Space to Breathe

Posted on March 25, 2013 by Jodi

I realized something yesterday. That at about 2 years, 4 months and 15 days after my twins were born, a thing happened. A cloud passed, light was let in, and warmth radiated a bit more comfortably from the planet. This all happened yesterday.

Sheppard. Chopper. Who’s Bad?

Yesterday our family decided to fire up a chocolate fountain that was gifted to Anson from a recent photo shoot he worked on for West Elm. We stocked the house with pretzels, potato chips, pound cake, strawberries, whipped cream, shortbread cookies, Peeps, and marshmallows. Then we called in the troops: the neighborhood boys are girls, their parents, and a cat called Chuck Norris. Our maiden voyage with the chocolate fountain yielded somewhat lumpy chocolate results but it was gobbled up nonetheless. After a ridiculous amount of sugar, we all went into our backyard for an hour or so, then moved to the front to play “Kick the Can”.

Sheppard and Smith played with their friend Leela, riding bikes/trikes/scooters/anything with wheels up and down the street. Roan, Sachin, and their dads ran around the block hiding, running everywhere, ambushing the can for bragging rights. I watched my little ones talk to delivery guys, and then try to keep up with the bigger girls.

I watched them.

I stood back and got to see them interact in the world without holding my hand, or being held by me. They were confident and happy, being little adventurer pirates up and down the block. They played and went fast then slow, fell down then shouted, “I’M OK!” triumphantly. And that’s when it smacked me right in the kisser: these boys, all of my three boys are at amazingly fun ages.

Smitty and Shepz no longer have to watch kids play while they squirm in my arms. They don’t have to stay right in front of me, at an arm’s reach. They are brave enough and capable enough to go down the block. They have been told that Superman does not want them to go into the street without an adult so they do not go into the street without an adult. They attack each other and then work it out. And Roan. He proudly has the ability to walk three blocks away from home, crossing two streets, with enough money in his hand to grab some drinks for everyone. On his own. Yesterday he confidently led his two friends on this journey.

They returned somewhat more grown up.

So telling, this picture.

I do love the time in life when a baby needs me for everything. But it is exhausting and it is more than exhausting when there are two. I am ready for these guys to play in this world. Under a careful and watchful eye, mind you. But still – out of reach. I welcome their independence and am so proud of each of my three sons that they yearn for it as well. Their safe feeling in this world, the trust they have for it, is my biggest source of pride. And their ability to navigate it, even in these most basic ways creates a little more breathing space for me. This is a happy time.

Friday Night Party

Posted on February 25, 2013 by Jodi

Friday night, and the bass is turned up loud. Old school speakers thumping House, heavily influenced from Chicago, and the crowd is jumping. Literally, jumping. As a siren squeals in the song, voices start mimicking the sound and it’s almost too much….until the breakdown. All eyes turn towards the disco ball in the corner, reflecting a clean white light and creating irresistible reflective bubbles all around the dark room. A sweet-faced boy with killer moves and an obviously cared-about look smiles at me and offers me a lollipop. It’s my third of the night, but I take it anyway. After all, it’s the weekend. And I wouldn’t want to turn him down.

Casa Call Club on a Friday night.

Two more boys, shirtless, run around maniacally chasing each other. Laughing and dancing, like they’ve been waiting for this night all week. Without a thought as to who is watching them, they sing along with the song, “I Love Yoooooooo”, louder and louder. They don’t stop until one falls down clutching his belly from laughing too hard and rolling around on the cushions on the floor. Also, he is wearing no pants. Neither is the other boy for that matter. There is a lollipop stuck to the cheek of his bum.

On the list. Knows the DJ.

A handsome man stands next to me in the doorway where I’ve been watching the party with a beer in my hand. He clicks my drink with his, throws his arm around my shoulder and whispers into my ear, “Did you ever imagine? When we met that this would happen?”

Masking tape streamers. Dad’s fun idea/safety hazard.

Nope I didn’t. When I met him in a nightclub fourteen years ago, I had no idea we could create this chaotic hysterical awesome party family together. Our Friday nights are spent in much the same atmosphere they were back then. Music, dancing, celebrating the end of the week. The nights end earlier, with less regret but usually more broken things and bubble bath water splashed everywhere. I feel bad for anyone who feels that having a family is boring or holds them back. The family is the party. Masking tape streamers, an awesome playlist, and kids who can step one two – coolest Friday nights on Earth.

