I have a degree in psychology. In my previous life before motherhood, I worked in a psychiatric facility. I can tell you about basic psychology, industrial psychology, child psychology, cognition, and a whole slew of other one-semester courses that made me qualified to work in the field. I can ask you how something makes you feel, and most normal, mentally-unstable people can give a reasonable answer. I am an active listener with great de-escalation technique. With all of these qualifications, nothing prepared me for life with toddlers.
Waking up a psychiatric patient: You quietly knock on the door and gently whisper, "Good morning Mr. Patient, breakfast is in 30 minutes followed by your morning goals group."
"Thanks." is the usual response, although on occasion one may expose themselves to you, ask if you will be serving eggs for breakfast or inquire if you are a "dragon witch."
Waking up a toddler: You quietly tip-toe into his room knowing full well you have a fifty-fifty chance of making it out alive. It's difficult because your heart is involved and you want to make those sweet mamma baby moments that you can forever treasure in a picture frame by Hallmark. You sit down gently on the edge of the little bitty toddler bed and gently rub his back and whisper, "good morning sweet baby, it's time to wake up." He continues to sleep peacefully, quietly, like an angel. So you whisper again. "Hey snuggle bug, rise and shine." and he begins to stir and you know you are about to get the biggest ear-to-ear smile you have ever seen in your life as your heart melts to the ground in a puddle of sheer joy.
Then, you hear it. "I don't want to get uuuuup! Uuuuuuhhhhh". Wait, what? "I am too sleepy!" He sobs in an irrational fit. Retreat! Retreat! Something has gone terribly wrong! Abort mission! At this point you know that your entire day is over. I mean it, you have poked the bear, you have pulled the pin out of the grenade, you, my friend have made one of the biggest mistakes of your life. It's over until you go to bed tonight, if he lets you.
Feeding your psychiatric patient:" Here is your tray. Please take your shoes off of your hands so you can eat." They usually a. ignore you, b. take the shoes off of their hands and eat, or c. go and have a cigarette out on the porch that resembles a gigantic bird cage.
Feeding a toddler: "What do you want for breakfast?"
"Apple Oatmeal."
Well, that sounds simple enough. You make the oatmeal while your temperamental and sleepy toddler clings to your leg and wipes face fluid on your new dress. You shake the toddler off and he runs away in a whiny fit of noise but you don't care. This gives you that tiny window of time to finish making the oatmeal. You discover that he has scribbled on the wall during those two minutes he was out of your sight. You set the oatmeal on the table and let it cool while you teach the toddler how to use a magic eraser on what you will refer to as a mural for the next three years because you don't have time to paint again. Then, you put the toddler in timeout after he has a total meltdown because the drawing on the wall won't come off. Finally, you take the toddler out of timeout, explain why it's wrong to draw on walls, and set him down in front of perfectly cooked oatmeal because yes, you are that good. He will reply "thank you mamma!"in your dreams.
"I said I want marshmallows and staaaaaaars! Aaaaaaaaah!" Sobbing commencing.
Suddenly you are certain you are raising a brat. Really, doesn't that sound bratty to you? If they were my kid I would beat them, you think to yourself. Wait a second, they are your kid and you have a healthy fear of child protective services due to what shall now be referred to as "The White Castle for Dinner Incident of 2012." I believe I have mentioned this before? Yes?
"You said you wanted oatmeal."
"But I don't like oatmeal!"
"I'm not fixing anything else. You will eat the oatmeal." Yes, you are a bad ass, way to go mom.
The child hurls himself to the ground out of his chair in a tired fit while slinging baby gibberish obscenities at you and simultaneously smacking his head on the floor leaving a giant, swollen goose egg.
Yeah, way to go "bad ass". Your kid has an injury now because you made him eat oatmeal.
Getting your patient involved in morning activities: "Good morning Mr. Patient. If you wouldn't mind getting dressed for the day and having a seat in the day room, we are going to set some goals and do some activities."
"I'm smoking.", "I'm going to take a nap.", "HURRICANE!", or "Ok, where shall I sit?" are all common answers but most of the time, the patient will oblige.
Getting your toddler ready for morning activities: "Hey kiddo, what do you want to wear today?" That was your first mistake. Never ask them what they want to wear because they will quickly grab the nearest pair of purple cowboy boots and bucket. "Oh, ha ha, you are cute, seriously though, how about these sweet little corduroy overalls with this newspaper boy hat. You will look adorable!"
