Life

On (Kind of) Arriving

Posted on by noemikjames / 17 Comments

I’ve been trying to write a post all week. I’ve been failing miserably.

I’ve written a couple of things. They are unfinished. Or unpublishable. Most are both.

I start and stop. Erase. Rewrite.

Usually I close my laptop and watch something on TV. I don’t even really read blogs that much. Mostly, when I have the odd free moment, I just want to escape from my life, And even the lives of other ordinary women like me aren’t enough of an escape.

I just can’t figure out what to say. Or how to say it. I don’t really even know how I feel about most of what is going on right now. And while it used to be a cathartic exercise to sort out the complicated thoughts and feelings, now it just feels like a chore. It doesn’t bring relief, it just sits like a weight on my chest, in my finger tips.

So I don’t do it. And I honestly think that’s alright, to not write. But then I miss this space, and the meaningful interactions I have here, and I’m not sure how to proceed. If I don’t write I become isolated and I feel withdrawn. But if I do write, I feel confused and frustrated.

I tell myself to come on here and just write about the easy stuff. Write about minimalism and how I’m still attempting to embrace it, but how quickly and easily the stuff creeps back in. Or about work and how I feel like I always have one foot out the door, except I don’t really have any actual plans to leave. Or my marriage, and how it’s better than it usually is, but it’s not actually super great. It’s just not bad.

That is kind of my whole life right now. Most things are okay. They aren’t super great, but they are better than bad. Maybe this is what arriving looks like?

At my old apartment I had to haul my laundry down a dark, dirty alley behind my building and wait in line to use the one washer and dryer that all nine units shared. The machines sat right next to the giant trash and recycling receptacles and massive rats scurrying to and fro were a common occurrence. I had find parking in a ridiculously busy neighborhood where no one else who lived there had parking and people who didn’t live there were trying to park so they could enjoy the many restaurants within walking distance. I always used to say that when I had off street parking and an in-unit washer and dryer I would have arrived at my life.

Well I have off-street parking and an in-unit washer and dryer, but the washer and dryer are in a weird, gross part of the garage and there isn’t a proper escape for the lint blower, plus we let our tenant use them, so it’s still dirty and dark where I do my laundry and I sometimes have to wait for some else to be done using the machines. And my garage door doesn’t open automatically so I have to get out of the car and hoist the heavy thing up and down, and it gives me splinters and the entrance is super narrow and sometimes I scrape the car backing out and there is hardly enough room to open my door once I’m parked and lots of times someone is partially blocking my driveway so I can’t get in or out anyway.

So I guess I’ve arrived at my life, but it’s not at all what I was expecting it to be. It’s not a laundry room with a tiled floor and painted walls that I can walk into without putting shoes on and that no one else is ever using. And it’s not a garage where the door rises effortlessly (on my part) with the press of a button, and there is plenty of space for my car and all the people who need to get out of it and no one is ever blocking me in or out. Most of it’s a lot like what I thought I was leaving behind, I just have a little more say in it all than I used to, except I’m still constrained by reality (read: money) and I still don’t see things improving any time soon.

I don’t know quite how to tie this up, but I guess what I mean is, my life, the whole of it, feels like the garage with the washer and dryer. It’s what I thought I always wanted, but it’s not what I expected at all. It’s almost like when I was wishing for it, I wasn’t specific enough, and before I knew it, I was getting something that technically fits the bill, but it’s actually what I was hoping for. Or maybe it’s just that in life, you don’t get to choose the important stuff. Or you do, but you can’t possibly know what you’re ultimately going to get.

Or maybe this is just the biggest pile of steaming first world problems a person could stumble across, or into, and I just need to shut my spoiled, privileged mouth and move on.

Maybe it’s D. All of the above.

Of course people always told me, when in doubt, choose C. Always choose C.

Uncategorized

A Good Day

Posted on by noemikjames / 7 Comments

Yesterday was a good day. 

I feel like I don’t come on here much to share the good days, and that is how the picture I paint becomes so skewed. 

But yesterday was one of the good days. I have been feeling myself lifting out of the generalized funk I fell into. I don’t really know what changed to help me get out, but that is usually how these things work. One day I just start feeling better. 

