Motherhood: The Machine

Motherhood, specifically stay-at-home-motherhood, is largely a cyclical pursuit. Those who find solace in mundane day-to-day tasks may enjoy it. I know I do.

Most days, I know what is going to happen and what to expect. My son will wake me up before 7 am by climbing into my bed. I will remind my middle daughter several times to do her chores before giving up and doing them myself. I will slap breakfast on the table and rush through my own chores while they eat. I will send one or both of my girls back upstairs to change some aspect of their outfits two to three times before they are both well-dressed. I will ask one daughter to help make her brother's lunch and the other to find him something to wear that is as appropriate as her outfit has become. My son will be excited to go to school, but change his mind at the last minute and refuse to leave the house. I will convince him to go each step of the way toward the car, then the classroom, by tempting him with jelly beans. Within minutes of me leaving his class, he will remember he loves school and forget all about wanting to stay home to watch Team Umi Zoomi. My girls will then be awake enough to be smiling and helpful. With four hours of daylight under my belt, I will be ready to sit down and enjoy a hot cup of coffee.

We exist within a predictable schedule, an endlessly complex pattern made up of inherently simple pieces. We build things, we destroy them. We drop off, we pick up. We spend the pre-dinner hour creating a meal that is aesthetically pleasing and nutritious, and then the post dinner hour making our home look like the meal never happened. We make lists, we check them off. We wake children up, we put them to bed. Each chore, child's extracurricular activity, and recipe collection is a gear in the machine that has become motherhood. Each detail is a screw on which the masterpiece depends.

Women who choose to be stay-at-home-moms (or SAHMs) by trade spend months or years perfecting their little cyclical lives. It took me four years to get my chocolate chip cookie recipe just right. Ten plus years into motherhood I’m still figuring the rest of it out. The problem is that no matter how much time we spend building our gears and molding our screws, this machine doesn’t have an owner’s manual.

Every once in a while (read: daily), someone throws a wrench into my beautiful machine. Gears bend, springs go flying, screws break. Today we had three wrenches. My dog decided that while I was dropping my son off at school, she would find herself a treat. Unfortunately for me, that consisted of a stinky diaper that had been put into the kitchen trash the night before. Who knew a dog could open a heavy metal step can? I didn’t. I also didn’t know the words that came out of my mouth when I saw (and smelled) the mess. Wrench number two occurred at noon when my son’s teacher called to tell me he was suddenly very ill. I did a quick fix by dropping the errand we were on and calling to cancel all afternoon appointments. I somehow still managed to make a lovely dinner for my husband. He tossed wrench number three by texting that he’d be missing the meal. I packaged leftovers. Problem solved.

There are plenty of parental engineers who willingly tell us how the Stepford mother machine should work. But let’s face facts. It’s downright difficult to tighten flathead screws with Phillips head drivers. Sometimes motherhood is more about finding a butter knife than making sure your screws match everyone else’s, including those experts. We do what works for us and I’m comfortable with that.

I have heard it said that "not having a job" is easy. During the school year, my school day includes driving 80 miles on average (doing the speed limit, mind you). I take my husband to work, my son to preschool, the puppy to training class, my girls to choir, co-op, awana club, or girl scouts. I fill the time they're gone with running errands or at home until I need to pick them up. I send my husband to work with cookies and volunteer to help out with my kids' activities.

I may not be the fanciest model on the market, but I am a machine that works. I work to make this family work. I may be built of rusty parts that sometimes break down, but this machine is well-oiled with love.

Losing My Marbles

One of the blessings and curses of autism is the need for routine. A typical day in our untypical lives usually begins with marbles. Newly-turned four-year-old Callum climbs up onto my side of our double sized bed. He giggles and paws at me like a puppy before burrowing his legs under the covers. He lies his head on my neck so I can stroke his hair. This makes me feel like my throat is being crushed, which might not seem like a great way to wake up, but I'm so grateful he wants to be near me that I welcome it.

