me time.

Steve and I are were chatting the other day and he casually said something like “well, we both get the same amount of downtime every day” to which I snorted. Or maybe said “ha!”. The conversation went something like this:

Steve: “What? We do.”
Me: “yeah, no. We don’t.”
“Once the kids are in bed, it’s our time”
“Once the kids are in bed, I am still folding laundry, tidying the house, doing dishes, etc, etc. I’m still working.”
“well, you need to make more me time.”
“True.”

And that is true. I am terrible at demanding Amber time. Then I started to think about it, really think about it. In that same conversation Steve mentioned how I had skipped several boxercise classes (my current exercise of choice) indicating that I needed to make that me time a priority. Right. I shouldn’t skip my exercise times, I absolutely agree 100%. Except you know what? The first one that I missed was because Steve forgot. I was ready to go, I had dinner on the table, had pre-washed every dish I could pre-wash. The house was clean*, but he didn’t walk through the door until after 6 and you can’t really show up half an hour late to boxercise class. I mean, you could, but then there’s no warm up and you’re in the middle of the routine and I’m not a show up in the middle kind of person. At least not to an exercise class. If it were a wine-drinking class then sure! I’d be late. To be honest I show up to everything late but an exercise classes. I called him the next day and made him put my boxercise class in his calendar, which he did.

The other two times? Anna was sick. Not just your run-of-the-mill the kid has a cold. No. Anna was super sick. She slept terribly for 8 straight nights. By that I mean I have been up in the middle of the night for hours. Two Saturdays ago she was basically glued to me and completely miserable. She wouldn’t sleep unless she was draped across my chest, she was croupy and was having a hell of a time breathing. By Tuesday night I was so damn tired and worn out that the thought of even putting on my running shoes just about made me cry.

So while I hadn’t been to the class in a while, I don’t think that makes me lazy.

This got me thinking about it all a little more. Exercise, for someone like Steve and many others, is meditative. It is stress relief, it might even be truthful to say that Steve looks forward to it. He has considerately arranged his schedule so that it has very little impact on my life which I appreciate tremendously. When he’s training heavily he is gone Thursday evenings and Sunday mornings, the rest of the training he does during his lunch hour. I give him a gold star for this (that isn’t sarcastic; I really do think it’s awesome that he has done that). But his training schedule doesn’t come with a consequence, mine does.

When I go to boxercise, I don’t come home, hit the shower, pour a bowl of cereal, and tell Steve about my day. I often come home and put a child to bed. Then I do the dishes. Then I tidy up the living room. Then I sweep the kitchen. Then I have a shower (if I’m quick enough and it is before Steve goes to bed). Even to get to boxercise I first have to time it so that dinner is ready and on the table and that I have all my shit together to walk out the door.

To which one might respond “so what?”. Right. I’m prepping to go work out while doing my day job. I work out to come home and finish up everything that isn’t maintained while I’m not at my day job.

And I’m doing all that to go out and do something that I don’t particularly enjoy. Exercise is not meditative to me. Exercise is just one more damn item on the “to do” list. Something I’m supposed to do because I’m supposed to be perfect. I’m supposed to be thinner, stronger, healthier (well, healthier is a solid reason). I’m supposed to have sweet kids, a clean(ish) house, figure out a way to provide some income, keep my kids safe, and GOD DAMMIT, I also need to be thinner.

Exericise is not meditative for me. Knitting is. When I’m moving heaven and earth to make this happen I would so rather sit on the couch and knit. Or create something new. Or draw. Exercise is work, both physically and mentally. It’s annoying.

So, yeah, I’m probably not going to move mountains to ensure that no matter what I get in that sort of “me” time, because it isn’t “me time”. It’s just another asterick on the to do list.

Although I might start moving heaven and earth to get in a little knittin’.

doesn't have a damn thing to do with this post, but here's Callum's cake. Cute, yes?

*it should be noted that Steve cares NOT AT ALL if the house is clean. I care. Actually, I don’t care if it’s clean. I care if its tidy. If I don’t pick up after our day I find that 1. things get out of hand remarkably fast, and 2. it prevents us from doing creative things. Clutter discourages creativity.

