The Difference Between Moms and Dads

Posted by Yoga Bynum

Hubby is home for a few extra weeks, so it’s time for us to get back into a partner-parenting groove. (Hooray!)

These last few two and two cycles have sucked. Numerous home repairs, work issues, and testy kids have made for a rough spring. So I’m happy that things are settling down as we move into the summer months.

With Hubby at home, I don’t have to race out of the office while praying for clear traffic. He takes care of daycare pickups, homework, and dinner. When the girls have simultaneous meltdowns, we divide and conquer. I must admit the meltdowns are much less frequent now that Daddy’s home; the kids are overjoyed to have him around. (Especially the little one — I swear she is his carbon copy.)

My house is good shape. The grass it cut. That pesky tree branch that hits me in the head every time I walk Mini Me to the bus stop is trimmed. The Christmas lights from 2012 are gone. (No, this is not a typo. Those lights were up for more than a year.) The bathroom sink is unclogged. My car finally stopped sputtering like a 1910 Model T thanks to six new spark plugs and an oil change.

Life is good.

Yesterday, I enjoyed a sputter-free drive to a my book club meeting. I’ve gathered with this group every month for the past 15 years. We’ve supported each other through job changes, marriages, births, and loss of loved ones. Along the way, we’ve read a collection of good, not-so-good, and downright awful books.

My friend had us laughing as she stated her plan to cook for herself this week because it was her husband’s turn to manage dinner for himself and their kids. She explained that if she wasn’t interested in what her Hubs had prepared, she’d just make something else. It didn’t work the other way around, though. Whenever she cooks, everyone in the house has the same dinner. They reached this arrangement a while ago, she said, and it works just fine for them.

I started thinking about how Hubby and I handle situations differently. Things that seem so important to me go unnoticed by him. For example, Hubby took the kids to see his mom while I was at book club. Mini Me, who’s nine years old, was wearing the same set of pajamas she had on when I left the house.

“Did you wear your PJs to Grandmas?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said. “Grandma didn’t mind.”

Normally, I would be miffed. Who takes their big kid out in pajamas?

But really, what does it matter in the grand scheme of things? No one, not even me, is going to remember that my kid wore pajamas to her grandma’s house on a random Sunday in May. Our girls are happy and healthy. They got to spend time with their dad. I was able to hang with friends for a while. Our partner-parenting groove is working.

So instead of fussing, I kissed Mini Me on her forehead and told her I was glad she had a good time.

Like I said — life is good.

Green Thumb, Black Thumb

Posted by Yoga Bynum

When I was a kid, you couldn’t tell me I didn’t have a green thumb. It started when my seventh-grade science teacher gave each of his students a piece of his chlorophytum comosum, better known as a spider plant. My spiky green portion was so small it fit in the palm of my hand. I became an expert at potting soil, watering practices, and plant food. By the time I went to college, Sylvia (yes, I named it) lived in a 18-inch pot in my parent’s family room. Mom sat her on the patio one warm spring day to catch some sunlight without accounting for the freezing overnight temperature. By the time I came home for spring break, Sylvia had gone on to glory.

It’s been nearly 20 years (gee whiz!) since Sylvia, and I think she took my green thumb with her. I have yet to meet another plant that I can keep alive. There was Sylvia Jr., a small piece of the plant I took with me to college. It sat in a my dorm room window next to an African violet. The blinds in my room fell off the brackets and took them both out. My mom gave me some plant that was infested with fungus. For months, I painstakingly cleaned it with cotton swaps dipped in a solution of alcohol and water, until it too, succumbed. There are also a slew of devil’s ivy and aloe plants that have failed to thrive under my watch.

When Mini Me was born, my best friend gave me a beautiful flowering plant to place outdoors. I sat it in the dining room, because our kitchen table was covered with bottles and new baby things. When I remembered the plant two weeks later, it was history. My mom asked me to keep her peace lily, and I sat it on the porch during Lil Ma’s birthday party. It burned in the hot July sun because I left it out there too long. Was this justice for Sylvia? Perhaps.

I don’t know why I keep torturing myself and these poor plants.

Yes, I do. I want to prove to myself that I can do it. I want to know that Sylvia was not a fluke, despite all the evidence to the contrary.

My latest victim is Bubba, a large plant I inherited from a coworker who left the agency. A three-month maternity leave (I forgot to ask someone to water him) and two office moves have taken their toll. This plant is dying from the bottom up. I consulted with a coworker who is certain that I can save him by cutting the good ends, placing them in water, and starting over. We’ll see.

