Hot Mess Library Mom...that's me

A dear friend called me this morning to express her frustration with this thing called parenthood. Well, not parenthood in general, but the fact that, as mothers, no matter what we do, someone will be looking over their shoulder and judging. My friend (who shall remain anonymous if she wishes) is a very cautious mom in general. Super cautious. It is a stretch for her to allow her kids to run, but as she knows exploring within boundaries is in their best interests, she allows her children to run in front of her while out on a walk. At this point, the parenting gurus who bemoan the fact that "kids these days don't get any exercise or get to explore" are nodding their heads in approval.

Enter two (I am sure) well-meaning police officers. They pull over, address my friend, and admonish her to keep her children closer to her next time. My friend was crushed and embarrassed. The officers had no idea how hard it is for her to loosen her boundaries.

We both agreed that, had it been a father with his children on a walk, a different tone would have been taken. "Oh, those kids, they sure like to run, don't they!" "It's great to see an involved dad."

After ending my phone call with my friend I headed into town. The kids and I were going to go to the library and run a few errands. Since we found the library closed until 11:30, we ran our errands beforehand.  

To backtrack, I am always a hot mess at the library. I am not sure why, but my children always end up being completely out of character and I always end up being overly anxious and weird. My usually-clingy daughter wants out of her ring sling to run. My rule-following son becomes selectively deaf. I forget the diaper bag and the toddler poops in her cloth diaper. I knock over the display case (okay, that one was at the grocery store).

But today I was prepared. I had packed snacks. I had packed water. I had remembered diapers for the toddler. All our old library books were packed neatly in a bag. I thought we were set.

We had been running errands, though, and at this point my bladder was *done.* I instructed my four year old to quietly read while I ran to the bathroom.

When the toddler and I returned, he was obediently sitting reading and had picked out several books. I was sure I had this library trip in the bag. My daughter (19 months old) requested to get out of her ring sling, and I obliged. She sat nicely in a chair while I looked over my "Goodreads" list of books to read (an app on my phone).

That's when it hit the fan. As we trekked to the grown-up section, Little Miss Toddler decided to run. Usually when she gets further than six inches away from me she veers right back like I am magnetic, whimpering and hiding her face. Not this time. Giggling, she ran out of my reach in seconds. In his quest to be "helpful," Big Brother ran after Little Sister, alternating between laughing and tattling on her.

"I just need one book," I said to myself and found the first book on my list. Skimming the back I realized it wasn't what I was looking for at all and went to the next book on the list. Before I did that, I rounded both kids up. The toddler screamed at the top of her lungs with laughter and then anger when I grabbed her. She was *not* being stuffed into her ring sling, and kept screaming as long as I held her. 

The library didn't have the second, third, or fourth books on my list. I decided to try to find a classic, Gone with the Wind. No bananas. It wasn't there. Between each of these book quests, I had to round up both kids, who screamed as I cornered them, the youngest continuing to scream as I held her.

"I give up," I finally voiced, and returned, bookless, to the children's section to check out our books. I was sweating, my pulse was up and the toddler was still screaming, the four-year-old still giggling at her despite the fact that I had removed his coveted movie night privileges.

I shoved the pile of books on the counter as the kids ran rampant again (we had too many books for me to hold onto both of them and check them out at the same time).

"Do you have your library card?" the librarian asked.

"No," I whispered under my breath. I realized I'd have to give her my name, which would require talking. And I was at the end of my rope. My emotions were stretched to their limit, my cheeks were already red with embarrassment, so of course when she asked my name my voice caught and I teared up. And cried. "It's been quite a day," I was able to offer before I grabbed my four year old, who lay down on the floor so I had to drag him. I headed for the door, and the toddler headed for the toilet.

The whole time I could just hear the thoughts of the other library patrons who were trying to read, work, or study (the thoughts that would have been mine before I had kids). Can't she control her kids? Back in my day I would have gotten my butt smacked for acting like that. Why bring your kids to the library if they're going to disrupt others? 

Along with the popular pressures mothers face...Let your kids be kids. If the wrong person catches you spanking your child they could call CPS on you. If you need to spank you're obviously not parenting right. You need to read to your children.

I also realized, once I got home, that I was wearing a shirt that read (in large, capital letters) DRINK MONTANA BEER. So I was probably also being judged for that. My lax attitude toward alcohol (drinking a craft beer with supper a couple times a week) is probably the reason I am such a terrible parent. On the other hand, if I didn't consume alcohol, I would be accused of being too uptight and my kids would surely rebel once they hit adulthood.

The moral is, I don't know. There's no winning at motherhood. Someone will always be looking at you and thinking you need to be doing something differently. If they're not, you will think they are, because, well, they usually are. There will always be a circumstance in which your kids will act out, or someone will perceive that your kids are acting out (in my friend's case). For now, I will have to bring a more restrictive carrier for the toddler next time we go to the library (which might be a very long time!!) and accept with grace my title of Hot Mess Library Mom.

