Author: mothersothers

BY KATHY P. BEHAN

What do I want for Mother’s Day? Certainly not chocolates. And I can even do without the flowers this year. What I’d like most of all is what I, and probably every other American mom with young children hardly gets anymore, time alone.

It seems as if every minute of my day belongs to someone else. I’m shopping, cleaning, washing, erranding (is that a word? If not, it should be), carpooling, caring for, and just generally, schlepping from morning until night. I’m not complaining (well, not much) because this is actually the life I’ve chosen for myself right now. But accompanying me, during all these endeavors are usually one, two or three other people — my kids.

To be fair, I do have some time by myself. I can sometimes arrange to take showers alone, and have actually managed, on rare occasions, to go to the bathroom without accompaniment. But that’s about it.

That’s why I’d forgo almost any expensive gift, and opt instead for “down” time. Maybe I’d like to take a long, meandering walk in the sunshine. Or sit on the deck and read. Oh, or have a long bubble bath with dare I say it, a tall gin and tonic with fresh lime, in my hand.

For some reason, this type of day never materializes. That’s why, for me, Mother’s Day has occasionally become Frustration Day. Actually, it’s my own fault. I keep expecting my husband to read my mind, and just completely take over the kids and the house for the day.

My sweet, well-meaning, but at times, completely out-of-touch husband has a totally different vision of how to celebrate this important holiday. Much to my dismay, Patrick believes Mother’s Day is actually, Family Day. Therefore, we should spend every moment, all together doing family-type things.

Take last year, for instance. Pat decided that it would be nice to take me out to brunch. This of course, was a fine idea. But because of long lines everywhere, we ended up at The International House of Pancakes with a thousand screaming children, and their hapless moms. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that this wasn’t exactly the brunch I had envisioned. After all, he looked so proud, beaming at all of us across the sticky, syrup-encrusted table.

But this year it’s gonna be different. Honey, let me spell it out for you, so there’s no confusion. What I’d really like for Mother’s Day is breakfast in bed, and sloppily sentimental cards from you and the kids. But most importantly, even though I’m crazy about you all. Just like Greta Garbo, “I vant to be alone!”

Kathy P. Behan, a mother of three, is a nationally published freelance writer, specializing in health and family issues.

BY KATHY P. BEHAN

I’ve been restless lately. This is probably due to the recent reports by friends and family of exciting changes and opportunities in their work lives. Some have climbed another rung on the corporate ladder; one of my sisters just got back from a business trip to Switzerland and France, my other sister had a long article published in a national magazine this month.

What have I accomplished lately? Well, I gave birth five months ago to a gorgeous and not-so-little (almost nine pounds) daughter. My time has been spent caring for her, my two sons and all the other miscellaneous duties of running our household. Career-wise however, I’ve done squange.

Raising children is truly the most important task that life can offer — everything else is secondary. I’m proud of my stay-at-home mother status and view my happy, healthy, thriving children with a deep sense of satisfaction. But for me, this isn’t enough. I want to make my mark on my profession as well as on my kids.

The problem is I can’t figure out how to do that now. I’m burning with frustration and desire, but I’m crippled by lack of sleep, time and energy. I know that eventually I’ll be able to do the things that I want when I want to do them. But how will I feel about motherhood then? When the children are older and less demanding of my time, chances are I’ll mourn for the days when they were little and needed me so much.

I guess the lesson here is that there are tradeoffs in everything and to try to enjoy each life stage as fully as you can. While I’m in phase one of motherhood, I’ll just have to put my dreams on hold. Instant gratification has always made a lot of sense to me though, so it won’t be easy to sit out the career dance for a while.

My time will come. I just hope that some of the adages like “patience is a virtue” and “good things come to those who wait” prove to be true. That way I’ll end up not only realizing my career ambitions, but also being a better, more understanding parent as well.

Kathy P. Behan, a mother of three, is a nationally published freelance writer, specializing in health and family issues.

BY KATHY P. BEHAN

While at Burger King not too long ago, I noticed a couple sitting with their young daughter. The girl was probably a little over a year old, and it was obvious how much her parents loved her. They gave her glances filled with wonder and admiration, and really looked like they were having fun. It made you feel good just to look at them.

After a while, the mother got up from the table, leaving the dad alone with his daughter. He was finishing up his soda, when the baby reached for his cup. After a few minutes of “negotiating,” he gave in, and handed it to her. To his obvious surprise, she took the drink, and expertly began to suck soda through the straw.

His surprised expression changed to one of delight. As he was shyly trying to catch the eye of people nearby who happened to witness his child’s brilliance, his wife returned to the table. She took one look at her baby happily sipping the soda, and pulled the cup out of the child’s hands while angrily reprimanding her husband. His proud expression quickly turned to one of chagrin.

Now I know that babies shouldn’t be drinking soda. Soft drinks certainly aren’t good for anyone. But this dad didn’t do anything terrible. To me, it was the mother who was in the wrong. She was so caught up in her righteous healthy-food huff that she completely overlooked her child’s accomplishment, and her husband’s pride in this achievement.

This mother reminded me that I — and probably a lot of other mothers — have made similar mistakes. In our zeal to do what’s best for our children we can be rigid and humorless in our approach. And in the process, we can be downright mean to our husbands about the way they deal with the kids.

To be frank, many moms treat their men as if they were idiots.

“Now, if she’s cold make sure to put on her sweater,” I heard one woman instruct her husband.

