Mother's Hierarchy of Needs

Back in the good old days of my college education, we did a lot of studying about Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs and how it pertains to a child's ability to learn and function.  You see, there are some basic "needs" every human essentially must have met in order to function at the next level.  The levels are (from least to most basic):

• Self-Actualization
• Esteem
• Love/belonging
• Safety
• Physiological

I won't bore you with the details of all of them, but I will explain that the very basic level, Physiological, pertains to things such as eating, drinking, sleeping, breathing, sex (pphhhttt), using the bathroom...

...you get the point.

Now, how many mothers out there are snorting and laughing because, AS YOU KNOW, those basic needs don't always get met for "mama?"  Actually, I would say that not a day goes by that I  barely meet the basic requirements to sustain my own life.  Let's just be frank here.  We all know what  it's like to hold your bladder during the 67 minutes it took your child to fall asleep.  Can I get an amen?!?!

According to old Maslow, one could not proceed to the next level unless most, if not all, of the basic needs of the previous category were met.  Or if they did, they were not very successful.

Take for instance, Level 4: Esteem.  Self-esteem, to be exact.  How you value yourself.  How you look at yourself in the mirror each day and think, "Gee, self, you're just the rootin'est tootin'est!"  How you respect yourself as a human being and individual.  Your confidence in self. Knowing you deserve better and, by golly, demanding it.

Um.  Yeah, no.

As a mother, you get used to putting others before yourself.  It comes natural (er...usually).  You make sure everyone is fed, bathed, dressed, maintained, and occupied before you even THINK of sitting in front of the TV with a cup of coffee and that issue of  Better Homes and Gardens magazine you've been trying to read since October (pumpkins, anyone?). And even if you DO reach that point of solitary bliss, don't get too comfortable, because it's only gonna last about 8.3 seconds.

I'm not here to complain.  I'm here to rally on behalf of self-sacrificing mothers everywhere.  See, we go through life concentrating so much on putting others (read: children and husbands) first that we often neglect ourselves.  We are barely meeting the basic requirements for life, people!  I mean, hello!  EATING, SLEEPING, and URINATING are at the very bottom of the list.  THE VERY BOTTOM.  Yet what do most moms, especially newbies, complain about the most?  Not having time to eat, sleep, or use the bathroom!  How on earth do we expect ourselves to ever maintain relationships, goals, self-esteem, and all that other psychological stuff if we don't even make sure we're eating more than the leftover goldfish crackers from our child's lunch?

Sooo, what got me on this little soapbox today?  Why, I'm so glad you asked.  For the past two days I was battling what is possibly one of the WORST illnesses a mommy could contract: stomach virus.  Oh yes (oh no!).  Nothing is [seemingly] worse than changing a stinky diaper when all you feel like doing is "tossing your cookies."  Nobody says, "Gee, I'd just love to stand here at the kitchen sink and peel potatoes for soup tonight while I'm too weak and dehydrated to even put together a cohesive thought."  And no one should ever have to wear a path between the bathroom and the nursery because you're holding back the "inevitable" during what seems to be a never-ending pre-sleep snuggle-fest with your toddler.

No.  Just no.

You should have the same "rights" as every other human being.  And you should be able to utilize those rights when need be.  But unfortunately, we (moms) don't always have the option to stay in bed all day.  There are no "sick days" when you're a mom, especially when you stay at home with the little dears all day.  So we press on.  We sacrifice ourselves for the better cause and choke back yesterday's pseudo-lunch of leftover goldfish crackers while tending to the needs of those who rely on us.  And sadly, we've done it to ourselves.  We've created a world where we have to do it all and be it all or else it falls apart.

Would it not have been so easy to simply ask my husband to make dinner?  Yes.  But as he stood in front of me asking what to make, all I could think in my little dehydrated mind was, "Dang it.  I should have bought a frozen lasagna."  But no, I insist on making home-cooked meals from scratch each night; and doing it myself is a whole lot easier than explaining to someone else how to do it (Much like how it's easier to just drag your sick self to school than it is to write out 5 pages of sub plans in hopes that some order will be maintained while you're lying in bed with strep.  But I digress.).  It's virtually impossible to sit through a hot bath, much less enjoy it, while you listen to your toddler screaming bloody murder because mommy always "does bedtime." Which, might I add, has become the ritual for the past 20 months because it's just quicker and easier that way.  It's just easier to do it myself.  Easier for me, easier for them.  Just, easier.  That is, until we (I) get sick, or injured, or need a night out with friends.  Then suddenly, it's not so easy.  And thus the point of this whole post...

