Mom is Just a Nickname

There have been a few new posts on my other blog.

Is it Right to Submit to Motherhood?
“Momma, You’re So Funny!”
In Response to “Is it Right to Submit to Motherhood?”

Jump over and join the discussions! I’m curious if any fathers have experienced similar feelings of ‘losing themselves’ to parenthood, especially stay at home dads. I’m also interested in what mothers whose children are already grown have to say about it all.

Every one had a lot of good things to say in response to the post, “Is it Right to Submit to Motherhood?”  The words written struck me with a certain level of trepidation.  They made me wonder, am I approaching this motherhood thing the right way? 

Well, of course, I’m trying to change the way I’ve been coming at it for the last ten years.  Jenna suggested that motherhood was more of a “taking on another role, another part of who I am.”  Those words struck me as significant.  Motherhood is a role I play. It is not the only role I play, no matter how the last ten years might seem.

 Virginia said, “I expect respect of my time and space, just like she expects that from us.”  Stacie echoed her, “we all have rights and need our quiet time and personal space and pursuits.” Although my children don’t always respect my boundaries, as evidenced by how rarely I can pee without someone walking into the bathroom, they do try.  I’m doing my best to make the boundaries of my time and space clear, but with a four year old, I still have to be available for him quite often.  I can’t lose myself in my writing for hours on end, forgetting about lunch or snacks or play or all of those other things that are so important in his world.  I do, at times, do things the kids aren’t happy about and I tell them, “Look, it’s my turn.  If you don’t want to do this with me, go do something by yourself in your room.”  Usually, they end up staying by me.  My kids don’t seem to expect to have time and space to themselves.  They would far rather be doing things as a family than off by themselves.  And actually, I rather like that about my family right now.  I like that my kids WANT to spend time as a family.  I just need to find some way(s) to carve obvious family time and then ask for privacy at other times.  That is a challenging thing to do.  I just have this feeling that the days of happy family time are numbered as my oldest approaches her teenage years.

And finally, there’s Annie.  Her words reverberated through me.  I tried so many times to respond to her words, but I never knew what to say exactly.  Here’s her comment, in full:

i suppose its right to “submit” if at the end of it, you want a little dictator who thinks her or his needs come before her mother’s. i find the word “submit” offensive any time any one applies it to me. i don’t submit to anything for any reason. (i may agree and go along) nor do i define myself as the mother of anyone else. i am a person who happens to be a mother. my goal for myself as a mother and for my children is to create independent, functional, healthy adults. it is not to make my children happy or to create an illusion of a world that simply is not realistic. my goal is to give my children tools to cope and succeed in the world in which they are going to find themselves. to that end, part of the lesson they need to learn is that other people have needs. if i don’t teach my children that i, the rock at the center of their world, have needs - who else will? teaching a child that the parent has needs validates the child’s own needs.

To address the first part, although my children do have free access to me at just about any time of the day or night, they are not dictators.  [I realize you probably weren't aiming that straight at me, Annie, but I feel I must respond.]  My children are often complimented on their nice manners, their pleasant attitudes and their kindness to others.  They are thoughtful, considerate and sweet.  I feel I must be doing something right when so many people over the years have said the same thing about my children.

I hesitated to use the word “submit” since I also find the use of it generally unappealing and offensive.  I do not willingly submit to much of anything.  I either agree and go along, or I speak up.  I guess that means that at some point when I transitioned from me to mom, I agreed and went along with it.  Now, I find myself disagreeing with that view of myself and I’m speaking up.

I do define myself as the mother of three children.  Three children.  I only have two with me today, so I have found that saying “Mother of three” is almost the only way to show that one of my children has died.  He is not a bad memory I sweep under the rug, however I can’t rightly say that I have three children.  I do not. It’s a very confusing dynamic of words, and saying “Mother of Three” has become a way for me to express my deceased child’s impact on my life.

The rest of Annie’s words, I have no quibble with.  I also am striving to teach my children to function in a world greater than themselves.  I do my best to instill a respect for others, and I realize that should include myself.  I’m unsure of how to instill that respect for ‘me time’ though.  I welcome suggestions.  That is, after all, a large part of what I’m searching about here.

How does a mother separate herself from her children and their needs?  How does a mother teach them to respect her time, space and pursuits?

That (the title) is what my dear, darling four year old said to me this afternoon as I was slowly dancing/stretching to some music I had playing.  Standing beside him was the nine year old, with a big old smirk on her face.  It may have just been a smile, but it felt like  a smirk.  Well, those two sweet, adorable, charming children of mine totally killed my desire to dance right then.  I’m self conscious at the best of times about dancing, but today my back was sore so I knew my movements were anything but smooth.  It just felt good to stretch.

One of my B.C. (Before Children) loves was dancing.  When I was very small, I took ballet/tap/jazz and loved every minute of it.  I’m still not quite sure why I didn’t keep taking dance what with how I loved it.  I used to dance for my grandmother.  I can vividly remember making her sit and listen to “Rock This Town” by the Stray Cats (which she didn’t like that much) and watching me dance.  I remember her saying she’d watch me dance in a skirt one day as long as she wouldn’t see my panties.  I grinned, all innocence, and said, “Don’t worry, you can’t see them. I’ve got panty-hose on!”  Around that same time, I performed a dance to Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” at a school performance.  I loved to dance. 

During High School, I would wait until my family had gone to bed for the night and then dance for two hours in the darkened living room.  I would stop abruptly if I heard anyone coming down the stairs, very embarrassed to have any one see me dancing.  I’d often weave fantasies as I danced.  Meeting my Prince Charming or performing for an awestruck audience.  I can’t even remember all of the directions my fantasies went.  It was kind of like watching a musical movie, where the characters will randomly burst into song or dance.  Movies like Dirty Dancing left me in a haze of delight.

In college, I discovered Swing Dancing.  I had so much fun with that.  Not only did I take a class, but me and my friends would go down to Washington D.C. to dance at Glen Echo.  I distinctly remember the fun I had the time a gentleman about the same age as my grandfathers asked me to dance at Glen Echo.  He was the best dancer on the floor!  He taught me so many moves that the younger set didn’t know, and this man knew them because the Swing Dancing was from HIS youth.  My own grandfather tried to teach me some of the moves as I was growing up, but he claimed I always tried to lead. heh.

Over the last year or two, I’ve been letting myself move when the music draws me.  Things like Shakira or my old favorites from Elton John or U2 will get me up and moving.  I hate it, hate it, hate it, when some one comes into the room when I’m dancing though.  I feel the rhythm in my body shriveling to nothing when I realize someone is gawking at me.  I’ve tried ignoring the feeling, especially when it’s my own kids.  I mean, I figure they should see their mom letting loose every once in awhile.  But when comments like “Momma, you’re funny,” and snickers and smirks are directed my way, I can’t help but want to hide that facet of myself from my children.  It makes me feel exposed.

I’m really not sure at this point how to reconcile this part of me with the mommy part of me.  The two do not seem to fit together.