Somedays, I just want to scoop up all of my readers and give them a big hug. Last week I had my mini-breakdown, wondering how I could possibly keep up the crazy schedule I’m living right now. I really appreciated all of your comments, and it felt good to know I’m not alone. In the middle of all of those comments, there was also a little offer for finding a solution.

Devra from Parentopia.net left a comment on that post offering her help. You may or may not know Devra and Aviva, co-authors of the book Mommy Guilt. (Side note: I met Devra at BlogHer 06 and she is probably one of the most upbeat, funny and friendly women I have ever met. She’s tough to keep up with at a party!) This type of problem is one they love to tackle.

I read her comment and thought it over for a few days before e-mailing her to take her up on her offer of assistance. I sometimes have trouble admitting I need help and that maybe I can’t do it all. So once I saw the offer, I wondered if I had opened myself up too much, and revealed myself as the flawed, scared, frustrated mother that I am. Then I realized I was being silly – after all, I’ve never said I’m perfect. Since day 1, my parenting of Cordy has been a haphazard by-the-seat-of-my-pants style. That’s part of the reason I started blogging – most of my friends have no kids, and wanted to find a community of people to share advice with, and to commiserate with in this crazy ride we call parenting.

Blogging is the best open forum a person can ask for. For me, it’s like having a personal diary with a multiple personality disorder – I can write out my private thoughts, and different “voices” then take over and give me advice, criticize me, laugh with me, or just say hello and offer me free Playboy. (Yay, spammers.) Of course, now I can put faces to many of those voices after BlogHer, but the comparison still fits, I think.

In the first section of their book, Devra and Aviva address the Seven Principles of the Mommy Guilt-Free Philosophy. This week, they will be using my real-life situation to talk about the first principle: You must be willing to let some things go. I can see how I’m a good candidate for this one.

But here’s where this becomes interesting for you, too. Certainly I’m not the only one out there up to my eyeballs in mommy guilt, and struggling to balance my life, right? Devra thought it would be interesting to have other bloggers work with them for the other six principles, so that in all, seven moms get some expert help.

(Note: I’m hoping some of you will volunteer. I initially thought of tagging others, but then I thought that might be interpreted as me saying, “Hey, I think you need parenting help, you lousy mom.” Which, of course, is not what I would think at all.)

So, anyone in this with me? The first principle will be up on Parentopia later this week, with other principles to follow in later weeks, or as often as Devra and Aviva have time.

I was minding my own business, placing an order through Amazon, when this popped up as one of their suggestions for me. I saw it, and couldn’t stop laughing.
So apparently the message is Jesus loves you, but only if you stop your crying and go to bed.

Dude, I feel so much better about those early days when Cordy had colic – if Jesus can’t deal with it, then I can’t be expected to do any better, right?

The discipline in this house just got kicked up a notch. Please follow along as we go through the timeline of a tantrum.

Cordy has entered the phase of the mega-tantrum over the last few weeks. As I write this, she is currently in her chair, screaming at the top of her lungs, with short pauses to cough, catch her breath, and open her eyes just enough to peek and see if I’m paying attention. We’re on minute 17 currently, with no signs of slowing. I’d categorize this a Class 4 Tantrum – screams over 110 decibels, with dangerous objects flying through the air. Seek shelter at once.

What led to this breakdown of social grace? I turned off the TV. That led to kicking and smacking me, and I told her no and gave her a time out in her crib. After that 2 minute time out, I got her dressed for the day, which resulted in more kicking and throwing of items. The final straw was having a heavy metal dump truck thrown at my head. Now, I don’t know about you, but nearly having a large metal toy clock me in the head qualifies as a serious red flag penalty in my rule book.

I picked her up once again, and this time designated a time out chair, where she is currently still screaming. (We’re on minute 21 now, if you’re keeping track.) After the requisite 2 minutes, I went back to her and told her she could get up, and reminded her that we don’t throw or hit or kick. But she chose to stay there and scream. OK, have it your way, kid.

The battle of wills is clear here, and knowing that this is just the beginning is a tiring thought. Luckily, I can withstand high pitched screams and I can deal with her thinking I’m a horrible mommy for these punishments. I know I’m not hurting her, and I know she needs to learn what is socially acceptable and what is not. But it does get tiring to hear the screaming continue for 28 minutes, which is what we’re up to right now. (I just offered her a sippy of milk or a banana, which she dramatically refused. Silly child – she needs to learn a little more forethought in picking which cause she chooses to hunger strike for.)

