Oh, But I Do Work

Okay so I’ve been on both sides of the mommy spectrum, and I honestly can’t say which I totally prefer. There are good and bad aspects of each. Well, maybe not necessarily good and bad, depending on who you are, but there are definite pros and cons, in my opinion.

It amazes me how so many women, even fellow mothers, judge one another based on whether they work or stay at home. I’ll admit I’ve been one of those moms, so I’m certainly not throwing stones. As a working mother, I wondered what stay-at-home moms did. Being that I worked 8 or more hours a day, came home to make dinner, gave showers,  kept our bills paid, and cleaned the house on the weekends,  I wondered what stay-at-home moms did. While some of us were working and helping our husbands support our families, others were at home kicking their feet up, eating Bon-Bons and painting their toe nails. Yah, I know… a very biased way of thinking, right?

However, once I was laid off, I was not given the option to work or stay home; I was kinda just thrown into it head first. It’s then I realized being a stay-at-home mom is hard work. I couldn’t imagine being home all day and the house being a mess, so I was constantly cleaning the house, maintained my no-dishes-in-the-sink rule, ensured my family got three hearty meals a day, completely potty-trained my two-and-a-half –year-old in my first two weeks  at home (NO easy task), took two mile walks every morning to look good for my husband, and made sure I didn’t look frumpy when he got home from work.

After all that and more took its toll on me, I focused on the important things: spending time with my children, keeping dishes out of my sink, teaching my children the alphabet, numbers, and fun nursery rhymes. I now maintain my house to the best of my ability, being that as I clean each area, there’s a three-year-old with a mission to ensure I need to clean it again within an hour. I have a cleaning schedule.  I try to make at least one new meal a week, do some baking, incorporate more healthy foods into our diet, ensure our bills get paid on time, seek new ways to keep us from drowning in debt, etc. In essence, I am a teacher, a housekeeper, chef, a baker, a nutritionist, an accountant, and an innovator. So despite what others say, I DO work. I just get paid in hugs, kisses, and kind words. Often, my work goes unnoticed or unappreciated, but because I love my family, though I complain at times, I’d have it no other way.

However, not all of us were cut out to be stay-at-home moms. Just because I have now adjusted to it doesn’t mean I look down on working mothers. In fact, even a year into it, I was still kicking and screaming; I absolutely disliked being at home, until I had an opportunity to be part of my children’s academic progress, hear them say how much they loved me randomly on a daily basis and gave me the best hugs ever for making their favorite breakfast/lunch, etc.  Working in an office?  Been there, done that, and I enjoyed it. The only thing I missed and still do is a lot of my children’s firsts which I had to hear about second-hand. While assisting other people’s children and families, my children were being cared for by someone else, but I was okay with it…for a little while. We needed the money, so I was doing what I had to do at that time. In one way or the other, as long as you’re not neglecting your children or being lazy, be proud of being a mom in whatever capacity you are able. We all work.

My Innocent Obsession

Lately, I’ve been noticing how my obsession with getting fit again is affecting my children. It started with my daughter, the youngest and only child at home with me as of this new school year. Every mid-week morning, after dropping her brothers off at school, our routine is pretty simple and consistent. I make our shake, which consists of spinach, banana, strawberries and/or raspberries, sometimes Greek nonfat, plain yogurt, a little cinnamon, and a dash of vanilla extract from time-to-time. Right after, I pull out the iPad, find our favorite instructors and do 10 – 30 minutes of Pilates or Zumba. After that, I shower while she works on her learning apps. 

One day, this schedule changed. We returned home, I told her to go ahead with her learning and I headed to my room to prepare to shower. She looked at me like I had lost my mind. “Well, go on,” I encouraged her. Still she stood, looking at me. “What?” I asked.

“Mommy, how about our shake? It’s not learning time yet.”

I tried to explain to her that I had an appointment, and we needed to head out earlier than usual, so we’d have to skip our shake.

“But…but we didn’t work out yet. We can’t go anywhere.”