#TBT – Becoming Stepmom

Posted by Yoga Bynum

In honor of Mothers Day, I’m pulling one of my favorite posts for Throwback Thursday. I wrote this about three and a half years ago after my husband’s son came to visit us. I proudly wore the badge of motherhood, but until that visit, I never thought of myself as a stepparent. The week D spent with us reminded me that motherhood is a journey of varied paths, and I just so happened to be traveling on two at the same time.

Original post date: December 29, 2010
Post Title: 16 and 6

It’s been a wonderful holiday season so far. And, true to form, I got so busy that I forgot to blog about it! Here’s one of the highlights:

My husband’s 16-year-old son came to visit us for the first time. Even though I knew of D’s existence, I never thought of myself as a stepmom. I wanted my husband to spend more time with his son, and I wanted our daughter to know her brother, but I hadn’t factored myself into the equation. Plus, the drama behind it all had gone on for so long that I thought D would be an adult by the time we finally met.

So when the prospect of blending our family became a reality rather than a theory, I was a nervous wreck. “Just be yourself,” Hubby said. “It’ll be great!”

I tried to share Hubby’s optimism, but I couldn’t shake the underlying fear that I’d somehow turn out to be the Wicked Stepmother. Could I ask him to do dishes without appearing to be a power-crazed meanie?

Turns out, I needn’t have worried. D is a great kid, and he has the same kind and optimistic demeanor as his dad. Plus, his little sister wrapped him around her baby finger. He was playing Barbies and promising to bake cookies within 10 minutes of his arrival. That girl’s got skills, I must admit.

After prying my daughter off of D’s leg and putting her to bed, I had a chance to talk with him alone. Hubby went to bed early, exhausted from working late hours. D was eating some baked chicken he found in the fridge. (Note: Teenage boys eat A LOT. Plan on doubling your grocery bill.)

“Do you have any rules I should know about?” he asked.

“Don’t drink my club soda,” I said. “I can’t really think of anything else right now.”

D nodded, and he then proceeded to tell me how he had been looking forward to this visit.

“It was really bothering me that I have a sister, and I don’t know her,” he said. “It’s been bothering me for a while.” He licked his fingers. “This is good chicken, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here. You’re welcome anytime.”

And that was it. All the nervousness melted away.

A few days later, I gave Hubby a hug as he was watching the kids put together a puzzle.

“You’ve got two kids,” I said. “How does it feel?”

“Feels good,” he said. “You know, you’ve got two kids too.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

The Mommy Uniform

Posted by Yoga Bynum

The transformation takes place for some of us before we are even aware of it. During the first months of parenting, we are covered in spit up, milk, and baby poo. We fall into a world that revolves around our infants, and when we emerge ready to reconnect with the rest of society, it’s too late. We’ve given up our good clothes for a mommy uniform.

With Mini Me, I wore jogging pants and family reunion T-shirts. It was warmer when I had Lil Ma, so I wore shorts instead. A closet full of more flattering gear collected dust.

I know. We need to get back down to our fighting weight for some of those clothes to fit. We aren’t going anywhere but to the grocery store, so who cares? The baby spits up on everything, so why does it matter?

It matters because you matter.

Being a mom is work. Hard work. You get overwhelmed in a flash. You can feel as if you are slipping away. And before you know it, you’re at the bottom of your own priority list, if you’re even on the list at all. You may not be able to do everything you did before having kids, but maintaining your personal style is one way you can put yourself first.

Don’t get me wrong. My wardrobe has undergone some changes since I became a mom. I iron a lot less. Machine washable fabrics are my friends. But there’s plenty I can wear that doesn’t involve my family’s name and an outline of the United States. Right now, I’m into mid- and maxi-length sundresses. Super easy and super cute. Below is a pic of one of my favorite combos — a chevron maxi with denim jacket.

What’s your go-to fashion staple?

#TBT – It’s My Anniversary!

Posted by Yoga Bynum

Five years? Oh yeah!

Hubby and I have been together since 2002, and we were married five years ago today. Besides finally tying the knot, there are two things that have made the past five years the most eventful of all the time we’ve been together.

Two weeks on, two weeks off. Hubby started a new job that has him out of town on two week rotations. We’re still learning how to make that work successfully.

Our family grew. What can I say? Lil Ma is awesome, but I had no idea that increasing our family by 25% would make certain aspects of our lives 110% more challenging.

There’s so much I want to write about our journey so far, but it would make for a post much to long for anyone to tolerate. So I’ll keep it short.

Happy Anniversary Hubby! The past five years have proven that we are absolutely made for each other. See you when you get home. (Did I mention that he’s on the road for work right now?)