Motherhood Surprises: Bond of Brothers

There are lots of things no one bothers to tell you when you are becoming a mother.  I have a litany of unpleasant little facts of pregnancy and infancy that my friends appear to have forgotten to mention.  But there are also wonderful surprises.  One of those for me was watching my children fall in love with each other. 

My two boys are born on the same day in February four years apart.  I remember going into labor with my second pregnancy in the evening.  I told my basketball coach husband to go ahead and finish his game.  I thought I had time.  When he came home, I wasn’t so sure so we sped to the hospital.  Our son, Damian, entered the world less than one hour into his older brother Dimitri’s fourth birthday.  He was delivered by the emergency room doctor (which incidentally did not stop my ob-gyn from billing me but that is another post).

We planned to celebrate our eldest entering his fifth year by going to the Chicago aquarium.  He loves animals of any kind, shape or form.  This aquarium is a rare treat of all types of spectacular aquatic life from around the globe.  But obviously that wasn’t happening now.  I was shocked when he took it completely in stride.  He said happily when told, “I got the best present ever -- a little brother!!” 

I thought back to our ultra-sound experience.  He was convinced at that time he would have a sister.  He liked the symmetry of two boys (him and dad) and two girls (the new little one and me).  When the tech announced the sex as another boy, she was shocked by a long wailing “NO-O-O” emitted from this same son.  “Wow, you have gotten your head in a completely different place,” I thought.  But I was also amazed at how thrilled he was with this new addition to the family.

We did take them both to the aquarium when Damian was about 3 months old.  Dimitri wanted his baby brother to see his favorite sea creatures.  He picked out a fun stuffed shark souvenir for his brother to “remember” the visit.

During those early years, Dimitri would on occasion refer to Damian as “Me and Mommy’s baby.” He had no jealousy but took his responsibility to help Mommy with the baby very seriously.  Seeing him hold his infant brother back then and want to take care of him warmed my heart.   His love of me and his father, for some reason, I expected. This outpouring of love for a little one who stole his birthday and could not express those feeling back touched me to my core.  They are pictured below in those early days.

I have to remind myself of those wonderful moments sometimes now that they are older and fight more than they get a long, it seems.  But I know the bond is still strong.  An effective punishment for either is that they cannot spend time together.  

To: Superhero Mom

"Mom Rap"

Hey, you’re the best mom, and
no one can do your job, like you.
When they try, you just say,
“No, I’m the best.”
And they go shoo, but there
should be more focus on you,
for all the hard work you do.

I have one son that is best described as a enigma wrapped in a conundrum. He has trouble with many simple things like tying his shoes or not spilling his lunch down his shirt. But he can do complex math and reads well beyond his grade level. He often loses himself in books and in his imagination - a bit like you see in this picture.

He also is moved by music. He can memorize entire songs including the accent of the singer. He is partial to songs that tells a story with distinctive rhythms. He also enjoys including lots of enthusiastic hand motions. Audience is optional.

Although a chatty child by nature, he struggles to express himself verbally when he feel deeply about something. In those instances, he will write. I have found notes he wrote not directed to anyone. I am not sure but they appear to be his attempt to voice what is going on in his head where his oral abilities fail him.

One time, he walked over to where I was working at my desk. He put a folded 8 1/2 x 11 sheet of paper on my desk next to my laptop and walked away. I picked it up to see what it was. The front of the sheet said, “To: Superhero Mom.” I opened it and inside was the “Mom Rap” above. As I folded the sheet after reading, I saw his self confident closing on the back side – “From: Awesome Son.”

I may not always understand him but it appears he understands a bit about me. I felt my heart swell and my eyes fill. What he wrote included themes us working moms could do well to remember:
1. You are a Superhero to your kids
2. You are the best
3. No one can do the job like you
4. You should give yourself credit
5. You should be acknowledged
6. What you do is hard work

Here is to you “Superhero Moms” out there! This Mom Rap is shared and dedicated to you all. From: your Awesome Kids.