I was getting agitated, as my little workout buddy wasn’t getting the drift that I was in a hurry to get on so I could make my appointment. I sighed and explained that some days, things come up and we have to be flexible. She then asked if we would be having our shakes when we returned and working out then as well. I further explained that we might be out until her brother was out from school, so for the day, we would have to forgo our usual routine.

“But, mama, you said drinking our shake helps our tummy so we can poop, and pooping is good; that’s what Aunty Sarah say(s).”

I knew there was no winning, so I rolled my eyes, shook my head, and went on about my business. Then, a few weeks later, I was making dinner and overheard my children talking. My oldest said, “Yah, she’s a fat little girl.” Taken aback, I stopped stirring the soup I was making and asked to whom he was referring. He rattled something about one of her past teachers and how his brother had said he could not be a teacher like her, because she’s a woman and he’s a boy. I stopped him there and asked who he was referring to as “a fat little girl”.

“Mrs. ----” he replied, not batting an eye.

“Excuse me, we don’t call people fat! That is so rude! How do you think she would feel if she heard you talk about her like that?”

“I don’t know, but she is…fat, Mommy. I’m not lying.”

A discussion followed in which he stated that when I look at my belly, I refer to it as fat, and that that particular teacher had “a really fat belly”. I knew right then that I had just walked into a trap of my own making. I simply asked that he to be more considerate when referring to people and asked him if he thought she was a good teacher. “My favorite!” was his response, so I asked him to focus on that aspect of her instead, and “Okay!” was his simple response.

I thought we’d moved on, but about two weeks later, as I was washing dishes from breakfast, I heard my oldest son sighing and huffing, so I asked him what was wrong.

“Mommy, I don’t work out; that’s why my leg is so fat,” he sighed, bent over touching his calf area. “You told Daddy he should work out because his leg was fat.”

Apparently, he had missed the whole first part of the conversation, in which I was encouraging my husband to try to make some time, even if just twice a week, to take walks or walk on the treadmill, to get in some exercise. My husband’s response, which he must have only caught the tail-end of was: “Why would I do those? Don’t you want me to work more on my abs and arms? My legs are fine. They don’t need the workout as much as my arms. Or, are you saying if I don’t work out my legs they’ll be fat?” We laughed over it, not knowing we had an eavesdropper. Either way, I had to reassure my son that his legs were just fine, and that I really like his daddy’s legs.

Now, I have to hide when weighing myself in the mornings, because all three children want to know how much they weigh, too. Sigh. They know our homemade pizza is going to have spinach and tomatoes on it. They know they won’t win an argument about putting cream cheese icing on their cinnamon rolls. They long ago lost the battle over whether or not spinach had to be added to their morning shakes, and after many weeks of complaints, they request the shakes now. They know when I’m running up and down the stairs for exercise, I do not like to be blocked or interrupted. They know every breakfast contains some kind of fruit and lunch and dinner contains some kind of vegetable.

I really like that I’m instilling great habits in them, but at the same time, I realize that in my attempt to look and feel better, they are watching more closely than I’d like. My complaint over the 0.6 lbs I gained since Monday but eventually lose by Thursday doesn’t go unheard. I found my whining moments to my husband over my failed attempts to lose excess skin from my last pregnancy were a cause for a concern with them when my youngest two asked, on different occasions: “Mommy, do you want me to pray for your tummy? Maybe Jesus can take it away.”

Sigh…I guess I just need to learn the importance of balance, watching my words, and being committed without the obsession.

My Ailment

I have a problem, an ailment perhaps. Those closest to me may know of it, but those who aren’t around me much may be unaware that it is an issue I struggle with much more often than I’d care to admit. After being hurt several times in my life and having people judge me, often for matters beyond my control, I developed tough skin. My motto has been “man up,” for the last several years.

I made it my business to share the truth, unapologetically, even if it hurt others. I figured if others felt so compelled to have input in my life, I ought to be able to reciprocate. If others felt the need to make up stories about me, I figured I’d make it my duty to not to do so. I would be sure that anything I said about someone in their absence, I could say in their presence, if they ever asked. I could be embarrassed to do so, depending on how sensitive the individual may be about the issue. However, I’d run into situations  where people said things about me, whether true or untrue,  and then weren’t forthcoming when it came time to own up to them.  

