“Trouble, trouble me
Disturb me with all your cares and your worries
Trouble me
On the days when you feel spent
Why let your shoulders bend underneath this burden
When my back is sturdy and strong? Trouble me.”

My husband, Arun, played this 10,000 Maniacs song for me a few months ago. We had just learned that I had a brain tumor and would need surgery in a few days to remove it. There was so much to do and it all happened so fast I didn’t even have time to think about that fact that in less than one week my skull would be sawed open and a part of my brain--unwanted though it was--would be sliced off.  

Before I got the news about the tumor, I had been planning our move to another state, and now had to dedicate time postponing the move, rescheduling movers and subletters, changing school start dates and having to take an extended leave from my demanding job. Most of all, I was worried about my boys.

Arun is a fantastic, totally hands-on dad. Up until then, we would both get the kids ready in the morning and he would take them to school. But he was usually never home before the kids were in bed, so I was responsible for the evenings – school pickups, dinners, baths, books, cuddles, bedtime and getting ready for the next day. As most moms with two boys who are 18 months apart will tell you, caring for them keeps you on your toes, but I loved it. I loved the routine and stability, the time I had alone with them and feeling proud that I could do it all. I never really needed to trouble anyone with my cares or worries or burdens because I didn’t have to.  

Like most moms, I have a certain way of doing things (the right way!) and I was worried about making sure everything would stay the same for my boys. I didn’t want my surgery or recovery to make life difficult for them or for them to feel scared or unstable. As a mom, one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do was accept that I wouldn’t be able to take care of my boys.

That’s when Arun played this song for me. After shedding many tears, I knew that, of course, it would be okay. Things would be different for a while, but I could let it all go and just focus on myself and my recovery. His back was sturdy and strong and I could trouble him. My family and friends would take care of my worries because I could trouble them.

Before the surgery I was anxious about how my boys would react to my partially shaved head and staples in my scalp. We had explained the surgery as well as we could to a 3- and 4-year old. “Mama has a boo boo in her brain and the doctor has to take it out.” Still, we didn’t know what I would look like after the surgery.  When I looked at my reflection in recovery, it was a little jarring for me and I didn’t want them to be frightened. I was discharged from the hospital and settling in at home when I heard the usual chaos that follows upon their arrival. They knew I would be at home and came into the bedroom. I was wearing the standard blue hospital cap which covered my hair and staples. They asked right away to see my boo-boo and I hesitated, but slowly took off my cap and let them see everything. They weren’t scared one bit. My 4-year old asked, in typical 4-year old fashion, if he could bonk my head.  My little guy just wanted to wear the blue cap. They both gave me a gentle hug and kiss. Kids really are amazing. They didn’t care what I looked like. They just wanted their mama.

The days and weeks that followed were tough. I had to lean on my husband, children, family and friends and let them take care of me. But I remembered the words from the song. I learned to let go and trouble them.  

There is a woman in the waiting room each week at my daughter’s dance class who I consider to be the last of a dying breed. This mom has three small children between the ages of 2 and 7. That means that she’s always got at least one of them hanging out in the waiting room with her, if she’s not in the bathroom with her youngest for a fifth attempt at peeing on the potty. Kudos to her for not succumbing to the seduction of pull-up pants. While most of the parents around her are busily scrolling through smartphones and kids are huddled over iPads and Kindle Fires, she pulls out her environmentally friendly canvas tote bag and entertains her kids with books (real ones with real pages), card games, and art supplies. I've even seen her daughter knitting while waiting for her little brother to finish up his class. Inspiring. This is a small room. Think six folding chairs by six folding chairs. She plunks her kids down right in the middle of it and patiently guides them through how to play Uno and War. It’s awesome. Somehow, they seem oblivious to the flashy devices that are whirring all around them and she seems intent on keeping them focused on their games, books, and artwork.  

I’ve seen other newer moms with similar good intentions fall prey in this tiny room to the wiles of technology. The mom could be sitting there reading a book and feeding cheerios to her toddler, perfectly content, and a well-meaning grandma who has just discovered the joys of technology will plop her grandchild down on the floor to play a game on her hot pink iPad. The toddler will catch a glimpse, wriggle away from mom and hop down on the floor to see what’s going on. Suddenly, the equilibrium of the waiting room gets all out of whack as the toddler wants to touch the screen and the child with the iPad pulls it away. Occasionally, the child may have a different reaction and offer to let the child play along, even if the mom wasn't ready for him to use technology yet. Too late. There’s no escaping it here.  

