Why I love being a full-time working mother

“What you work full time? And you have two Kids? Awww, I am so sorry for you.”

“That must be so hard, poor you.”

“That’s difficult, hang in there.”

These are the responses I hear when telling people I work full-time and have kids.

However, the best responses come from my favorite group The Holier-than-thou-judgmental parents...

“What about your kids?”

“Your poor kids, they must miss you?”

Or some don’t even have to say a word; they just give me that Oh-you-are-a-shitty-mother look.

However, they shouldn't feel sorry for me, I love it. It was a choice I made for myself and my family. And guess what? My kids don’t miss me at all! And that is fantastic!

The office...

Since working full time,  I am becoming the person I once was: happy, positive and self-confident.

You see, I worked part time for 5 years. I stayed home with my babies and I spent every waking hour with them. And I wasn't happy. I know it sounds ungrateful, but trust me I enjoyed every second I could between tackling the piles of laundry, washing the floors, running errands, taking kids to appointments, grocery shopping and all the other household management tasks PLUS working two or three days a week. 

I was exhausted and the enjoyable moments with my kids came after all of these tasks were completed. And by that time, I was too tired to enjoy them.

Not to mention, my self-esteem plummeted during those 5 years. I was overwhelmed and exhausted which allowed my insecurity as a parent to grow into an uncontrollable monster. I was spread thin and expected to do more than I was capable of, not only at home but also at work. I was expected to be full time at both places, impossible for me.

Then an opportunity came up to work full-time when my youngest started school. So I took a leap! I started working full time again, and my life has changed forever, for the good.

Going back to a full-time work schedule has taught me one of the greatest lessons in life: Life is not about quantity, it’s about quality. 

And now I realize that every moment I have with my babies is a gift. I am able to really enjoy them, have fun with them and watch them grow into these amazing little people.

You might be thinking, yeah yeah so cliché. I can understand that, but for me it is true.

Let me give you a peek into my moments:

Every morning if my babies aren't already snuggled up beside me by 7am, I bring them into my bed. Then we snuggle while waking-up and talk about the dreams we had that night. 

We go on imaginative adventures together, if only for 10 minutes, we are swept away to whatever world they discovered in their dreams.

We cuddle until the last moment and our morning routine begins. Soon, we are on the way to school where I cuddle them even more and listen to the latest gossip about their friends. I kiss them a hundred times and smell their sweet smell only a mother can love. The last bell rings for school to begin and I stampede out with the rest of the parents. 

They begin their day at school and I am on my 45 minute commute to work, smiling the entire way, thinking about what a great day it was even if it ended at that moment.

Then after work, no matter how shitty of a day I have had, I jump into my car and rush home to see their cherub-like little faces. The entire drive home I can hardly wait to hear what they had done during the day. 

I walk in the door and for five minutes I am a rock star. They are screaming with joy, showering me with kisses and telling me about the most exciting part of their day!

After dinner, I put my daughter to bed and we tell each other "secrets" about our favorite moments of the day. I lie with her in bed until she is off to dreamland.

Then I have about 45 special Mommy-and-Luca-time with my son. We read, we talk or we watch a nature show, all the while snuggling on the couch. We go to our own world for those 45 minutes. I really can't explain it in words. It's only something we can understand.

I finally tuck him in bed and already look forward to them waking-up the next morning.

These are moments I probably had with them when I didn't work as much, but to be honest they weren't pleasant. My patience was always thin from exhaustion and frustration. Back then, my kids sucked energy from me and now they give me all the energy in the world. Back then, I would spend the weekend wishing I could escape. Now I spend my weekend soaking up every second with my kids and loving it.

Even though I am not there to pick them up from school in the afternoon or to cook them dinner, I still believe I made the best choice going back to work for myself but also for my kids.

Our family is living proof that a happy mama makes a happy child!

PS...this is just my story, I know mothers who are successful at working part-time and raising kids...I am just not one of them.

How did I become a mother?

I feel horrible for not having the time to post anything lately, even though I have lots to tell you. But hopefully soon I can recover from the holiday craziness and the war against the lice to actually post something new. Here is a guest post from last year on the Amsterdam Mamas website...

Hold On and Never Let Go

“You will never have a child of your own,” uttered my fertility doctor as he stood there like a block of ice. “There is just nothing we can do for you at this point.”

Standing up from his desk, he quickly ushered me into the hallway telling me to make an appointment for a follow-up in a few months.

