and face are glued to the damnable little device.

Yes, it's my job to be digital 24/6, but what does that mean? What is it costing me?

As Asher gets older, he's noticing how connected I am more. He'll often say my name repeatedly to get my attention, and even when I respond, it's the device he wants me to put down. Like, literally set down. He needs my attention. And if he's doing something cute, he often isn't interested in it being filmed or captured in a picture. He just wants me to be present.

On Shabbat, last week, we all stayed home because we had a hand-foot-mouth scare (which turned out to be not what he had, but rather just teething and a cold). We played, we engaged, we were present. We went to the playground, we enjoyed the sunshine and make believe. We sang and danced. We enjoyed each other.

I was so present and completely wrapped up in my family that I said to Mr. T: "Days like this make me think I could have a third, easily, without any second thoughts." (Or something to that affect.) It was just such a blissful day.

Then, of course, the next day, Mr. T was tired, the baby was half awake next to me in bed, and Asher was calling, "Mommy. Tatty. Mommy. Tatty." I zipped upstairs to mute the monkey only to find out he'd really, really, really wet the bed hardcore. As I pulled off all the sheets and pulled out the stuffed animals and toys and books I realized that I was good with where I was.

Shabbat really does something beautiful for me. I don't know how people function without a single day to be disconnected from the rest of the world and to really be present with those closest to you. No TV, no phones, no devices, no distractions.

All of this is to say, I guess, that I'm glad that I'm at this point in my life. It took having two kids to really learn to appreciate Shabbat, and now, every week, I long for Shabbat and lament its leaving. I've even started not looking at my phone on Saturday night to prolong a sense of peace and presence just a little bit longer. It makes all the difference in the world.

So, I'm curious: How do you do it? How do you connect, how do you really connect and be present in your own life? 

Sending the Baby to Daycare: Am I a Monster?

Well, Mr. T has been out of the country since August 7, and everyone's still alive here. I still have another five days to go, so there's still a possibility that my head will explode and take both of my adorable children with it!

The truth is, over these two weeks, Ash has been in part-time day camp (9-3), instead of full-time daycare (8-4) because daycare has been out for one reason or another. Little T, of course, has been home with me, and I've been crazy overwhelmed with work. I have been working bizarre hours, staying up incredibly late to get things done, canceling and rescheduling calls because of a wiggly baby, and running myself ragged. And don't even talk to me about the dishes, the laundry, the state of the house ... I've just given up.

And now? Light at the end of the tunnel! I'm excited, super stoked, but feeling an immense amount of guilt because both kids are in full-time daycare starting Monday. Should a 2-month-old baby be in daycare? I don't know.

You see, I've got a full-time job that I love and that I wouldn't give up for anything in the world. I also have two children whom I love more than anything in the world. With all that combined, it means daycare. Now, Asher ended up in daycare at 10 months because Mr. T was out of the country and I had part-time work and was looking for full-time work. He was a pretty legit human child at that point, and I cried when I dropped him off the first day.

Over the past week and a half, I've hired a nanny a few times because I had to get things done for work. It amazed me how easily it was to leave her with someone. I didn't cry. I thought to myself, "Okay, I've got four hours to get a week's worth of work done." (It also amazed me how much money I had to throw at these nannies; they make a serious killing.)

In just a few short days, I'll be dropping Little T off at daycare for a full day. She'll be with strangers for eight straight hours while I sit, working, in my happy place. On the one hand, I'm thinking "freedom!" and on the other hand I'm thinking, "I'm leaving my little baby with strangers."

Is it a second child thing? Is it a daughter thing? Is it a "being a stay-at-home, full-time working mother" is something that drives all mothers to a breaking point on a daily basis? I actually screamed at my crying 2-month-old in the car the other day. Screamed to the point where my throat ached for hours. And I cried. A lot. Several times that day.

So. Am I a terrible human being for being super ready and prepared to drop both of my kids off at daycare first thing Monday morning? I've got a 9:30 a.m. call and a 2:30 p.m. call, and all I can think is "I'm going to get SO much done with a solid eight hours of work. It's going to be awesome."

Sigh.

I'm terrible, right? How do women do this without guilt? I love my kids. I just can't be with them 24/7. I'm not cut out for it. I feel about full-time, stay-at-home mothers like I do about pediatric oncologists and military personnel. I'm glad someone feels good and passionate and capable about doing those jobs because I simply don't.

I'm a good mom. When I'm well-worked, well-rested, and can cook dinner on my own terms, everyone is happier because mommy is happier. And that's the rule, right? When mommy is happy everyone's happy?

Right?

I'm Terrified: How to Love and Parent Two Children

Although I really, truly prefer winter, for some reason there are a lot of tastes, scents, and sounds that hold a special place in my heart and send me swirling back to various points throughout my childhood and college years.

We live near a high school, where just about every day there is some kind of sporting event going on. For me, the sound of a baseball hitting a metal bat delivers me to the days when I lived on the baseball field because either my dad or older brother were playing. Starbucks trips this time of year remind me of when I was in college and worked as a New Student Enrollment leader and would get a grande iced mocha just about every morning, the whipped cream melting into the cold drink creating swirls and clouds. A trip to Home Depot had me hearing the sounds of outdoor wind chimes, reminding me of summer nights listening to the neighbor lady's chimes ringing out with a passing breeze. And, of course, freshly mowed grass -- one of my least favorite smells of all time -- is so prevalent that it reminds me of growing up in a home with a mom and a dad and two brothers, one of which mowed the lawn begrudgingly on the hottest days while I avoided the sun inside.

Back in those days, I hated being outside in the heat. These days, I cherish days where I can sit outside and work in the sun.

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Something odd happened a few nights ago when I went to bed too late and couldn't fall asleep. Tossing and turning because of the extreme discomfort of this pregnancy, it suddenly hit me: I only have about a month left where Asher is my only child. Just weeks left where he is the absolute center of my universe and the only little human that I have to share my life and my love with. The smack of reality that soon he'll be moved slightly to the side so that I can love and nurture a second child still stings. I don't know why I hadn't considered the reality before. How does a parent love two children? How does a parent find a space for two little humans in her life?

The love of my life.

To be frank I'm terrified. Asher has been all I've had and all I've known in my life. When iBoy entered my world, he was old enough that he didn't need me in the same way that a baby, toddler, child does. He didn't rely on me for everything from food to putting on shoes to kissing a boo-boo to ushering away scary bumps in the night.

Asher is my world. When Mr. T was gone for nine months, the reality hit me that I would be happy with just my little man forever and ever. If I never had another munchkin, my heart was full and I'd be fine. And, even though I've been pregnant for months, I've still been living with that reality.

I'm scared that I've given him to prominent a place in my heart and mind, that when this new little one shows up that I either won't be able to give it the love and attention it needs or that I'll be completely unable to provide that love and attention to Asher. As I said, I'm terrified.

Is it something normal a parent faces with a second child? Does it just work, like everything else in pregnancy, child bearing, and rearing? Do you just figure it out?

How do you love and parent two children?