I used to be like the tote carrying mom in the waiting room when my kids were that age, albeit much less organized. Now my minivan has bags full of books in it and a fancy sunglasses carrier on the ceiling where most kids expect to find a DVD player. I’m in a new phase now where I don’t scramble to stuff food in my purse every time I leave the house with my kids any more. I have spent the last twelve years experimenting with various methods to teach my kids how to balance their use of technology, how to wait patiently, how to manage their time, and frankly how to be bored. We've had quite a few technology free weeks (some as punishment, some as cleansing experiments).  Now, if I do have a tote bag, it’s full of my own homework that I might actually accomplish during an hour in the waiting room. I don’t have to chase runaway toddlers down the hall while another kid is in class. My kids all know to grab a book (or an iPod or Nintendo DS if homework is done- see, I’m not a total luddite!) if we’ll be waiting for a little while.  

You may think I’m setting a double standard since I will let my kids bring a DS, but not a tablet to this place. Here’s the thing. I can’t concentrate when there’s a lot of noise. I make my kids either bring headphones or turn the volume all the way down on a DS. While my kids won’t say no to their friends if they bring iPads to the waiting room to play together, they agree that its size and colorful images do make it hard for other kids around them to resist and stay focused on their low tech toys. A DS is a little subtler at least. And if you want to bring something to share with others, crayons and markers are the easiest way to appeal to all ages. Always developmentally appropriate, unless the child wants to eat the crayons.  

I run into similar clashes with technology with playdates. It’s not that we don’t like or even love technology. We just don’t want it to rule our lives or rob our kids of their ability to imagine. We’re not a household that has a television on all the time. Our kids have to ask to watch TV and ask to play video games. Yup, even the 12-year-old. It’s not an issue with my youngest, who still has a vivid pretend play world, but it’s tough with my 9-year-old when he has a friend over. (He recently told me that he always brings a book to lunch at school because all his friends talk about is Minecraft, which we don’t have here, the poor deprived soul). When my kids have friends over, I set very clear expectations about technology use ahead of time. If it’s a two-hour playdate, I don’t see why they need to use it at all. They can talk, play chess, cards, ping pong, or go outside and pick a ball game to play if it’s not too cold. Longer than two hours and they can play something electronic, but only for an hour. Different rules apply for Just Dance and Rock Band, because well, that’s singing and dancing and I don’t think you can do enough of that!  

After the holidays, my daughter’s friend came over and told her that she and her sister each got their own iPads for Christmas. Hannah said, “Oh, my family got a Kindle Paperwhite to share.” That about sums us up. It’s also not that I’m cheap or don’t appreciate what iPads have to offer. I recently found out I can do a running record (a reading accuracy assessment) on one with my students which would be so cool. That’s enough to make me want to get one. I’m just not sure if I’m ready to handle the monitoring that’s going to come with it. We’re in this blissful stage right now where everyone is devouring books and I don’t really want to mess with that.  

I’m not saying that I have all of the answers when it comes to technology and kids. It’s only going to get harder. I know it’s tempting to get the most out of these expensive and engaging items before they become out of date and I need to get the next model. I’m just asking us all to reflect for a minute about how we let our kids use it and how it affects the people around them. Ask yourself: Am I afraid of being out in public with my child without an electronic device to distract him/her? Does my child complain of being bored a lot? Does her attention span seem shorter than it should? Do I respond with offers of technology? Can my kid socialize at my house with another child without the aid of technology? What would happen if my kids (and I) unplugged for a week?  

Perhaps after reading this you might consider how you monitor or don’t monitor your child’s use of technology each day. Maybe you’ll consider going low tech and throwing in a couple of matchbox cars and a box of crayons in lieu of your iPad the next time you come hang out in the waiting room at dance class. No batteries required. 

Today's guest writer, Kate Lucier,  is a former middle school teacher and public defender and a current workers' compensation and union-side labor lawyer with a three-year-old son. She shares how knowing the truth about parenting has served her these last few years. 

“We owe the truth, not just the facts. I’m celebrating my 84th year on this planet. I’ve seen many things. I’ve learned many things. I’ve certainly been exposed to many things and I’ve learned something: I owe it to you, to tell you.”
–Maya Angelou

Most of the parents of young children I know easily state that parenthood is the hardest job they’ve ever had. Actually, most of the parents of older children I know say that as well. Despite that, a number of people have, probably for their own sakes, conveniently forgotten quite how difficult certain aspects of certain ages were with their own children. They say things like, “Oh, I miss that age,” and “Enjoy this stage—it gets much worse.”

I imagine that they say these things because they really do feel sad about their kids growing older and have put a “fuzz filter” on the past because it’s nicer to remember it that way. But, when one is in the midst of the sleep-deprivation and high anxiety of being a new parent, or when one is three tantrums in to a six-tantrum day with a three-year-old, these comments are, shall we say, less than welcome.

One of the greatest gifts I received as a new parent was the fact that I have several close friends, each of whom had children before I did, who were always extremely honest about the challenges of parenting. They clearly adored their kids (and would have done anything for them), but they also openly expressed their doubts, frustration, exhaustion, and general unpreparedness for and about parenthood. Because they were my role models, I didn’t feel guilty when I felt angry or exhausted or desperate when Jacob was a newborn—or yesterday when he demanded something from me for the umpteenth time in his “little dictator” voice.

