Dear moms who are googling “exhausted mom of toddler” or “exhausted mom” or “mother of toddler exhaustion” (which makes it sound like we have a disease) or  “I’m so tired and my toddler is wide awake” (my personal favorite search term), I know you’re out there and I know you’re tired. I see your google searches pop up on my analytics and I see that you click hopefully on this post from a few years ago when I was a tired mom too.

Since then, I’ve gotten more tired. I’ve had another child who has turned into another toddler. My first toddler has outgrown naps so she’s awake all day long and that means I have to be too.

And that’s hard.

So I thought I’d post this to make all of you tired moms feel better. All of you googling “tired working mom” or “exhausted mom of two,” I thought I’d let you know that I’m tired too.

The end of the school year was hard. It was exciting and extraordinary in so many ways, but on Saturdays the week would catch up with me. I’d feel the tired creeping deep in my bones. And I’d fight it off again. Because I have a toddler and an almost kindergartener and there’s no time for tired.

A few weeks ago, in the throes of end-of-school festivities and preparations, I sat down on the couch with Nora while Miles napped in his crib.

That night, Ken and I went out to dinner and since we still talk about our kids while we’re trying to steal time away for ourselves, I flipped through my photos to show him a few from our day.

First I found this photo:

And I didn’t remember taking a photo of a stuffed animal laying on the floor.

Next was this photo:

I knew I hadn’t taken a photo of my very messy living room.

So I scrolled again and found these:

So it turns out that Nora had been doing such a good job with her quiet time that she had snuck my phone away to take a few photos of her surroundings and her iPad screen.

I was still a bit mystified by all of this, however, until I scrolled to the final photo. The photo that made Ken and I laugh a bit uncontrollably as we waited to be seated at the restaurant.

Because, this photo, fellow exhausted moms? This photo is proof of just how tired we are.

Yep. That’s me. Curled up on the couch as Miles slept and Nora played (and took incriminating photos).

We can fight the tired. But sometimes the tired wins.

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It hit me at the intersection just outside of our neighborhood.

“Look, Nora. It’s a tow-truck with a hook.”

“Miles would think that was so cool.”

“He would. He’s been dying to see a truck just like that one.”

And then I was gone. Lost in a world of guilt. About a tow truck. And so much more.

Plans are much easier to digest when they are just that – plans. When they are actions, everything seems to change. The plan was to send Miles to daycare on Mondays and Tuesdays all summer so that he keeps up his routine a bit and I get an “easier” day or two to clean the house, do the grocery shopping, take Nora to places he isn’t yet ready for.

But today those plans were actions.

And, unexpectedly at the intersection, the guilt crept in.

It was Miles’ teacher who, four years ago now, told me to take time to do what I need, who encouraged me to drop Nora off with her when I had a day off so I could clean and shop and rest. Four years later, you’d think I’d be a pro at this. That I’d know how to fight off the mommy guilt demons. That the knowledge that Miles was well loved today, had friends to play with, books to read, snacks to eat while I was cleaning and grocery shopping and hearing from Nora how boring it all was would keep the guilt from hitting me.

But it didn’t.

I don’t think I’ll ever be immune to it.

It was the tow truck that got me. On the way to the grocery store, there it was.

As we checked out, with a few days worth of dinner and a conveyor full of snacks, I snuck a pack of m&ms onto the pile.

I knew the tow truck wouldn’t be the end.

Last week we picked up Miles and headed out to Nora’s first gymnastics class. When I signed her up a few weeks ago, I thought the hour alone with Miles would be good for us, that he and I would play cars and read books while we waited for Nora to finish class.

I didn’t anticipate that he would want to be in a class to.

He stepped his feet onto the blue mat as we headed toward the waiting area and he said, “Miles too!” He cried when I picked him up to rush him up the stairs.

“I’m sorry.” I told him. “I didn’t know you’d want to do it too.”

He watched her jump and stretch, swing and balance. And instead of he and I spending quality time together, I spent the hour feeling like I was depriving him.

Today he did the same thing. Begged to participate. Cried when I whisked him away. Tried to say gymnastics against the will of his toddler tongue.

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

And then I got out the m&ms.

Linking up with Heather at The Extraordinary Ordinary for Just Write.

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“If I could give you any super power, Nora, what would you pick?”

“Nothing.”

“Flying? Being invisible? X-Ray vision? Turning into a Mermaid?”

