A Reminder Badge

I am very forgetful. I'm praying that it's not cerebral atrophy and hoping it's just post-prego/breastfeeding hormones and the busyness of chasing three littles all day that are affecting my memory. On two different occasions this week I couldn't remember Ella's birthday or her middle name. It wasn't even a quick stumble of words or right on the tip of my tongue; it was completely lost!

Today at the library Evelyn and I (and Ella, too, but she was sleeping in her seat) enjoyed our first Toddler Time of the year. Jack attended a preschool class by himself. I was gearing up for at least one tantrum or embarrassing outburst during the 25-minute class. But Evelyn was perfect. She clapped when she was supposed to, talked appropriately when she was called on, danced with all the right moves. So rather than be thankful and savor that moment and love on my sweet girl, I began to compare her to the other children in class. "Wow, glad Evelyn isn't doing that. Whew, happy that isn't my child." I'm gross. I know it.

After class finished a mom approached me whom I hadn't seen since last Spring's session. She walked right up to Evelyn and looked at her forehead. "Oh, how is your little head? The last time I saw you, you had a big owie." Whoops. That's right. I forgot about that.

The last time we attended Toddler Time, Evelyn was running around like a wild animal. She pushed a child out of her way, tripped over a ginormous stuffed sea turtle and hit her forehead on the corner of a wooden box. The bloody goose egg appeared instantaneously and after much insistence, I rushed her to the doctor. (I earned like 10 badges in the span of about 15 minutes.)

Busy comparing my perfect daughter to the "others" this morning, that little incident had slipped my mind. Thank you, lady.

And so I was gently reminded (again) that at any moment either of my daughters and/or my son could slip into this "others" category. In fact, the majority of the time when we're out, I would classify them as "other". Why is it that for one brief moment of good behavior I forget that at any second, I could be one of the "others'" mothers or an "other" myself?!

I'm finding more and more that I'm so quick to judge, so low on grace and so slow to thankfulness.

I'm certain I miss out on the blessing of joyful occasions because I'm busy comparing myself, my husband, my kids, my house, my whole life to others who apparently don't have it so good at the same moment.

But just give us a minute or two and something certainly will go awry and we'll all fall into a different category -- the frazzled mom, the annoyed dad, the naughty kids, the dirty-floor house, the disorganized life.

Here's to hoping that next time I'll remember -- "There but by the grace of God go I."

Create Your Own Music Album Badge

Sometimes when I'm driving and in a hurry I get a little (let's be honest...a lot) impatient. And when I get impatient I begin to shout at other drivers and make impolite gestures and facial expressions at them (a lot). I've tried to stop. I really have. But occasionally a big "Get the frick out of my way" just comes bellowing out.

I used to not think much of this bad habit even after having kids. I figured they were too young to understand the depths of mom's driving depravity -- honking, flashing (lights, that is!), yelling, pointing. You get the point. A few weeks ago in the car Evelyn started raising her hands in the air and shouting, "Come on." Whoops.

So, I've started this new thing when a "Move it" or "Come on" or "Get out of my way" suddenly springs forth, I turn it into a song and pretend I'm not really shouting. It really seems to be working, for now at least. I follow the same protocol when I've accidentally screamed too loudly at one (or all) of the kids. I smile, laugh and pretend I was just singing a really loud song.

Already this week I could have recorded an entire album of "I'm not really yelling but I am" songs. I might actually have enough on the playlist to begin working on a greatest hits compilation.

My Blogging Badge

I'm a Girl Scout flunkie. I never had the opportunity to don the coveted green and brown uniform complete with scarf, shirt and skirt. I never earned colorful insignia for mastering Yarn and Fabric Arts, First Aid or Toymaking. I always ate Thin Mints and Tagalongs; but I never sold them. I repeatedly watched Troop Beverly Hills and thought about enlisting; but I knew my scout leader couldn't match the rockin' style of Shelley Long.

So besides the countless boxes of cookies and calories I've consumed over the years, there is really no connection in my life to the great Girl Scouts of the USA. That is, until recently.

Before I became a mom, I was a professional writer. I wrote about all kinds of the big world issues as a journalist -- health care, free trade, development, corruption, murder, fraud. Working for a daily newspaper I constantly felt like I was accomplishing something great. My stories were published every day. I would spend my mornings, afternoons and nights researching, interviewing, writing and editing. Then my pieces went to print and I would start again the next day.

But all that came to a halt several years ago when I gave birth to our first and only son, Jack. My internal and obsessive need for journalistic accomplishment could no longer be met. I just really stink at balancing. So after much fretting I knew I needed to take a break and stay home (at least part time) with my new baby boy.

Pre-Jack my sense of accomplishment came from meeting impossible deadlines, winning AP awards and receiving accolades from community leaders. Post-Jack, well, it morphed into something completely different and unexpected and silly, really. If I kept us both alive and kind of fed and kind of clean and kind of happy, I felt foolishly proud. What was happening to me? I'd shower before 5 p.m. or clean the bathroom (a rare feat) or breastfeed and cook a kick-ass dinner at the same time, and I felt like I deserved a special medal or something.

This summer, after the birth of our third child, Eleanor, (we now have three kids ages 3 and younger) I began to realize even more how unbelievable my daily accomplishments truly are.

Let's be serious, if Brownies and Girl Scouts earn badges for Dancercize and Puppetry, I certainly am due something (a pin, a letter, candy, anything will do) for my mad mothering skills. And so is every mama I know.

Introducing the creation of the Mom Badge.

My girlfriends and I now reward ourselves with mom badges all the time. Sometimes I earn a dozen or more in one day. Only one timeout at breakfast and there's minimal food on the floor -- Mom Badge. Found an awesome recipe in Cook's Illustrated and all the ingredients were on sale -- Mom Badge. Eleanor's crying and Jack just hit Evelyn, but I've kept my composure and haven't hit anyone yet -- Mom Badge. Oops, I left Eleanor sitting in her car seat in the driveway because I forgot I have three kids -- Mom Badge (only this one is a little bit smaller and not as colorful as some of the others).

I am a highly-decorated mother and I've decided to use this blog (which I swore I would never do!!!) not only as a creative outlet but as a record of my Mom Badge-earning moments. I'm excited.