With time, this truth-telling became an issue. I felt it necessary to tell those around me how bothered I was by the way they talked, walked, etc. As long as others were talking about it, it was my duty to bring it to their attention, so it was no longer gossip. I guess subconsciously, I had convinced myself I was some kind of emotional Robin Hood. I took what others had spoken in the dark, or speculated about, and took it to the source, or the person it affected. Unfortunately, I became the bad guy, the culprit. I was blamed for the things being said, rather than for bringing it to their attention.

As time went on, my speaking the truth started to change from being ‘in love’ to just talking without thinking. I figured that as long as it was the truth, it simply had to be said. Seldom do I get offended, so I figured if I didn’t think it was anything I would get offended about, then the hearer shouldn’t get offended either. Out of concern, my brothers and husband explained that just because I didn’t think something was hurtful didn’t mean it wasn’t. My response tended to be, “Ehn…that sucks. People shouldn’t be so sensitive; they just need to man up.”

Over the years, I named this issue of mine ‘diarrhea of the mouth’, being that it’s the term my dad has always used to describe when someone continually speaks without thinking, since that’s what my brothers said I was doing. When people complained about it, I chucked it up to my DOM. Now, it’s become part and parcel of me. It’s like something I can’t shake. It’s like that friend or family member everyone knows to be mean or angry, so when they respond angrily, people just say, “Oh, that’s just so-and-so; he/she is just like that.”

Two weeks ago, at church, I heard a message that had me thinking real hard. It was about how we are accountable for our words. The gentleman who spoke that day stated that we, being spirits, are to speak the words of life to others. We were encouraged to change situations by our words, not worsen them.  I got a check in my spirit, so when I read Matthew 12:34 – 37, it really hit home. Now, I’m set on changing, even though I know it will require me being purposeful about my actions and words. I’m pretty sure that I’ve heard that those in AA are told that admission is the first step to recovery. Well, that’s my admission, and now that it’s been openly admitted, I have others to whom I am accountable. 

Healthier with Little or No Sacrifice

Over the last several months, I’ve been on a mission to ensure my family eats healthier, exercises, and uses our brain cells more. So, my resolution this year was to find various ways to achieve all of the above. First, I had to start with myself. I mean, how else do you advise or teach others something is good for them, unless you do it yourself, right?

Well, so I began with exercise. I started off working out, at home, three to four mornings a week, for only 10 – 15 mins at a time. (I have children who require micro-managing.) I asked around and two of my friends, Candice M and Janine, who have multiple children, like me, and amazing bodies (unlike me) suggested pilates. I’ve been on a pilates kick since and LOVING it!

Next was changing our diet. If anyone knows a Nigerian, you know we like to eat good food, so no bland or grainy nasty stuff for us! So, how to incorporate my love for spicy, tasty food into this new lifestyle of ours was going to be a trip. I mean, I’d seen recipes online that people swear by but look like terd. (Sorry, but that’s what it looked like to me.) The recipes contained little or no salt, and in the case of sweets, no sugar. Uhhh…not so appealing. So, I turned to my friend, Meghan, on a play date and inquired about her diet. She gave me some tips, and I’ve been running with them since!

My children LOVE homemade chicken tenders. We’ve attempted fast food with them on days we’re in a hurry, and they’ve not eaten anything but the French fries or food from Chick-fil-A. So, I decided to find a healthier alternative to my usual fried or greasily baked tenders. That’s when I found the following (http://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/tender-chicken-nuggets-2), which is a new favorite.

Last week, I made lentils for the first time, after trying my friend’s (Grace Olakonu), and it looked umm…interesting but tasted AMAZING! Mine came out quite interesting, certainly nothing like hers, but with some personal tweaks, I was able to make the yummiest meatless tacos I’d ever had. Lentil tacos are what’s up, for real! My husband and children were asking for more, picking off the lentils that had fallen out of their hard tacos off their plates with their hands and gobbling it up.