The Easiest Best Vacation Ever

Posted on February 18, 2013 by Jodi

Spa Castle (Image from website)

Roan and I just got back from a high-priority, top-secret get away with our buddies Jen + Issey. (Ro forbade me from talking about it before it happened, believing it would jinx the likelihood of it actually happening.) After Anson got home from an exotic working vacation in freezing cold Minneapolis, my eldest and I flew out the front door and into our friend’s car, headed for paradise in a borough called Queens.

Sauna Alley (image from website)

Since Mid-Winter recess was shortened from five days to two, courtesy of Hurricane Sandy, (kids in NYC missed a week of school during the storm and its aftermath. Had to make up for it somewhere.) I knew we had to smash an insane amount of good times in. So we charted a course for Spa Castle. This is a Korean spa, with five stories, and 100,000 square feet of ”luxurious serenity”. The place is absolutely awesome and also hysterical. There are bade pools outside, and saunas everywhere. Roan’s favorite is the Ice Sauna, mine the lay-down-and-die sauna (I can’t remember it’s name.) It’s clean, everyone has to wear a uniform so there’s not a ton of hoochie-mama stuff hanging around to embarrass my young-but-old child, and mostly, it just feels like you’re nowhere near NYC. Roan + Issey especially enjoy the Korean cuisine, going totally native and ordering…wait for it…cheese fries. heh. Well, no matter. It comes down to this: anyplace that has a sleeping room is cool in my book.

My favorite pool.

A person who is especially good at relaxing can spend an entire day at Spa Castle. And my boy and our buddies? We are champion relaxers. However, there was more sport relaxing on our agenda. After Spa Castle, we headed over to Hotel de Pointe, which is about a half-mile away from the spa.

Balloons. Fireplace. Buddies.

Staying in the theme of Korean-based surroundings, this hotel is super modern and has an amazing AMAZING Asian American buffet. Now. Roan + Issey briefly visited the dinner food, but mostly they were paying attention (read: 4 visits) to the chocolate fountain and cotton candy machine. I couldn’t stop eating the Sushi because you know, it’s a buffet. And you’re supposed to eat a lot. I did my best but am certain that if Anson were there, it would have been a better showing. There’s such things as octopus and a myriad of meats I could never eat. All stuff that makes Anson’s eyes dance in little spirals. He’s a competitive eater. I’m nowhere near his league.

White leather helps everyone feel super sophisticated.

However, I am a champion Karaoke participator, and the hotel has private Karaoke rooms, which Jen + I forced our bashful children into. After a good 1/2 hour of the moms raising the roof, belting out everything from Nicki Minaj to Lady Gaga, the kids took over and THAT was a treat. Karaoke: it’s what brings out the rockstar in all of us (Pro-tip: No one can resist singing to Katy Perry.)

If only you could hear me sing…

A good night’s sleep (obviously after staying up late and eating snacks from the Asian market downstairs) and we hit the breakfast buffet. Roan pretended to be a kid who is allowed to drink coffee and I decided to play along. He took maybe one sip and sat and stirred the cup in between bagels and croissants and toast and cereal and sausage. We all ate breakfast while still in our PJ’s and stared at the amazing view that is NYC.

Rooftop patio. Windy but alluring.

Breakfast. Prop coffee.

This overnight vacation was amazing for us. No babies and no distractions. Just a sweet little pocket of quiet and indulgent time. Roan keeps talking about it like it was a dream, or something that happened ten years ago. He misses it already. Little does he know that mama has found a new favorite thing to do with her biggest boy. We will revisit this “vacation”. Proof that sometimes the simple and easy get away is more than enough. Travel time approx 15 minutes, by car. Memories seared for a lifetime. That’s the goods.

New Pistols New Project

Posted on February 8, 2013 by Jodi

Oh man, this feels good to me.

So welcome to the new Pistols + Popcorn. Naked and unbranded, no agenda and not trying to climb any high heights. Most likely I will reach new lows but heh, it’s all sport, right? I was ready for a change and this’ll do. Hope you like it too.