Yesterday I had a good conversation with the parent of a child we’re trying to help. 

I managed to fit a run in between work and picking up my kids, and even though it was hot, the sun his behind a cloud just enough to make it bearable. 

My kids ate the “super hero smoothie” I made for them, packed with two cups of fresh spinach. It’s amazing how much better I feel when I know they are eating healthy food. 

My daughter had finished her homework at after care. That always makes things easier. 

Neither of them got upset when I left to eat dinner with some friends. It was the first time I’ve been out with friends since before school started over a month ago. It was nice to catch up. Heck it was nice to just be with other adults who weren’t my husband. Also, the dinner I ordered was amazing. 

I got home all energized from seeing people and had a hard time getting to bed, but it’s okay because today is Friday. Friday is my favorite day. 

And those all some of the reasons why yesterday was a good day. 

When was your last good day? What made it a good one?

Financial Security

Standing at the pantry, shoving cookies in my mouth

Posted on by noemikjames / 33 Comments

In the darkest years of my disordered eating, I would stand at the pantry, leaning against the door, grab things I wanted to eat, and just stand there, shoving them into my mouth. It was like I thought that if I stood so close to where the chips were stored, it wouldn’t count that I was eating them. Like I hadn’t properly committed, and so the consequences wouldn’t be real.

They were of course. And I gained pound after pound until I weighed more than I had ever weighed, before or since. Even after 55lbs of weight gain during my first pregnancy, I didn’t weigh as much as I did in the years when my compulsive eating was at its worst. I just couldn’t get enough, nothing sated me.

That is how I feel now, with my spending. I happened kind of suddenly, actually. I was doing pretty well, even after I’d decided to abandon my budget posts and my spending-freeze for a while. Then, out of nowhere, I was on Amazon every day, buying thing after thing after thing. The past five days have been like some horrible binge, and I’m not sure how to stop myself.

I feel like such a failure. I AM such a failure. The is no one single area of my life that I have failed in so spectacularly as spending money. I have always spent irresponsibly and I continue to spend irresponsibly, despite trying to change time and time again. I’ve tried committing to not buying anything new, I tried committing to a budget. I tried committing to a spending freeze. I failed at each and every attempt. I didn’t even last very long for any of them.

I don’t know how to do this.

Well, that’s not true. I know HOW to do it, I just don’t know how to MAKE myself do it. And none of the experts can help me because for all of them it comes easy. They just DO IT, and hardly make a fuss. A lot of them LOVE doing it. They think it’s fucking awesome to do it. So how are they going to tell me how to make it happen, when clearly there is something fundamentally different inside each of us, compelling us to act in completely different ways.

It’s like when the Ph.D in math tries to explain fractions to a kid who is attempting Algebra for the fifth time. Their incredible understanding of math, and the ease with which they learned it, actually hinder them in their attempts to explain it to someone who just cannot comprehend.

I am that person. I cannot comprehend. I’ve always considered myself someone with considerable will power and stamina. When I have really wanted something, I have done A LOT of things I REALLY didn’t want to do, to get it. So why can’t I do THIS one thing that part of me doesn’t want to do? Why can’t I exercise willpower over this one part of my life?

This feeling of powerless crushes me. There is only one other time in my life I felt this out of control, and it was when I struggled with disordered eating. It absolutely consumed my life, and made me miserable. It fueled my darkest depression, and remains the solitary demon that actually pushed me to the point of such despair that I considered killing myself. The only thing that was able to repair my disordered dependence on food was my medicine, which helped me learn how to have a healthy relationship with what I eat. But there is no medicine that can foster a responsible relationship with money. I have to figure it out for myself.

Except when I try to do that I fail. And I fail. And I fail. Maybe I’ve made some gains, but they have been so microscopic–if I keep continuing forward at this rate, I won’t get it right before it’s too late.

Because the thing with money is, at some point it doesn’t matter if you’re making the right choices, because you can never overcome all the bad ones.

I know I’m not there yet, but I also have no reason to believe I can turn things around. I’ve tried. In earnest. Many time. And while I have learned so much, I have not found a way to put it into practice. I still spend more than I can to save money. I still buy things impulsively. I still treat myself and reward myself and tell myself it’s worth it. I still do ALL THE WRONG THINGS, and I do them MOST OF THE TIME.

