the Worst Tooth Fairy Ever

I am a “good enough parent,” but I am a really crappy tooth fairy. 

I forgot, again, last night. I think I have remembered once. Thank god it’s the older girl, and she knows it’s me, and she knows that I’ve had a lot on my mind. Oh, who am I kidding? She knows that I have no short-term memory anymore. I have been on Topamax for two years for headache prevention, and my medical friends jokingly refer to this as “dope-amax” because it makes you “stoopid.” I would have had to put a post-it on my bedroom door, and I didn’t.

But judging from some of the Facebook feeds I have seen from all of the other negligent fairies, I know it’s not just the medicine that affects me: it’s parenthood. It is freakin’ complicated, and our brains are on overload. When I was first pregnant and working full-time as a nurse, the memory dullness was just starting to affect me on the job. One of the older nurses said, “Oh honey, that’s just placenta brain. You’ll get used it.”

     “When does it go away?”

     “It doesn’t.”

I don’t think it has anything to do with chemistry, rather, it has to do with the sheer amount of information that we need to cram into our brains now that we have ourselves and dependent people to manage. With each added dependent, it gets worse.  Medical and dental appointments, field trip forms, haircuts, favorite flavors of chips, favorite colors, birthday parties, science fair projects, the list goes on and on. Add to that, reminders to keep good posture, drink enough fluids, not twist their arms around in their sockets, wear their orthotics, do their PT, take collagen supplements, wash their face and use moisturizer, floss, and 1,000 other things that we have to say and do to get these creatures socially acceptable by the time they are 18, and you’re fried.

When I first started taking the horrible drug, (can you believe some people take this for weight loss?) Life was very, very rough. When Mommy goes down, everybody goes down with her. I was a zombie for months, and I had to develop external coping skills really fast. The first thing I did was use my smart phone for everything: I used my calendar, and set reminders and alarms for all appointments. My iPhone screams at me all day long now. I also use a lot of physical reminders: there are post-its all around, and I painted a giant blackboard wall in my kitchen that my children call “Mommy’s brain.”

If we’re out of food, “put it on the wall.” If it's not on the wall, it doesn't happen. (Green tip: take a photo of your shopping list so you don't have to write it down). I made sure to reserve a section of the wall that I call “Caught being Awesome” where I note things they did well, because many days I feel like all I do is nag and yell (but none of you know what that’s like, right?)

In spite of all of these coping mechanisms, teeth are left under pillows. Forms are not signed. Appointments are missed. Relatives' birthdays are missed (that was fun…) I have had to learn to do two very important things:  

1. Learn how to give a really good apology. If you don’t know how to do this, there is actually a formula. In The Last Lecture, Randy Pausch describes “proper apologies have three parts: 1) What I did was wrong. 2) I’m sorry that I hurt you. 3) How do I make it better? It’s the third part that people tend to forget…. Apologize when you mess up and focus on other people, not on yourself.” I make my kids give good apologies every time – as Randy puts it, "a bad apology is like rubbing salt in the wound." And I model it by giving good apologies to them as fast as I can. Learning humility has been a hard, but rewarding, lesson for me.

2. Know that the mess ups are probably making your kids better people. This goes beyond forgiving yourself for messing up: it means embracing the mistakes as a necessary part of your kid’s healthy development. That is what it means to be a “good enough parent” and not a “perfect parent.” I remember the first time I really lost it with my first child, because she had pushed my buttons and I yelled at her. I cried to my friend, and he said, "It's better that she learn boundaries from the person who loves her more than anyone in the world, than from a world that doesn't love her at all." So, if you’re doing really well, and you have it all together, go screw up sometimes. It’s good for them.

Pain: it's NO joke

My daughter looks over my shoulder at the monitor. “What does ‘mal...malay...’

     “Mal-ee-able.”

     “Yes. What does that mean?”

     “Look it up.” I give myself a mental high five for not enabling her.

     “mal·le·a·ble adjective 1. capable of being extended or shaped by hammering or by pressure from rollers...” Woah! Not what I was going for…

     ”Try the next one, hon.”

     "2. capable of being altered or controlled by outside forces..."

     “Flexible. Malleable means flexible.” Sheesh. Thanks, for your help Webster’s…

When I was naming this blog, I gravitated to something that sounded comic-bookish. Sadly, Elastigirl was already taken, and I don’t feel like paying royalties to Disney. My friend put it perfectly: “When I saw your blog, I immediately thought of you as some Super Hero Mom.” Funny, that’s how I see me (Cue fog machine! Cue trumpet fanfare!…) Sadly, I never seem to have any cool super powers. Last night, driving home with a bad headache, for example, I would have been “Sensitive Girl: able to hear the sound of her children breathing too loudly in the back seat! Reduced to tears by the setting sun burning through her corneas! Able to sense the vibration of her son kicking her daughter’s chair like the roll of thunder!” And then, I become the villain. (Cue sinister laugh...)

When I’m in that much pain, I have no energy or patience to handle anything. This is something that people don’t always understand about chronic pain. Someone may have just had an accident, or a surgery, and be in 8-10 out of 10 pain for a given amount of time: a few weeks, or months even. But when someone has been in 5-7 out of 10 pain for years, it may seem like less pain on paper, but your energy stores are used up, and you have nothing left to handle it. The experience of living with it is worse. I have had periods of good energy before, with small periods of bad pain in between, and those times are not as bad as long periods of moderate pain that wipe me out.

Last night was rough, but one of many such nights that we have experienced over the past three years. My husband is travelling, so I’m on my own. We were out of the house, waiting for my daughter during ballet. My son also had a headache, and he gets really loud and whiny and clingy when he has one. Aaaaah – all I want to do is get.noise.away.from.me. He doesn't have the papers that he needs to do his homework. We get home and I realize that he forgot his backpack, with my iPad in it, at the cafe in the ballet school. Blinding pain. Can’t.think. My son looks miserable. Breathe. Take one step. I call my friend who owns the cafe. It’s there and safe: I’ll get it tomorrow - after I have had a full night’s rest. I hug him. “These things happen,” I remember to say. I have to remind myself to say and do kind things when I am like this, or I will just look and act mean and miserable.

His medicine kicks in faster than mine, so he calms down, and I pull him to my lap, and give him the quiet cuddling he has wanted, with a reminder to approach me gently when I have a bad headache and he will be more likely to get what he wants. "You have a headache?" Sigh. Really? All three of us trade back rubs, and the kids put me to bed, which they love to do when I hurt. They shut down the house, and tuck themselves in. I have trained them to be very independent on days like this, and they love "feeling big" by taking care of Mommy

I did not get a full night of sleep; pain woke me a few times. But I still got up today (incidentally, to a house full of pranks. Happy f-ing April Fools Day. My kids do not yet understand the concept of the headache hangover...) I’ll go get the bag, and all will be well. And I’ll keep going, every day, because not every day is like this. But when they are, I keep putting one foot in front of the other. I guess I am capable of being whacked with hammers after all (Dim lights, end scene.)