I also learned today that it may be time for the toddler bed. When I came in to get her from her crib during the first 2 minute time out, she had thrown everything out of her crib, and had one leg hooked over the side, trying to figure out how to shift her weight up and over the crib rail. We’re very close to a fall from the crib.

It’s now 36 minutes in, and she has returned to the crib after flinging a book at me. She will no longer sit in her chair, and the crib is the only other place to keep her semi-confined and out of pitching distance. Do other parents go through tantrums this long, or does my daughter just have unusual endurance for this type of activity?

I know I could stop all of this just by turning on the TV and putting one of her favorite shows on, but I feel like I’d be caving in if I did that. I don’t want her to think she can act this way and get what she wants. In fact, that’s the opposite of what I want her to learn. I don’t want her to scream and cry in Macy’s when she’s 21 because she can’t afford the Ralph Lauren dress she wants, or throw her water glass at a waiter if informs her they’re out of lobster bisque. Enduring this now pays off in the long term.

50 minutes, and the tantrum is over. Finally. Cordy calmed down in the crib, and is now sitting with me eating her snack and smiling, even if her face is a little puffy. I still can’t get her to say the word “sorry”, but I guess that will come with time.

The storm has passed, and we didn’t even need help from FEMA. Now if you’ll excuse me, my head is calling for some Advil.

Has there been a Hurricane Cordelia yet?

We had a minor crisis this evening: Blue was missing.

Cordy has become very attached to her Blue’s Clues beanie, and somehow during the day it had disappeared. Luckily, she didn’t seem concerned about it, but the adults in the household were scrambling to find this fuzzy comfort object before bedtime, when she would surely be looking up at us and asking, “Ware Bwue?”

I heard the report from Aaron as I drove home. My mom didn’t take Cordy out of the house today, so Blue had to be somewhere in the house. I was able to leave work a little early today, so I made it home just before bedtime. Cordy smiled at me as she finished her french fries, but I quickly sat down next to her to start the inquisition.

“Cordy? Where’s Blue?” I asked her. She’s a smart kid – she has to know where she last left her best friend in the entire universe.

“Ware Bwue?”

“Yes, sweetie, ware Bwue…I mean, where’s Blue? Where is she?”

“Where ih shheee?” The conversation was bordering on a Who’s on First schtick, so I stood up and started looking around. Cordy, of course, followed me.

I tried the usual spots – in the toy box, behind her slide, under the chair, in the couch cushions, under the kitchen table, in a kitchen cabinet, etc. As I checked out each possible hiding spot, Cordelia followed behind me, calling out “Bwuuuuee?”

As I walked into the dining room, Cordy said “chaaiuh”. I looked on all of the chairs, asking her again where Blue might be. And once again, the only answer I got in return was “Ware Bwue?”

Finally, I gave up. Thoughts of her screaming in her crib filled my head, but I could not find this stupid toy. I wondered if a cat had run off with it, or if Cordy had thrown it in the trash can. Either way, Blue was gone, and tonight she was going to have to go to bed Blue-less.

I crouched down to Cordy’s eye level and leveled with her. “I’m sorry, baby, but I can’t find Blue. We’ll try to find her in the morning, OK?”

Cordy gave me a serious, thoughtful look for a moment. She then turned around, walked two steps over to the phone stand, opened the cabinet door at the bottom of the stand, and pulled out Blue. “Bwuuuueee!” she exclaimed triumphantly, with a large smile.

Someday, when mommy is in the looney bin, Cordy will read this and understand why.

Many of us want to be women who can have it all. Its 2006, feminism is here and is in full swing! We can be pretty much anything we want to be! (OK, maybe not president…yet.) Women are not limited to being only stay at home mothers or having “care careers” of nursing, teaching, or secretarial work. Our horizons are broad now, and more women than ever are entering fields once thought to be dominated by men: engineering, business, science, etc. We can be married, have kids, do volunteer activities, and have a full time job at the same time.

So if I can have it all now, why do I sometimes feel like I have nothing?