So I’m starting again. Again. But it’s hard to garner enthusiasm when all the empirical evidence tells me this attempt, like all the ones that came before it, will fail.

That I will fail.

Like I always do.

Is there something in your life you’ve failed at many times? Did you keep trying?

Identity/Life

To Do Deja Vu

Posted on by noemikjames / 11 Comments

Every day I have a laundry list of things to get done and I’m not very good at remembering to do them.

If I REALLY need to accomplish something I send myself an email with the task written in the subject line and then I don’t let myself open it until it’s done. I HATE unread emails in my inbox, and I’ll keep checking and rechecking that unread email all day, so I don’t forget to do it. Sending myself an email is an almost fail safe way for me to remember really important tasks, but if I used it for all my to-do list items, it would lose its efficacy.

I’ve tried the reminder app that comes with my iPhone, I’ve used ToDoist, I’ve even dabbled in the Bullet Journal that Mel blogged about, but I can’t seem to make a habit of any of them. I don’t remember to write down what I have to do and then I don’t remember to check it when I finally have time to do things. If the item is not part of my regularly scheduled programming, there is a good chance I’m not going to remember to do it.

That’s all fine and good, until my to-do list starts piling up and toppling over. When the days march by and the list of what I needs to get done only grows, I start to feel panicky. Right now, my to-do list is feeling unmanageable and I’m realizing I need a new system.

So I opened up my Reminder App to start using it again, and found that almost every task that had been left unchecked months before was still relevant. I still need to schedule my daughter’s swim lessons, and take a bag of clothes to the consignment store and take another bag to the Young Families Resource Center and I need to update my budget and schedule an appointment with the plumber. Some of these have been done, multiple times, since I last wrote them in my to-do lists. Some are still outstanding from months ago, when I first wrote them down.

My life, at this point, is just an endless cycle. The number of the year on the calendar changes, the ages of myself and my children change, but most of what happens, day to day, is pretty much the same. My to-do list gets written, crossed off and rewritten and most of the items are the same.

On the way to work I was thinking about this too, as I watched the same scenery pass by for what I calculated was the 2nd or 3rd THOUSANDTH time. How many more times will drive down that particular stretch of freeway before I die? How many more times will I park my car in my school’s parking lot and trudge into my classroom and teach the same curriculum to the same aged students? There is no reason to think any of that will ever change, and knowing that I might have such a clear view of such a huge chunk of my future is kind of suffocating.

And then I remember that I’ll be lucky if that is what my future looks like, if I’m blessed with monotony instead of tragedy, because so many alternatives to that cut and paste future are so much worse.

I’ve written about this many times before, the realization that all the big milestones in my life are behind me, that my future feels like it’s less about me and more about my children, that my time to grow and change is done.

Sometimes I toy with the idea of making some monumental change to my life. I’ve rolled the idea over in my mind so much that it has worn smooth and unassuming. I don’t think I’ve legitimately considered making any real changes in a long time; I just go through the motions of wondering what if, of daydreaming of what could be. Even my aspirations are recycled.

I’m not quite sure how to wrap this up in a box with meaningful written on the side, or how to tie a shiny bow of well written around the top. It’s just something I was thinking about today.

Do your to-do lists change? How about your aspirations?

Uncategorized

Sometimes I wish I were an introvert

Posted on by noemikjames / 23 Comments

Sometimes I wish I were an introvert. Or that I weren’t an extrovert. Do you have to be one or the other?

It took me a long time to recognize that I have a real need to see my friends, to sit down with them and have a meaningful conversation. If I don’t get that, I start to feel off. And there is nothing, not writing here or texting with someone, that can give me what sitting across from someone and talking gives me. 

I’m a weird brand of extrovert. I can do big gatherings but they don’t fill my cup. I only walk away fulfilled if I’ve found someone I can really talk to about more than just the niceties. I need to have that deep, meaningful conversation. I need to feel that very real connection. 

Standing in front of my students doesn’t do it for me. Chatting with a colleague at work doesn’t do it for me. Being with my kids doesn’t do it for me. Texting or emailing help, but they aren’t enough. They are like a meal replacement bar when what I really need is a nourishing plate of food. 