I remember walking down the hall to the lobby, nurses staring at me like I was walking down death row. Sympathetic eyes, distant eyes and eyes that just seemed to pass over me. It seemed like the entire office knew my sentence, but no one said a word.

It was torture for me as I sat there in the waiting room looking out over the landscape of pregnant bellies. There were rows of bellies, in all shapes and sizes, and I seemed to be the only one without a bump. The diagnosis played in my head over and over again like a broken record: “Premature Ovarian Failure, Premature Ovarian Failure, Nothing further we can do for you.”

I was 33 years-old, and I felt like my life had ended. My lifelong dream to become a mother shattered. Premature Ovarian Failure (POF) meant that my ovaries were empty, and I was in a sort of early menopause. I had gone off the pill just nine months prior, and I was so excited to have a baby after years of focusing on my education and career. I was finally at a point in my life where it felt like the right time.

I was arrogant thinking I could easily get pregnant. Both my mother and grandmother had four kids, so of course I assumed I was fertile. But the only thing I did not factor in was that, yes they had children, but they were in their early twenties. This condition is hereditary and both were finished with menopause by age 40. I was too late, and I had an egg count and FSH hormone level at menopausal level to prove it.

Head on over to the Amsterdam Mamas website for the rest of my post...

You've come a long way baby!

A jar I made myself to put in all the positive things from 2013

The thing I love most about blogging is that I have created a historical record not only for my kids, but also for myself.

And this year I have decided to take a look back at the past, mainly because 2013 was a big year for me, not only as a mother, but also for the person under the mommy shell.

You know, ME, the woman who went back to work full-time, turned 40 and set out to follow her dreams as a writer. And I took you all along on my journey.

So, if you missed it, here are my milestones from last year!

Mama done good! - In my very first post for 2013, I set out on my journey.

Hold on and never let go - This was my very first guest post of the year on the Amsterdam Mama's website. And the most difficult story I have ever had to write.

Little girls are evil - The day my world was turned upside down and my eyes were opened!

Eat my eggs snobby mamas  - My first baby step towards gaining confidence against the fashion show Barbie moms at my kids school!

Warning: Neighbors and Nakedness -  I suspect this is where my quest to love my booty-liciousness began!

How I let go of my son's hand - Ahhhh, the first time I let go, reminds me I need to keep it up!

Will I ever be on the list? - This was the day I realized I was an outsider. A huge blow, but it really jump started my growth in confidence. I have to get out tissues for this one...

Why travelling with kids is like childbirth -  The day I had to hold my head up high and be proud, even though I wanted to vomit!

Mama, do you like your butt? - How my daughter helped me love my lady lumps! Great photo on this one! this was also posted on Amsterdam Mama's website.

Goodbye 30's, you suck! -  A new decade, a new ME! I made it people!

Are you proud of yourself? - Heck yeah! I am so proud of myself!

The Louse who stole Christmas - This was/still is as of today, the ultimate test after all the miles I gained in building my confidence as a mother and general member of the female population. There are more posts to come about this one...

A resolution not to make a resolution

This was once a resolution...maybe one day

Don't most if us make resolutions every year only to fail by the end of January?

I know I do. Every year I have the best of intentions to either get healthy, enjoy life, become a better writer, to even become a writer, to spend more time with my kids, to kick my sugar addition or to kick my Candy Crush addition...the list could go on forever and it wouldn't matter because I always fail.

By February I am feeling like the biggest loser (not the good kind like on TV) and get a bit down on myself for not being able to keep it up. And the failure cycle begins.

Every year it's the same, life gets in the way of my goals! Damn you life! Why is it every time I try to better myself you sabotage my best intentions?

Not this year! Nope, this year I am just gonna live. Of course, I will try to eat healthier, exercise more and enjoy 2014 to the fullest, but I will do it my way, no pressure. I will do it because I truly want to do it.

However, right now, on 2 January 2014, I don't feel much like making any changes. After eating candy for breakfast and dreaming about cheesecake for lunch, I can tell you today is not the day. Nope, today I will just live. Maybe tomorrow when I wake up I will feel the need to make a change in my life.

Besides, I am too exhausted from the holidays and all the nit picking. My scalp is raw from Listerine and Prioderm and most probably full of dead bugs and hatching eggs. That's life. Bring it on 2014!!!

The Louse who stole Christmas

Our new family shampoo

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring,

Not even a LOUSE...

Ok, that was definitely not true in my house this Christmas Eve. Nope, there was a party going on because along with the sugar plums, mama and papa louse were dancing, dining and laying little Christmas babies all throughout my son's and my head!  