**************************

Roan and I just got home from the Project Runway season finale taping at Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week. This is our third time going, and has become somewhat of a tradition for us. We love going. I’m not sure what it does for my son, but I revel in walking on the razor’s edge of embarrassing him. As my Roan gets older, he gets a little more worried about what I’m going to say. In public. Out loud. At Fashion Week.

So knowing this and seeing the slightest bit of mistrust in his face as we are surrounded by fabulous people everywhere, I whisper in his ear, “I think now would be a good time to talk about the changes that are going to happen with your body. I think we should have a little discussion about puberty.”

And I can pretty much guarantee that no one ever has rolled their eyes that far into the back of their head and lived to tell, no one except Roan Call. It’s not that I like to see him suffer. Mostly I like to see him laugh in spite of his overwhelming instinct to “shhhhsh!!” me. And then, I whisper, as the Pièce de résistance: ”Pooooooo-berrrrrrrr-tyyyyyy”

Thassrite, Poo-berty.

I had a teacher, around 7th or 8th grade who had the enormous misfortune of teaching my class a chapter on reproduction. It wouldn’t have been so tragic had he been able to pronounce puberty correctly, but alas, he could not. Puberty was “Poo-berty” and each utterance was met with giggles and snickers and snorts. I mean, maybe he was a tomato to-mahto kind of guy and just couldn’t be bothered to care how it should be pronounced. But forever and ever and ever if I have to talk about puberty it will be a joke. Shout out to you, Mr. Marty!

Mondo + Roan

I’ve told Roan that story, and as you’ve probably guessed, my child will forever and ever think of puberty as poo-berty, and as somewhat of a joke. But this kind of dialogue works for him because he’s not really into the gravitas of a heart-to-heart love blossoms and so does your body kind of discovery discussion with his mother. So we joke, and he has the facts, and lives in fear of me breaking it all down for him in front of Heidi Klum and Michael Kors.

But I did not. We spoke not of puberty but of fashion, and Roan will still hold my hand during the show. He had his picture taken with his favorite Project Runway winner of all time, Mondo. He had his favorite collection and I had mine. We are beginning to have different aesthetics in fashion, which probably means he is no longer my little shadow.

Roan + Kooan

As we exited the show, a photographer touched Roan on the shoulder and asked if he could take his picture. Of course, Roan agreed to it and struck a perfect pose. Then another photographer joined, and soon there was a group taking pictures of my boy. I’m not sure who they thought he was or if they just enjoyed his awesome Jeremy Scott wing shoes. But Roan moved on from the crowd without even mentioning it. That’s his style, really. Always amazed by the world but rarely overeager to talk about it. A passing mention, or sometimes a little chat if it pushes bedtime. His life leaves me feeling slightly envious. It’s all open to him, this world. I want to live like he does. Humble and confident, excited but not anxious. If I could be him, (minus the mother who likes to wind him up) that would be my perfect life. Luckily he agrees to take me along. Though if I keep up with the poo-berty talk that good luck might end.

Burning It Down

Posted on February 4, 2013 by Jodi

So. I started thinking about shutting Pistols + Popcorn down. Nothing has happened that I’m unhappy with, but there are a few things that bug me. Mostly all the PR pitches I get. Now, I could come across as self-important by saying that – I mean it comes across as sort of…”Oh, look at me I’m so important that all these companies want to partner up with me! ME! Yes, M-E!”

"Hey Pistols? Yeh, it's Popcorn..."

"Oi! I told you not to call me here!"

But it’s not like that. I know that all the corporations in the world have figured out that word-of-mouth is the best bet for their advertising dollar, and what’s more word-of-mouth than a Mommy Blog? Trusted and true. So they go after us, even if their product has nothing to do with our audience. It’s obvious that they don’t read the blog, most of the time, and then this sort of yucky “We LOVE what you do you will LOVE what we do and your readers will be GRATEFUL for the introduction” type of thing I keep getting. That’s probably why it grosses me out. I just don’t want to use my sons and our stories to sell stuff. That’s not why you stick with me, that’s not what you’re here for. And that’s definitely not why I’m here. Each email I get asking me to do it makes me a little more aware of all the advertising happening here, on the sidelines, and I’m just not down with it anymore.

What will we do without the millions of dollars of revenue she made?