Most days I have just enough–between writing here, receiving and responding to comments, commenting on other people’s blogs, texting and emailing with friends, and the occasional chat with someone to sustain me. But it’s not enough for me to feel truly satisfied, if that makes sense (and I feel like an ass saying that, like what others give me isn’t enough, but it’s just who I am. I NEED that face to face, meaningful interaction.)

I know introverts have it hard. I know they are swimming against the current, being asked to participate in ways that exhaust them. I’m sure it’s incredibly difficult. But sometimes I envy them, because they don’t need anyone else to fill their cup. They need to find space and solitude, and while I recognize that can be almost impossible to come by, at least it doesn’t require a second, willing and able participant. 

I NEED someone else to feel fulfilled. I can get by on my own for a certain amount of time but eventually my cup runs low and the only thing that can fill it is seeing a friend. And what do I do if my friends aren’t available? Or they live far away? Or they have kids and no coverage? It sucks to depend on others, especially when they are introverts and don’t depend on you. Especially when being with you is what depletes them. 

So sometimes I wish I were an introvert, so that a long solitary walk, or reading a good book, or just lying in bed would fill me up. Because I can make those things happen. It’s tricky and requires a lot of work, but I can manage it. But finding a friend to have dinner with and making plans for that to happen? Most of the time that is damn near impossible. And I hate being dependent on others to feel like my best self. 

Are you an introvert or an extrovert? What is hard about what you need?

Health & Well Being/Parenting & Family

Relentless

Posted on by noemikjames / 12 Comments

I’ve been back at work for over four weeks and the pace of things feels… relentless.

Relentless.

It’s the perfect word.

From the minute I wake up until the minute I go to bed, every minute is scheduled, every minute is required for something, or someone.

I’m having a REALLY hard time carving out a space for myself. It’s obvious that I’m going to have to rearrange my expectations. Significantly. I want to do more than I have time for, and I’m trying to determine what is going to fall by the wayside.

Last year I felt like I’d found a decent balance, but I was kidding myself. The only reason I had time for what I wanted to do was because I was only sleeping five hours most nights. By the end of the year I was losing myself to sleep deprivation.

My schedule this year allows me to wake up an hour later, so I’m getting six hours of sleep most night. I know I need about an hour more than that, but I can get by on six hours a lot better than I can on five. I’m thankful to have that extra hour of rest, but I’m realizing that in gaining that sleep I’ve lost time for other things.

My schedule is very different this year. I get to work late, losing most of my prep period, and I can’t stay for very long after school because I have to pick up my kids. This means I can’t make time to get my work done and it’s very stressful when the obligations start to pile up and I realize I can’t come in early, or leave late to get things done. I told my husband that I will need an entire weekend day every few weeks to keep my head above water, there just isn’t any way for me to stay on top of everything without more time.

Of course it feels like I never have enough hours with my kids. It helps that I get to see them in the mornings and in the evenings, but time with them is always rushed by a need to accomplish something. Every one of the minutes I spend with them needs to be productive or the whole operation goes off the rails. There are only about fifteen minutes before bedtime when we can run around or wrastle or tickle or play around. It’s such a pitiful amount of time to actually enjoy being together.

In the evenings, after bed time, my time feels even more limited. There are chores to get done, quality time to squeeze in with my husband, and attempts at filling my own cup. I could never manage all three in one night, so it inevitably feels like I’m shirking my obligations around the house, or ignoring my husband, or not meeting my own needs. I have yet to figure out how to find any time to see my friends (more on that later).

Honestly, at this point, if I make time for one thing, I’m taking time away from another, equally, if not more important, thing. I’m constantly rearranging my priorities, determining what, on any given day, feels necessary. The problem is sometimes that rearranging comes back to bite me on the ass.

Like today, I ran after work and before picking up my kids, but I had to sneak off campus fifteen minutes early and pick up my daughter 15 minutes late to make it work. I did that so I could write here at night, instead of go on the elliptical, but when I chose to run I also chose not to stop by the supermarket which means I had fewer options for dinner.