This week is killing me. I just started a new half-quarter class for my nursing school requirements, and it is one of the few I can’t take online. So I’m in class four days a week, from 8:00am-12:30pm. Three of those days, I have just enough time to drive to work, where I stay until 8:00pm. Then I hurry home to deal with domestic duties, work on my school homework, deal with the insurance crap from the break-in, and maybe get some time to blog. By the time 11:00pm comes, I know I need to get to sleep, but my mind is still racing with all of the things I need to do for the next day. Eventually I drift off to sleep after midnight, only to wake at 5:00am (when Aaron wakes, even though he tries to be quiet, it often wakes me up for the day). Lather, rinse, repeat, collapse.

I hate to whine about this. After all, I’m only working a part-time job, which I know is a luxury some don’t have. There are many women out there putting in full time work, while still going to school part-time and taking care of their families. How do they do it?

The class I’m taking is only six weeks long, and after that I’ll have a little more time again. But for the moment there are three days a week when I only get to see Cordy for 30 minutes in the morning, as I take her to wherever she is spending the day. By the time I get home, she’s already in bed for the night.

It was because of scenarios like this that I quit my full time job a year ago. We had Cordy in daycare at the time, and five days a week we would have about an hour in the morning to spend time with her (while also getting ready for the day), and then an hour in the evening with her before her bedtime. Realizing that forced me even deeper into a depression that had gripped me since I was pregnant.

I’m thankful I get to spend more time with her now. But I’m still juggling all of the responsibilities I have, trying not to drop any of them, but knowing that I can’t give equal attention to everything. Eventually I’m going to lose a grip on one of them, and I’ll either drop one, or they’ll all come crashing down on me.

During times like this, I sometimes wish I didn’t have it all. Maybe life would have been easier if I was expected to be a housewife raising my children after I got married. Sure, I’d be entirely responsible for the housework, but right now I’m responsible for half of it, and my half is not doing so well at the moment.

Don’t worry, I’m not advocating a return to 1950’s Norman Rockwell America, so you can get your panties out of a bunch, Linda Hirshman. For one, I don’t think that kind of reality is viable anymore. The American economy practically demands a 2-income household today, or at the very least a large one-income household, which most people don’t have, and which many in power right now would prefer to keep that way. (Hey Congress, what about that minimum wage increase, eh?)

And I’m thankful women have all of the opportunities available to us today. We can go to school, we can be educated, and we can make the choice to work and raise a family at the same time. We can even choose to not marry and not have children! I’m thankful to be educated, and to have the freedom I do to write whatever I want and be given (hopefully) the same respect as a man. These are all Good Things, and we should be grateful to the women who came before us for carving out these freedoms for us.

But when is it all too much? What do we do when we realize we have it all, but we’re so far in over our heads that we’re drowning and there appears to be no way out? Where do we draw the line and say enough is enough – we can’t handle anymore? How do we decide what we must give up for our happiness and sanity?

The guilt I feel while writing this is tremendous. I am the modern Super Woman with family and career, and I should be ashamed for not wanting it all. I want more time to spend at the park. I want to go to Mommy & Me classes. I want time to work out and take care of myself. I want my daughter, and any other children we have, to grow up knowing that mommy can be counted on.

My mother was a Super Woman by necessity – divorced, struggling to work as much as possible to support me, torn between working extra hours and spending time with me, and often gone when I needed her the most. I don’t blame her for that, because she was making the best choices she could for us, but the thought of following in her footsteps and having to constantly choose between work and Cordy sometimes haunts me.

Just last night I told Aaron that I thought he was so much stronger of a person than me, because he can handle working full time, doing theatre in the evenings, and still make time for Cordy and me and his share of the housework. He must have more fortitude than I do. Poor man – I know he’s going to read this, and I’m sure my constant harping on this topic probably makes him feel bad, although that isn’t my intention. (The plight of men trying to have it all is an entirely different post.)

Aaron is a good provider for the family, an excellent husband and father, and probably puts up with far more from me than he should. I’m sure when we married he never imagined that once we had children I would go on an “I want to be a SAHM!” whine-fest. After all, we both planned to work, and I planned to continue my telecommuting job so I could work full time and stay home full time. But things don’t always turn out how we plan them. I can only hope that once our children are in school (or at least preschool), I will be happy to work full-time again, bring home the big bucks, and give him the freedom to quit his job to pursue his talent in theatre full-time.

In the meantime, something has to give. I just don’t know what.