Inevitably, Callum's little puppy paws are filled with marbles. A year ago-- well, one year, one month, two weeks, and five days ago-- Callum discovered marbles. His bowling obsession morphed into a passion for more portable rollies. [Thankfully, he has never put them in his mouth.] He builds marble runs out of plastic pieces we've purchased or whatever is available to him at that particular moment. When his tower is complete, it's often taller than he is. He follows the intended path with his finger, from the very top to the place where the marbles will collect at the bottom. Then, down the marbles drop, one or a dozen at a time, racing for the finish line.

Part of Callum's morning cuddle routine involves creating a marble run out of the nearest hilly object, which happens to be me. He makes a path in the down comforter I'm still trying to snooze under. He laughs and jabbers as the marbles roll over a shoulder slope or hip mountain. A few or many minutes later, hunger sets in. Callum inevitably forgets to collect some of his marbles before he runs downstairs in search of Cheerios. I fling the covers off my side of the bed and send marbles flying. It's 7:00 AM, and I've already lost my marbles.

I don't know what it is about marbles that Callum finds so comforting. Perhaps it's their smooth texture, their swirled colors, or merely the fact that they roll. He has always enjoyed things that spin or roll and I think he probably likes the fact that he can make them move so easily. Whatever his reasons, he's hooked.

So am I.

Knowing how to calm an upset or overwhelmed child is a crucial skill for any parent to develop. Is it more important for a parent of a child living with autism? Ask a couple of moms and dads raising both autistic and neurotypical children and you'll have your answer. This mom is going to go ahead and say yes. Most of my coat pockets, my purse, and other areas of my life are currently stashing an emergency ration of marbles. I'm never sure what will cause my little man to become upset, but I do know how to fix it. A marble is a wonderful distraction from something unpleasant, or a fair trade for something I don't want dragged home from the beach.

Every night, hours after the rest of the family has gone to sleep, I sneak into the children's bedrooms to kiss their velvety cheeks and recover the feet that have found their way out of the blankets. When I enter Callum's room, I unload the marbles from my pants pockets and quietly set them in the cup that sits next to his latest marble run masterpiece.

Sometimes I am so tired, I forget that step of my Mommy routine. I go into my own room and fling my pants over one of the bedposts. The sound of tumbling marbles shatters the beautiful sound of silence I've stored up for myself.

I'm not going to glamourize it. Some days, striving to be a good parent is hard and trying to parent a child with special needs seems downright impossible. But I try to look on the bright side. Whenever I feel like I'm losing my marbles, I need only look in my pocket to find them again.

If you haven't visited operationjack.org please stop by and read about a father who has gone from couch potato to running 60+ marathons this year in order to raise money for Train4Autism.

5-Minute Coffee Mug Chocolate Cake

Here's the recipe sent to me via email:

4 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons cocoa
1 egg
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil
3 tablespoons chocolate chips (optional)
A small splash of vanilla extract
Large coffee mug (Microwave Safe)

1. Add dry ingredients to mug, and mix well.
2. Add the egg and mix thoroughly.
3. Pour in the milk and oil and mix well.
4. Add the chocolate chips (if using) and vanilla extract, and mix again.
5. Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts.

[The cake will rise over the top of the mug, but don't be alarmed!]


All I want to know is, what kind of maniacs think of these things? [As if staying on my diet wasn't hard enough already.] Luckily for me, there are so many ingredients, I'll probably never make it. If I did, I'd try to use hot cocoa mix in place of the cocoa and sugar.

Rainbow Rice Krispie Treats

Next time you want to make Rice Krispie Treats for the kids, try this simple variation. [Adapted from the original recipe at www.ricekrispies.com .]


Ingredients:

1/2 stick butter
4c mini marshmallows
4c Rice Krispies
2c Fruity Pebbles

1. Grease 9x13 pan.
2. Melt butter over low heat.
3. Mix Krispies and Pebbles together
4. When butter is melted, add marshmallows, stirring until melted.
5. Turn off the heat and pour Krispies mixture into the pot. Turn to coat evenly.
6. Press treats into greased pan and refrigerate until set. These make a yummy, fruity treat!