Last night I was exhausted and passed out at 9pm, right after I put my daughter to bed, which means I didn’t get to spend any time with my husband, who I haven’t really talked to in three days. I also didn’t pick up around the house, which is reaching a level of chaos that really stresses me out.

I feel like I’m trying to fit four hours worth of responsibility into two hours of time every night, and that time is being interrupted by my daughter who still takes 90 minutes to actually fall asleep.

It’s just hard, and stressful, and when I constantly feel like I’m avoiding one thing to accomplish another, none of it feels very satisfying. Exercising loses a little of its ability to relieve stress when I know it’s keeping me from being with my kids and/or my husband. Folding the laundry can’t be a mindless task to be enjoyed in front of the TV when I know it’s causing me to lose precious sleep. I want the time with my husband to feel extra meaningful when it’s keeping me from writing. I feel like everything I do is at the expense of something else, and my cup is becoming a sieve.

When there isn’t enough time, there is no right way to spend it.

I’m feeling so haggard from it, and it’s only the first month of the school year. How can I make this sustainable?

How do you manage everything when there aren’t enough hours in the day? How did you determine your priorities?

Health & Well Being/Identity/Writing

Retreat

Posted on by noemikjames / 18 Comments

I have been blogging for (what feels like) a long time (I actually missed my six year blogoversary last month). I used to write almost every day, and I would write whatever I was thinking or feeling. My blog was a raw, honest place.

That has changed. I have changed. I don’t write as much any more, and I don’t write everything I’m thinking or feeling. Partly that is a reflection on me and the ways I’ve evolved–I don’t share as much with others as I used to in any area of my life. At least it doesn’t feel like I do. I wonder sometimes if that is true.

I don’t put myself out there anymore, because I realize now that there will always be judgement; there will always be those people who read what I write and think my words here are a complete reflection of who I am. And perhaps it’s not fair to ask someone to remain constantly aware of the fact that what is presented here is not an accurate account, that I am more than what I write in these posts.

Despair. There can be an air of it, evidently, in how I present myself. Even people who know I am more can be weighed down by it. So I’m trying hard to hold it close, to contain it. I know it’s there. I recognize it myself. I can see how others perceive it. And I understand that those people who are not afflicted by depression, who have never suffered it (or haven’t suffered from it consistently) can’t recognize its manifestations. It took me over a decade to do that myself, and I’m living with it, so I don’t expect others to easily identify it and understand it for what it is–a thing I am afflicted with, but not who I am.

Few things have hurt more than when my words here were taken as some indelible truth by those I loved, and used against me. I do, and will continue to, try hard to ensure it never happens again.

And so I hold things close. When the stress starts to get the better of me and I notice I am falling into that pit that others recognize as despair, I hang back. I put on a mask. I don’t share that part of me with anyone else. Not even here. But I also don’t force myself to pretend I am somewhere I’m not. I don’t force myself to pretend anymore than I’m already required to. So I stop writing. I stop texting. I stop reaching out. I know that people don’t want any part of me when I’m like this so I don’t thrust it in their faces. Instead, I let there be silence.

Silence doesn’t have to be bad. Silence can be a healing place.

This is a hard time of year for me. It always has been. There are myriad reasons why this year the stress is even more intense. I’m not handling any of it particularly well. I’m okay with that. I’m giving myself time and space. I’m giving my friends a break. I’m reading bad YA novels and watching mindless TV. I’m working out (which helps my stress levels immensely). I’m not writing. I’m not posting. I’m putting up cute pictures of my kids on FB. I’m answering How are you? with Fine.

And I will be fine. I know that. If I were worried that I might not be fine I’d reach out. This is not the kind of melancholy that requires I seek outside support. I know myself. I know my moods. I know my up and down cycles. I know my depression. I’m on my medication. This is a tough time–this will be a hard year–but eventually it will be become routine, and the weight of it won’t feel so overwhelming.

In the meantime I retreat. And that is okay. Sometimes retreating is the right move, strategically. Sometimes retreating is the smart thing to do.

How do you cope when you’re struggling?

Connection/Identity

Sitting with it

Posted on by noemikjames / 10 Comments

About a month ago, my husband and I had a horrible conversation that left me terrified. It was one of the first times in my life where I felt more sure that we weren’t going to make it, than that we were.