I want to keep writing, and I want to keep it real. So I’m turning this into a commerce-free site, starting next week. I’m going to redesign this site (and when I say “I’m going to” obviously I mean “Anson is going to”) and reclaim all the real estate that has belonged to advertisers and big ultra-business. I’m burning it down to the ground where it’s just me and mine. And all of my readers are invited to hang with us, here in the ashes.

I suppose we will live off of juice sippy cups and love

I think I’m going to enjoy this place a lot more. Hopefully you will too. I will not accept anything to review, unless it’s a service actually provided by a friend, or a reader. Someone who really actually is invested here and wants to share something with me. And something I would actually talk about with friends. So pardon the quiet for just a little while, and come back in a few. Hopefully you’ll like what you see.

Picture Story

Posted on January 28, 2013 by Jodi

Smith likes Seaweed

Sheppard really likes...

...MEAT

Smith doesn't mind the snow

As long as mama keeps a warm lap close by

Roan continues his creative artistic streak

He can make art from anything

They cooperate

And have good oral hygiene

It's a circus here, pretty much 24/7

Which leaves me today, with very little time to write.

Falling Dominoes

Posted on January 2, 2013 by Jodi

I’m guessing you’re exhausted.

After these holidays, most of us are reaching for that extra cuppa, or maybe just breathing a little deeper, trying to revive after all the excitement and fun of the holidays. If you’re like me, you’ve finished load 2,345,949 of laundry because everything in your home has been thrown up on. Several times. By several different people.

Welcome, 2013!

Approximately infinity popsicles were eaten in the past 2 days

So that’s how my family spent the break. Shepz began the throwing up festivities on the day after Christmas. I knew that obviously Smitty would follow suit, because they practically lick each others faces for twelve hours out of the day. Sure enough, at midnight the unmistakable sound of our child losing his everything woke Anson and me up.

Trying REALLY hard to play with zero energy

Trying REALLY hard to do homework, with zero energy

A few things about toddlers throwing up:

First off, it’s one of the rare things they do that no matter what, it’s not cute. It’s sad. Shep was absolutely horrified the first time he threw up. This is the twins’ first experience in that genre of being ill. So he was just totally surprised at the whole of it. Smith watched Shep a few times and would sort of laugh, then mimic in a way that felt more mocking than sympathetic, then got bored with it. Until it was his turn. At that point, he shared the horror that Shep had felt, probably to a greater extent. Turns out that Smitty is a heaver. From the moment he began until the moment I could get him back in bed, there was about three hours of sad sad sad heaving in about ten minute cycles. Poor kid. I ended up sitting with him on the couch, holding his head to my chest with one hand, with my other hand on a plastic bowl, singing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” on a loop because if I tried to stop he made the sign language symbol for “more” frantically. This lasted, as I mentioned, for around three hours. At one point I reminded myself that what was happening was actually one of the more delicious times a mother can have with her child. Not the vomiting part, but having her baby (ok, toddler) snuggled up on her like a little ball, with his hands wandering up and down her arm. The weight of a sleeping baby is exactly Heaven on a mother’s body. It feels warm and just perfectly heavy enough. I decided I could sit here with Smitty for hours and be happy. Even if it was occasionally broken up with the violent heaving.

Post-Christmas tree, Post-Christmas Smitty

Smith, doing his best to stay awake

I did begin to despair because there was nothing I could do to help him. I wanted to keep him upright, hoping that would be a small assist. I wanted him to be comfortable so we cuddled under the weight of our coziest blanket. I wanted him to know I wasn’t leaving so I kept singing, even after his breath slowed down to a rhythm that suggested he was asleep. But that’s all I could do. Smitty couldn’t keep down even a drop of water so when he begged for water I had to distract him. Not that easy at 2:30 in the morning.

Smitty, Bear, Shep

When I finally got him to bed, I collapsed in my bed and then realized that I was next. I was going down. There was no doubt that it was my turn and I spent the next three hours going from my bed to the bathroom with my own horrible episode of this illness. When the sun came up and Anson woke up I told him about the night, that I was sick as well, and then Roan tore out of his room, racing to the bathroom…and…well you can probably guess the rest.

He was in rough shape.

