When your kids surprise you, in a bad way

This week, the last before school finally resumes, we've let the kids watch Wild Kratts on the iPad each morning when they wake up. They're happy and quiet, and T and I get a few more minutes to sleep or simply talk quietly before our days begin. You can imagine our horrified surprise this morning then when, after a loud rap on the front door at 6:30am, we found the boys standing on the front porch with two FBI agents.

I am not kidding.

Both kids were barefoot. Oliver still had his pull-up on. Jack was wearing glow-in-the-dark, long-sleeve and long-pant solar system jammies, socks on his hands, and "night-vision goggles" made out of pipe cleaners and pot holder loops. They had decided to head out on a secret mission for pine-cones, had unlocked and ventured out the back door, through the gate at the rear of our house, down the alley and along Massachusetts Ave. The agents, whose cars are always parked in and around our neighborhood because of government administration residents nearby, correctly assumed two little boys shouldn't be wandering down a main thoroughfare, shoeless and alone. I am so thankful for them and almost cannot entertain what could have happened at another time, in another place, in this very spot at a different moment. That I won't, can't get into right now.

I presume that at some future point, this will make a funny story. It's quite possible that in years to come, other stupid behavior will make this look like nothing more than a harmless blip on the radar. But then is not now, and now, I am really upset.

No parenting handbook tells you what to do in such a situation, one in which you're simultaneously furious, terrified, baffled and struck dumb. I am astonished that the boys would hatch such a dumb plan and make the ridiculously poor decision to act on it. Jack was definitely the ring-leader, and coming from him, this behavior is all the more surprising. This is the sort of crap I expect from Oliver in about 6 years. But Jack? No way. And, by the way, can you imagine what those agents must have thought when they looked at Jack's get-up? Also, do they report crazy stuff like this? Is protective services going to call?

The complete error in judgment that resulted in an abject failure of a decision is what upsets me most. I spent the morning (after grounding them from everything except camp; then heading to the gym where I burst into tears and sobbed on the shoulder of my trainer and then worked out until I thought my arms would fall off) at a bookstore in search of some read-together types that would impart lessons about responsibility and safety. I thought about how to discuss with the kids, in a serious but not overly scary way, just how much danger they put themselves in, and Jack his brother. I felt like a shitty parent for a bit, like how could my kids do this when I talk to them all the time about taking care, living in a city safely, not going anywhere except our backyard without asking. Mistakes are one thing, but this? This is NUTS.

We've talked very seriously twice, we've read some of the books I bought (surprisingly few on the any topic directly related to this; maybe I'll write one), the boys are grounded from TV/computers/iPads/dessert/activities beyond camp for the foreseeable future. I bought new locks for the gate and for our back-door, and now I'm stress-eating plum tart like it's my job. I'm still full of questions and concern. Jack seemed very chastened after talk 1 this morning; I sure as hell hope so. He couldn't well articulate why he did this or why he encouraged Oliver to come. Oliver seemed vaguely concerned. His big point was that they "needed" pine-cones and that Jack "had" to wear socks on his hands so as not to get pricked by them. A very four-year-old mindset, I know, but hello- nails in the alley, prickly stuff underfoot.

And so, friends, I'll say it again: it is always something though some things are decidedly less good than others. Anyone have any experiences like this?

The space between

Many years ago, when I was an angsty teen plodding my way through high school, I spent too much time making construction paper sunflowers to turn my bedroom walls into a garden of cheerfulness I didn't always feel. I was also heavily committed to keeping a journal of quotes I found inspiring or meaningful, those that seemed to perfectly encapsulate just how I felt. In retrospect, quite a few of those were so totally cheese-tastic that I can't bear to read them today. One, "Pain is the difference between what is and what you want it to be," falls completely into the read-and-groan camp, yet it does make a good point about the purgatory space that lies between two competing entities. I knew to be true, before I went to BlogHer and communed with 4,000 other women, many of whom were mothers-in-the-weeds like me, that what I most wanted deep down was a much better balance in my life between my children and all else. I am so grateful to be able to stay home with my boys, to be the primary person raising and loving them every day. But, and it's a big one, children are like mostly-cute parasites, and the dynamic between the boys and me, presently, is not one that is healthy; they too frequently remind me of leeches gone wild, long overstaying their medicinal welcome. J&O are sucking more than their fair share, and I am burned out in a deep way. The kind of burn that comes from years of giving, being, doing, loving at 100+ percent, as opposed to that you might feel after pulling an all-nighter or pining away on an all-encompassing project for a week or two.

