It’s Wednesday morning. I love Wednesday mornings.

For now, anyway. Sometime next year, I’ll probably hate them. But I’ve come to accept that such duality is part of my life as a mother. It started at the very beginning. When my son was born a little more than four years ago, I hated motherhood.

After the colic and the breastfeeding struggles and the sleeping through the night struggles abated at about six months, I settled into a love-hate relationship with motherhood. Life was way better  than newborn-hood, but I still missed my pre-parental life more than I liked my present.

Between a year and 18 months, a period when I got a new job and we found reliable child care that we’re still with, the scale tipped toward the love end. So much so that the idea of a second child was broached, mulled and then manifested.

Said second child was born 11 days before first child turned three. We did not experience the alleged “terrible twos,” but three put me right back on the cliff of motherhood. Multi-round daily battles of will with my son poised me to plunge back into the abyss of regret and resentment. I was walked back from the edge only – to my abiding amazement – by the second child.

She was darling. She was sweet. She took naps. There were no breastfeeding struggles, no hours-long evening crying jags. My second maternity leave was one of the happiest times of my life.

And I felt guilty.

Parents are supposed to love their kids equally, right? Favoritism is unfair, breeds sibling rivalry, keeps therapists in business, etc. etc. etc.

So I tried to hide that I preferred her. I tried so hard, and since she was easy to handle and my son’s behavior – especially potty training – was all-consuming, I didn’t even realize how disproportionate my attentions became over her first year.

Which brings me back to Wednesday mornings. Wednesdays are one of my days off and until this fall, I spent them home with both kids. But my son started preschool in September. He goes Wednesday mornings, giving me three hours alone with my daughter.

One of those first Wednesdays, I realized I didn’t have to hide my preference. Since my son wasn’t there to see it, I could snuggle and kiss and coo and babytalk his sister as much as I wanted. (Plus there’s the fact that she’ll still take a morning nap, giving me precious writing time.) As I let it all flow out, I realized how much I’d choked myself back – in the name of fairness to my son.

How fair was that to my daughter?

But before succumbing to yet another wave of guilt (you do that, too?) I managed to somehow scramble up to a higher perch. Surveyed from above, I could identify my motherhood pattern. Call it duality, a pendulum, yin-yang, a see-saw, call it whatever, but it is a fact of my life as a parent. Now that I’ve experienced this pattern repetition, I’m no longer all that concerned with the conflicting rhythms between each child or each day, and forces that push and pull me toward one one or the other. Now that the three-year-old battlefield is behind us, it’s shifting already in the pleasure and gratitude I feel being with my finally four-year-old son.

It’s taken me four years to learn, but my norm is to yo-yo both between the kids, as well as between deep contentment as a mother and nagging, grass-is-greener thinking about a different choice. To fight it or wish it away is to deny myself. To realize it, accept it and say it publicly here is huge.

Gotta go. Less than two hours left this Wednesday morning.

I’ve been looking over my shoulder, frequently. I’m waiting for the parenting police to show up and take away my license. I know that they’re sitting around shaking their heads at this very minute wondering how I was ever allowed mom privileges in the first place.

They’re right, you know. I’m extraordinarily guilty. Guilty of crimes, guilty for crimes.

What have I done? Well, I’ve been selfish, I entertain the most selfish thoughts on a minutely basis (this being 60 times more frequent then an hourly basis), and I crave more selfishness. I want it to be all about me.

• I want to hide away in my bed and read whenever I can.
• I want to work 20 hours a day on my writing, weekends included.
• I want to eat what I want to eat, when I want to eat it.
• I don’t want to clean.
• I don’t want to make 20 construction helmets or motorcycles or excavators out of molding beeswax.
• I want to listen to my music.
• I want to yell, ‘FUCKING HELL!’ when my Blackberry implodes and not get ‘in trouble’ for it.
• …should I go on?

You know what this feels like? PMS, though it’s lasted way too long to be PMS. It reminds me of that special flavor of PMS where you can’t stand to have anyone touch you, talk to you or look at you. And everything just feels wrong. It’s like I need to be in a little room all by myself…(hmmm…one with padded walls?).