“I only want the super power of being myself. And I already have that.”

Austin Botanical Gardens.

A perfect spot for starting off a summer Saturday (and for skinning knees when the gravel slips beneath you).

Little Stacey Pool (finally!)

Water table filled with bubbles.

Reading practice (her suggestion, not mine, though we happily complied).

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Some afternoons the world conspires against us.

Some afternoons you pack up two kids for the pool only to get there just as they are closing due to vomit in the water. And then the plan B splash pad is turned off due to malfunction. And the plan C fountain to run through scares the toddler too much to be any fun.

To just make sure you don’t have any luck that day, the ice cream man rides up in his fancy clothes with his fancy cart. You think you can make it all better with cold sweet treats. But you don’t have any cash. And the ice cream man? He doesn’t take credit.

“This whole afternoon was a fail,” the five year old tells you.

And you have to agree and endure the long car ride home where everyone is whining.

*****

Some evenings you can’t say anything right.

It starts with the choice to do dishes instead of play Candy Land and then goes straight downhill from there. You try to mend perceived wrongs with positive words, but even those get thrown back at you.

“You always say ‘You’re welcome to…’” she says, like you’ve told her she can never have ice cream again in her life.

You wash the dishes. Give the younger one his bath. All the while, she stews and cries and you keep making peace offerings that are only making things less peaceful.

But then comes the stinging accusation. The one she knows gets you deep in the heart.

“You love him more than me.”

And then she cries and you cry and you talk about hurt feelings and she hugs you and you hug her back and then it is finally over. Hurt feelings she understands.

*****

Some days are harder than others.

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When asked to write a story in six words, Ernest Hemingway responded: “For sale: Baby shoes. Never worn.” The idea of telling your story in six words is powerful to me, so I’ve started this series of six word blogs. What are your six words?

What are your six words? I’d love to hear them in the comments or link up your blog below!

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“I’m freezing,” she said today as she stepped out of the too small plastic pool.

Me too.

I’m freezing time.

I’m freezing the moments of laughter, when the games they play amuse them to degrees that cause such hilarity they can hardly contain themselves.

I’m freezing the words that come out wrong but so much better than if they got them right. Hornets in our yard are all named horton because I just can’t correct her. Ketchup will always be chepit. Yogurt always yogoke.

I’m freezing the way her name sounds out of his mouth. Nera, he says, like there’s an e and not an o.

I’m freezing the face he makes at me when he catches me studying him as he eats a snack.

I’m freezing the way she loves to read, devours books with me at lightning speed.

I’m freezing the way she tells me things she’s afraid of with faith that I will understand and fix them.

I’m freezing the way she dances with abandon whenever she feels the call of the music.

I’m freezing their small bodies in our too small plastic pool, the way they take turns on the slide, the way she lets him dump buckets of water on her head to make them both laugh, the way he fills a bucket over and over and she watches carefully for fairies in the yard.

I’m freezing time. I freezing their joy, their sense of possibility, their laughter and their love.

Linking up with Allison and Galit for Memories Captured. Because capturing memories is why I got into this blogging thing in the first place.

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Miles is developing a bit of a thing for trucks, as I suspect many toddlers do. He notes all vehicles we spot on the road, always has an eye out for a tow-trick with a hook and, lately, has been sleeping always with a book about trucks.

I’ve written before about our favorite truck-focused read-aloud. And we still love Little Blue Truckand its follow-up companion, but we’ve added more truck books to our repertoire lately (especially since our summer trips to the library have started) and so I thought I’d share them here.

Miles looks for tow trucks with hooks because of another truck book with a color in its name: Red Truck. Red truck is a simple and fast read, with cute illustrations and the overall theme of helping out. Red Truck is a tow truck – a tow truck that helps a school bus when no one else could.

Continuing on the color theme, Miles also loves the book Red Truck, Yellow Bus. It really is nothing more than a transportation focused book to help toddlers learn their colors, but the simple images and the recognizable vehicles make Miles like this one more than most of his other books focused on colors.

I’ve written before that Miles loves books with flaps – and that is still true. I carry one with me whenever I know he’s going to need to sit still and entertain himself for a little while. For Christmas a friend gave Miles a truck book, not with flaps, but with windows! Little windows that you lift and slide to reveal trucks and colors and drivers. Miles LOVES this book. It has really specific truck names (it’s hilarious to hear a toddler try to say excavator) and the combination of activity book and truck photos make Slide and Find – Trucks a huge hit.

