Author Archives: kristinasvenkerud

fake it ’til you make it.

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Fake it

Some days, the spread of my kid’s age difference and the stages that they’re in respectively, exhausts me and I find it challenging to focus on the gratitude I definitely SHOULD be feeling. I have two healthy, joyful kids. I have the privilege of staying home with them. I have supportive family around me. A lot, A LOT to be grateful for. But I’m human. Like, real human.

While you don’t have to look very far to see circumstances more challenging than your own…even though I know it, even though I don’t want to disappoint God or myself, I actually have to remind myself over and over that the frustrations I’m facing are minuscule. Dwarfed by real challenges. And though in this lifetime, it’s inevitable that I will experience heartbreak at some point, I don’t want that to be the thing to make me finally appreciate how good things are right now. So I have a philosophy to get me through the toughies:

Fake it ’til you make it.

Meaning, talk like a grateful person, even (or especially) if I’m struggling with gratitude, in the hopes that saying what is true and right will turn my ‘tude around.

For example, when Francie is laying across the door of the dishwasher, screaming because I won’t let her impale her eyeball with the fork, while I’m trying to empty it, I say, “I’m so grateful she wants to help me with the dishes”. Or when I want to sleep so bad it hurts and Soren wants to sleep with us, horizontally across the bed with his toe in my rib cage, I say, “he won’t want to sleep with me forever, I’m going to enjoy this now”. Or when the potty-training that I can’t seem to get to stick results in a super-man-sized poop in a pull-up…no wait, I’m never even pretend grateful for that.

And whether I’m saying it to Soren about Francie, Francie about Soren, to a friend, my mom, a total stranger, myself aloud or inside my head for only God’s benefit…often through gritted teeth these days as I deal with behavioral/heart parenting with Soren and never-being-able-to-keep-tabs-on-her parenting with Frances…both of which require more focused attention than God ever gave this lady, I say it. I say I’m grateful and with enough repetition, even on the hardest day, my heart is turned and every word is real.

Just a little vacay…

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“That’s all I want. Just a day to recharge.” I can be found saying this from time to time when the grind is getting me down, when my patience is waning.

I get my chance, my dangling carrot. I have an opportunity to visit my husband while on business in Las Vegas. The planets have aligned, my mother has consented to oversee the troops. I have 30 sweet, sweet hours. Now is Vegas on my Top 10? Not really. But the idea of an adult playground and a little bit of dirty is appealing when you’ve been on a Curious George bender.

I board the plane with all of the enthusiasm of a virgin bride on her wedding night. Trash magazines in hand, destination: Sin City. The flight from Seattle is 2 hours. And 39mins into the flight, trash mags read and re-read (I actually lost IQ points) and I’m talking to the 6mo old baby behind me. Wondering what my kids are doing? And the first thing I do when the plane lands? Pull out my phone and force photos of my kids on the two less-than-mildly-interested neighbors whose only interactions with me were letting me get up to pee. “Wanna see my kids?” Not really, lady. I’m a disgrace to mothers everywhere who just need a break. Unable to unplug and leave the responsibilities behind. But those responsibilities are so freaking cute. And the further I get from my front door, the more I wonder why I would ever leave.

It’s kind of like an ex-boyfriend. You’re miserable. They’re frustrating you in every possible way. You can’t stand them anymore. You break up. They move on. All you remember are the good times. 39 mins into my flight. My promise land: Las Vegas, NV has become a 30 hour prison preventing me from the best slobbery kisses. No one to ask me incessant questions. No one to cry when I put them down.

Now, for SAHMs everywhere, I vow I will make the best of this prison. I will start with a lounge chair and a cocktail. It’s just so good to be reminded that you love what you’re doing with your life and there’s no where else, not even Sin City, that you’d rather be.

Who is this kid???

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I was told in early motherhood (& it’s proven true) that every time you get used to one phase, they switch it up on you. So far, I have gained some solace from this adage through difficult phases. Like, when they finally start sleeping through the night…and then teething happens. When they can eat their own meals…and then suddenly become picky and really good at throwing food on the floor.