Of course, I’m being entirely melodramatic…I’m not to the point of needing a straight jacket. But, I need something. I’m going away next week for a few days to work with a client on a writing project, and I’ll have some time to work on my own writing…but will it be enough?

Though that isn’t the real question. The real question is, should I get to have everything that I want? When I signed up for this mom/wife thing, did I sign my life away? Do I get it back when they go to college? Or can I have it now. Or never?

Which reminds me. My mom, 66, is here for the summer with us. She retired in January…and she’s having a hard time reconciling her new retired life. She’s part of what’s been driving me crazy, by the way. I thought she was just annoying me, but as I write this post, I’m realizing it’s something else. Here she is with nothing but time to pursue her passions - nothing is holding her, she can be as selfish as she wants. And she’s just piddling the days away. She’s not doing anything, or more accurately, she’s not doing what I would do.

What the hell is she waiting for? What am I waiting for? Do I really need permission, am I really hogtied? Could I spend less timing being pissed and more timing doing what I want? And if so, why I am so hellbent on getting in my own way?

Anyone? Anyone?

Image credit: Txspiked

I’m not a big fan of noise.

Some people seem to thrive on it. Loud music, crowded parties, auditory chaos. Not for me. A walk in the woods, a good book out on the deck, a one-on-one conversation with a friend - that’s how I roll.

But, I have kids. Five of them. Boys. And that means…noise. Lots of it!

Twenty+ years of noise (thus far), with about 11 more to go.

Of course, I love my kids, and I know that an inescapable part of the package is barely-controlled chaos. But as I get older, I find myself yearning for the mythical empty nest state, where things aren’t broken daily, bickering is someone else’s problem, and interruptions are chosen instead of imposed. Of course, at that point I’ll probably start to miss the whirlwind, and be demanding time with future grandchildren. Maybe I’ll yearn for some noise. But then again - maybe not.

I met a young married lady at an event this week and she has three boys, all under the age of five (one set of twins). She described the state of her house, from the moment the kids got up, as “airborne”! Perfect.

Truth be told, I secretly enjoy the liveliness (mostly). But I find myself trying to carve out little moments of escape, some safe harbors from the kaleidoscope of chaos. My RAM is beginning to fill up with sound files. My hard disk is getting fragmented. It’s just one of the job hazards of being a long-time parent, I guess - when you’re young, your signal-to-noise filtering capacity is greater. At this stage, I yearn for more signal, and a lot less noise!

I’m thankful that I have kids, and many would give their right arm to be in my shoes. But as all parents can attest - some days your bell gets rung one too many times by the percussions of parenting. The result: kid concussions! Punch drunk parents just looking for a little peace and quiet.

So, if you ever see me in a large group setting, looking ill at ease among the sound waves, do me a favor and lead me to a quiet corner for a chat. Or, if you want to come over and supervise the kids for a long weekend, that’s an offer that will be seriously considered! Finding a safe harbor from the aural maelstrom will always be much appreciated…!

(Image credit)

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My hubby and I probably don’t go on as many dates as we should. We both work a lot, and when we’re not working we prefer to hang out as a four-some with the girls. But for about two weeks, last Friday had been dubbed as a date night. We picked the restaurant, we lined up Nana to watch the girls and we put it on the calendar in ink. 

Then the blizzard blew in and dropped about a foot of wet, heavy snow on us. We decided to venture out, but the roads were terrible. The smart people stayed home, but we could not be stopped.

On the way to Nana’s, big-sister piped up from the back seat that her tummy hurt, then barfed all over herself, the car seat, and me. Hubby whipped the car into the nearest parking lot: Kentucky Fried Chicken. I ushered her through the blizzard and into the bathroom to clean her up and assess the damage while hubby cleaned the stinky, vomit-soaked car seat with diaper wipes. 

We told ourselves that she had probably just eaten something that disagreed with her and slid across the parking lot to Target for a quick change of clothes for the two of us and a package of disinfectant wipes. 

We wore our new, clean clothes out of the store and pressed on, dropping the girls of with an agreeable Nana, and continuing on only to discover that our restaurant was gone! At some point in the last three years, they tore it down and no one bothered to tell us. The nerve.