I ran out of pasta sauce the other day and wondered if I really had to take all three children to the store to get it. After I considered the pros and cons, I decided against it and took to the internet, where I found a very easy recipe (http://www.food.com/recipe/easy-speedy-spaghetti-sauce-56260?mode=us&scaleto=4.0&st=null) that got my children wanting it for dinner on Tuesday and Wednesday with their turkey sausage.

After that great experience, I took it up another notch…homemade black beans. Since the beginning of the year, I got our family on a bean kick. We do vegetarian chili, meatless quesadillas (we used to add all kinds of stuff to ours), etc. Unfortunately, I had not considered the preservatives and poison (from the aluminum) that the canned stuff was exposing us to with all our extra consumption. So, last night, I attempted a simple recipe I found online and made just a few adjustments. OMG! This morning, I could have eaten all 6 ½ cups of the beans by myself! The children were licking their fingers, and I had at least a cup inside my one quesadilla, with less than 1/3 cup of shredded cheese. Yes, it was that good! (Try it: http://vegetarian.about.com/od/sidevegetabledishes/r/Easy-Homemade-Black-Beans.htm)

Over the years, I’ve tried ALL kinds of banana bread recipes and always had one trouble or the other – too dry, not cooked in the middle, burns way before the given cook time, etc. However, on Tuesday night, I decided to give it one more try. The recipe (http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/classic-banana-bread-10000000549764/) I found seemed real easy, so I decided to double it, and that was a good decision on my part, as I found out later. My children and I have been finding any reason – breakfast, snack, treat, dessert – to have some. It will definitely be added to my recipe rolodex. (Yes, I'm SO telling my age here.)

Being a lover of ice cream, one who had more than a serving a day throughout college, I had to find a healthier alternative. That’s when I went on a little search for simple and easy recipes, and I found homemade ice cream sandwiches (http://www.yummly.com/recipe/Low-Fat-Ice-Cream-Sandwiches-Recipezaar?columns=4&position=10%2F35), which my children and I can’t get enough of; although I use light whipped cream instead of Cool Whip. Just made some this morning for later, as well as a chocolate cake for my husband before he went to school this afternoon. Yep, chocolate cake (http://chocolatecoveredkatie.com/2011/11/06/one-minute-chocolate-cake/) that only took maybe 8 minutes to make but that got me a big kiss before he left!

My daughter and I were bored after ‘slaving’ over the cake while the boys played around and made some yummy chocolate crunch bars (http://chocolatecoveredkatie.com/2012/07/01/healthy-homemade-chocolate-crunch-bars/), so they’d be ready for dessert by lunch. I’m not a dark chocolate fan, but they were licking their fingers and didn’t even realize I had not added any sugar to it.

Well, for those who think eating healthy will be a major sacrifice, like I used to, please believe me when I say, I totally understand, but it DOESN’T have to be that way. Cooking, baking, and tinkering in the kitchen is now one of the ways I relax, de-stress, and go on a personal adventure. Have fun with it. You win some, and you lose some. Just have fun with it, and realize that with each new adjustment in diet, substitution of junk, you are making your family so much healthier.

Take it from me, kale, chia and flax seeds, almond milk, lentils, etc. were all foreign to me this time last year, but now, they are staples in our home for shakes and so much more. I have much more energy than I’ve had in a long time (and all I have for breakfast 5 – 6 times a week is a homemade vegetable and fruit shake). It’s a new world for me, so I’m still learning a lot, but I just wanted to encourage all the moms/dads and single ladies/men out there that the saying is true, practice DOES make perfect (well, or at least better). Please try something new and share!

Couldn't-Live-Without-Him in Love

I’ve been in love three times in my life. Yes, I said it…three times. Granted, two of the three times may be considered ‘young’ love, so they may be discounted. My first love was before I was twenty-one, and the other for three years before twenty-five. I know there are those who may roll their eyes, yawn, or raise an eyebrow at the possibility of anyone knowing what love really is before a particular age, but I’m telling you, I was head-over-heels, heart-skipped-a-beat, couldn’t- live-without-him in love each time.

