Confession #6: I squeal like a little girl when trying to rid the house of spiders.

It's true. I'm terribly and irrationally afraid of spiders. I'm not sure if I've always had this irrational fear or if it's the result of the gruesome stories my best friend told me one day during grade school P.E. Either way, terrified of spiders.

But I'm also very rational in the sense that I recognize that spiders are extremely useful creatures that prevent a lot of other pest problems. I prefer to avoid killing creatures that don't need killed. Growing up, my little brothers took care of spiders for me. I had one particular brother I called on most frequently because he would humor me and catch the spiders and release them outside. My other brothers usually just killed them. (I never saw a poisonous spider growing up. I have since then. Those ones we don't save.)

As an adult, I find myself dealing with spiders on my own. Tonight, there was a spider in the corner above our sliding glass door. I looked at it. It looked at me. I grabbed some boxes thinking that maybe I could use them to scoop the spider out the door. I looked at it again. It looked at me. I moved the boxes towards it and it scuttled towards the ceiling. Suddenly I realized that in a moment it could be above me and then it could drop onto my head! (As if it would want to drop on my head...) I panicked! Paper towels! Squish! Squeal (I'm sure dead it can hurt me through this paper towel, especially since it's not poisonous) & quick tip-toe dance/run to the garbage can (get it out of my hand)!

Then I look in the the living room. Fortunately, Big Brother missed the whole ordeal and Baby Brother was already in bed. I'm trying to not pass on this irrational fear and behavior...

Confession #5: My house is a mess most of the time.

I've heard people call it lived in. I try to keep it clean (some days better than others) but, as any supermom knows, it's a constant battle.

Let's start with the living room, the main room of the house. We'll pick up the toys. I pick up most of them; Big Brother picks up a few. Baby Brother helps by playing. Vacuum. (Kids giggle and run around.) Big Brother dumps the toys boxes back all over the floor while hunting for a toy. Baby Brother begs for a snack. Cracker crumbs fall under his chair. When he's done, I try to brush the crumbs off of him and onto the table or the linoleum but miss a few. They end up on the carpet along with the crumbled up cracker I didn't realize was in his hand. Less than an hour after we cleaned up, it looks just as messy as it was before we cleaned up. (Needless to say, we only bother to vacuum once a week unless it's messy enough that it tempts Baby Brother to eat crumbs off the floor.)

Next, the kitchen and dining room. Talk about a lot of work. This usually starts at breakfast and continues throughout the day. We start breakfast. I'm done before the boys so I start unloading the dishwasher.

By some miracle, I get a stack of plates put away before I hear, "I need more milk!"

I pour Big Brother some milk before starting to put away silverware. Get that half done when I'm interrupted again. "Ah! Ah!"

I give Baby Brother some more cereal and finish putting away silverware. I start putting away glasses when Big Brother exclaims, "Sit down, Mama!"

My children encourage me not to do the chores. It's tempting but we already read a story and played for a few minutes so I continue with the dishwasher. (Besides, if I give in that early in the morning, no chores will get done! That said, if they've been gone a lot, I sit at the table with them until they're done.)

Big Brother is done and needs help washing his hands. I finish the dishwasher. Baby Brother finishes and needs help getting down. They play. I begin loading the dishes I rinsed the day before into the dishwasher. (I've spent the last couple of weeks trying to get it so I'm able to run the dishwasher at night. You'll see why this becomes difficult...)

I start rinsing the dinner dishes left from the night before, bottles, and breakfast dishes. Seeing Baby Brother start eating food under his chair, I pause with the dishes and grab the broom. (He barely finished eating but those crumbs are just too tempting!) Now that Baby Brother is safe from the floor contaminated food, I finish filling the dishwasher. I start the dishwasher then empty the drying rack. I hand wash any items that need hand washed.

Excited I think, "Success! Now I'll be able to keep up with the dishes today!"

In the morning right after breakfast is usually the one time of the day when I have energy to get chores done and the boys aren't demanding something. (All their toys seem new first thing in the morning.) Then my kids become more needy, plans interrupt, and I get tired.

I fight with the kitchen chores for awhile. Snack. Rinse the cups after snack. Wash the table. Various chores and activities with the boys. Oops! Forgot to sweep! (Save the baby from the dangerous crumbs!) Lunch. Put the lunch dishes in the sink. Wash the table. Try to get the boys asleep in the same room close to the same time. Exhausted. Take a nap while the boys nap. Rinse the lunch dishes while the boys eat snack. Put the snack dishes in the sink. Wash the table. Play with the boys or other afternoon activities. (Usually the park. Sometimes the pool.) Those crumbs! Find the broom! Make dinner while at the same time entertaining the boys. Eat dinner. Leave the dinner dishes on the table. Leave the dinner cooking supplies where ever they were while making dinner.