My son has been (get ready to throw up in your mouth a little) a totally normal toddler/preschooler but pretty much, laid back, receptive to correction and all around, a joy to parent. I have never experienced a lay-down-on-the-floor-and-cry tantrum in public…until recently. I woke up about four weeks ago and the-kid-who-used-to-be-my-kid had been abducted and replaced by someone I’ve never met before. And this kid…this kid…

Picture this: Target. Me, two kids, two errands, 23 minutes and a mandatory walk through to view the two aisles that house the entire collection of Hot Wheels as a reward for patiently tolerating the process. Then imagine a meltdown. You get the idea. I’m a tantrum novice, there’s two teenage-ish checkers and a whole-lotta-judgey-one-kid-having-moms staring at me. I just keep struggling with the internal dialogue: “I have to get this done”/”you cannot allow this behavior”/”I have to get this done”/”you cannot allow this behavior”/”I have to get this done”/”you cannot allow this behavior”. In the end, I scraped him up, I did a whisper yell and a firm arm grab and prayed that if nothing else was gained from this episode, those teenage-ish checkers, at the sight of this display, were compelled to abstain from sex until such time that they feel ready to deal with the outburst they just witnessed.

As recently discussed with a friend, their behavior changes, you freak out (who is this kid?) and just as you devise a strategy to address said behavior, it changes again. A moving target. So I’m going to take this one in stride. I’ll introduce myself to the Preschooler-Formerly-Known-as-Soren and sooner or later, he will probably re-inhabit his body. I’m just going to take it one episode at a time and deal with each incident as it arises. I’m new at all of this and I can only do my best. I’m not being glib about it but I have to trust that part of the plan is that I have instincts and I should trust them. Reading a bunch of parenting books to deal with this moment in motherhood would be a waste of precious time. I could be on the floor playing with him…whoever HE is.

20x/day

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20 times a day:

  • I wash the highchair tray
  • I wash tiny hands
  • I close the bathroom door
  • I pick the same books up and put them back in the bookcase
  • I clean up a puzzle
  • I say “not for you” to Francie
  • I say “you can’t lay on your sister” to Soren
  • I open and close the fridge door
  • I clean finger prints off very impractical stainless appliances and a whole lotta windows
  • I have to hear about boats/trains/tractors/trucks
  • (At least) I fold a piece of clothing
  • I remake Soren’s bed
  • I say “how do you ask Mom?”
  • I pick up mysterious shredded paper
  • I pick up blocks
  • I take a wet wipe out of Francie’s mouth
  • I confiscate a toy
  • I find a Matchbox car in the couch cushions
  • (I swear) I change a diaper
  • I wipe up the kitchen floor
  • I take a deep breath
  • I think about eating my feelings
  • I think my head might explode
  • I consider turning on the tv
  • I fantasize about Soren still napping
  • I look at the clock
  • I put the dog’s water bowl out of Francie’s reach so she won’t spill it
  • And then back down again so the dogs won’t get dehydrated
  • I wonder why we have two dogs
  • I talk to Jenni
  • I talk to my Mom
  • I wonder if I’m damaging them
  • I wonder where I am and how I got here
  • I think about hurling a noise-making toy across the room
  • I can’t wait for their bedtime
  • I can’t wait for my bedtime
  • I pray for strength and patience
  • I think about single moms (like my Mom)
  • I think about Moms who would love to stay at home but for whatever reason cannot
  • I think about my family with sick children
  • I think about my friends who’ve lost children
  • I think about my friends who want but haven’t yet had children
And so 20 times a day:
  • I hug and kiss my daughter
  • I hug and kiss my son
  • I marvel at their little bodies
  • I marvel at their learning minds
  • I thank God for their health
  • I go to bed, I get up. I start all.over.again.