Being raised in a Christian home, I understood the importance of being “equally yoked”, but in the earlier instances, knowing about Jesus and believing in God sufficed. After all, he loved me, I loved him, and we were talking about our future together. I had a dream that we were happy together and had two beautiful boys, Michael and Gabriel. I could see their features…one was fair and the other dark. They were such happy little boys. This had to be it. He had to be “the one”.

As the years passed by, I realized he may never become the person I knew he had the potential to be. He was a great guy, but he was not great for me. We clashed on several beliefs. He was much more liberal, and I was too conservative for him. In order for us to have a future together, we would have to compromise who we were, and I would have to neglect my values. I was unwilling to do that, and although he initially stated understanding and loving me enough to consider my beliefs, three and a half years later, it was obvious we were trying to change one another. His liberal ways had me asking myself if he really cared for me the way I cared for him. We were at a crossroad, and I decided that rather than hurt anymore, it was best to part ways. For days, I listened to Brandy’s “Have You Ever” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UrNb397wS-A) and wept. How could love, or doing the right thing, hurt so bad?

I was certain I could never love so hard again. I moped around when I saw other couples holding hands, sneaking kisses, and/or on dates. There I was, alone, or the third wheel. I was a simple on-looker, someone a girlfriend could ask to follow to the movies because her boyfriend was unavailable, or the pitied friend. Needless to say, that got old fast.

Just when at my wit’s end…I met him…at work. He was amazing! The first real-life Caucasian guy that had ever really caught my eye. He was a Christian, bursting with joy, and an energy that made me want to get to know him. My heart skipped a beat the first day he called me “Sunshine”. I was on Cloud 9 for days. We spoke for long periods of time; we really hit it off, and he was serious about his relationship with Christ. He HAD to be “the one”. Before long, he announced he was leaving our place of employment and I was distraught. I wrote him a very long note and handed it to him on his last day. I shared how broken I felt prior to meeting him and how happy I was anytime he was around. I even included my phone number, in case he wanted to keep in touch. Only a few days passed before he called me.

We spent lots of time on the phone, hung out quite a few times with friends and then started hanging out alone from time-to-time, sharing our dreams. His was nothing like mine. We were polar opposites in terms of what we envisioned for our future. He had no education, while I was finishing up my Bachelors of Arts. I was willing, this time, to compromise. After all, he loved Jesus…I loved Jesus…what would it matter if I would have to put off child-bearing until a bit later than I wanted? So what if none of my loved ones considered his line-of-work, or lack thereof, childish or short-sighted? 

By this time, whether out of desperation, or determination, I’m still not quite sure… since I knew which church he went to, after much thought and prayer, I left my childhood church and started going to the mega-church he attended. Two years in and I was in love. I longed to run into him at church, even if it meant orchestrating our ‘bumping into one another’ with my friend, Grace. He introduced me to his friends, and I introduced him to my closest friends and sister.

I would say things like, “Lord, if I see him at El Pollo Loco on 7^th St, then I’ll know he’s my future husband.” Or, “if I see him at Walgreens, I’ll know for sure he’s the one.” Funnily, even though we no longer worked together, and I lived on the opposite side of town, I would run into him on the way, or at the actual place I was going. (Granted, he lived about 10 minutes from my workplace, but what were the odds?!?) By year three, even after my mom’s insight and objection, I was still certain that even though we were not ‘official’ or anything, things were heading that way. The day he called and asked to meet up the following evening, I was certain that was going to be the moment I’d waited for so long. All the ladies at work advised me on what to wear and wished me luck as I rushed from Mesa to North Phoenix to meet the man of my dreams and say, “yes” when he asked me to be his girlfriend, or to court me.