The next morning, place the dinner dishes in the sink and wash the table. Begin the dishes cycle again.

I HATE DISHES. Washing dishes has always been my least favorite chore. (Yes, I'd rather clean the bathroom than wash the dishes. I don't do it in that order because the dishes are more demanding. But it's tempting...) After being Supermom for almost three years, I despise dishes. They are the enemy.

We started eating lunch at the free lunch program at the park. Awesome program because it makes it easier to make sure my boys get the fruits and vegetables they need in a meal. And, the boys love going to the park. Even better, no dishes!

Add in cleaning the bathroom, the bedrooms, the yard work, and, don't forget, the laundry my house is a mess most of the time.

Now, I should pause and explain why my house is often a mess even when my boys are gone. I've thought a bit about it and have decided it's a mess because I like it that way. Well, I don't like the kitchen mess. Unless I'm gone when the boys are gone, the kitchen gets caught up right away. But being home alone in a living room with all the toys put away reminds me that I'm home alone. It reminds me that my boys aren't home with me but are at their dad's house. And it's hard being home alone. No bubbly boys babbling about this and that. No boys begging me to tickle them or read to them or play with them. No giggling between brothers.

So I leave the mess for awhile. It reminds me how lucky I am to have such wonderful boys who add "life" to my otherwise quiet life.

I should also pause and point out that I could easily keep up with these chores. It would just mean less quality time with my boys. And quality time with my boys means more to me than my never ending list of chores. Because I'm a Supermom.

Here's a a picture of our living room right now:

We have too many toys. One of the items on my to do list is to go through the toys so we can get rid of some and store others. (My mom used to store toys and bring them out at different times. Made our old toys seem new.) Also, now that Big Brother is almost potty-trained and he has the basics of "cleaning up" down, it's time to get the habit of "cleaning up after ourselves" going. He understands the concept but it's time to start making it happen. As of this moment, nightly tidying just became the start of his bed time routine.

No kitchen pictures. We had lunch at the park and ate out tonight so the kitchen's looking better than usual.

Confession #4: Sometimes we re-wash laundry.

There are a variety of reasons to repeat a load of laundry. The most common one for me is repeating a load in the washer because I forgot to move it to the dryer. I hear the buzzer go off telling me the load is done. But I'll be in the middle of something. Then I'll forget. Until hours later or, more often than not, the next day. At which point, I start the load again because it's smelly. This happened to me yesterday with a load of towels.

Actually, that load of towels gets to be washed not just once or twice but three times! Why? Because I finally moved the load to the dryer then to a chair in my living room. I planned on folding those towels but got distracted by other tasks. (In an earlier post I mentioned that putting laundry away is low on my list of priorities.) A while later, I heard Big Brother gleefully playing in the living room. I discovered him rolling around in the clean towels.

My initial reaction was, "Quick! Pick them up and put them back in the chair!" The thought behind this was that if they weren't on the floor too long and weren't played in by a toddler very much, then I wouldn't have to re-wash them! My toddler didn't understand what was wrong. I paused and then joined in the fun. We giggled and laughed as I threw towels on Big Brother and tickled him. (Baby Brother was busy finishing his snack. I'd been cleaning up snack when the play began.)

My reasoning, at his age Big Brother has no understanding of what "dirty" is unless there's actually visible dirt. Which means that he doesn't understand why folding towels that have been played with on the floor is different from folding towels that were sitting in a recliner. I could either try to convince my toddler of something that's above his level or worse get mad at him for something he doesn't understand. Or I could enjoy a fun moment with my son. There will be plenty of time for him to learn the consequences down the road when he's a little older. Besides, it's just laundry and I was the one who didn't put it away!

Confession #3: I write motivational messages on mirrors.

I wrote that one earlier this week. After a frazzled day with the boys. A day that was good but made me wonder a bit if I was cut out to be a supermom. I wrote my message to keep me motivated. Like in one of my favorite stories, "The Little Engine that Could". "I think I can. I think I can." And then you do.

Because life is beautiful but life is hard. It's exhausting. It's easy to get overwhelmed. It's easy to listen to all of the negative voices in your head. Because sometimes they're right. You didn't keep up. Your house is a mess. You got frustrated after the zillionth thing that went wrong. (Or the only thing that went wrong that day...) But most of the time, these voices are wrong. Or, at least, awfully distorted.