Mamas, make sure your basic needs are getting met.  Take care of yourself.  And by golly, teach someone else how to take care of you.  Or in the very least, maintain the house and children while you're "out of order."  I learned something these past two days:  I don't take care of myself.  And I need to start.  I let my very basic needs go to the wayside while I'm trying to clean the house, prepare 3 square meals + snacks, teach/entertain/care for a toddler, make grocery lists, balance the bank account, gather coupons, schedule everything around nap time, fix/find/sort/organize ______, maintain a routine, and just "be" there for everyone.  And sometimes, it's all before I even get to go to the bathroom for the first time of the day.

And whose fault is it?  Nobody but my own.  I've made it too easy for everyone but myself.

So, from here on out, I vow to start taking better care of myself.  And I need to create a "back up plan" for when I just. can't. deal. anymore.  I am more than a physical being.  I am a person (ha ha...well duh).  Part of who I am is my psychological, emotional, and spiritual self.  I can't be a whole person unless I am tending to the very basic requirements of life.  So, that's where I stand.  I will start taking better care of myself.  And you know what, this advice goes out to anyone who has given too much of themselves to ANY person or job.  And yes, being a full-time SAHM is a job.  But that's another post for another day. ;)

Take care of you.  Love yourself.  Because you're loved and needed by somebody you love even more. :)

Light bulbs

As a teacher, I've experienced the awe and wonder of watching children grow. I've experienced the sense of pride in turning preschoolers into readers, and third graders into young scholars. I know the look in the eyes of a child when something finally "clicks" and the light bulb turns on. It's great. It's amazing. It's one of the reasons teachers become (or shall I say, STAY) teachers.

And yet none of it prepared me for the overwhelming sense of joy from watching my own child learn and grow.

It has been said that the first year of a child's life is "magical." That may be true, and it certainly is filled with countless milestones and changes. But as I approach the end of my second year of motherhood, I must argue that it is equally as "magical," if not more so.

See, that first year, especially the early months, a newborn is kind of like a... lumpy potato. I mean, they are precious and wonderful and smell fantastic, but there's not a whole lot of self-awareness going on there. They don't realize they're learning. They don't care if you approve that they accomplished rolling over, sitting up, or what have you. As toddlers, they THRIVE on it. And let me tell you, it's awesome.

I think toddlerhood gets a bad rep because of the whole "terrible two's" thing. Yeah, it's challenging. But so are the multiple night wakings, complete lack of independence, and 137 diaper and/or clothing changes a day that come along with babyhood.

Here lately, Corbin has amazed me in what he's learned to do. I've been watching light bulbs shine like Christmas lights in a trailer park in the middle of February. Here are some recent moments of enlightenment for Corbin:

#1 Opening doors. Seriously, most annoying thing ever. But aside from the fact that nothing is off limits anymore, it also has its advantages. For example, he can now open his closet door to get out toys. What's even more amazing is that he puts them back in there. Novelty? Likely. But for now, it's pretty amazing.

#2 Playing off #1 is his ability to open the pantry door and get a snack. I keep his snacks on the bottom shelf in self-serve containers so he can just grab one and start munching. Sometimes it's a pain because, hey, it's also a novelty and he likes to feed the dog, but still. Pretty neat.

#3 His ability to copy everything I do, part 1. Every. Thing. I can not stress enough how this one is so important! I have to be on constant guard to make sure I don't always let Corbin see what I am doing, at least nothing I don't want him to repeat. I'm still paying for one that's too embarrassing to write for the public eye. I'll just leave it at that. Moral of the story, if you pick your nose, your kid is going to, too. And maybe other's. You just never know.

#4 His ability to copy everything I do, part 2. Hello, child labor. I sweep, he sweeps. I vacuum, he vacuums. He has definitely learned to be "tidy" from me. He will bring his dishes to the sink, throw away trash, put his books back in the basket, and place things back where they belong, on command but also on his own. Yes he's still a messy, irresponsible toddler, but I think neatness is going to come natural for him. For instance, at Walmart, he will pick things up off the floor and put them back, even if he didn't do it. And today when he spilled a little of his milk, he came and got me, saying "uh oh!" I gave him a paper towel and he wiped it up!

#5 Potty training. So, we aren't hitting this hard, but we're definitely dabbling in it. He'll pee-pee just about any time I remember to set him on the potty (usually during diaper changes). He even told me yesterday he had to go and then went in the potty. Unlike babies, he is totally self-aware and looks at me for praise every time he goes! When I feel proud of him, he feels proud of himself.