I can’t imagine what it would have been like to begin this journey with the impression that every moment would be blessed and precious and that I shouldn’t ever wonder what the heck I had done with my life. Because I know, of course, that every moment is blessed and precious, but also mind-blowing in less pleasant ways.

It’s been hard for me to figure out how to share the reality of parenting with people expecting their first child without sounding negative or even frightening them. And, of course, it all depends on the attitude of the person listening. Some people are ready to hear that they’ll have some rough times (maybe daily, at times!) and appreciate that they’ve found someone to turn to. Some people are happy to put a gloss on their parenting lives and suffer alone or with a very discreet few.  I am, of course, the former.  And if someone is the latter, I try to catch the look they give me and abandon ship.

For me, the company of other honest parents has been invaluable.  I hope to give that same gift to as many people as are open to it.

How about you?  How “realistic” were your expectations about parenting?  How often do you turn to other parents to check in about how difficult things are?  What was/is your preference in terms of openness about the struggles of parenting?

So I wrote a guest blog for my dear friend Patricia and sent along a rough draft late last Saturday night. It was about my 4-year-old reading his very first book and me being a proud mama. It was okay. I’m not a terrible writer. But then I couldn’t sleep afterward. And feeling all groggy on Sunday I hated every word of it, though I wasn't sure exactly why.

On Monday I took a foggy walk and the mental fog lifted somewhat. I decided that I love talking about my kid. He’s adorable. I love being home with him. And I’m glad I made that choice. Plus I love LOVE reading books with him and I’m proud of what he just accomplished. BUT...I started thinking about being that mom who talks about how many books we have in our home and how we do this and do that – ugh. Is that really me now? And does that mean I've become that one-dimensional mom whose sole focus is indoor soccer on Mondays and preschool pick-up precisely at 12:20, and so on?

Uh-oh. Here we go.

Then I thought about what else happened that Saturday that could possibly turn a harmless blog post idea into a minor freak-out. Well, duh. I had only just sent out a jaunty “save the date” email about my 40th birthday party. My birthday isn’t until August but I know my busy Bay Area friends and they really needed that much warning, even if I’m bringing the party to them.

Yup. 40. Every time I think about it I think about a whole new decade starting and what will define it, especially now that my son is the big 0-4, easier to manage, and usually sleeping at night. Usually. And I need to admit that it’s triggered a bit of any identity crisis. (If I say “a bit of” an identity crisis maybe it won’t sound so cliché. Worth a try. )

With just a hair more REM sleep and a few mornings of preschool a week, my eyes are able to refocus on my own reality a little. But the ideas are all over the place and it’s still really blurry, sounding something like this:

Oh yeah, I moved to Portland to afford a house a couple years ago. That explains all the rain. I wonder how I get to someplace besides the zoo, the children’s museum, and the grocery store?...Maybe I can take a little more freelance work? Do I have time?…How do I grow that? How do I can that? Where do I recycle that?...What does my iPad do besides play kiddie games?...What did I used to do for fun (and can I still do that before I fall asleep at 9:30 so I can get up at 6)?...What kind of music do I like again? I’m sure it sounds nothing like Raffi.

And most importantly: What overblown writing ideas did I have in my head before I stopped journaling every day because I was too new-mama tired to keep it up? Where did that too-short screenplay go that I seemed to get jazzed about every May for years? (Not sure why it was only in May.) Where did I stash that short story I shared with my book group that was supposed to turn into a bunch of soul-searching travel essays? Can I even write about those things anymore?

And the biggest, foggiest question of all: Is there a bridge back to that creative, quirky 20- and early 30-something writing person, post-mamahood? Or better yet, a fresher more confident take on her? Say, the fabulous 40s version?

Like the whole idea of turning 40, coming out of early motherhood brain fog is far too much to process at once. But at least I figured out why writing a simple Mom blog post pushed my buttons. I like mom blogs a lot, but I've got to reach out and find my real voice again so I’m not afraid it’s lost. To write as myself, in the first person, for the first time in years and have it come out in momspeak – it scared me into that process of refocusing. It scared me into coming out of the mom fog when I’m not at soccer or picking up my son from preschool or picking out books he can practice reading. My son is reading! He’s all grown out of toddler clothes. He’s gotten big and independent so fast. It’s time for me to make more of an effort to expand my horizons too – and please let it be before I finally turn 40 and really freak out.

Carrie R. Wheadon is a stay-at-home proud mama of a new reader. She reviews lots of books, apps, and DVDs for Common Sense Media (commonsense.org; check it out parents – good site!). She only just discovered this week that she fears mom blogging. Follow her on twitter: carrierobinw