Early is on time, on time is late, and late is....still acceptable

That’s the last straw, I thought as the content’s of Ladybug’s diaper hit the clean bedding, then the floor. I had really intended to be on time for church today. Cutting Mr. Bug’s TV time short and leaving extra time for a good snack, getting Ladybug dressed up like a little doll, and actually remembering to write the check for offering this time, I felt confident as we left that Bug would even have time to pick a couple wildflowers before we left the house at 9:35. Church wasn’t until 10, after all. We were early. I did it!! I am chronically tardy, so this was an accomplishment on my part. My band teacher used to use the adage, "Early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable." I too often found myself in the "unacceptable" category.

Until I remembered that the pickup was hitched to my father-in-law’s trailer with his skidsteer on it. I had the choice of switching both car seats to the car or pulling a skidsteer to town on a trailer with tires in very dubious condition. I opted to move the car seats.

At this point Mr. Bug, being very disappointed that I couldn’t join in flower picking, wandered off on his own. Ladybug blissfully stayed in one place on the sidewalk, squatting down (I should have known!) and looking at rocks. One seat installed by 9:40. I can do this, I thought.

Once Ladybug’s seat was secure, I went to gather Mr. Bug. He was across the pasture, still busy picking flowers. I yelled at him to come. Nothing. I know he heard me. So I picked up Ladybug and ran closer, urging Brother to come NOW. I’m sure all the neighbors heard.

I packed snacks. Water. We are ready. Just a quick diaper check for Ladybug and….oh. It was now 

9:50. Church starts at 10. It takes 15 minutes to get to town.

Of course, it was an “above average” poopy diaper, and instead of simply staying in one place it had to make a quick exit as I struggled to wipe the squirming tot and rediaper her. She wasn’t happy; it was nap time, of course.

At 9:53 we were on the road. I was sweating. Ladybug fell into an exhausted sleep. We shuffled into 

church just as Pastor was announcing Absolution. But we made it.

I know of a time when I would have just stayed home. How embarrassing to show up that late to a service. Disruptive. Inconsiderate. Why come at all if you’re going to be late anyway? But that’s just putting a human construct on God, acting as though He is really upset that the toddler pooped her pants at an inopportune time and would rather I not show my face after such a disgraceful event.

In fact, even if I were able to predict my child’s bowel habits or had a good enough memory to remember to change the car seats the night before, if I were to show up to service twenty minutes early, I am no more forgiven by my own efforts, and to think such a thing is a serious error in itself. In all honesty, I don’t think there are a whole lot of people who really, totally think this way, anyway. But I must admit I had a bit of selfish pride in myself this morning the first time we went out the door and I really thought I had remembered it all.

It was a blessing and a privilege to be able to come into God’s house, feel my pulse drop as someone handed me a hymnal opened to the correct page, dig out raisins for the kids, and know that for the next hour I could count on God blessing me in Word and Sacrament!

Heartiness Riviera size 6

In high school I made a quilt. I had a definite aesthetic in mind (blues, greens and purples), and the lady in the quilt shop kept either misinterpreting what my wishes were or pushing me to create something more trendy. “So you want a groovy chick quilt?” she would ask. Too timid to say, “Au contraire,” I would pick out a fabric I liked, hoping she’d get a clue, but she kept repeating the phrase as we picked out fat quarters. The words “groovy chick quilt” are permanently etched in my mind, and not in a good way. Perhaps she thought the color scheme I had chosen would fade in popularity and all the work I had put into the quilt would be for naught.

What the quilt lady didn’t know was that 1. It would take me nearly ten years to finish the quilt. I’m just not that crafty. 2. Fifteen years later I would snap a picture of said quilt and embark on a quest to find a wrap that reminded me of it.

Heartiness Riviera is that wrap. My first handwoven, I spent days chatting back and forth with the seller, being a general pain and ill-informed buyer. I’m sure she was beyond relief when I finally sent her my paypal address.

The wrap was a bit different than I’d expected; very dry in hand, blankety and thick, with a high amount of texture and grip. But the weave was what really caught my eye; this Hearti has a definite right and wrong side, with a pronounced twill pattern on one side and a smoother-looking weave on the other.

Riviera has proven to be the perfect fall and winter snuggle wrap; whether at the pumpkin patch or around our own yard, it’s cozy and warm without being beastly hot. The support this wrap contains is endless; I could ruck my tall 3.5 year old boy easily, and it is wide enough for him to pretend to be a turtle on my back! In fact, this is the first wrap he allowed me to take him up in, as I didn’t wrap him past “Moby stage.”

The weaving is flawless, aside from a skipped thread that got the wrap labeled seconds quality. The unhemmed rails are razor straight and without knobs or bumps. And as the seller put it, “I love just looking at the weave and see how the colors play together.”

I wouldn’t recommend this wrap for a squish or for a new wrapper, as the grip, thickness and width makes it almost prohibitively hard to tighten, especially for fancy finishes. On the other hand, the grip makes it possible to stay in place with just a half-knot. But overall, it is rock solid, while still being snuggly and soft for my older baby and preschooler! Maybe someday I’ll make a quilt out of it.