Just Start

There are things I learned over the years I wish I had appreciated earlier. One of those is to “just start.” It sounds deceptively simple. But it is hard. I am generally a perfectionist and want to do it well. I wait for the right moment or enough time – both are generally concepts rather than reality in my life. Motherhood provided a good example the power of just starting. As I blogged about previously, I did try to wait for "the right time" there too.

Before I became a mom, I was working as an associate at a large Chicago law firm. I was judged in large part on my billable hours. I was also relatively newly married. I never felt there were sufficient hours in the day to accomplish what was expected at work and spend quality time with my husband. About three years into that job, I had my first son. Then out of pure, unadulterated necessity (presented in the package of my precious baby boy), I no choice but to find minutes and hours that didn’t exist before to be the mom I wanted to be. I needed to be proactive to make it happen. I requested a flexible work arrangement. I found ways to be much more efficient and brutally prioritize how I spent my time.

But I realized at some point the previously impossible had become doable (at least most days). Other smaller choices I made followed this same path. I loved to write when I was growing up. I had grandiose ideas for science fiction books. I would plan out all the chapters. However, I abandoned creative writing once I headed off to college. I had in the back of my mind “some day I will still write a book.” I really didn’t think I could write for myself on top of my work and now three kids. But adopting our daughter from Ethiopia truly moved me and I wanted to give back. So one day, I followed a compulsion to start to pay it forward and wrote my first blog.  It was around her first Halloween with us. Pictured is my inspiration to “just start” writing. I found the experience and response immensely satisfying, Over the past few years, I expanded into more blogs and a column.

 

I constantly experiment to find when I am most creative so the words flow out with minimal effort. The act of putting thoughts into a concrete form helps me sort through and understand issues otherwise swirling around in my head. I can’t do it as frequently as I want and it is not the same as penning a best seller . . .but it is good and it is enough for now. I constantly need to remind myself of my successes each time my mind says, "But you don’t have time . . "

If I have passion about the effort, there is a way. And I found doing so provides unexpected fringe benefits. Blogging helped me as a mother examine my chosen path, find enjoyment in more of the little moments, and better connect and understand my kids. I draft professional documents in my current role so resuming creative writing (with help from good editors) and reading lots of others writing beefed up my skills. I can now write better and faster.

For me, the biggest hurdle was getting over my own, self imposed, mental obstacles. Each time I do it, I find success. I still need to pace myself and set realistic expectations. But once I start, I know I am on my way and the excitement propels me forward. It's akin to the feeling I had when I first rode a bike and my dad let go. “Wow - I am doing it!!!” And I wanted nothing more than to keep going.

Hug Me Like You Are Happy With Me!

My eldest made me a mom and opened my eyes in so many ways since. My youngest is constantly reminding me of a number of the things I first learned with her brothers.  They are pictured below sharing a special moment a few holidays back.

I remember a difficult  daycare drop off with her one Friday when she was three. I tried all my usual tricks to settle in her peacefully. I let her visit the baby room (she is a baby freak) and say hello to the little chubby cherubs who beam when she steps in the room. We stopped by the bathroom to “go potty” when I was pretty sure there was no biological need. I gave her many, many “huggies.” She just didn’t want me to go. I reminded her she was a big girl. And we practiced her telling me, “Have a good day at work, mommy.” Normally, she does just that and my day starts with the sense my life is in order. But not this day. . .   I finally ran out of time and creativity. I walked to my car with the sound of her sorrowful wailing (Ma-a-a-a-a Ma-a-a-a-a-!!) ringing in my ears.  

As I drove off with a knot in the pit of my stomach, I recalled the times I felt that way when my boys were younger. There were days when they wanted mom to stay and I couldn’t. I remember questioning my decision to work and whether I was doing right by my precious children.  I can still see the picture in my mind’s eye of my eldest’s beautiful tear stained little face pressed up against his daycare window pane crying for me one of those times.

As my boys grow, their need for mom to be there doesn’t look quite the same. I get requests to come to school presentations and sporting events. They ask for help with homework or affirmation after a tough day at school.  Or some times they just want me to listen. Later that same week as my teenager was sharing his views, he said something that made me feel bad. I stopped him. His usual fun loving, animated face disappeared and was replaced with an anxious, sad look.   I watched as what I said to him sunk in. His shoulders drooped. He remained quiet for a moment or two. 

