Mom Friends

Making mom friends is the worst. Seriously. The. Worst.

I am not good at making friends. When I was younger, I did not have this problem. I saw someone who was roughly my age, walked up to them and said, “I’m Jenna. We are now friends.” This worked well for me when I was six years old. This tactic does not work well for adults.

My three closest friends are wonderful and I love them dearly. However, none of them have children and none of them live close. Both are requirements for mom friends. When we moved to Minnesota, I knew I would have to make new friends and that at least fifty percent of these friendships would have to be parenting friendships. Over a year later and I have failed on friendships.

How am I supposed to go about making mom friends? Go to parks and strike up conversations with strangers? Knowing my luck I’d say something like, “Geez can you believe that one little asshole shoving the little kids down?” And it’d be his mom I’d say this too. Or I would find a friendly parent only to realize that while we are at the same park, we live 30 minutes apart. Again, this is not conducive for parenting friendships.

Of course, proximity isn’t the only requirement for finding a mom friend. I need her to have kids roughly the same age as mine so we can get together for play dates. Also, if our kids are peers it’s easier to relate, “Can you believe how hard potty training is? If diapers were cheaper I’d just let her wear them until she’s ten.” It also helps to have kids the same age so we can get our kids involved in the same activities, ensuring a backup plan in case we miss a practice or need a lift to a game.

I think the hardest part of finding mom friends, though, is the non-superficial things. Can I meet a mom and simply ask, “Do you believe in vaccinations? Do you have guns in your house? How do you discipline your kids?” All of these questions are important, extremely important, yet they aren’t something you ask complete strangers. For instance, Talan wanted to go play in our neighbor’s house yesterday and I told him no. They seem like a nice enough family but I have only met the mom once and I have no clue if there are guns/weapons in the house or how safe their house is or what kind of language is used around the children. Sometimes I feel as if I’m over protective or a helicopter mom, then I think what might happen if I am not vigilant. Is being over protective worth it if it saves my son from an accidental shooting? God yes. Is it worth it if I’m saving my family from a disease caused by a non-vaccinator? Hell yes. Still, it makes parenting and finding friends hard.

I had heard from moms in the past that finding mom friends was even harder than dating. I had no idea but they were right. Finding mom friends is even worse than dating. For one thing, you aren’t trying to find someone with just your interests but you’re trying to find someone who has your interests plus your kids’ interests. Additionally, you want someone who lives in your area and it’s a huge bonus if this person is zoned for the same schools are you.

It’s hard, harder than I ever imagined it would be. Yet still I keep trying and attempting to socialize (even though I’m horrible at it and find it painful at times) because we, as human beings, need each other. As mothers, we need each other even more. We cannot be isolated or our kids will surely drive us insane at an incredible rate. So here’s to mom friends, making them and keeping them. Good luck, it’s rough out there. 

Nightmares and Night Terrors

“HELP ME, MOMMY! HELP ME!” As my six year old son screamed this at me, hot tears streaming down his face, looking at me with helplessness on his face, my heart broke. I had never felt so utterly powerless as a mother. My son was experiencing his first night terror and I did not know what to do.

For some reason, I knew he was experiencing a night terror as opposed to a nightmare. Maybe it was three books on sleep training I had read when he was an infant or maybe I just remembered when my younger cousin had them (I had never seen her have one, only heard tales from my mom who heard from my cousin’s dad.)

The following morning, I took to Google to learn more. The website, WebMd.com offered the most useful information. According to WebMd, night terrors usually occur in children ages 3-12 (Talan is 6). The website went on to explain the different sleep stages and said that most night terrors typically occur 90 minutes after a child has fallen asleep. (This little tidbit has proven valuable as I now know to wait at least 90 minutes after Talan goes to sleep before I fall asleep since there’s no point in going to sleep only to be awoken by a screaming child.) WebMd also states that “night terrors are characterized by frequent recurrent episodes of intense crying and fear during sleep, with difficultly arousing the child. Unlike nightmares, most children do not recall a dream after a night terror episode, and they usually do not remember the episode the next morning”.

Everything I continued to read on the internet and from library books has proven that Talan did, indeed, have a night terror that first night and has continued to have them once, sometimes twice, a night. He never remembers having them or what scared him or even that he woke up. Every time he has one, he screams out for me, is crying hot tears and usually pointing on something only he can see, asking for help. A few times he has told me he “couldn’t get it” or mumbled distinct words that didn’t make sense, as if he was missing the nouns in his sentences. The end is always the same though; I walk him back to bed, tuck him in, and he rolls over to go right to sleep.

The whole episode cannot last longer than two minutes (much shorter now that we do not try to wake him or ask him what’s scaring him) and is more jarring and scarring for my husband and me than it is for him. I’m often left shaken, devastated that my son could be so terrified, and helpless, not only because I cannot help him but because I cannot stop them. According to kidshealth.org, a website devoted to children’s health, development and behaviors, a night terror is “a sleep disruption that seems similar to a nightmare, but with a far more dramatic presentation.” The website goes on to say “Though night terrors can be alarming for parents who witness them, they’re not usually cause for concern or a sign of a deeper medical issue.” Thankfully, this is, indeed, the case as Talan never remembers his night terrors. The only evidence of them is his crabbiness, which I can only assume is a result of his waking and disrupted sleep.