I didn't do this while I was married. I guess I was a bit embarrassed that I might need motivational messages to keep me going. But after the divorce, I found these types of messages really helped. In a good moment after reflecting and realizing that I was indeed amazing, I would pause and put up a new motivational message on my bathroom mirror. Because these "good moments" usually came after the really "bad moments". Moments when I was hurting so bad that I didn't think I could go on. Moments where the negative voices in my head (and sometimes outside my head) told me how awful and worthless I was.

So I put a motivational message on my mirror. I figured no one else would see them (or at least no one who could read) so they could be deeply personal. But I would see them every time I looked in the mirror. They filled my mind with positive, good thoughts. Thoughts that helped me tell the negative voices they were liars. Thoughts that gave me the courage to keep getting up in the morning (or go to bed at night.)

I don't face the level of discouragement I faced last year but I want to be a calm, loving mother. So now these motivational messages make me smile and help remind me what's most important and how capable I am.

Plus they lead to brilliant ideas like this:

Yep, that's Buzz Lightyear on our hall closet mirror. One night this week my boys were gone and I saw my motivational message on the mirror. And had an "ah ha!" moment. It floated in my brain a bit and then materialized on the mirror this morning. There was a time in my life when I said I couldn't draw. I still struggle and it takes me a bit but years of teaching various kids (which often requires drawing)  has improved my skills. I did Google a Buzz Lightyear coloring page to help me out.

In case you're wondering, Buzz Lightyear
mirror selfies are hard to take..

I can't wait until Monday when Big Brother finds it! 

I'm so excited!

Confession #2: I am a SUPERMOM!

The Merriam-Webster definition of "supermom":

"an exemplary mother; also :  a woman who performs the traditional duties of housekeeping and child-rearing while also having a full-time job"

I'm very opposed to the Merriam-Webster definition of "supermom". What a ridiculous definition. I didn't understand what they meant by "child-rearing" so I looked it up in their dictionary. (I happen to love m-w.com just not this definition.) It wasn't there. So I looked up "rearing" and found the following: 

"to take care of (a young person or animal)"

My interpretation of the Merriam-Webster definition of "supermom": If you want to be a supermom, your house must sparkle, meals must be restaurant quality, your budget flawless, and always have the laundry caught up. You know all of your children's needs and perfectly meet them. On top of that, you work a full-time job.

You work a full-time job. So you can't be a supermom unless you work a full-time job? So, stay-at-home-moms can't be supermoms? Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I work a full-time job and very clearly see the beauty of being a stay-at-home-mom. I'll write about that some other day. The point today is that I know so many supermoms who didn't/don't work a full-time job outside the home. BEING A MOM IS A FULL-TIME JOB. My mom was a stay-at-home-mom and is a supermom for sure.

Next, as any supermom knows, each kid is different. Very different. And they don't come with individualized instruction manuals. I've read a few beginning parenting books that teach you the basics of the first few years of life. I found them useful in many ways. I also appreciated the fact that the ones I read clearly stated that each child is different and will do different things. With all of this in mind, what mom ever perfectly meets the needs of their children? One of the hardest thing about parenting is that it's a bit trial-and-error.

Finally, is there really a mom out there who is able to do all of that AND keep up with the housework? 

I am a supermom. My house is messy most days. We had cereal and raisins for lunch today which met my current efforts to ensure my family eats a fruit or vegetable with every meal. I budget. I try to stick with it. But somehow something always messes it up. Car breaks down. Kids grow and don't fit their clothes anymore. Single mom date night with the bookstore. In my house, washing laundry is mandatory. Putting away laundry happens on the miraculous occasion that everything else deemed more essential gets done. This week I learned how to not get grossed out by poopy toddler underwear but to respond in an appropriate manner. (What to do when grossed out while potty-training wasn't covered in the books I read. Or maybe I missed it...) My full-time job? Well, I try. Fortunately, my students are as forgiving as my children. Because kids are the ones who really know what makes a mom a supermom. 

With that, here's my definition of a "supermom":

A mother who's gives her whole heart to mothering. Not always visible on the surface but felt through the heart of her children and any other children she mothers. 

In defense of Merriam-Webster, I think that their definition is often what most people think of when they think of "supermoms". Which is sad.

[Note: Although I talk about "supermom", any of these things apply to "superdads" as well. My definition of a "superdad": 

"A father who's gives his whole heart to fathering. Not always visible on the surface but felt through the heart of his children and any other children he fathers."

See, parenting has little to do with the little things in life which vary from person to person adn situtation to situation. Parenting has to do with the big things. The important things like children.

Merriam-Webster didn't have a definition for "superdad"...] 

(The image was adapted from vectortemplates.com. Very appreciative of their superman logos.)