He then said, “Gimme a hug, Mom!” I said, “Wait a minute.  . . let me get this straight. You made me feel bad. When I told you, you felt bad. And now you want me to make you feel better.” He said without hesitation, “Exactly! That’s what moms do.”    I wrapped my arms around him. But apparently my embrace reflected traces of the feelings he stirred up. He added a qualifier, “Hug me like you are happy with me.”  Whatever bitterness remained melted as I was reminded I had a then fourteen year old who still needed his mom (although not expressed in front of his peers). And he gives me so many reasons to laugh and to learn. 

I can’t make it right for each of my kids every day.   I hate that but I know I need to accept it. But the times I can I cherish. And reminding myself of those, and watch them grow into their uniqueness, helps me survive when I can’t. 

My Date With Harry Potter -- Fulfilling Promises and Resolutions

A couple years back, I saw an email come through at work from my boss’s assistant . They had some free tickets to the Harry Potter Exhibit. I hit reply instantly and requested two.   Good thing I was fast on the trigger finger because they were immediately snapped up. I knew my then nine year old fan would be thrilled. I read the series with my eldest son. He was about the age of the young Harry when we started the series. My second devoured the books on his own when he could read at that level. 

I went home and shared the good news. He was thrilled. Then was the matter of finding time to go. I put as one of my new year’s resolutions that year: spend more time individually with each of my kids. Easier said than done with work, school and sports activities. Weeks went by and I was afraid the passes would expire before I used them (and I felt the guilt start creeping in). 

Around the holidays, my meeting schedule is lighter. So I decided to take him to work with me since I couldn’t find a full, free day. We would go to lunch and then head to the exhibit in the afternoon.  Lunch was a success. But for a kid who loves his food, that isn’t saying much.  We then headed to the Seattle Center. Turns out the program was so popular we could only get an evening time. 

We took the opportunity to explore. We took some fun pictures together in an old fashioned photo booth. We played chess with a huge plastic set the size of my toddler. I lost. He goes to a chess class and knows much more than I do.   He enjoyed explaining to me what he had learned. And it was wonderful to be just us.

In the evening, part of me wished I didn’t have to get in the car and head back downtown. I was tired. Damian was pumped though and I couldn’t bear to disappoint him. When we arrived, he was literally bouncing with excitement as we waited in line. He walked trance like when we entered, studying each exhibit, drinking it all in. I was a bit mortified when he obliviously walked in front of people as if he was the only one there.   I honestly don’t think they registered for him.   

I loved seeing the light in his face.  He recited parts of the book and remembered little details I had long forgotten. He only showed a touch of disappointed that the “grand room” (which was movie set cut away) was not “very grand”. He chose as a memento a replicate of the wand Dumbledore used in the films. My heart skipped with his as we sprinted through the Seattle rain holding hands and trying hard not to get his new wand wet.  One mommy promise kept; one part of my resolution fulfilled.

Motherhood Benefits -- Courtesy of Facebook

Facebook gave me the opportunity, with a small time investment, to keep in touch with a wider circle of friends and family.  I enjoy seeing the photo of the day from a grade school classmate, hearing about a winning team from a colleague, and exotic vacation adventures and mishaps provided from all parts of the world.  I like sharing my writing and photos and getting the instant “like” or comments. 

I have come to learn about another side of my husband through Facebook.  His friends are many of his former colleagues and assistant coaches, former students and athletes since he has been a teacher and coach for decades.  He also connected with friends and acquaintance from his native Greece before he emigrated over 20 years back.  Since those communications are in Greek, I can only imagine what they say but it reminds me of the person he was before we met.  He uses games like Farmville and Cityville to interact with a broad variety of people.  Getting updates that my city born husband is “harvesting his crops” or “has found a pig on his farm” makes me smile.