And if you have followed my blog long, then you know that my biggest fear of the motherhood journey is the possibility of getting Lice!

Yep, Junior and I had the creepy crawlies for Christmas. I knew there was a case in his class last week and his head and mine for that matter had been itching, but I had been checking for eggs daily. NADA!

Then all of a sudden after Christmas brunch, I discovered not only was Santa busy on Christmas Eve, but also mama Louse and her egg laying machine - my son's head was full of eggs. 

My sis-in-law grabbed a comb and combed through my son's beautiful thick-as-hell-Lice-breeding paradise and what happened next changed my life: a live creepy crawly was on the comb.

I suddenly felt like I was in a bad dream where I couldn't run from the monster. I had avoided this fear for 40 years and now on Christmas day they show up.

Then when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the comb ran through my hair and out popped twin creepy crawlies.

I felt dizzy for a moment, but then quickly realized I had to take action. We had a Christmas dinner in exactly 3 hours. I had to eliminate these Christmas wreckers!

Thank goodness I had already bought a bottle of Listerine to kill those bastards just in case. An email was sent around last week warning parents that the LICE were rampant in Luca's class. You see, in Holland lice are very common and don't really have the stigma that they do in America. Thank God, or I would be double traumatized. The Dutch are very pragmatic and open about lice and Dutch mothers are always willing to give advice. I guess they have realized that it takes a village to get rid of the lice!

Back to my trauma...We rushed home and faster than you could say Santa Clause. We soaked our heads with Listerine under a shower cap and Saran wrap for two long mouth-washingly tingly hours.

Then I went on a bed stripping frenzy! I spent Christmas afternoon frying lice with Listerine mouthwash and washing everything in my house that could fit into the washer and dryer!

Our two hours were up and it was the moment of truth, time to comb out the Listerine. I bravely combed my own hair first. But I wasn't psychologically prepared for what happened next: dead lice everywhere. No way, this couldn't be happening!

I wanted to vomit, shave off my hair and run away. And that's when it hit me. It wasn't only happening to me, I had to comb out the corpses from my son's hair too.

I choked back the tears and the urge to cry for my mommy and grabbed my Mommy Balls. I WAS the mommy and I was going to kick these nasty little pest's ass. 

I combed my son's hair with vinegar until every little dead body was out. It was a battlefield and we had won this round. And I had the irritated burning skin on my face to prove it. You see, not only did I have a head full of alcohol based Listerine but I had also gone through a skin cancer treatment on my face days earlier that left my skin raw and peeling off. Dripping Listerine + Raw Skin = Hell on Earth. Merry Christmas!

After our treatments,we were on our way to the family Christmas dinner smelling all minty fresh when I suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling of being proud of myself (because you know that's my new thing anyway). 

But seriously, I felt like I had just laid in a bathtub full of snakes and survived or let a thousand spiders crawl all over my body without dying. I survived my biggest nightmare and I felt like a full-fledged mother.

I know strange, but it was how I felt...at least until bedtime when I started processing what I had gone through earlier in the day. The images of dead lice and eggs kept flashing before me every time I closed my eyes. My head began to burn and I began to stress about having to harvest more eggs in the morning. I was battling a case of PTSD and there was no escape. All I could think about was what if there were more bugs in my head running around. I couldn't sleep.

Of course, the exhaustion from the day took over and I finally slept, but I was a basket case the next day thinking about how I was going to get rid of these invaders. I became obsessed and could only think about nits the entire day. I ended up cutting the eggs out of my son's hair and he ended up looking like a mangy dog. Yes, I went crazy.

But I am back to the land of the sane today. I realize it's just a part of life, it could be worse, most kids get them here, they are just bugs, they will eventually go away, its not the end of the world, they don't harm you, we are not dirty, it's all part of being a mother, blah blah blah blah.

But one thing is for sure, I will never ever forget the year the Lice stole my Christmas...I just hope they stay put in 2013!

Are you proud of yourself?

Well are you? Are you proud of yourself? For anything? How many times have you said to yourself, "Self, you rock, I am so proud of you?"

I can honestly say I almost never feel proud of myself.  I try because I know in my head I have lots to be proud of in my life. Yet, there is a little voice saying "Noooo, what matters is what other people think."

Maybe there are people out there who are genuinely proud of themselves. Not the braggers, over confident people, I am talking about the people out there who don't need people to tell them, "Wow, I'm so proud of you."

Well I hope I'm raising two of these such people.