I waited for the man to make some pithy retort, but no, he just docilely nodded his head.That’s also part of the problem. Because men often consider their wives the kid experts, they may think of themselves as being incompetent. Therefore, they defer to their wives for information about their children’s routines, food preferences, and behaviors. But women haven’t cornered the knowledge market on their kids. Their acumen is derived from experience. So how are men ever going to learn about their children if their wives keep running interference for them?

Men have to come up with their own game plan. They shouldn’t rely on second-hand plays from their wives, they need to devise their own strategies. And that means spending time with the kids.

For moms, it means letting your husbands parent the kids on their own terms. Men should be encouraged to be involved fathers. When left to their own devices, men are actually capable of taking good care of their children. They may do things differently, but that doesn’t necessarily mean what they’re doing is bad or wrong. The approach they take may be slower, and is almost always messier — but it can also be a whole lot more fun for the kids.

Sometimes dads will make mistakes, but chances are, they’ll learn from them. As moms, we should learn to lighten up, and at times, just look the other way. We can be much too quick at pointing out what we perceive to be errors. But over time, if they’re allowed to, fathers are sure to develop their own expertise with the kids. And who knows, maybe we can even learn a thing or two from them.

Kathy P. Behan, a mother of three, is a nationally published freelance writer, specializing in health and family issues.

BY KATHY P. BEHAN

Well, I made it through another dinner. This isn’t much of an accomplishment for most people, but for me, this is a considerable feat. I never thought my life would come to this. But then again, I never stopped to consider what dinnertime would be like with three hungry, grouchy, tired and generally overly souped-up kids around.

There are many logistical problems with this time of day. But by far, the most difficult part of dinner is trying to prepare, cook and serve food while simultaneously trying to peel my 1-year-old off my leg, and ref nonstop arguments between the boys. When the kitchen chaos is at its peak, I’m often tempted to look for a hidden camera that must be strategically placed in the room. This just can’t be real life. It has to be some wild scene created for a made-for-TV movie.

I hate to admit it, but unfortunately, I’m part of the problem. To be blunt, I’ve had it. I’m a great mother until about 6 p.m., but after that, watch out. My patience, good humor and energy levels are all running on empty. I’m ready for the second shift to take over, but he won’t arrive for another couple of hours.

All I want is a little peace and quiet — and to eat my dinner while it’s hot. Doesn’t sound too unreasonable does it? The kids though have an entirely different agenda. They seem to have temporarily banded together to plot their mother’s mental demise. Yelling at decibel levels that shake windows, trying out new karate moves on each other, hurling toys and books, destroying each other’s projects. … I feel as if I’m caught up in a hurricane of destruction.

Creative — and nonviolent — solutions to this wildness escape me. As if by magic, sanity returns (at least temporarily). My mission becomes clear: Feed these children by whatever means are necessary. After all, everyone knows mothers are Superwomen capable of doing impossible feats and multiple tasks all in a single bound. Being a mom, I must possess the traits necessary to handle the dreaded dinnertime. I just have to harness my “powers.”

With that in mind, I plan my strategy. First, to simplify life I attempt a novel concept — all of us eating the same meal. The fare, that ever-popular hot dog, macaroni and cheese plus vegetable combo. I’ve never been known for my culinary expertise, so at least I’m spared the gourmet chef pressure and therefore, guilt that many of my friends experience. Low standards really help at a time like this.

Next, I decide to divide and conquer. One child is banished to his room, the other downstairs and the third is made captive in her high chair, distracted and contented with a slice of cheese. So far, so good.

Time to cook

Let the cooking begin! While the water boils, the vegetables simmer, the hot dogs cook, I set the table. Son No. 2 enters the room and complains that he can’t get the laser to fit in his action figure’s hand. Without missing a beat I secure said weapon in Spiderman’s hand, and turn back to the stove. Screams from child No. 3, who has finished her cheese and is ready for her next course, interrupt once again. Luckily the vegetables are ready, so I quickly butter them, place them in a bowl and give them to the baby.

I continue to check on the progress of the remainder of the dinner, and notice that son No. 1 has snuck by me into the room of son No. 2 and has chosen this inopportune moment to take back the action figures that he had loaned his brother. A loud fight ensues. After putting the boys in time out, I begin dishing out the meal when child No. 3 decides she’s not quite desperate enough to eat these vegetables, and hurls them onto the ground.

On hands and knees, I search for and clean up the mashed sticky peas that now cover one third of the kitchen floor as my daughter decides that she is desperate for something to eat, and begins an ear-shattering wail.

The boys decide they’ve been patient enough and want their dinner NOW. Hopping to my feet, and mashing a dozen peas in the process, I dish up and bring them their dinners.

“I hate peas!” complains one.

These noodles are sticking together, Mom,” says the other, while the wailing continues from the third.

Ignoring the boys, I fix and give the baby her dinner and sit down to eat my own.

“You forgot the milk, Mom!”

“Yeah, I’m thirsty too.”

Trips to the refrigerator, glass cabinet and back to the table. Resume eating. Cease eating; wetness is seeping onto my pant’s leg. Son No. 2 has spilled his milk and is watching in mute fascination as the puddle spreads out and drips from the table onto his mother.

The rest of the meal and the massive clean up that follows, continue in basically the same unrelenting and extremely frustrating fashion.

After all this chaos and commotion, it’s hard to think of anything positive about this experience. OK, I’ll try. Well the kids are fed, they even seemed to enjoy their meal, and we all lived through the experience.

And one more thing, the best part of all — it’s over until tomorrow night.

Kathy P. Behan, a mother of three, is a nationally published freelance writer, specializing in health and family issues.