Occupation: wife

A friend of mine recently started a new business out of her home and as a result has been finding out about a lot of women who are running small business ventures from home.  She’s been sharing her findings with a bunch of us,  mostly on facebook, so as I am looking at the page suggestions and reading about these women’s businesses I often read the “About” section.

Inevitably, because we’re talking about women with young families making a small income while they are at home with their kids, a lot of these blurbs look the same – “I’m a wife and mother, working from home” or “I’m Mama to the most wonderful kid in the world” or “Mom to Joe-Bob and Bobbie-Joe and wife to Bob-Boy!!!!!!”.

These blurbs almost always make me cringe and for a long time I couldn’t really tell you why.  I mean, I’m a Mom of three who works from home.  It’s exactly what my own bio would say.  In fact, when I was introduced to the company that I do work for it was noted that I would be working at home while juggling my young family.  I don’t have a right to be irritated by these bios, I am these bios.

Then it hit me yesterday as I was browsing yet another home-based business.  What bugs me isn’t that these women are identifying themselves as mothers.  It’s the ones that identify themselves and mothers and wives.  It’s the “I’m a wife and mother” that irks me (and let me just apologize up front to my friends who have used this phrase.  I still think you’re all awesome!).

Not that I have anything against wives.  I’m a wife.  The problem is that when that is written in a bio on a business page, it makes me think that “wife” is some sort of job that needs special mentioning, or even that it is some sort of status symbol.  Mother doesn’t bother me, though, because   let’s face it, “mother” (and father) is a job and does need to be mentioned.   Being a mother means that there is a very good chance that I might not get back to you within a nano-second of you phonnig or emailing me.  It means that while I take your call, there might be screaming going on in the other room.   It means that I am probably doing the bulk of my work at 2 am. Parenting is work,  and we are basically employed by our children for at least a little while. 

But wife?  Wife isn’t a job.  Being a wife shouldn’t influence your at-home business.  Having kids does, sure, because all day long you’re going to be dealing with the wee rottens and work might have to take a back seat.  That’s worth mentioning.  But if your wifely duties interfere with your business then, well, I’m glad I’m not married to your husband.

 I don’t work for Steve.  Yes, I am at home full time.  Yes, I consider it my job to wash the dishes and do the laundry (although I’ve always considered the fact that I do Steve’s laundry to be a nice gesture and not actually a part of my own job description).  Keeping the house (relatively) clean?  My job right now, sure.  But  Steve and I are partners in life and together we work at our relationship and our family, he’s not the boss.  Even if he might like it to be so.

Not that I think all these women need to update their bios, but I am curious why people feel like it is necessary to mention their wifely status.  Enlighten me!

buttons are hard

Steve is attempting to get into my pants (what?  we’re married.) and says to me: “what is this damn contraption?”.  Me: “a button.”

Those damn buttons.

In other news, we’ve successfully pulled off musical beds.  If by successful I mean that every person in the house is sleeping in the bed that would be deemed logical and not every person sleeping in a bed that provides the best night sleep.  I slept WAY better when I shared my bed with Anna.  Now my nights consists of a full three hours of wakefulness in a chair which doesn’t make for very good sleep.  That’s how long it typically takes me to get the baby back in the crib when she wakes up for a feed. 

Things can only get better.  That’s what I keep telling myself.  In the meantime I’m drinking a lot of coffee.

What’s new with you?

that man of mine, random conversations

“man, I’m at that stage post-partum when all my damn hair is falling out”

“stop breastfeeding, give the kid a bottle, and your hormones will level off”

“thanks for the support.”

***

 Me: “Mom wants to start running again with me”

Steve: “you mean riding”

“no, running”

“how about riding?”

“seriously I’m talking about running.  I’m thinking that it’s too much when Anna is small, when I was running when Claire was first born it was hellish”

“what’s the rush?  The first year is baby-focused and I’ll get us set up for the next stage, getting everything in order to do what we want to do.  I’m planning for next spring.”

“That’s cool.  Sure would be nice to lose this damn weight though”

“take a year, there’s no rush.”

that man of mine

How do you not a love a man who has both balls and understanding?!