"No, I'm wearing boots.". Do you see where this is going? Can you feel the tension in the air? Just let him wear the boots. LET HIM WEAR THE BOOTS!
"You can't wear the boots, we are going to the grocery store in our small town and many people have gender specific ideologies that boys shouldn't wear purple boots and mamma just doesn't have the inclination to argue today." What? Give me a break, I spend my days with toddlers. I need some adult conversation!
"BOOTS!"
"No."
You struggle to force dress the child in his cute overalls and hat. You curse under your breath as he wiggles and yells while kicking the air and refusing to do anything you need for him to do. You look at the clock and it's already 11. Seriously? The dog runs into the room and barfs near the struggling toddler who then puts his foot into the floor vomit puddle and begins to scream. Then, in all of his vomit foot panic he touches his foot with his hand to see what has happened and then touches your face! You have warm dog vomit on your face because you wouldn't let your child wear boots. Why couldn't you just fight the gender bias and let the poor boy wear his freaking purple boots and bucket?
You clean the little guy up, and he gives you a sweet smile as you rub lavender lotion into his little tootsies. In a few hours you will die a little on the inside when you realize that you have answered the door with dried dog vomit on your face that you forgot about, but that's beside the point. Your child is clean and well fed. You are an amazing mother. You set him down in front of a little makeshift desk that you have tirelessly created so that he can have a little space of his own and hand him a coloring book and some crayons. Life is good. He is quiet for a moment and you are rerunning a load of laundry that your forgot about yesterday and now smells like old dish rags.
Giving your psychiatric patient lunch : "Line up for meds." That will about do it.
Giving your toddler lunch: Please refer back to breakfast, only this time make peanut butter and jelly but then have him insist on honey. Also, this is also the portion of the day where you hide in your closet with a bottle of Advil and some chocolate cake while he sweetly tries to lure you out by whispering "love you mamma" and "wanna snuggle?" talk through the crack at the bottom of the door. Don't believe him. It's a trick to get your chocolate cake. They are like bloodhounds when it comes to top secret dessert or snacks.
Giving your psych patient a little down time: "Hey Mr. Patient, how are those new meds working out for you?" At this point you will either wake him up, grab some extra help to peel him off of the walls and re-medicate, or unlock the bird cage so he can smoke again.
Getting your toddler down for nap: "Hey baby, it's nap time." as you try to conceal your excitement. You quickly grab the child, run him up the stairs all while singing and making a fun game of it. Then, you put him in bed and make a hasty exit before he knows what hit him. You listen for a moment and he begins to yell "I don't want to take a nap. wahhhhhh!" You don't care though, you are going to let him cry it out this time. He is pretty tired and quiets down quickly. YOU are going to get an entire bathroom clean, YOU are going to take a shower. You are going to conquer the world! You walk past your bed and think, maybe I will just sit down for a moment. Two hours later you wake up on your husband's pillow with a puddle of drool under your cheek and guess who is awake, well-rested, and tickling your feet? That's right, the cutest sweetest child to ever walk the face of this earth.
It is already 4 o'clock. Your day is over and you have not gotten a thing done.
Shift change, giving report to the next shift for your psych patient: "It was a fairly easy day. Mr. Patient ate appropriate amounts of food and took all of his meds. He continues to refer to me as 'waitress' and required some redirection during morning group when he tried to save another patient from aliens." He is restricted to the unit for his own safety for the remainder of the day. At this point, you grab your keys and head home.
Shift change, your husband comes home: He says "Hey honey, how was your day? What's for dinner?" You say, "Do you mind if I go and jump in the shower really quick and we can just grab something?" He says "Well, what do we have that we can just fix?"
Clearly, you have had a miscommunication. Your husband doesn't fully understand the consequences of his actions. He will be on "talking to his wife" restriction for the remainder of the day for his own safety.
I guess what it boils down to is that human behavior is unpredictable. Some days the guy who isn't stable just wants to know if he can have eggs and a cigarette, while we "normal" people are running around slathered in dog vomit because we were worried that someone may give us a hard time over a pair of purple boots. It doesn't always make sense to me. I just know that since having children, sometimes I crave the peace and normalcy that the psychiatric unit has to offer.
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Saturday, February 1, 2014
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Hello, my name is Robin and I am a mother
I remember when becoming a mother was all I ever wanted in life. It begins when you realize that magic is happening right inside of you. YOU are creating life. YOU are beautiful and amazing. YOU can eat an obscene amount of food and nobody will say a word. You, my friend, are embarking on becoming the lady from the jewelry store commercials. Your skin is glowing, your belly is growing, and the next chapter of your fairy tale is about to begin.