I stayed calm throughout the entire conversation. I never got angry. I barely even got upset. I didn’t say anything I would later regret. I listened carefully to what my husband had to say; I made sure I really heard him. He did the same. We understood each other.

Afterward I got up, did the dishes, read a book, and went to bed. I felt godawful inside, but I didn’t lose myself to it. I acknowledged how bad I felt, accepted it, and moved on.

It wasn’t even hard to fall asleep that night.

There was a time, not long ago, when a conversation like that one would have absolutely destroyed me. There would have been yelling, and crying, and the exchanging of unfortunate words. Later I would have dashed around the house like a woman possessed, unable to quiet the torrent of emotions inside, wanting to make it all go away but not having the presence of mind to manage it. I would have been up for hours, tormenting myself with the what ifs.

I don’t do that anymore. I’ve grown up. I can sit with an uncomfortable feeling. I don’t have to flee from it. I don’t have to drown it in alcohol or smoother it in ice cream. I can just sit with it, even when it’s twisting my insides, and I can be okay.

I am really appreciate of that. Maybe even a little proud.

It took me a long time to get here. So so long. But I did. I read a ton of books, I practiced different strategies, I turned to meditation, then turned away, then turned back once again.

And in the end, it all made a difference. Even though I never fully embraced any one thing, that journey gave me the tools I need to manage some pretty intense emotions. I can sit with some heavy shit and not feel crushed under the weight.

I like to think it’s evident to others, in how I relate to those around me, in how I present myself to the world. I am a different person in so many ways.

I’m not the woman I was five years ago, and I like this new me so much more.

It’s heartening to believe that people can grow and change. I look forward to the acceptance that five or ten more years will bring me.

No-additives Diet

Control

Posted on by noemikjames / 25 Comments

My husband and I have had a lot of conversations about my daughter’s behavior and disposition lately. We both agree that it has improved immensely and we’re really enjoying spending time with her. The only thing we don’t agree on is how to explain the recent improvement.

I, of course, believe my daughter is doing better because of the changes we’ve made in what she eats. It’s been about three weeks and while I know we can’t be sure yet if the diet has really made the difference, it’s absolutely what I’m attributing it to. It’s too much of coincidence that her attitude and behavior turned around so significantly at exactly the time we started eliminating additives and adding magnesium, especially considering she’s been managing the stressful transition to Kindergarten, which I expected would make her more irritable and more easily upset.

My husband remains unconvinced. He thinks there are any number of possible causes for the turn around: she had anxiety about starting Kindergarten that has dissipated now that she finally started; she is going through one of her “good” cycles, possibly following a rough couples of months of rapid cognitive development; her brother is developing his own interests, affording her more space; she is settling into a routine after the random weeks of summer (our daughter has always done better with a solid routine). While my husband absolutely believes the diet and supplement are a part of the improvement, he thinks they are merely one piece in a series of moving parts.

This has been very frustrating for me.

And finally, last night, I figured out why.

The thing is, my husband’s explanation is a reasonable one. In fact, it may be considerably more reasonable than my own. It certainly is more conservative and measured, and it makes quite a bit of sense. There is a reason my husband studied law–he is good at arguing his case and he appreciates the importance of solid evidence.

Solid evidence is something I don’t have. And yet I choose to believe anyway. I choose to believe because if I think all this is helping it makes it easier to do all the hard work. I choose to believe because it feels good to think I’m helping my daughter.

I choose to believe because it gives me a feeling of control.

And that, in the end, is what it comes down to. I want to think the diet and the supplement are making the difference because I can keep eliminating additives and mixing magnesium into my daughter’s warm milk. I want to think this is all making the difference because then I can ensure things will keep getting better, or at least stay as good as they are now.

If it’s other things, a more elusive convergence of the situational and developmental, I have no control. I can’t ensure that my daughter won’t wake up one morning angry and upset, ready to meltdown or become aggressive at the slightest provocation. If the diet isn’t the causal force of all this good, I can’t guarantee that this new reality I love so much won’t evaporate in a puff of smoke.