A precious few moments when things felt ok

Smith + Shep

For those of you keeping track, that is four out of five Nelson Calls taken out by a stomach bug in less than twenty-four hours. Ridiculous. Anson was the last man standing and had the weight of many sick and needy people on his shoulders for that day. I disappeared downstairs for a good chunk of the day, just hoping that all was well. A few times I would resurface and do what I could, but honestly, I just wasn’t able to do much. Roan and I cuddled together in his bed for a while and I slept while he texted with his cousins in Utah. When I finally was able to get my feet under me I bathed the twins and put them down to bed. When I came back upstairs to recap the day with Anson, I knew there was trouble. Roan was asleep on the couch and Anson was just staring at the ceiling, clutching his stomach and looked the color of grey that isn’t pretty.

I grabbed Roan, locked the front door, shut the house down and wished Anson good luck with the next twelve hours. We all knew what was coming. That is the earliest the house has ever closed down for the day. Roan and I went to bed at 8:00. Anson was up all night, throwing up all night.

The miracle we all needed happened – everyone slept in. By our house standards that means anything past 7:00 AM. Nobody woke up before 8:00. I felt well enough to take on the sick kiddo-s, and told Anson to stay in bed. Other than a night-time relapse by Smitty, we were all on the mend by nightfall that evening.

New Year's Eve. After 24 hours of feeling healthy we three stayed up to welcome 2013

As Anson and I finished tucking all the boys into their beds and headed upstairs a weird almost euphoric feeling hit me. We talked about the past 48 hours like a war, one we had come back from as victors. It was overwhelmingly strong, this feeling that we had gotten through something together. I realized I had been on constant alert, trying to figure out who needed me the most, without a break for the last two days. And that we were all ok, almost back to normal, was such a giant relief, it felt like a gift.

Having a sick child, or having sick children, is one of the most stressful things a person can go through. This episode was trivial, I know. No one was ever really in danger, we all knew it would pass. But the vulnerability of being so invested, so tightly wound up with a person’s well-being is brought to light when that person is suffering. But it also shines a light on how a partner eases the burden. It made me so grateful that I am with a person who is equally invested, who is ready to dig in as deep as possible to keep them safe and well.

Roan: January 1, 2013

Being sick as a family, going down one-by-one like dominoes? Not the family vacation I would have planned. But Roan remembering his mama sleeping next to him while we got well, Smitty and Shep possibly being able to recall the comfort they found being close to their Dad and Mom when they needed us, and me always remembering how my husband shines at the times I need him to? These are the bricks of our family, our home.

Happy Birthday, RoRo

Posted on December 20, 2012 by Jodi

Roan, Nine Years Old.

Yesterday was Roan’s birthday. This boy turned nine right in front of my eyes, the same way he turned eight and seven and three and one. He did it in such a way that made me swoon with love, and clamor, just a little bit, for him to not do this all so quickly. I look at Roan and I can see a ghost in limbo. The spirit of a full-grown man, and the innocence of a brand new squishy-faced baby. He exists right in the middle of these two spaces, and as children do if we let them, he teaches me about who I am and what I value.

Smitty, Fork, Cake.

Claiming that he didn’t want a party this year, Roan was sent off to see The Hobbit on Saturday with his cousin and Auntie while Anson and I scrambled to bake a cake, get snacks and decorate. His besties were invited over for a sneak-attack surprise party and seriously? This is my new favorite way to throw a soiree. Secret in its nature, you really just can’t do anything much to prepare, it’s all done in the crunch. That is so up my alley.

Shepz, Knife, Cake.

When Roan arrived on the scene and had the unveiling of the party upon him, his first reaction was sort of terror. Like he just couldn’t arrive at the thing that made sense what with everyone yelling at him, and balloons and streamers all around. When it finally made sense, his comment was, “Well, I wasn’t expecting that at all.” And I was crying, because I was laughing that hard at my boy who was killing me with his cuteness.

Cake in Hair

Also, cake in hair

Yesterday was the actual day, and we decided to keep Ro out of school, pack some snacks and get to 34th Street, where Santaland lives at Macy’s. Smitty + Shep officially had their minds blown. The robotic animals, the trains that circle endless Christmas trees, the lights and the elves ushering us here and there were completely next level for them. Roan reveled in showing them how we visit Santa, how we trust him enough to sit on his lap (which actually none of them would.) Later on in the day Roan and I snuck of to get pedicures, and when we got home, there was more cake.

And then there was a cake fight.

And then there was just your basic rub-cake-in-your-own-hair shenanigans.

So, this is my life. Danger + excitement at every turn.