Now, to let all of you future parent/suckers in on a little secret. It recently came to my attention that I have become a victim of believing what I see on TV about motherhood. Oh sure, those sweet little faces and cuddly moments are worth any trade off, but I have noticed that I am slowly eeking out the characteristics I used to detest in the vanity of my 20's.
My oldest child is 8 and he has three younger siblings. I don't always remember their names because they all look alike. They also tend to run in packs and join together in knowing absolutely nothing about anything when something gets broken. They have voracious appetites and subsist mainly on crackers and fruit with an occasional cereal. They have very refined palates and will critique anything you cook that is not hot dogs or macaroni and cheese. They are nocturnal and speak some sort of giggly jibber jabber well into the night without responding to stern reprimanding or flickering lights. Many times they work in shifts to keep my husband and I awake throughout the night. I am only assuming this is for scientific research to find out how long the human body can go without sleep. So far, eight years is my record.
With all of the lack of sleep, I am always looking for the quick fix in an attempt to stay beautiful. Sometimes I put my hair in rollers. If you are using hot rollers you are a mom.
Hot rollers are the beauty industry's joke on moms. It's a way to identify them quickly from a crowd because the stretch marks, tired eyes, and general haggard appearance isn't always a giveaway. Occasionally, one of the smarter moms realizes this. (I call them smarter but in reality, they just got the kid that sleeps). She will quickly throw out the hot rollers because she has time for such things as wash and blow-dry. Bitch. On the bright side, she will one day think she can handle one of those short haircuts, even though hardly any woman looks really good with short soccer mom hair. What? I'm sorry, it's true. Stop judging me for judging you. Grow your hair. I'm tired of fighting. I haven't slept in eight years. Can't we just drink Starbucks?
As a mom, at some point since giving away your youth, the severity of the stain became important. Every piece of clothing that a mom owns likely has a flaw of some sort. It's ok, she can still cover them with a sweater or scarf most of the time. If her cover sweater has a stain too, she can accessorize with some sort of loud flower. Oh how I love to talk about accessories. I remember those.
As a mom, you will look down at your shirt, notice the jelly hand print on your gorgeous blue blouse, and just say "oh well", as you put your coat on. It's not like you are going on a date. You are just going to the grocery, pediatrician, or your mom's house anyway, and they don't care. If you were going to a meeting of other moms to discuss who is the better mom, you would care. Those are the days you remember that hot rollers are a bad idea and you need clean clothes. If you are feeling particularly saucy, this is a good time to just pop in on the mom you don't like strictly because she did it to you. It's always good to bust another woman in hot roller hair and stained clothing. It's part of the food chain. Bring her a Starbucks, (full fat caramel macchiato) smile, and act nonchalant as she explains that her house isn't always dirty. This is your chance to make a friend or a frienemy. It's your choice. If you choose frienemy, you get to keep them at a distance. Just think about it. Go ahead, judge me, it's fine...you and your short hair.
Cooking and posting on social media is the new territory of this generation. Mom's like to post what they have cooked on social media. It's kind of a Star-Belly Sneetch of motherhood. "My kids are eating beluga caviar and triple aged sharp truffle cheese". Nobody ever posts "I gave my children White Castle cheeseburgers and worry that someone will call child protective services".
Moms, If you want to make a good impression, have your sister (who takes way better pictures than you) cook a few amazing meals, take pictures, and send them to you. Then, when you are having a hot roller kind of week, post one of these pictures on social media and watch all of the other moms ooh and aah over how incredibly talented you are. Yes, it's kind of like food plagiarism, but frankly, you are covering your stains with stains. What have you got to lose? Just remember to keep the mystery about yourself so that when you are invited to a party and asked to fix it, you can either reject the invitation or tell everyone that you are trying the raw vegan lifestyle.
Hiding. Come on, admit it, you do it. We all hide. My husband hides in the bathroom. Seriously, I haven't spent more than 5 minutes in the bathroom since 2005 out of fear that someone will fall down the stairs, out of a tree, or be sucked into the air ventilation system. My husband on the other hand, spends an obscene amount of time in the bathroom. I don't bother him about it but honestly, I don't know that he has any digestive issues and sometimes I think I hear him snoring. I suspect he is sleeping while I run after kids like some sort of schmuck.