By now it was quite clear that we should have stayed home. The universe was conspiring against us, but we weren’t about to turn back now. We opted for the closest bar, which happened to serve up a tasty burrito, and had ourselves a meal with some adult beverages and adult conversation.

It was great, but by the time we got back for the girls it was getting late and they were tired. In no time flat, I was back in the car listening to two crying daughters and a song about Little Jack Horner.

The date part of the night was great, but we’re still getting used to the fact that bad weather, sick kids and a changing restaurant scene are all part of our new “normal” as parents. Don’t get me wrong, I love it. But it’s sure not as easy as the old, DINK normal, is it?

Last time I told you about my decision to start taking control of my weight and health………

Here’s the path I took to lose those extra pounds this winter:

I finally decided that in order to cut back on calories and get on track to losing the extra pounds I gained in the fall, I needed to know just how much I was actually eating. I’ve read every health article out there about how keeping track works, and until now was never motivated enough to actually do it.  The tool I chose as a food log is called Calorie Count. It’s online, free and insanely easy to use, and at first, the “free” is the main reason I chose it.

On the first day, I used the tools on CC to determine what my ideal calorie target would be based on my height, weight, desired weight, build, and activity level. The magic number turned out to be 1900 calories, which I’m actually still sticking with today. Here’s what amazed me: I input my calories for that day, thinking I’d been exceedingly healthy and lowcal. Turned out I’d actually consumed almost 2300 calories! Well, that got me thinking about the fact that healthy doesn’t always mean lowcal. As I’ve also read a million places, it’s all about calories in vs. calories out, and if I eat 3,000 calories of fruit or 3,000 calories of candy, my body will still treat it as 3,000 calories. Granted, the fruit is more nutritious, but when it comes to weight loss, calories are king.

So, 2300 calories was what I had considered to be a light day - that was a HUGE eye-opener! I started being VERY conscious of every bite I put in my mouth and most importantly, kept track of every one of those bites. I started making many substitutions (which I’ll share in future posts) and realized that cutting 400 calories/day wasn’t very difficult once I started paying attention to just how many calories were in all of the foods I was eating.

CalorieCount that has an ENORMOUS database of foods and allows you to tag and keep track of the foods you eat the most and enter your own if they are not in the database. The initial set-up takes a bit of time, but after that, I’d say that I spend max about 15 minutes per day. I try to enter foods throughout the day so I can plan my meals & snacks, but if I don’t have time or access, I make sure to mentally or on paper keep a running total. Sound obsessive? Well, it’s all about balance - if I keep track, I won’t feel guilty about my snacks or indulgences. I budget for them throughout the day and have NO guilt about sitting down on the couch with my popcorn and candy corn (don’t ask) in the evening.

I’ve learned SO much about how to best fuel my body by following this strategy and make much healthier choices for the bulk of my meals and snacks. I’ve learned that the best breakfast for me is about 200 calories and fiber- and protein- dense, accompanied by a Starbucks (how I love thee) nonfat Misto. Then, a fiber- and protein-dense 100 calorie morning snack, a 200-400 calorie lunch, snacks to bring me up to 1,000 calories by supper, around 500 calories for supper, and then plenty left over for snacks in the evening. Does this formula work for everyone? Nope, I’m sure not. However, it’s what works for ME and leaves me feeling full and satisfied and lets me eat the foods I want. That’s what’s truly important - making sure I don’t feel deprived and making sure I’m in control. On the days I don’t keep track, I always feel guilty about any indulgences because I automatically assume they’re putting me over - when I keep track, I know if they fit in or not.

Here’s what kicked me in the butt hard enough to do this and make room for the 15 minutes each day: feeling in control of my weight and health makes me happy and when I’m happy, my family is happier. That’s enough incentive right there! My kids and husband deserve a happy mom and wife, and I definitely deserve to be as happy as I can be! Of course there were a bunch of adjustments I had to make, but overall, they’ve all been worth it.

In the future I’ll be sharing more tips & tricks, recipes, food substitutions, and ways I’ve overcome obstacles!