When our then thirteen year old son asked to join Facebook, we said, “No.  All your friends live around us.  You can call them up or ride your bike to visit them.”  But he persisted.  When we were in Greece visiting my husband’s family, he asked again if he could join.  He appealed to his father’s desire for him to share a connection with his homeland.  “Dad, If you let me join I can keep in touch with my friends here and your family.  Given the time change and distance, phone calls and visits are hard.”    Hmmm . . not a bad argument.  After setting parameters (we were friends, no “unfriending” us, no inappropriate content and a lecture on dangerous folks lurking on the Internet), we relented.  He had his own request. “Please, don’t post messages on my wall.”  We agreed and chuckled.  I was reminded of when I was his age.  He immediately set up his account and invited friends from both Greece and Seattle. 

Now an additional enjoyment of Facebook is the peak it gives me into different sides of my firstborn.  His “likes” evidence our shared interests and those that are uniquely his.  His status updates on everything from getting braces to painting a wagon to going to a Seahawks game demonstrate his wide ranging thoughts.  He is visibly growing up as you can see from this image I captured of him (despite his best efforts to hide).  And I have very mixed feelings about that.  Facebook allows me to watch a portion of his life without intruding.  He posted two quotes that had me laughing out loud because they captured his essence. 

“The man who smiles when things go wrong has thought of someone to blame it on!”

 “Don't be so serious. If you can't laugh at yourself, call me...I'll laugh at you.”  Thank you Facebook.

 

What makes it all worth it . . .

One weekend, I was making my kids breakfast and getting the boys (9 and 13) ready for their many weekend sports activities.  We had dry cereal in the interest of time.  And one of my boys said, “I wish you would make us pannekoeken (Dutch word for crêpe like thin pancakes).”  They love to eat this treat with melted butter and powdered sugar.  I had a similar response to this choice which was a staple in my Dutch parents’ household  I sighed deeply feeling my temperature rise.  I hated those kinds of comments.  One part of me felt guilty that I didn’t get up earlier so making them was an option.  The weekends are often the best chance for a more leisurely breakfast.  I too enjoyed them.  The preparation time and the great conversations that seem to start once everyone is digging into a special meal.   Another part of me was annoyed and more than a little concerned that I was raising children who felt entitled to order what they wanted for breakfast and expected someone to make it for them.  I responded to that later part and said, “You should be thankful you are getting a breakfast – many kids are not so fortunate.  I wish someone would make me breakfast one time.  What a treat that would be.”  Crickets . . .  The boys ate their cold cereal and went on with the days activities.

The next day was Sunday.  I was looking forward to a rare opportunity to sleep in.  These opportunities felt so decadent.  No alarm, no rushing about, heaven.  I woke from a deep sleep to the gentle and then not so gentle nudging of my nine year old.  “Mommy, mommy!!” he said.  I replied in as nice a voice as I could muster which didn’t sound so different than totally grouchy to my ears, “Not now sweetheart, mommy wants to sleep some more.”  The nudging continued, “Please, mommy.  I made you breakfast.”  I am now starting to wake up.  But I am still not quite willing to give up on the delayed start which is treasured after a long week of work.  “Thank you honey, you can put it on the table next to the bed and I  promise to eat it as soon as I get up,”  He persisted.  “Just look mommy, for one second.  I want you to see what I did.”  I rolled over and cracked open one eye.  I see his beaming face holding a plate with an omelet, turkey bacon, a slice of wheat toast and a small glass of orange juice.  I told him thank you so much as he set it down.  He then started to leave the bedroom. 

At this point, spending this quality time with my son was getting the upper hand over the desire to crawl back under the covers but it took a bit more.  “Come back here.  Please tell me why did you make me breakfast this morning.”  He said, “I felt bad when you said no-one makes you breakfast.  I thought I could make you breakfast and you could eat it in bed so you wouldn’t have to get up.”  At that point, hiding under the covers no longer had the same appeal.  I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sat up a bit straighter so I could balance my plate on my lap.  Leyla (my two year old) climbed up the opposite side of the bed and snuggled up next to me to “help me” eat.  Damian sat next to me with a happy glow on his sweet face.  What a glorious way to start a morning.  And a terrific reminder that sometimes your kids surprise you and show you are having an impact.  These are moments I try my best to savor when they occur and hang on to for when things aren’t going quite so positively.  Here is a picture of Damian and Leyla with my special treat.