Me Time

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I have the most precious kiddos BUT sometimes I do wax sentimental about some of the things I might NOT have taken for granted if I had known what having kids (and staying home with them) meant. Specifically, the luxury of being alone and having time to myself. Alone in the bathroom, alone running errands, alone in my house, alone on my couch, alone with my thoughts. Alone. Alone. Alone. “Me time” personified.
If I could go back to the pre-kid me and tell her one thing, I would tell her to really enjoy going to the bathroom alone. In looking back on most things (i.e., I thought I was “so tired”, “such a multi-tasker”, and so on and so on), I thought I was never alone before I had kids but I had NO idea. No idea that a lot of my mundane, every day tasks would become luxuries. Rich in solitude. I would tell her to really enjoy grocery shopping. That head cold. That night to yourself while Paul’s out. That doctor’s appointment. That trip to the Rack without a time limit or someone yelling at her like it’s a military drill to get in and out with the correct arsenal of snacks and no blow-outs in under 30 minutes. Enjoy it because, honey, you won’t be alone for awhile.
Most of my “me time” these days amounts to a solo trip to Costco or the fastest shower you can imagine with kids knocking on the bathroom door before P goes to work. And while it’s helped me become incredibly efficient and far less high maintenance (which is a good example to set for my daughter), I’m still sad I didn’t relish being alone as much as I should have or would today. I used to really think about what I was going to wear. Like REALLY think about it. Now if I make it out the door without snot on my leg or shoulder and if I’m not clashing, it’s a “fashion moment” for me.
So to all of you newly-marrieds, you not-yet-parents, you trying-to-be-parents, even those of you with a kid on the way…sit on the toilet, like it’s your royal throne and read an entire People magazine. Take an extra long shower. Because if kids are in your not-so-distant-future, these seemingly commonplace things will come to an end. They’ll be replaced with something so much sweeter than being alone on the pot. But there is something to be said for a little bit of privacy.

 

When I’m a Mom, I’ll never…

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Famous. Last. Words.

These days, when I feel an “I’ll never…” coming to the surface, I actually try to shove it back down my throat before it escapes my lips. And yet, sometimes I can’t stop it. And then I usually live to regret it.

  • I’ll never use a pacifier. Check. To take it further, I’m actually depressed My daughter F won’t use one.
  • I’ll never let my kid have a bottle in their crib. Check.
  • I’ll never take my kid out in pjs. Check. Check.
  • I’ll never have a tv in my car. Check.
  • Abridged to: I’ll never use the tv in my car, except on road trips. Check.
  • Abridged to: I’ll never use the tv in my car on short drives unless its an emergency. Check.
  • I’ll never let my kid crawl in bed with us. Check. Yeah, right. At 3am, you’ll do anything to go back to sleep.
  • I’ll never let my kids eat processed foods. Check.
  • I’ll never use a leash…

I actually haven’t done this YET but I’m assuming because I have very smugly said I wouldn’t, it might happen despite my strong belief that if your preschooler doesn’t listen or you can’t strap your baby or toddler into a stroller, it might not be a time to take them to, say, the fair. Again, I’m waiting. I’m sure a leash is in my future.

Every time I’ve dropped an “I’ll never”, confident in my conviction to these principles (if you can call them that), I’ve had the wind knocked out of my sails. It’s true that as a mom, you will be humbled and brought to your knees, over and over and over again. And in the end, sometimes over some things, you just have to take the path of least resistance and sacrifice the battle to win the war.

After all, what is motherhood (besides the most amazing gift) if not the most humbling experience? You will be ego-checked, and you can bank on that. I mean, I’m just getting started and the number of humbling experiences? Too many to count. I’m not saying I don’t have my convictions or that I’m not committed to them, I’m just saying these days, they have nothing to do with pajamas in public.

It’s still hard to be a modern mommy

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It seems to me that me and my mommy friends have a number of parenting tools and conveniences at our finger tips these days. I’ve often thought if I can’t parent in this day and age, I probably can’t parent. Snap-n-go’s, the thing with wheels that you can strap your convertible car seat (and let’s be honest, toddler) to and roll them through the airport, travel systems, sun tents, pop-up bassinets, Johnny Jump Up’s, exer-saucers and numerous other tools of confinement. Pre-portioned, pre-packaged and even healthy snacks for on-the-go. It makes me wonder, how did mommies-past do it without these conveniences? I mean, I know how they did it. With a lot of planning. But I feel grateful to live in a world where if I need it, I can buy 15 more minutes of errand running or grocery shopping by sticking apple sauce packaged in a convenient pouch, in my daughter’s face.