Let me be clear that I am not complaining. Rather, I am attempting to restructure the way the three of us interact when we are a trio so that I don't have a mess of snakes writhing in my gut by 9am each morning (anxiety). I need to be able to take and count on real breathers while my children are here; they need to learn to respect my limits and to stop demanding so much so often.

I realized when I left last Thursday that I felt almost as ill from stress and  mental fatigue as I did from the pneumonia; figurative sickness is as real and damaging as that which can be diagnosed in a petri dish, and the two in combination are negatively symbiotic. Three days with adults, learning and talking and networking and sharing, was an empowering reminder that we, each of us, are just as important and valuable, as are our children. We... I deserve just as much love and kindness as do Jack and Oliver. The happier I am, the better mother I can be, the better I can teach them that mothers aren't just moms but also women doing amazing things, in tiny and huge ways.

And so I came home with a promise to myself to stop, cease, put the brakes on the energy suckfest that often is a day with my boys. Just because they want to talk and be challenged and stimulated and amused every minute of every day does NOT mean that I need to or should be the one to provide that. And I shouldn't apologize for standing my ground for reasonable limits.

Elisa Camahort Page, a BlogHer co-founder, told us that a mother once told her that when her children complained about her working, she never apologized or demeaned her work to them. On the contrary, she said something to the effect of, "I can't do X with you right now because I get to do this exciting work, but I'll be really excited to do the next X with you later." I really liked this way of framing work: that if you have work you love, you're lucky to get to do it, and it's important/critical to take the time to do it well. Yes, my primary job is my children. That's what I chose and am enthusiastically committed to. But I am just not a 24-7 mom. I tried that, it didn't work and never will.

And as I've learned more about myself, the woman I am, what makes me happy, what makes me tick, I've been reminded that one of the best and hardest parts of life is that very dynamism. It is thrilling to, at this age, discover new passions, and it's challenging to restructure life in ways that make space for pursuing them. I believe that my boys will be better for the growth that will result from my doing that. I will too.

Bye bye BlogHer

I recently learned that our brains consume 20% of our energy input, and I think that must explain why I'm so hungry right now, at BlogHer's end. Well, that and the fact that my resident pneumonia finally seems to have moved out and my body wants back the few pounds it recently lost. I'm happy to oblige. But seriously, my appetite must primarily result from my brain running at Mach 8 for three days straight at this excellent conference. I am inspired, exhausted, excited. I learned more in this short time than I have in a long while. I met some truly wonderful women who are now friends. I was in awe of the BlogHer founders and what they've achieved. Long story short, I feel really happy that I came, that I attended, that I sucked the marrow out of each day.

The keynote speakers were, in a word, impressive. Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman), Guy Kawasaki, Sheryl flipping Sandberg, Majora Carter, Brit Morin and on and on. Queen Latifah MC'd the Voices of the Year presentations last night for pete's sakes! And so many of the session leaders were thoughtful, funny, authentic and open; for the most part, there was a real generosity of spirit. I attended small groups focused on essay and memoir writing, larger discussions on media strategy and branding. We talked narrowing into niche versus casting a wide net, I got book recommendations, learned about self-publishing and what makes a pitch letter strong, and it was strongly suggested that I learn to love Google+ (damn).

I also managed to meet the two coolest cab drivers (one from Ghana, one from Nepal), wear heels all day every day, eat at two restaurants new to me (Frontera on Friday, Riccardo's Enoteca last night, see my good friends DD and D, sleep through each night and blowdry my hair once. This is all pretty outstandingly NOT my typical weekend.

T has been a master dad since I've been gone, so I give him a shout-out of love and appreciation. Not everyone is lucky to have such equality in their marriages or partnerships, and I'm thankful I do (though I wouldn't accept anything else, so really, it's good he can roll with that).

I'm off to enjoy a large glass of wine and a quiet night with my friends. Looking forward to getting back in the kitch. Eager to jump into what I think will be a great next phase of Em-i-lis.