Just Five Things

In the throes of PPD, mothering or just any Tuesday it can seem impossible to get even one thing done. How do I tackle the mountain of laundry when the baby simply won't stop pooping? How can I blog when the phone won't stop ringing reminding me of Doctor's appointments and playdates I scheduled and have since forgotten? How can I shower after jazzercise when the baby looks far, far, far from ready for an afternoon nap?

The following is a bit of wisdom gleaned from our support group facilitator Anne. Her sister, the mother/goddess of five children shared it with her. I offer it now to you.

I offer it to you, beleaguered and overwhelmed mother of less than five. I offer it to you, the mom who is sitting now in an office and wondering what her little miracles are doing at this moment in day care. I offer it to you, the woman who is wondering how she will get even one thing done.

There are Just Five Things to be done everyday.

#1: Shower
(Can be replaced on particularly 'cloudy' days by any combination of at least two of the following-brushing teeth, brushing hair, washing face and/or putting on earrings)

#2: Feed Them Dinner
(Cereal works for breakfast and lunch and sometimes dinner, however, when the children think that Lucky Charms and Trix are part of the food pyramid, it's time to break out the pots and pans.)

#3: Play with a Child
(Play, one on one, eye to eye, butt on the floor or on the bike...whatever they pick. No education allowed. Simply play. Trust me, it's harder than you think.)

#4: Read to a Child
(Some education allowed. Mostly listen in between reading. I learned that my 4 1/2 yr. old is obsessed with his guts. I learned this when I read him a story while waiting at the doctor's office. To be honest, the harried business man impatiently waiting across the room enjoyed my adaptation of the story too. Another honesty moment, I have read aloud from Entertainment magazine to my infant...it isn't so much the plot as the voice he loves. )

#5: YOU GET TO PICK
(I like this one best. The only rule for #5 it can ONLY be used in the care and feeding of YOU. I have only begun to learn that a healthy, happy, rested, fed and encouraged Mommy is a Mommy everyone can live with.)

Can't manage five? Pick one. Do that one thing and know that you did the best you could. Do two the next day (week, month, whatever) and know you did the best that you could.

Notice what isn't on the list? Housecleaning. Bill paying. Laundry. Those daily and weekly chores always seeming to slip by anyway. When you can nail down the five, you'll be surprised when you can sneak in something else. I have been able to add exercise just this week. Dusting may have to wait until next week.

Remember, just five things.

To close here are Just Five Things I Appreciate About You:

#1: You read this often meandering blog and don't leave mean comments.
#2: You have taken the time to read when I know there are far more than 5 things on your own "to do" list.
#3: You smile a bit after reading about the dog's newest favorite treat.
#4: You are a mothering warrior, with her own battle armor, her own scars and her own victories.
#5: I get to blog about this mothering thing. I have more to learn and I'm glad to figure it out with you.

Thanks. J.C.

PPD Chronicles, Chapter 3A: Groupie II

I never cease to be amazed at the seasons God brings through my life. This must be the Groupie Season. Not only did I discover community through the support group but in another more unlikely place-a jazzercise class.

Let me begin by saying there was never a lazier woman than me. I'm not being mean to myself, it's just the truth. If there is a choice between a good book and nap on a comfy couch and any kind of workout, the cushions and words will win out every time.

So it was a surprise to me a few years ago, when I found a mode of regular exercise I liked AND to which I could remain committed. It also allowed me to indulge my inner groove thang. Jazzercise.

No, it's not that thong wearing, headband donning, solid gold dancer type of workout (though there are women and some very special men who still cling to the 80's). It's taking top 40 radio and putting it to dance/exercise.

I'm in and I'm out. In 60 minutes I get a great workout, shake my groove thang and I'm done.

I took class for about 3 years, in part from a big butt intervention by friends, but mostly due to the crazy Sergeant at arms/bulldog/energizer bunny of an instructor-Mary. She bullies, she coaxes, she yells, she laughs, she cries, she cheers....she makes you move, even when it's the last thing you want to do. She even ignores my, "Are you kidding me with this butt crunch/purgatorial/painful/stupid/too long routine?" face.

I quit when I quit on myself from the pregnancy depression and the PPD. I quit for over two years.

Anne, the mother-goddess/support group facilitator, strongly recommends exercise as a coping strategy for PPD and life. She even was encouraging me to attend the Stroller Strides class she teaches across the street. Again, the couch won out. Until...

I realized Mary's studio had day classes with childcare. I could work out while the kids had a playdate. I could return to the only exercise I ever kinda liked.

So I did. The PPD gorilla kept asking me, "What are you thinking?" As we left, late as always, diaper bag dragging behind the stroller, "How are you going to manage the drive/workout/the kids and get a shower after?" He followed me to the elevator, "You'll never keep up with it."

I took him with me into the studio. I turned my back and started to shake my hips (of course, I had to find them again underneath all the post baby flub). With each step, even the missed ones, the gorilla hushed and hid in the corner.

The workout was tough and I was cursing Mary/doritos/my couch/anything to keep going through the thigh and abdominal portions. As I was leaving all I could hear was the chatter of my 4 year old saying how much fun he had at Mommy's dance class and could we go get a Starbucks now?

I didn't hear the gorilla. When getting home and getting a shower (the baby was helpful and slept for a few minutes), I couldn't find him.

At 3 a.m. he came back for his usual middle of the night anxiety chat. I listened for a minute then tried to roll over, sore from jazzercise. "Shut up," I said, "I need to get some sleep."

And he did.