Come on buddy, it’s time to go night night.

NO NIGH NIGH Rocking chair.

Well, yes babe, we’ll do rocking chair first.

***

We didn’t really have a night time ritual when Jackson was a baby. We’d read a book most nights, or sing others. Sometimes a few minutes rocking, but more often than not, he just wanted to go to bed himself.

As he’s gotten older though, we’ve gained a process. There’s teeth brushing and flossing. There’s the drinks of water he wants (but only, in the most hilariously dainty way, from a never used for its intended purpose medicine dosage cup). There’s the game of night night, played on our bed, complete with cartoonish snoring.

The ritual shifts and changes as he goes through phases. For a while, bedtime required my attendance for up to 2 hours in a darkened room waiting for him to fall asleep. For a while, we always read the same book (Pinocchio, twice at least, if not 4 times).

The ritual now involves reading a book or two (though it’s not actually reading, more summarizing what we’re looking at on each page)–Dumbo or the Sword in the Stone are his current obsessions–before we start the “rocking chair” process.

No matter what else has happened in the day, I’ve been trying to savor our Rocking Chair time. I sit in the chair while Jackson brings me every single thing on his bed (two blankets, one small pillow, and at least two if not more stuffed animals). I send him over to turn off the light, leaving us with the nightlight and the starry sky turtle to light our little ritual. He climbs in my lap, nestles into my left arm while I cover him with the blanket, and we begin.

***

Sing momma.

You want me to sing? What do you want me to sing?

Rainbow.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow?

Noooo. Twinkle Star.

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?

Nooo. Hckry Dock.

Hickory Dickory Dock?

No. Sunshine.

You Are My Sunshine?

Yup. Sunshine.

***

I don’t know where I got the songs. I remember him being tiny and crying and trying to remember a lullaby, any lullaby. At one point, I sang him Death Cab For Cutie’s I Will Follow You Into the Dark, but that started to make me cry too much when I did it. Somewhere along the way I picked up my two fallback songs, You Are My Sunshine and Somewhere Over the Rainbow (though I really don’t sing that one very well), and as we’ve gotten into toddlerhood, I’ve added some traditional nursery rhyme songs: Twinkle Twinkle, Hickory Dickory Dock, etc.

For the longest time, I didn’t think he really cared about me singing to him. Until we started doing this rocking chair thing, in fact, it was something I only pulled out of my bag of tricks on rare occasions because he just never really showed much interest. Now though, he asks me to sing every night. He’s enraptured, curled up in the crook of my arm, face up to me as I sing.

***

One moar sunshine. One, one moar sunshine momma.

Ok baby, one more sunshine.

***

One day, when we sat down, Jackson said “Sing,” and I went through my entire limited repetoire, naming all 5 or 6 songs we normally sing. He was having none of them. So I asked him, “baby, what do you want me to sing?”

His response? Rocking chair. Said definitively, with authority.

I’m not a good maker-upper of songs (or stories, for that matter). N.C. is awesome at making songs out of anything, but me? Well, I clearly can barely remember the songs I KNOW, much less make up another one.

But the little man wanted a song about rocking chair, so, I tried to oblige him.

***

Rocking chair. Sing. Rocking chair.

“Rocking Chair. Rocking Chair. We’re rocking in our rocking chair. We don’t have to go anywhere when we’re rocking in our rocking chair.”

“Rocking Chair. Rocking Chair. We’re rocking in our rocking chair. Momma and Jackson sitting there, rocking in our rocking chair.”

***

I never said I was a songbird.

But it worked, and it stuck. Now the rocking chair song is in the same rotation as Sunshine and Twinkle. But to be honest, we almost always end the night singing the Rocking Chair song before actually getting in bed. The melody is simple but sweet and calm. And of course, what kid doesn’t like to star in their very own story or song?

It’s become, for now, our little ritual. Who knows how long it will last, but for now, those are a few moments of calm that I love.

I think he does too.

***

One moar Rocking Chair momma. One moar. Jackson happy rocking chair. Momma happy rocking chair. One moar happy rocking chair. Happy, happy Jackson happy happy Momma rocking chair.

Yes baby, we’re happy in our rocking chair. Happy happy Jackson.

Happy, happy Momma.

About a year and a half ago, I wrote a post where I laid out my reasons why I thought being a working mom was harder than being a stay at home mom. Specifically, why I thought that it was more stressful and harder physically to be a working mom, *especially* the first year.

BUT! Before you all come beat me up for contributing to the mommy wars! I did say this:

I get the feeling that after the first year (or earlier maybe if you’re not nursing and your kid sleeps through the night) the balance might tip the other way.

Well, folks, I can honestly say that I think it’s got to be harder in a TON of ways to be a SAHM after the first year. Particularly when you get into the defiant/boundary testing/button pushing/tantrum phase(s). Or maybe that’s just me.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. Being a working mom isn’t a cake walk. The scheduling nightmare isn’t any easier, if anything it only gets harder. And it’s still tough physically when your kiddo is sick or not sleeping or contributing to you not sleeping in any way. And yes, the envy, guilt, and disappointment are still there. It’s definitely not that being a working mom is easy (any more than I think being a SAHM pre-one year old is easy). Again, I come back to my general belief that parenthood if freaking HARD. No matter what your tax return says.

But OMG, there are days that I thank my lucky stars that I get to go to work and leave the brunt of the day’s tantrums and defiance to someone else (sorry honey!). I don’t think I have the energy for a 24/7 toddler. I know I don’t have the stamina. I’m pretty sure I don’t have the creativity or ingenuity. And there are times when I’m pretty sure I don’t have the mental fortitude to handle those teaching moments right.