You see, it all started a year or so ago when I saw Marie Osmond being interviewed by Oprah after her son had committed suicide. When talking about his death, she said the one thing she regretted was not asking her son if he was proud of himself.

When I first heard this, I thought huh, that's a strange thing to regret. Did she not regret telling him how much she loved him or how special he was as a person? I was actually kind of shocked at her regret.

Then I started to really think about it and finally my one remaining brain cell went off like flashing ambulance lights.

Why DON'T we ask our kids if they are proud of themselves? Who gives a shit what we think! Marie was right, I should teach my kids that the one person they need to be proud of is themselves and not worry about impressing others. 

So that's exactly what I have been trying to do over the past  year. Every time I wanna say, "Wow, Mama is so proud of you", I say instead, "Sweetie, are you proud of yourself?"

Of course, they first reply, "But mama are you proud of me?" And I then say "Of course, but what matters is if You are proud of YOU. They usually appease me and say "Yeah I guess so Mama". Even though these responses were vague and they only said what they thought I wanted to hear, I persisted.

And guess what? It happened!! Just last week my 5 year old built a Lego helicopter all by himself and he showed it to me proudly. His face was beaming, it was a look I had never really seen before. His head was held high and his chest sticking out.

And that was when he said it, "Mama I'm so proud of myself! And you know why, because I made this all by myself, I did it!"

He really didn't have to say it, I could feel it. Tears in my eyes I said to him, "And that's all that matters!"

"Self, you are far from being Mother of the Year, but you are hanging in there! I'm proud of you."

Goodbye 30's, you suck!

My list of 40 things to do on my 40th

When I turned 30, I cried for weeks leading up to my birthday.

Now I am 40 and I can't wait for the rest of my life.

Strange, I never thought I would be so happy about getting older.

Maybe because coming out of my 30's was like coming off the battle field. Don't get me wrong, many great things happened in my 30's, one being the miracle of having my two kids, but it wasn't all easy street for me.

Turning 30 brought on so many insecurities such as: was I on the right career path, would I ever find a baby daddy and even then, would I be able to even have kids. Especially since I was told in my early 30's that I would never be able to have my own children due to premature ovarian failure.

And once those insecurities were gone,  an insecurity tsunami struck when I became a mother. Top off being a new mother along with being thousands of miles away from the people I loved most and who loved me, I was Insecurity Queen!

For me it was an unknown territory, I had never been so unsure before in my life. I was far away from home and my support network. It was so hard. Every day was a struggle. But my saving grace was that at the end of every day my babies were healthy and happy. They didn't sleep much but they were happy.

However, there were days when I thought I wouldn't make it from all the sleep deprivation and exhaustion. I couldn't just call up my mom or my best friend to come over and give me relief. I had to solider on and looking back, i'm not sure how I made it physically.

Also in those 10 years I lost who I was. I didn't have time for anything ME and inside my mind I had to put my dreams on hold. I didn't have the energy to take care of myself. After having two kids in two years my body had transformed into some animal form, a cow or hog.

It was so bad, I didn't like to look into the mirror most days to be reminded of this person I had become. I didn't know her anyway. I didn't want to know her. I was ashamed.

My life only revolved around surviving. And I did.

I don't know why but about 3 months ago something clicked inside of me. Maybe my brain cells started cranking up again because I was getting more sleep. I don't know, and I don't care how it happened but it did: I decided it was time to stop surviving and start living. I was about to be 40 and fabulous!

So I crawled off the 30's battlefield, scarred but full of life experiences that no one could take away from me. I finally had the time and most importantly the energy to find me again. With both kids now in school, I started working full-time again, which really got those brain cells a buzzin'!

My confidence grew with each passing day and the motivation to start thinking about me snow-balled until I joined a gym, started eating healthier and realized it was ok to stand up straight again.

I was not that person I was at 30, but thank God! I suddenly realized that I survived these tough times because somewhere deep inside I was a strong person. Maybe I didn't brush my hair most days and I could only fit into yoga pants, but underneath it all, I was in there, fighting to the end and I made it! Finally, I was a butterfly crawling out of my cocoon.

And I couldn't wait to turn 40, for me it was the starting point for the best part of my life. I really have everything now: my two babies, my dreams and my self-respect back.

Like I said, it wasn't all negative, I have amazing memories with my kids. But now the memories will include the real me: a confident mother who, at 40 is following her dreams and living instead of surviving.

Maybe my 30's would have been different had I lived in my native America, who knows, I don't, but it doesn't matter now anyway. What matters for me now is living, being 40 and fabulous! This is awesome people!