Womens Forum - The Place For Moms

Is raising girls better than raising boys? Are boys easier emotionally and financially? Why is there such a inherant difference between what society expects from girls versus boys? Read this weeks column with Wendy where she discusses how having 2 girls is different from having 2 boys.

We think it starts as adults with dry cleaning bills, $1.50 for his shirt, and $5.00 for my blouse.  From there we go to haircuts $15 for his, $55 for mine. Hello? However I realized that the different costs and expectations that society puts on being a boy versus a girl begins so much earlier and weren’t just financial but emotional as well.

Every day during the immersion, we would gather at 8:30 and start the day by pairing with someone in the class. Sitting on floor directly across from the other, you would hold one hand and close your eyes. Open to the vibrations from the others around you, it would begin with a simple mantra “I can sense….” Most days you were happy and would express that happiness. Others you would open your heart feeling secure and simply let your emotions flow.

It’s April vacation which means there are 34 school days before the end of the year, but who’s counting? With school vacation comes parental pressure for mom. Here are the facts: 

• Your kids are off from school for seven loooong consecutive days.
• They will need activity to keep them busy and thus you will need money.
• The amount of cooking, cleaning, and laundry, will envelop you.
• No matter what your plan is, it will never be as good as their friend’s vacation plans. 
• You have 34 days for the test run before summer, so you better get it straight.

Adding more pressure to the mix, my 12-year-old son celebrates his birthday during vacation week. Year after year, his vacation opening ceremony begins with the speech about how bad his vacation and his birthday will be.

My family’s mission is complete. They have their mother back. The yoga retreat was a success. I loved it and the ironic thing is that I fought going. There were lots of excuses.

1. What would my family do about dinner?
2. It was too much money!
3. I quit everything except being a mother (I had no choice).
4. How would everyone get transported where they needed to go?
5. Who would do the laundry?

Besides, I didn’t want to book a room in a dump for $50 bucks a night and stay with a bunch of people wearing Tevas and eating granola at a yoga workshop.

Since I have been home, my life has slowed down, resides at a crawl, ok- maybe it’s stopped. I just cannot adjust. Reentry has come at a cost. My kids have all gone back to their routine and their friends. My husband has never been busier, interviewing and networking for his next professional endeavor.  Me, I am left holding my hand on my a@#. I tell people reentry is like traveling the Mojave Desert in search of water and finally finding a natural spring. You fill your glass and then, just as you start satiating your thirst, someone rips the glass out of your hand and says “sorry wrong daydream” and the spring disappears.

The first year of marriage is always the hardest. Your job as a cook/caretaker is to make meals exactly like June Cleaver. Your spouse’s is to eat them even if they don’t care for meatloaf or shepherds pie.  You must figure out how chores can be divided equally, and when controlling the TV, the clicker takes on a new meaning. A watchful eye detects clothes on the floor, shoes left in the walking path, and toilets where the seats remain up and even worse unflushed.  Ten pounds and ten raging arguments later, you come out with a stronger bond, ready to climb the next mountain. Parenting.

Life as a mom can become mundane and repetitive. When a mom has a routine she longs for diversion and excitement. When a mom has too many diversions and too much excitement, she longs for a routine. What is the answer? Can we have it all?

Today we are remembering two little girls and their mother that did nothing but bring good into the world. I sit at my desk in the UK waiting to hear from home. The jury for the Petit trial is deliberating and they will determine the fate of a murderer who in cold blood stalked a mother and her daughters, followed them home, and later returned to rape them and burn them alive.

In 12 days we will be visiting home for the first time. Initially I didn’t miss it. Everyone warned me that I would become the “friends and family” poster child for the phone company. Knowing how painful it would be to open that door, I never looked back. Embracing life in the UK, I was on a mission to show my kids the world.  In the first ninety days our travels took us to Prague, Budapest, Tuscany, Rome, Paris, Zurich, Germany, and of course to the UK. The days whipped by quickly, and our hearts were full of sunshine and promise.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, my first holiday in the UK. Surrounded by American women from the American Community School, the fact that we live in a country that doesn’t celebrate didn’t resound until I was at the check out line in Waitrose, a UK grocery store. All I could think was “here comes an American” with the equivalent of two carts of groceries and an oven not large enough to hold a turkey. As the corn and mixed nuts, cranberries, fresh flowers, and a glimpse of stuffing ingredients went by the cashier she looked up at me.

When we relocated I expected that my oldest would have heart ache separating from the relationships that defined her, what I didn’t expect was the separation anxiety that my youngest experienced. He’s eight and for five of the eight, he spent most of his days attached to my hip. Now I was putting him in a place where people spoke differently. He couldn’t place our house in his mind and how to easily navigate from school to home.  He wasn’t used to a private school and the rules that go hand in hand with the curriculum. No more coloring and gathering in the little circle to figure out what day of the week it was. He was in French classes learning how to pronounce the days of the week and carry on conversation with our neighboring Parisians. This was not sitting well with the baby of the family.

Here are the top five things I have learned about being an Expatriate in the UK.

Lesson #1- Why All Neighborhoods Have Their Own Pub

The Brits are brilliant. They build small, low maintenance houses, which are large enough for just your family to eat and sleep. You don’t worry about entertaining or throwing large parties, because you can’t.  Instead, you walk down the street and meet your cronies at the neighborhood pub. They don’t rely on playgrounds where you meet other women, eventually inviting them to dinner, complete with 2 hours of prep work, 2 hours of clean up and a $250 tab. You just walk in, see your buddies, buy yourself a cold draft or two, and then go home when it’s time for dinner. In my neighborhood, my pub is The Chaser.

I was set to move my family to England. With just two more days, I was in control and able to check the hundreds of emails that had accumulated. A nice hot cup of tea by my side, my plan was to scroll through the subject lines and tackle the “must do’s” first.  Let’s see Groupon, Groupon, joke from mom, Amazon, will your plane fly out due to the hurricane, your utility bill. Back up. What hurricane?

Apparently some dude name Earl was rolling around out there, causing all kinds of winds and destruction and was headed our way. Who names these hurricanes?

In preparation for our move to England I had two weeks left. The many phases of my journey continued.

Phase 3: Getting House Ready and Animals Packed for Grandmas

The last time I wrote, I mentioned something about being over my head. I was proud that I could make a gutsy decision to relocate my family to England. Well now I’m not sure if I was gutsy or stupid. Life seems busy until you hit a new level of busyness, like being used to three kids and having one more. It isn’t until that defining moment when the baby is screaming, dinner is burning in the oven, your ten year old has your eight year old in a headlock, and your daughter is screaming to turn down the TV, that you realize how lucky you were to have three.