Hiding is best done with food since this will be the only time you eat without sharing. I prefer to sit on the the old exercise step system in the back of my closet, but that's just me. Everyone is different. It can be the mini barn, attic, or laundry room because you are the only person that really goes in there. Do whatever you want. This is your time. Just make sure you have a barrier between you and the kids so that when they discover you are hiding, they don't have direct access to you. It's important during food sneaking and hiding or even important telephone call hiding, that you have something in the way that the kids can bang on and yell for you through. This way you can be certain that they are ok during your hide time. Every mom knows that when things get quiet, it's time to worry. Hey look at that! You are a multitasker!
Reality television shows of today are the soap operas of yesterday. It's dramatic, it's catty, it's everything a soap opera is only it's with real fake people, not fake real people. I now understand why women like soap operas. It's not about the show, the people or anything really. It's an escape. I vow to watch smutty women's TV because they drive better cars than me, wear fancier clothes, have more interesting lives, and most importantly, nobody else in my family can stand to watch it. It's mine, all mine. If I turn on the real housewives of Bulgaria, I am certain to have the television all to myself. Sure, a kid or two may wander in and out of the room because I am having a snack and they are on snack patrol at all times, but they will certainly get bored quickly enough and leave again.
I honestly don't care if Carlita and The Dame of Povania get into a fight with the well-known ferret lunch meat heiress. It's just like watching high school all over again, and that makes me feel young. Besides, I have a morbid curiosity about the lack of facial movement. Look, she is crying, but nothing is happening. Her mouth looks kind of sad and tears are rolling down her face but NOTHING ELSE IS MOVING! It's interesting. It's fascinating. Did you know people with sweaty armpits put botox in them to keep the sweat down? Really! Perhaps I have gotten off the topic.
So, I guess what I am saying is that smutty television is just a coping mechanism. Imagine a padded exercise stair in the back of a closet with a reality TV channel. Wouldn't that be amazing? Point made.
Motherhood has reached far beyond my expectations. Sometimes I am an amazing mom, and sometimes I forget how many children I have while I am in public. It has been the most unpredictable adventure of my life. I like to think that the handprint jelly stain on my blue blouse will just be a reminder of how sweet and little they once were. Perhaps I will just add it to the hoard of artwork and crafts that I save next to my exercise step in the back of my closet. The days sure do go quickly and I don't want to miss anything. Secretly, I think the kids realize this and that's why they keep us awake. They really are smart little boogers.
Now, to let all of you future parent/suckers in on a little secret. It recently came to my attention that I have become a victim of believing what I see on TV about motherhood. Oh sure, those sweet little faces and cuddly moments are worth any trade off, but I have noticed that I am slowly eeking out the characteristics I used to detest in the vanity of my 20's.
My oldest child is 8 and he has three younger siblings. I don't always remember their names because they all look alike. They also tend to run in packs and join together in knowing absolutely nothing about anything when something gets broken. They have voracious appetites and subsist mainly on crackers and fruit with an occasional cereal. They have very refined palates and will critique anything you cook that is not hot dogs or macaroni and cheese. They are nocturnal and speak some sort of giggly jibber jabber well into the night without responding to stern reprimanding or flickering lights. Many times they work in shifts to keep my husband and I awake throughout the night. I am only assuming this is for scientific research to find out how long the human body can go without sleep. So far, eight years is my record.
With all of the lack of sleep, I am always looking for the quick fix in an attempt to stay beautiful. Sometimes I put my hair in rollers. If you are using hot rollers you are a mom.
Hot rollers are the beauty industry's joke on moms. It's a way to identify them quickly from a crowd because the stretch marks, tired eyes, and general haggard appearance isn't always a giveaway. Occasionally, one of the smarter moms realizes this. (I call them smarter but in reality, they just got the kid that sleeps). She will quickly throw out the hot rollers because she has time for such things as wash and blow-dry. Bitch. On the bright side, she will one day think she can handle one of those short haircuts, even though hardly any woman looks really good with short soccer mom hair. What? I'm sorry, it's true. Stop judging me for judging you. Grow your hair. I'm tired of fighting. I haven't slept in eight years. Can't we just drink Starbucks?
As a mom, at some point since giving away your youth, the severity of the stain became important. Every piece of clothing that a mom owns likely has a flaw of some sort. It's ok, she can still cover them with a sweater or scarf most of the time. If her cover sweater has a stain too, she can accessorize with some sort of loud flower. Oh how I love to talk about accessories. I remember those.