It was raining, so we had to meet elsewhere. My heart beat fast the whole time. I was waiting anxiously for that moment, and then he said, “The reason I called you here today, Esther…” and the more he spoke, the deeper my heart sank. I was crushed as I heard about another woman he had drawn close to, who did not live in the country, was several years older than him, but he was certain their paths had crossed for a reason, and he intended to propose to her. He patronized me, telling me what a “great girl” I was, and how if we’d met under different circumstances…blah…blah…blah. I just wanted to run out of the restaurant and drown in the tears that I held back on purpose. I was not going to give him the satisfaction to see me cry. That night, and for many nights, I wept bitterly. How could yet another man hurt me like that? THREE years I’d given to get to know him. Why did God allow it? That was it. I was SO done with men. Christian or not, they were just out to gently hold, toss, then stomp on my heart. That was my conclusion.

So, when in November 2003, I was told this guy from our church's inner-city bus ministry liked me, I was stand-offish. I was there to serve the needy and broken. I was there to lose sight of my hurt, to give others hope. I was there to get over my pain by pouring into others. In fact, I arrived every Saturday morning, in sweats and my hair pulled back. I had NO interest in man-hunting, or being hunted. This was just bad news to me, so I attempted to shut it down quickly.

I met with the gentleman, as requested, and informed him that I still was not over the guy I’d liked for a long time and was in no place to date or get to know anyone at that time. He seemed understanding but pursued me hard. He requested my phone number, and I obliged, of course with my eyes rolling, upset that he didn’t get the point. After a few phone calls, I asked to meet with him in person, at which time, I informed him that he already had five strikes against him, so nothing would come out of whatever “this” was. Taken aback, he asked what these “strikes” were. I said: 

1.)    I don’t like your hair color; it makes you look old. You might want to change it back to whatever color it used to be.

2.)    You’re short. I’m pretty sure the man I’m going to marry is going to be taller than me, and you aren’t.

3.)    You’re not my type. Athletically… you’re a bit chubbier than my ideal type.

4.)    You have little education and don’t seem to have any major future goals.

5.)    And you live with your mom…ummm…no!

I figured if he didn’t get my drift by now, something must truly be wrong with him. After all, I laid it straight, and I had no regrets. I was tired of men just thinking I was a toy to be played with, and homeboy was nothing like any of the guys I’d ever liked, so he could go on his merry way on to some other girl who would gladly accept his interest to get to know her more.

Somehow, some way, this man with “five strikes” stood his ground, kept calling, kept coming around, took my insults, and pursued me whole-heartedly. April 3, 2004, on my 25^th birthday, I said, “yes” to his marriage proposal, and on December 18, I said, “I do”. As you can see, somehow, this man was nothing like the man I had envisioned for myself, but even to this day, I find out each day that he is EXACTLY what I need in a life-long partner in life. We may still disagree on what I remember as the fourth strike, but through our ups and downs, I’ve still got a can’t-live-without-him kinda love. I’m forever grateful to the greatest Matchmaker out there, Jesus Christ, who took my hurt, brokenness, heartache, and made something beautiful out of them. Looking back at my ‘list’ many years later, I realized my husband is everything on it, just in a very different package than I had anticipated.

Jesus Didn't Talk

The last few months have been quite interesting, in terms of the things I’m learning about myself and my faith level. Yesterday, I think I got a punch in the stomach during a conversation with my then two-year-old daughter. As we walked around outside a hospital, she asked various questions: “Mommy, why that lady walking like that?” “Why that car over there?” Then, she stopped dead in her tracks, looked up, tugged my arm and pointed, “Mommy, Jesus up there? He live up up there?”

“Yes, mama, He does,” I replied.

She waved then frowned. I asked her what was wrong, and she replied, “I don’t see Him.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Jesus. I say ‘hi’ to Him, and He didn’t talk.”

I was stuck. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I said, “Oh, there! He’s giving up the thumbs up, mama! See?”

“No, Mommy. I can’t see it.”

“Up there,” I said, pointing to the sky.

As we looked, trying different angles, and being blinded by the sun, she gave up and asked to go inside. The sad look on her face made my heart sink as she grabbed my hand and we headed inside, to get out of the heat.