I need that control. I’m desperate for it. Things are so much better than they’ve ever been, and I’m terrified it’s not going to last. If I think I’m doing something to cause these positive changes then I can continue doing something to ensure the positive changes don’t stop.

My husband and I had a good talk about all this last night, and I appreciate better understanding why it frustrated me so much that he didn’t attribute the improvements to the changes we made. Recognizing how terrified I am of losing this amazing version of my little girl, and understanding how desperate I am to ensure it doesn’t happen, is an important step.

I hope, moving forward, I can remain impartial in my recording of my daughter’s behavior, and be sensible in my interpretations of what might be causing any anomalous outbursts. A level-head can only help me moving forward, and I can only have one if I learn to accept my fear instead of allowing it to get the best of me.

And if I can’t, I hope my husband less emotional, more prudent interpretation can anchor me.

Have you even chose to believe something because doing so afforded you control (or the illusion of it)? How do you accept how little control we actually have?

Home/Parenting & Family

The Electronic Babysitter

Posted on by noemikjames / 48 Comments

I’d love to sit here all proud of the fact that the TV is almost never on in our house, but I honestly can’t take much credit. It was my husband who was super anti-TV when our kids were younger and I respected his wishes on that, even though I thought it was all kinds of bullshit since I was with them more and felt I unfairly shouldered the burden.

Later we all but gave the TV away, as far as our kids were concerned, because our daughter had such an awful time turning it off that the inevitable meltdown negated any stress relief provided by turning it on in the first place. In the last year our daughter quite literally never watched TV at our house.

I have busted out some Spanish language cartoons to keep my son occupied when he wakes up before I’m done showering after a workout, but that isn’t a regular occurrence. Still, at not even two years old he’s sat in front of way more lighted screens than his sister had at that age (actually, she never sat in front of any TV before she was two, my husband insisted on that).

So yes, I am pretty proud that we don’t fall back on TV, but it’s a misplaced pride because I didn’t really have anything to do with it. If it were up to me my kids would watch TV every day.

At least that is what I thought…until I realized I might need to turn it on to get through some of these insane afternoons. And suddenly I’m not sure I want to.

My in-laws suggested it first. They saw first hand the chaos that ensued when they dropped our son off after a day at their house. My daughter is tired, wired, clingy and whiny after a long day at school and after care. My son gets amped up just seeing my daughter. He wants to be with her. She needs her space. They require constant coaching in appropriate sibling interaction. I need to get dinner ready and on the table.

“Just have them watch Sesame Street,” my mother-in-law implored.

“Talk to your son,” was my immediate response.

But he was okay with it too. He also recognizes the perfect storm of shit that is the hour before mealtime, especially now that my kids are so hungry they want to eat long before my husband is even home. If I don’t turn the TV on, making dinner is almost impossible and by the time I get everyone seated at the table I am completely and utterly frazzled. The thought of making it through two separate bedtimes is almost unbearable.

When I turn on the TV, making dinner is a breeze. I can even get the dishes done, and put a load in the laundry early, which means I won’t be up waiting to fold clothes before bed.

Turning on the TV is the obvious choice, and yet I feel like a horrible mom for doing it. I have so few hours with my children, to abandon them to a glowing screen for 54 minutes feels like neglect. But then, when I have that time to recharge while I make them food, I can engage with them more in the final hours before bed. And I enjoy those moments with them more as well.

The only reason the TV is even an option now is because my daughter can handle turning it off. Whether it’s the diet or the magnesium or a bit of both, my daughter is truly a changed child. Now she hardly blinks when I turn off the TV. She comes straight to the table and starts to eat. (A separate miracle, to be sure.)

And so the two great barriers between me and my kids’ TV time have crumbled. My husband now supports me turning it on instead of balking at the prospect, and my daughter doesn’t meltdown when I turn it off. There is no reason not to use it except my own… I want to say concern over how much screen time they’ll be getting, but I can’t help but wonder if there isn’t a fair amount of pride at stake too.

I also realize I have no idea how much TV other kids watch. Maybe an hour a day, four days a week, isn’t such a bad thing? Maybe that’s totally normal. I honestly don’t know.

 How much TV do your kids watch? How do you feel about how much screen time they get?