I can see it in the eyes of every middle-aged woman when I’m cruising around with my Bob. My Mom and the moms of my peers are imagining all the things they could have achieved with the same tools-of-the-trade. I’m pretty sure I can read my Mom’s mind when she thinks, “you can safely confine, entertain and feed the kid with little to no effort. Why can’t you also keep your floors clean”? And she’s got a point. So I wonder, how can I sometimes feel so overwhelmed by this seemingly easier time in which to be a parent?

I think I have arrived at the answer: Because I am of “advanced maternal age”, maybe it’s that I’m a little smarter than say, I would have been, doing this, in my 20’s. I was not a mature 20-something. And though I probably would have had more energy to do this job, I would have been less aware of the significance and importance of it. This satisfies me, the answer is that I’m just “smart” enough to be overwhelmed by the enormous responsibility of rearing contributing members of society. Yup, that must be it. Balancing child-rearing and housework is waaayyyy too much. This reasoning would actually make sense if  I was doing amazing projects with them, taking them on field trips to amazing places, dusting off the flashcards, making little geniuses. Which I’m mostly not. I mean, some days I hear myself parent and even I think, “that was weak”. Preschoolers and toddlers smell weakness. Must work on parenting confidence/do amazing projects/take on amazing field trips/create little geniuses. But with all these tools, some days, if we all make it through alive and no one eats a sticker, I feel accomplished. Maybe the actual answer is, it’s all relative. I have more tools but it still feels hard. My Mom was better off than a pioneer woman but I bet it didn’t feel easy at the time. Maybe the answer is, some days, no matter the tools, motherhood can be really hard.

Thankfully, one of the most amazing parts of motherhood is timing. Because on really hard days, when Soren is unrecognizable to me, tools don’t matter and I start thinking, “Oh yeah, kid…I’m done with this” or “I’m going back to work” or “how could Paul do this to me and where in the H-E-double-hockey-sticks is he?”, I get a hug or a kiss or an unsolicited “I love you”. And I thank God for unsolicited “I love you”s. They are the difference between starting each new day with a clean slate or running for the border. Canadian border. I have relatives there.

Reset.

there is no “vacation” in my vacation.

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The combination of stay-at-home mom and family vacation is a sham. In actuality, I am required to do my usual job under tougher circumstances and without the tools, toys and comforts I would ordinarily have. It’s like a survivor challenge. Or an episode of MacGyver.

We recently returned from a family vacation to Whistler, B.C.. A ski trip for my husband, an avid skier with a dream of having a skiing family. In other words, not an optional hobby for my kids and not an optional vacation unless you want to see the saddest Sad Faced Paul ever.

The challenges presented on the trip?

How do you manage a one-year-old in a total party condo from the 80’s (think “Hot Tub Time Machine”) with nothing child friendly about it? The answer is wine.

How do you, your husband and your three-year-old sleep in a queen size bed with your one-year-old in a pack-n-play, all in the same room with different bed times? The answer is wine. Just kidding. The answer is the threat of bodily harm if everyone is not silent.

How do you manage your toddler without any toys or entertainment? Because you forgot…to bring ANYTHING for him (in addition to your own shampoo, razor and underpants). The answer is your intention of “quality family time” without “screen time” goes out the window…and your hair is nasty, your legs are hairy and you hand-wash your panties for seven days.

With the pièce de résistance being the panic attack you have at the end of the trip when you realize that the dirty laundry from the trip and the disorganization of the packing out might send you over the edge when your husband returns to work the next day and you’re left with a mountain of work more disorganized than any ordinary non-“vacation” day, oh AND the Bermuda Triangle of your socks’ little partners.

I hope when my kids are adults, they will want to come on vacation with us. Presumably by then, they will be potty trained and I won’t need outlet covers which will be a little more relaxing. Until then, I take a lot of pictures because if my Mom is right (and she’s always right), I won’t remember it was hard, I’ll just wish I could go back.