As a mom, you will look down at your shirt, notice the jelly hand print on your gorgeous blue blouse, and just say "oh well", as you put your coat on. It's not like you are going on a date. You are just going to the grocery, pediatrician, or your mom's house anyway, and they don't care. If you were going to a meeting of other moms to discuss who is the better mom, you would care. Those are the days you remember that hot rollers are a bad idea and you need clean clothes. If you are feeling particularly saucy, this is a good time to just pop in on the mom you don't like strictly because she did it to you. It's always good to bust another woman in hot roller hair and stained clothing. It's part of the food chain. Bring her a Starbucks, (full fat caramel macchiato) smile, and act nonchalant as she explains that her house isn't always dirty. This is your chance to make a friend or a frienemy. It's your choice. If you choose frienemy, you get to keep them at a distance. Just think about it. Go ahead, judge me, it's fine...you and your short hair.
Cooking and posting on social media is the new territory of this generation. Mom's like to post what they have cooked on social media. It's kind of a Star-Belly Sneetch of motherhood. "My kids are eating beluga caviar and triple aged sharp truffle cheese". Nobody ever posts "I gave my children White Castle cheeseburgers and worry that someone will call child protective services".
Moms, If you want to make a good impression, have your sister (who takes way better pictures than you) cook a few amazing meals, take pictures, and send them to you. Then, when you are having a hot roller kind of week, post one of these pictures on social media and watch all of the other moms ooh and aah over how incredibly talented you are. Yes, it's kind of like food plagiarism, but frankly, you are covering your stains with stains. What have you got to lose? Just remember to keep the mystery about yourself so that when you are invited to a party and asked to fix it, you can either reject the invitation or tell everyone that you are trying the raw vegan lifestyle.
Hiding. Come on, admit it, you do it. We all hide. My husband hides in the bathroom. Seriously, I haven't spent more than 5 minutes in the bathroom since 2005 out of fear that someone will fall down the stairs, out of a tree, or be sucked into the air ventilation system. My husband on the other hand, spends an obscene amount of time in the bathroom. I don't bother him about it but honestly, I don't know that he has any digestive issues and sometimes I think I hear him snoring. I suspect he is sleeping while I run after kids like some sort of schmuck.
Hiding is best done with food since this will be the only time you eat without sharing. I prefer to sit on the the old exercise step system in the back of my closet, but that's just me. Everyone is different. It can be the mini barn, attic, or laundry room because you are the only person that really goes in there. Do whatever you want. This is your time. Just make sure you have a barrier between you and the kids so that when they discover you are hiding, they don't have direct access to you. It's important during food sneaking and hiding or even important telephone call hiding, that you have something in the way that the kids can bang on and yell for you through. This way you can be certain that they are ok during your hide time. Every mom knows that when things get quiet, it's time to worry. Hey look at that! You are a multitasker!
Reality television shows of today are the soap operas of yesterday. It's dramatic, it's catty, it's everything a soap opera is only it's with real fake people, not fake real people. I now understand why women like soap operas. It's not about the show, the people or anything really. It's an escape. I vow to watch smutty women's TV because they drive better cars than me, wear fancier clothes, have more interesting lives, and most importantly, nobody else in my family can stand to watch it. It's mine, all mine. If I turn on the real housewives of Bulgaria, I am certain to have the television all to myself. Sure, a kid or two may wander in and out of the room because I am having a snack and they are on snack patrol at all times, but they will certainly get bored quickly enough and leave again.
I honestly don't care if Carlita and The Dame of Povania get into a fight with the well-known ferret lunch meat heiress. It's just like watching high school all over again, and that makes me feel young. Besides, I have a morbid curiosity about the lack of facial movement. Look, she is crying, but nothing is happening. Her mouth looks kind of sad and tears are rolling down her face but NOTHING ELSE IS MOVING! It's interesting. It's fascinating. Did you know people with sweaty armpits put botox in them to keep the sweat down? Really! Perhaps I have gotten off the topic.
So, I guess what I am saying is that smutty television is just a coping mechanism. Imagine a padded exercise stair in the back of a closet with a reality TV channel. Wouldn't that be amazing? Point made.
Motherhood has reached far beyond my expectations. Sometimes I am an amazing mom, and sometimes I forget how many children I have while I am in public. It has been the most unpredictable adventure of my life. I like to think that the handprint jelly stain on my blue blouse will just be a reminder of how sweet and little they once were. Perhaps I will just add it to the hoard of artwork and crafts that I save next to my exercise step in the back of my closet. The days sure do go quickly and I don't want to miss anything. Secretly, I think the kids realize this and that's why they keep us awake. They really are smart little boogers.
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