- Also published at Counting the Weighs -

Why is it that whenever we finally feel as if we have the act of juggling all aspects of our lives down, we decide we need to throw another ball into the air? Perhaps it’s the New Year; perhaps we just secretly enjoy inflicting pain on ourselves. I don’t know the answer to that question, but I know it’s something of which I am completely guilty, and my latest ball is training for the Philadelphia Women’s Triathlon.

So far, I am handling the additional commitment pretty well, without allowing any other areas of my life to suffer (at least that I’m aware of). But it’s still early; the event isn’t until July 12. I can only hope that I can maintain this control over the next six months.

Now, I know many of you have been partaking in triathlons, marathons, etc. for quite a while now, and I (as I’m sure others who may be in the same boat as me) welcome any words of wisdom and encouragement you may have based on your own experiences.

Here’s to a happy, healthy 2009, and success in incorporating whatever your new ball may be.

Kristen Keller lives in New Jersey with her two young boys, husband and two dogs. In an effort to obtain the perfect work-life balance, Kristen works part-time out of her home office as an independent public relations consultant and spends the rest of her time striving to give her children the same wonderful childhood experience she had. Click here to check out Kristen’s other posts on This Mommy Gig.

Nine years ago, I found what I thought would be the perfect Christmas gift for my brother, who at that time, had just joined the Marines. It was a fairly large cross stitch of a bald eagle with the American flag in the background. And yes, it was a great gift idea nine years ago and continues to be a nice thought as I re-gift the incomplete project year after year (don’t worry, I do get him something new too).

If only I had known how easy it could have been to find time to work on the darn thing before having my sons. But then, you know what they say; hindsight is always 20/20.

The worst year was 2006 – the year my husband decided where to pursue his PhD, the year we moved across the country and bought a house, the year we had our second son… all ending with my brother opening his “present” and saying to me, “Did you even work on it at all since last Christmas?”

I was flabbergasted by the fact that he noticed, but ever since then, I make sure that some noticeable progress has been made. Each year, I swear I’ll space out my work on it throughout the year, only to have December arrive and me working fervently into the night on what I still believe will look great when done.

My brother is no longer in the Marines. My dad and husband insist I should pay someone to finish the cross stitch, but I feel like it loses something then – not to mention, I’m kind of curious to see just how many years it will take.

Next year – the 10^th year - I’ll begin working on it in January… right

Happy holidays everyone! And if you ever plan on giving someone a cross stitch that you have to do yourself, I recommend something small.

Kristen Keller lives in New Jersey with her two young boys, husband and two dogs. In an effort to obtain the perfect work-life balance, Kristen works part-time out of her home office as an independent public relations consultant and spends the rest of her time striving to give her children the same wonderful childhood experience she had. Click here to check out Kristen’s other posts on This Mommy Gig.

So here I sit, a few days after arguably the most historic mandate in our times was made: the landslide victory of Barack Obama, elected as our 44th president. I think back to what a long, strange trip it’s been indeed: Mr. Obama announcing his candidacy in Illinois so long ago, a place we lived for 10 years before coming to the East to raise our family; the primaries where I took both my daughters ages 10 and 5 to vote with me (for Hillary, I might add); and all the excitement leading up to last Tuesday.

I like to think of myself as a reasonable adult, in a creative and fulfilling career, raising my daughters with the love of my life and best friend, lucky and sane on lots of counts. But the ferocity with which I threw myself into electing Barack Obama was shocking.

These last months I should have done so many other things — laundry mainly — but any slice of time I could deem free, I was in front of the computer checking up on my reliable websites like Huffington Post, Politico, CNN among others to see what was up in the election that day.

More smears? A new outrageous claim by the Republicans that Barack might actually be Osama Bin Laden? The latest take from Sarah Palin about what constitutes a real American? Some of what I could find was ridiculous, some of it thought-provoking… but baby, all of it highly addictive.

I could not get enough of this election! I read every paper, listened to NPR religiously, even watched Fox News to see what they thought–I’m nothing if not fair and balanced! Long after people in line at the Market Basket were sighing exhaustedly and saying they couldn’t wait for it all to be over with, I had to admit silently to myself that I couldn’t wait to get home and see if the red and blue map on my Yahoo election dashboard had changed in any way. Continue Reading »