I felt awful about what I’d done. I’d worsened things. At least all it was before was that He didn’t speak to her. I thought I’d somehow ruined her faith, by egging her on, encouraging her to look for Jesus…God in the sky. I spent most of the morning pondering…trying to figure out how to rectify the situation.

That evening, as the children scurried upstairs to the loft, I heard one of the boys screaming and crying. When I got there, my little girl was standing over him, eyes closed, and I heard, “…And Jesus…for my brudder…his leg has a hurt. You gonna make it all better. Amen.”

At that moment, I felt a flood of emotions. I was elated, relieved, contented. My baby had just demonstrated Matthew 18:3 - And he said: "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

Her childlike faith, despite not seeing or hearing Jesus, was still strong. She believed this God that she could neither see nor hear was capable of making her brother well. As a “seasoned” Christian, one would think I could understand this, but I was puzzled, even a tad frustrated. How was it that she got it and as long as I’ve been a Christian, I still have struggles with my faith from time-to-time? I’ve “tasted and seen that the Lord is good,” yet, I still waver in faith sometimes. Sigh…I’m the mom, yet, I’m indirectly growing in faith by my child’s example. While “Jesus didn’t talk” to her, He spoke loud and clear to me.

Where Is Her Vagina?

Okay, so when I envisioned parenting, I saw myself and my children twirling in the park, throwing stacks of leaves in the air above our heads, digging in mud piles and finding worms, making spit bubbles and popping them, and so many other fun things. Umm…yah…no, that was SO NOT me!

However, I figured as a parent, I would have answers to most, if not all, of my children’s questions. I figured I, for once in my life, would be one of the wisest people in somebody’s life. Unfortunately, I was not prepared for my very inquisitive children. I didn’t imagine children who inquire about why puppy dogs poop on the “ploor”, rather than “by himself in the toilet”. Neither did I plan on answering questions regarding how and why it was sunny outside “and we can go to the park yesterday “ but “it’s so rainy we can’t go outside today”.

The more questions my children ask, the more inclined I have been to design a dunce hat for myself and explain that anytime mommy has it on, she does not know the answer to that question.

I mean, as young as 18 months, we have tried to teach our children the proper words for body parts. After all, I was not given the straight facts about certain things as I grew up, so by the time I was sat down for certain candid talks, I was already too aware to feel comfortable hearing any of such words uttered from my parents’ lips. GROSS!

To curb such uncomfortable moments on both sides, we’ve taught our children that “nobody touches your booty”, “nobody touches your penis/vagina”, and that they should let us know if and when anyone does. This has been quite the lesson, as our daughter, at age two, is very willing to share and says things like, “ALL the boys touching my bagina, Mommy!” I go into panic mode asking which boys and when. She starts saying their names, none of which I recognize, and when I ask how she knows these boys, she points at a picture of all the children of the world Jesus loves on her bedroom wall. As I roll my eyes and walk away, I feel defeated, believing I’m only confusing them the more.

Then, of course, being that the younger two are home together most of the time, they always seem to  need to use the restroom at the same time and go together. From time-to-time, I hear, “Where is her penis, Mommy? Is she going to get one when she gets big?”

Then, there’s the embarrassing moment when we are out and about and my daughter shrieks, “Mommy, my penis hurts”, while holding herself. I glare at her, and rather than stop, she ‘corrects’ herself and states, “I mean, my booty-bagina hurts”.

Just when I think I have one successful child in the area of this body part learning adventure, my five-year-old, who is now conscious of the fact that he is getting older and needs to have the door closed when using the restroom, asks questions like, “Mommy, when I grow up, is my penis going to be big like a man?” and questions regarding hair that I am not going to share. (Sigh…)

As a new parent, I was not informed that one day, my brain would hurt simply trying to make sense of and explain so many things I know as facts but have never considered making inquiries about, at least not out loud.

Am I alone here? Or, does anyone else’s daughter wonder when her bagina will start bleeding or if she too can wear a pantiliner? Or, “Mommy, why is my baby not eating my nipple like Aunty …’s baby”?