There is nothing funny about this mess.

Or, maybe there is.

My Roan continues to make me be that mom. The one that when you compliment him I can’t really say “thank you” because all I can do is agree. His magic has nothing to do with his parents. He has developed into his own guy, one that I am wildly fond of spending time with. I watch him with his brothers, how he is patient with them and wants to teach them. I watch how he measures the climate of his friend’s lives, and tries to keep balance with them. I watch Roan with his eccentric taste and highly developed sense of style and just wonder how I got to be this lucky, to be the one who gets to guide him for a few more years.

All eyes look to Ro for approval

Approve, he does.

Smitty, Shepz + Ro

Happy Birthday Roan. You make me so happy, every single day.

Hiho Batik

Posted on December 13, 2012 by Jodi

On the weekends I try to get away with just Roan. I try to find something to do with him that’s fun. We both love movies, so we go often. We both love getting pedicures so we go often. And lucky me, Roan is a kid that loves to try new things. So when a reader named Robyn (who lives near me and has twins), got in touch to tell me about her shop I knew it had to be on the books for my boy and me.

Hiho Batik.

Hiho Batik is a shop in Park Slope, Brooklyn owned by Robyn and Julia. Now – I had never heard of “Batik” but everyone I’ve talked to about this place has, so maybe you too already know about it. If not – simply put, it’s decorating cloth, and in this case t-shirts, with wax and dye. (They also have hoodies, bags, long sleeves etc. available.) This was so completely up mine and Roan’s alley. Not so much because we’d be good at it, but because we do love to customize our little hearts out, in everything we do.

Bow + Arrow. Classic.

Roan and I invited our friends Lola and Javier to join us. This place is just awesome. The walls are lined with these cute T-shirts. I will happily admit that I’m a sucker for T’s. It’s basically my uniform. T-shirt, jeans. Original, no? But these are actually original. All one-of-a-kind. And the toys they sell there are carefully curated – none of them mass-produced. I had to spring for a bow and arrow set for the boys, because well…I mean. How could I not?

From this picture, I learned that I stick out my tongue when drawing. Good to know.

Ok – so the process. It’s superfun and even if you’re an artistic flub like me, you will not feel dumb. It’s easy and kind of mistake-proof because there’s not a definite defined look, really. I went for a star because it’s one of the three things I can draw. Roan went abstract, Lola went with a message and Jav went with a skull. After drawing the design and tracing it on the shirt, we line it in hot wax at a space-age underlit hot wax bar. Then comes the color – I sort of couldn’t stop myself. I kept mixing and adding until I was gently reminded by my son that sometimes we have to edit ourselves. He hears that on Project Runway a lot. He was not wrong.

Sketching a design. Never mind that this is the one I claim I drew.

Lola gets her hot wax on. Roan is impressed.

Roan gets his hot wax on. Javier is impressed.

Finally we choose what color we want our T-shirt to be dyed, then we say goodbye. The Hiho Batik elves work their magic and finish up the process over the next few days, and voilà! A T-shirt that is all my own. The results are great which is a testament to the ease of this process. Also, as a bonus the T comes to you super soft because it’s been washed seven-thousand times. Maybe less. But soft!

Using the dye, carefully.

Our four shirts, before being dyed.

All said, I am a huge fan of Hiho Batik. This was one of the funnest things Roan and I have done together. There’s a lot of interaction and conversation that can take place during the process. As much as we love doing things together, it is kind of rare to find something that we can collaborate on, or that keeps our conversation going. This did both for us. I have a feeling an adult group – birthday party, first date, team building – whatever – would be awesome here. So gold stars all around, and if you’re a Brooklynite or are in the area, go there with my full-on, highest, most emphatic recommendation.

[Update: Robyn from Hiho Batik has offered a discount to readers of Pistols + Popcorn. Through the rest of 2012, mention Pistols + Popcorn, and get 10% off.]

Roan's on the left, mine on the right.

Secrets About Being a Mother

Posted on December 3, 2012 by Jodi

Smitty, Me, Sheppy, Roan, Green Balloon

Maybe you are a dude, a dad. Or possibly a lady wondering if this mothering thing is up your alley. Perhaps you are a mother, trying to figure out if your normal is actually normal, or if you should start pretending a little harder. I’m writing for you, all of you. But be warned: I’m on day eight of an eleven day stretch of single-parenting this ship. Not only that, but two yes two of my three man-children are down with fevers. I’m Xena Warrior Princessing this family currently and am under a little distress.