I don’t know how those of you (including my husband) do it. I mean, I know, you learn as you go, but I think being home with a toddler all the time has got to be one of the most stressful, trying, mentally and emotionally taxing, and frustrating things in the world. Again, maybe it’s just my toddler (doubtful), but it’s freaking EXHAUSTING.

I salute you ladies (and men) who do it. You guys are my heroes. Being a working mom is filled with tough parts, difficult decisions, guilt, and frustration. But I’m fairly certain that your job is harder with a toddler than mine.

Yesterday I wrote about my son’s joy, his exuberance, and my love of being there to see him in those moments.

Which of course, in typical karmic fashion, meant that last night he pushed every button I had, made me so mad I was shaking, bit me so hard it left a nasty bruise, and generally pushed me to every bad parenting choice I have. I yelled. I cried. I gave time outs. I withheld treats. I was so angry, so DAMN ANGRY–in part at my two year old for pushing and for hurting me (he bit me, hard, and wouldn’t let go. I literally had to pry his jaw open to get him to stop), and in bigger part for knowing AS IT WAS HAPPENING that I wasn’t in control.

Now, my not in control is still pretty damn controlled. I’m not one to fly off the handle often, and even being pushed to the brink, the default was yelling and removing myself from the situation. But it still sucks when you’re inside your own head going “For the love Ginger, he’s TWO. You are the GROWN UP. You need to calm the fuck down because you are the PARENT.”

I put him to bed without our nighttime ritual of reading books and rocking in the rocking chair singing songs because I needed to step away from the situation and calm down. He wailed and cried “Rocking Chair, Rocking Chair, Rocking CHAIR” while I tried to collect myself and 1) get past the frustration and 2) let it go. I’ve talked over on Noodle Knobs about my problem sometimes with holding a grudge against the toddler a fact that makes me feel like a crappy (but realistic) parent. This was no exception, but with the added bonus of needing to stop holding a grudge against myself.

It’s hard, this parenting thing. It’s hard to try and always be the example, to be the best of you, to do right. Of course you’re going to have moments when you fail both yourself and your kid. It doesn’t make them easier to swallow, but all you can do is try and do better next time. To take a deep breath and count to 100 and get outside of the space where you’re angry and frustrated and so disappointed in yourself that you’re not sure where to go next and move to the next step.

For me, last night, that next step was going back in to Jackson, drying his tears, accepting his “sorry bite” and kiss, and rocking him in the rocking chair while singing You Are My Sunshine before putting him to bed the way we always do, with a hug and a kiss.

And then taking a deep breath and telling myself I’ll do better next time.

The day starts with a shout over the monitor:

“HI JACKSON! HIIIIIII JACKSON!”

Which always makes me giggle and whisper back to the monitor “hi jackson.” Like the cruel parents we are, we make you hang out in your room while we finish getting ready, so we are able to hear you chatter over the monitor for 10-15 minutes. Right now, you often just string every word that pops in your head together, so we end up with something like “Mommy, Dada, Jackson, NO SIR!, Toppers, Remy, Remy time, Remy house, trail, owie, running, SASHA!, read, book,Mommy, MOMMA!, Jackson, oameal, potty, poopy potty, DADDY!, Jackson! (etc.)*” for the whole time. Other times, you like to sing, “ABCCETG Twinkle Star twinkle twinkle star”. Sometimes you sit quietly and read books in your bed, or play with your bulldozer, or the Pooh bear that plays music. And every day, I wait with anticipation for the minute we finally open your door, and you come barreling toward me to say MOMMA!

Little man, you have such a big personality, it astounds me sometimes that you’re mine. You start your day at top volume, full speed, and don’t stop all day long. And you make sure the world knows you’re there at all times–no shrinking violet for you my boy. But you do so much of it with a joy and happiness that I feel lucky to see. Yes, you tantrum–a lot. You ARE two after all. And yes, you push boundaries–a lot. Again, two. But you also approach almost everything you do with a smile that reaches down to your toes. You laugh and smile all day long. You capture people’s attention and hearts wherever we go. You are joy personified (when you’re not TWO personified, and even then sometimes).

You start your day at full volume, but it’s a happy full volume. You laugh while you run. You giggle while you tumble. You smile constantly. You chatter and break out into a big smile when we talk back. You have enough personality to fill the entire state, and my GOD am I glad I get the privilege of being your momma. Even when you wear me out (often), even when I feel like I’m messing up (a lot), even when I can’t WAIT for bedtime, I am deeply aware of how lucky I am to have you as such a shining light in my life. If I can be half as good for you as you are for me little man, then I’ll have done right by you.

Today has been one of those days.

One of those days when everyone is on edge.

One of those days when all the buttons are getting pushed.

One of those days when tantrums (both adult and toddler) abound.

Which, of course, means it’s one of those days when we have obligations out in the real world to deal with. Which, of course, means that the stress is higher than normal. Which, of course, is a horrible catch-22 because the more stressed we get the more the day stresses us out which means we get more stressed which means my husband is out right now getting tacos so we can eat our stress.

I’m hoping that a nap for the toddler will help everyone mellow out. I’m hoping that some time to decompress will chill N.C. and I to the point where we don’t feel like we’re overreacting at every.little.thing. I’m hoping that the kid wakes up in better spirits, with less hitting and tantruming.

Basically, I’m hoping that the next two hours give us all a reset on the day, a chance to change one of THOSE days into something else.