Much of Miles love of trucks has to do with the sounds they make. Little Blue truck first found its way into our hearts with its “Beep. Beep. Beep.” And even though it’s not a truck book, Miles also currently loves the book Trains Go and we have been searching at the library for its counterpart, Trucks Go (to no avail…). Each page and illustration examines a different kind of train (or truck) and then has a very descriptive onomatopoeia to go along with that train. Every time I finish reading this book, Miles says, “Again!”

And, lastly, but certainly not least is the book Miles has been sleeping with and carrying around constantly since we got it at the library a bit over a week ago. The other library books have been forgotten, but not this one. And I fear that I may just have to buy it when it finally comes time to return it. I’m not sure exactly what it is about Construction Countdown that Miles loves best. The book is exactly what it says it is – a book that counts down from 10 with all different construction trucks. I think what he loves best is the last page – the page where they reveal that all of these trucks are part of one giant sandbox for kids to play with. We read that last page and Miles says, “Sandbox. Miles. Home.” Which I take to mean that such a sandbox would be lovely to have for himself.

I’m sure there are many other great truck books out there for us to read. What are some of your favorites? I’d love to hear more suggestions in the comments.

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Last summer I documented how we spent out Saturdays, inspired by an article that reported that there are only 940 Saturdays in childhood. Recording our time and how we spent it showed me the patterns we follow and the fun that we have. When I blinked and summer was already over, I had a whole record to look back on to show that I hadn’t let the time go to waste. And while I may not do this every Saturday, I am going to try to record our summer Saturdays again.

Summer Saturday #1:

We started the day outside, with hopscotch and the water table and the swing set. Miles hung out in his diaper. It was awesome.

Nora watched Ken iron edge-banding onto the wood for the banquette he’s building while I was folding laundry and then we had this conversation:

Nora: That was really cool.

Me: Dad does lots of really cool stuff.

Nora: You do too!

Me: I do?

Nora: Yeah. (looks at me folding, flashes back to earlier in the day when we went to the grocery store and I picked up all the mess in the living room). You do cool stuff like a maid.

Me: Like a maid?

Nora: Yeah. You do all the helpful things around the house. That’s cool.

Ken: Don’t ever compare your mom to a maid. If you know what’s good for you.

During Miles nap, Ken and Nora went to get a pool for the back yard. They came home with a pretty small one -but that didn’t stop anyone from having fun in it.

And after posting that last photo on instagram, Greta commented that it held a resemblance to my avi. And then I was sort of blown away. Because I rarely see myself this much in either of my kids. But this time? I could see it.

Oh, and lest you think we were outside all day. There was TV time too. Nora discovered Sophia the first at the library. And I think she’s in love.

It was the first Saturday of my summer (even though I’m working almost all next week) and it was pretty good.

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Have you ever read someone else’s writing and wished that you could know the person beyond the page or the screen? Ever wished you could take your kids to the same playgrounds? Or bring your laptops to the same coffee shop to talk about writing and growing and sharing? That is what happens to me every time I read Tricia’s blog – Raising Humans. I feel like we are kindred blogging spirits.

Last week she wrote about keeping some things off of her blog. She said:

Writing is how I work through things. And yes, I could write in a journal or I could type everything out and just
save it. But something happens when I click ‘publish.’ There is acertain magic that happens in that moment. I click and I publish
and suddenly I haven’t been talking to myself. I’ve been talking toyou. And it’s out there now so there is a finality and a closure in
a way. Even if, through writing something out, I don’t end up at a solution or resolution (because, normally, I don’t) there is still
a cap on my problem. There is still this feeling of, “There. I’ve said it. I can move on.” Clicking ‘publish’ makes me feel better.

And I wanted to hug her through my computer screen because even though we’ve never met and we’ve only ever tweeted or commented or emailed, I know she would get me. I’m so happy to be sharing my words today over on Raising Humans as part of Tricia’s Growing Together series.

Please go read my post today where I talk about helping Nora brave changes when I myself still struggle with change. And then browse the rest of her writing. I know you’ll like it as much as I do.

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When asked to write a story in six words, Ernest Hemingway responded: “For sale: Baby shoes. Never worn.” The idea of telling your story in six words is powerful to me, so I’ve started this series of six word blogs. What are your six words?

What are your six words? I’d love for you to leave them in the comments or link up your blog below!

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