What better time to break down what it is to be a mother? The stuff you don’t know. Start here:

Mothers are kind of mean. Mostly to ourselves.

Not including those jealous meanies in the playground who suck their teeth at how we encourage our little ones to successfully climb up the slide because really we are much too smart to even think we can win that battle of “stairs only” when obviously the slide is meant to be climbed, not including those meanies – we beat ourselves up in the most cutting of ways.

I’ve yet to meet a mother who does not mentally inventory her failures at the end of the day. We all process them differently. Sometimes it shows up as frustration towards the child, sometimes it comes out as anger towards a spouse, and sometimes it just manifests with a huffy breath and backwards fall onto a couch. But we all feel the potency of each disagreement, each mishandled and overreacted bump with our children x1000 at the end of the day. I usually am able to desperately reach for a few wins – maybe I made Smitty laugh more than usual, or maybe Sheppy shared with a stranger. Maybe Roan offered up a sliver of his day that was important to him. Those are wins. I try to bump out all the rain of messy things with those. But as a mother, we hold the responsibility of all wrong things on our shoulders. We teeter between feeling absolutely overwhelmed and wondering if we’re not quite grateful enough for what we have.

This is why we need time alone. Holding the weight of two or three or four or five people’s bad experiences on our shoulders gets heavy. And yeh, we signed up for this. And no, there’s not a lot you can do to help. Just recognize it, appreciate it, and give us a massage gift certificate. That’ll do.

A mother would consider her child eating raspberries in this fashion both gifted, and talented.

Mothers are ready to fix it.

Once a child is introduced into a persons life, the world becomes crazy large. Nothing is actually about the mom anymore. Sounds really gross and scary but it’s actually beautiful. A primal switch is flipped, and the center of the universe is no longer the same. Relationships are redefined and love becomes a huge tangible thing, and not an abstract weird smokey ghost.

Part of our power comes from knowing that we have this magical reserve. For instance, I do know that even if I am tired (I am), even if I am grumpy (I am), even if I’ve not had a break from my kids in eight days (I haven’t), I would be happy to have the chance to help anyone I love. And guess what? Mothers love a lot of people.

Ok, even I think I’m getting a little glittery here – what with the love and magic and whatever. And it’s not all sunshine and flower garlands. But the truth is I think my ability to actually love changed once I became a mom. It probably has something to do with that whole “I’m not the center of my world” thing. Getting out of the middle puts me in orbit with everyone else. It’s easier to connect there. There are an infinite amount of ways to get into that orbit, probably. But for me it took the massive change of having a child.

Obviously a version of the gifted and talented school of berry-eating.

Moms can smell their children’s fevers.

I’m not actually sure about this one. But I think it’s true for me. There’s probably a smart-guy science-y explanation for this but I can actually smell a change in my children before they get sick. Or right when they do. Pretty cool party trick, right? With Roan, I can actually feel it in his hands – when I hold his hand it feels different, and then BLAMM-O! Two hours later a fever breaks onto the scene.

You don’t have to believe me but it’s true.

And lest I make all the people who are not mothers mad by this post on magical motherhood, let me say that I think the mothering kind of love comes from a certain place in our heart. It’s quite close to the place where we love our animals, and almost shares a chamber with the place where we love the rest of our family. It also harbors a mean and malicious protective sniper that sometimes makes us behave in pretty crazy ways. All of us. Sometimes. And I’m sorry for that. On behalf of mothers everywhere, I’m sorry for when we believe you want to see another picture, watch another video, or hear another story about our precious. I’m also sorry for when we feel entitled to expect you to put our children’s needs/wants/desires in a place of special importance when actually, they are not your priority.

Mothers can be overbearing beasts, it’s true.

And while having a child can sometimes put things in perspective, if you’re a big jerk before you have a kid chances are you’ll be a big jerk after you have a kid right? But I have seen people change into who they really probably were their whole lives – just through the magic of becoming a mother.

Ok ok ok – or becoming a father. Everything I wrote is for you too, ok?

Mothers really want everyone to be happy.

See above.

Pistols+ Popcorn

Category Archives: Days with Roan