#6 TALKING. Oh my goodness, this child talks a lot. But just like when he started walking, he took his ever-loving time, and then when he was ready, took off like he'd been doing it his whole life. First time he walked, he ran. None of that silly 1 or 2 step nonsense. He ran from me to Josh and back again. Then he walked from the living room to the bathroom. With talking, I thought he'd never start. He had maybe 5 words he'd randomly say. Then suddenly, he was saying, "what is this?" and "see that?" and "me do it!" And that was that. Today he said, "you get my zoom?" (his word for vacuum). Yesterday I asked if he wanted a bath and he said "no, I gonna play." Bossy britches.

#7 Affection. This one turns me to mush. When I'm rocking him for naps, he'll reach up and gently rub my face, or play with my hair, or pat my arm. When we're sitting on the couch, he'll lay his head over on me or take my arm and wrap it around him. Sometimes he'll just hug my legs and say "awwww, my baby" (lol - what I often say when he's being sweet). And then my ABSOLUTE favorite is when he grabs my face with both hands and gives me Eskimo kisses. Heart. Explodes.

#8 Humor. Corbin hides a lot of his personality around people, but once he gets comfortable with you, he REALLY gets comfortable. He lives for a laugh. He makes crazy faces, puts things on his head, purposely "falls" down, and so many other antics. Sometimes he'll use them to try to get out of trouble. Try scolding your toddler for throwing food on the floor while he's giving you a cheesetastic smile or pretending to smell an imaginary flower. Yeah. We're doomed.

#9 He can put a disc in the dvd player and start a movie. Enough said.

#10 Properly use toys and objects. Gone are the days when every toy was an object in the game Will It Fit In My Mouth? Now his choo choos drive on the track. His blocks make a tower. His shape sorter gets sorted. Puzzles are put together. Crayons make a picture instead of a snack. You get the idea.

So there you have it. Life with a toddler. Well, at least mine currently. Tantrums are just part of the learning process, I have come to realize. Every day he makes me proud as he takes one more step toward independence. It's absolutely bittersweet, and there are times I miss the squishy, lumpy potato stage of babyhood. But then I remember, I like sleep. Oh and the helping-clean-up-after-themselves thing.

Now if only I could train my husband to do the same.

Harley

It's 5 degrees and snowy outside. I'm sitting on the couch with Corbin, coffee in hand, watching Sid the Science Kid. Beef stew in the crock pot smelling up the house. Normally, this is the kind of day I dream of. But today I'm feeling melancholy. I still miss my buddy.

I was doing well for a couple days, but as I was looking through Christmas pictures last night to upload to Shutterfly for my 101 (not so) free prints, I succumbed to the temptation to click on that folder called "pets." There were subfolders with each pet's name. I hesitated, knowing good and well what the end result of my emotional state would be, then opened the file.

I've never so badly wanted to reach through the screen and touch something. I put my fingers on his picture and tears started falling. I missed seeing his sweet face.

And before you scoff, roll your eyes, or look at me very perplexed, please try to understand what it's like. I was this creature's mama from the time he was 4 weeks old. In fact, he was my first experience getting up in the middle of the night to feed a tiny baby. We've been through a lot together these past 4 years. A handful of events stand out in particular, but mostly he was my loyal companion, present through life's uneventful moments, whether we were outside grilling or inside watching a movie on the couch. His loud purr always gave away his best hiding spot. He was the most affectionate, intuitive, gentle, and docile cat I've ever seen. Gentle giant. He was huge. He could knock you down trying to beat you to the kitchen when it was time to fill his bowl. No, I didn't just bury a cat. I buried devotion, laughter, love, and life experiences all attached to that silky black feline.

The worst part, aside from missing him in the present, is wondering if I'll ever see him again. Do pets go to heaven? I don't know. Will my earthly furry companions be part of my reward and happiness when I'm in heaven? I wish I knew for sure, but I certainly hope so. I'm not saying I know better than God, but I think if I gave humans the ability to love an animal companion like this, I would have at least given them some sort of memo in regards to their afterlife. You know, like some sort of disclaimer as to what you're getting yourself into when you adopt that tiny kitten or puppy 20, 10, or in my case, 4 1/2 years down the road.

Eventually life will even out again and I'll go days, even weeks, without a tear. Then I'll find a tuff of hair, a picture, a toy, or some other reminder and remember why days like today just have to be. So for today, I'm allowing myself to be sad and grieve and mourn. If you're still reading at this point, thank you for hearing me out. Thank you for listening to what so many don't want to hear me say because he was "just a cat." But I know the truth. And I think he knew he was more than that, too.