I am unsure how long these episodes will last. Apparently, he can keep this up for another 5 years, FIVE YEARS of fitful sleeping, on his part and mine. There’s no way I will survive, although the next year won’t be too difficult as I will be dealing with a newborn and nursing. And even though they only last for a couple of minutes now, WebMd states that some episodes can last for thirty minutes. For his sake, and mine, I hope they stay short and that he can outgrow them relatively soon. At least I can take comfort in the fact that he doesn’t know what’s going on and even though there is apparently no underlying concern or cause for them, it makes me wonder what is scaring him so badly.

I thought when he was bullied in kindergarten that I would never feel as helpless then he started having night terrors. I think it was easier to deal with the bullies as they had faces (and parents to talk to) and we could fight them together (with proper responses such as walking away, no physical altercations). Night terrors are invisible, they are a ghost that is haunting my son, and he cannot fight them and I cannot fight them for him. But the question remains, if he doesn’t remember them do they need to be fought? Do I just hold him, lead him back to bed and act as if nothing happened? Apparently, according to WebMd and the book Healthy Sleep Habits, Healthy Child by Marc Weissbluth, that is exactly what I should do. Apparently, as a mother, that’s the best thing I can do. If I didn’t feel helpless before, I sure do now. 

Becoming a SAHM

Without a doubt being a stay-at-home mom has made me a worse mom.

I was not always a SAHM. I used to work as a paraprofessional at a special needs school (meaning all of our students in the building were in need of special education). I loved my job. And I was good at my job. I felt like I was making a difference and I like to think that I was. Even though I was working with kids who tested my patience every five minutes, who made me want to scream in frustration or who literally physically harmed me, I loved going to work. And it made me a better mom.

I can say without a doubt that working where I was and with the other teachers and paras as well as the students not only made me a better mom but a better woman. Even though they tested my patience, they helped me keep my patience and learned to remain calm even when ignored for an hour or asked the same question all day long. They taught me how to see the world from a child’s perspective again and to smile at the little things and to take pleasure in every good moment because you do not know how frequent those moments will be.

I would come home from work exhausted, scratched, bitten, and, sometimes, in tears. But then I would see my kids, see their happy faces and be rejuvenated. I would play with them, laugh with them, and know that I was blessed to have these moments with them. I had been away from them all day and could not wait to hear every last detail of what they had done and accomplished while we were apart. We had a few precious hours together before they had to go to bed and we relished every second. I loved it and even though I felt a tiny bit of mother’s guilt for being away from them all day, I knew it was the best for me and for them.

Then I became a stay-at-home mom and everything changed.

If you are a parent, you know how ridiculously expensive daycare costs are, especially for newborns. Once I became pregnant, Matt and I knew that we would be unable to afford a newborn and a toddler in daycare. Unfortunately, I was unable to finish the remainder of the school year as a para as I had horrible morning sickness. May 1 began my adventure as a stay-at-home mom. And at first it was not that bad. The fact that I still did not feel well was a hindrance but I only had Lucy to take care and as far as two year olds go, she was easy (at least at that time). We would walk Talan to school every morning then pick him up at 2:45. It was great and I thought that I could easily adapt to being at home.

Then summer came and with it the end of patience. Having both kids at home, constantly, seven days a week has made me a horrible mother. I no longer cherish every moment together because I know that for the foreseeable future, every moment will be spent together. I no longer have patience for my children or their constant bickering or their constant questions or their loud voices or backtalk. Instead of running towards my kids to embrace, I’m (metaphorically) running away from them and hoping they turn towards their dad instead.

I’m sure not all stay-at-home moms are like me. I’m sure there are women (and men) out there who love staying home with their children. They love being there for every milestone and hiccup. They love being able to attend all of their kids’ activities and to volunteer whenever necessary. I, however, am not one of those parents.

I need to get out of the house every morning. I need adult interaction. I need to have conversations that revolve around politics, the environment and actual news as opposed to conversations dealing with Daniel Tiger and Sophia the First. I need a purpose other than changing my daughter’s diaper and listening to my son explain The Avengers to me.

Don’t get me wrong, I love and adore my children. I would do anything for them and I truly admire parents who chose to stay at home and care for them without going insane. The thing for me is, it was not a choice. I was forced into staying at home. I would love to be able to afford to stay at home and only work on a part-time basis or a volunteer basis but I would still send my kids to daycare. Lucy loved her daycare and still asks if she can go back. The interaction with her peers did wonders for her and her attitude. She learned more at her Montessori preschool then I have or will be able to teach her. She did well being away from me for eight hours every day. It was good for both of us as we each had more patience for the other.

Every time I hear myself yell at my kids or feel my sanity run away, I envy working parents. I envy them their chance to escape from imaginary play, boogers, “why”s, and the lot. I envy them their chance to be excited when they see their kids at the end of the day and have their kids be excited to see them.

My hope is that things will be better when Talan goes to first grade this Fall. That will give me roughly three and a half months with Lucy before the baby comes. Then, once again, all Hell will surely break loose.