This is one area of life I do not believe I am fully equipped for, but it is interesting all the same. It goes to show how innocent these little beings are and how much they watch our every move and take mental notes of things we say. I often feel I have to censor myself when talking to or interacting with my husband, because they ask so many questions.

 “Mommy, are you daddy’s baby?” “Then, why does he call you ‘baby’? You’re a mommy!”

“Hey, Daddy, no touching Mommy’s booty; that’s not appropriate!”

“No holding hands, guys; Mommy say we have to keep our hands to ourself!”

Don’t Be Afraid to Say, “I Don’t.”

I guess after being married eight years and getting past the hump of the first seven years of marriage, or the ‘seven-year itch’, there is something to be said for perseverance, patience, and good communication. Some may ask, “How about love? You didn’t mention love.” Well, that’s the thing…after walking in my shoes for the last nine years of a relationship that is still growing, I’m finding that love is the absolute foundation. However, if we are not persevering (pushing past the occasional hurtful word or feelings of being taken for granted), patient, or communicating well with our spouses, what may have seemed sufficient to keep our relationships going in the beginning may not seem enough to keep us moving along on the endless journey that keeps us bound to another human being “until death do us part”.

When we’re dating/courting, we can’t imagine living a day without that special person in our lives, we’re on Cloud 9. Nothing anyone says or does can bother us, as long as that special person is just a phone call away, still loving and missing us. Sometimes we lose all sense of who we are, transforming for the better (or worse), in order to accommodate this person and his/her ways of life. Family members may be perplexed by these changes and may even voice them, concerned that we are becoming someone so far from the person they know that they can hardly relate to us anymore. Friends who considered themselves close may notice our distance or lack of time or thought for anything or anyone but this person. We seldom realize how consumed we are, or have been, until long after we’ve said, “I do”.

The thing is so many of us notice that something has changed, that we have changed; however, we feel we’re making compromises in the name of love. I believe that if this person is making us a better person (encouraging us to mend relationships, forgive, quit cursing, be more spiritually or financially accountable, etc.), people will definitely notice such changes and embrace the relationship, because that person is sharpening us, the person our families and friends know and love. In some cases though, we end up compromising where we never have before (trying drugs, drinking, engaging in pre-marital sex, etc.).

Sometimes even after we are well aware of negative changes, we think we’re too far gone or have invested too much time in the relationship to go back to being single. The sad thing we seldom realize is that things only escalate once we get married. If the person could affect our lives prior to marriage, it is inevitable that will only continue after marriage, which will only strain any of our other remaining relationships. We need to stop in our tracks, re-evaluate things, listen to the voices around us. We need to ask ourselves, “Why are they saying these things? If they didn’t care, would they even bother?”

Nowadays, people divorce over just about anything. Some can’t agree on financial decisions, how to raise their children, how best to spend their time, which religion will be the family religion, whether to have an open or closed marriage, etc. Yes, these are things most of us would believe best discussed prior to marriage, but unfortunately, under the cloud of ‘love’, we often fail to consider the most logical things. There is SO much to learn about one another, discuss, and agree upon PRIOR to marriage. There’s time; we must use it wisely, rather than kissy-facing. If at any point, we find that what the person likes/dislikes is something we cannot live with/without for the rest of our lives, it may be time to hit the brakes. If there is something he/she does that we just can’t stand or put up with, whether we consider it annoying or against our morals, or whatever the case may be, such things only tend to be magnified in marriage, as they will become issues we will have to live with on a daily basis.

Don’t make the poor assumption that marriage will change him/her. There are definitely warning signs that WE make the decision to either address or ignore. Unfortunately, they tend to be most glaring to   those on the outside looking in, rather than we, the individuals walking into the ‘pit’. Even if we think we’ll be giving up on “the best thing that’s ever happened to me”, a delay in proposing, setting a date, or a longer engagement may be preferable in the long run than making it to the altar unprepared for your future together. Or, even if it’s at the altar that reality smacks you in the face, it’s not too late to reconsider. It’s better that late than to enter a marriage inevitable to end in divorce or endured in misery and unhappiness, possibly including children.