It might be as little as “You put your toy upstairs.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Go check.”

“I didn’t!!”

It goes ’round and ’round like this. Grr. It’s like he’s a teenager already.

And he’s starting to get angry more often. He’s never really done that. Sad and frustrated, yes, and we know he’s a sensitive child. But he stomped up the stairs growling like a 16 year old, and The Hub and I just looked at each other and said, “What was that?”

I feel like we’re moving into uncharted territory, and as parents of a singleton, we don’t know what’s normal. We worry he suppresses his feelings too much (like when a kid was punching him in the stomach every day and he didn’t mention it for a week) and that that will come out in a bad way later.

I’m looking into books that can give us tips for how to navigate this rocky part of our lives. Any advice?

My definition: A soccer mom is one who enthusiastically attends every one of her child’s soccer games and practices, arriving early with snacks and water for the team in her mini van. She may wear “mom pants” and push her child to play to kill win.

I’m sooooooooo not competitive. I hated sports growing up (and still don’t like many). So watching Max play soccer was like having my fingernails pulled off. At first.

Then the Hub got suckered into being the coach. After 2 weeks and 2 coaches not showing up, he was stepping in anyway (he played in high school). He really doesn’t mind and it’s damn cute to see these little 6 year olds listening to him.

And I find myself cheering on the kids (who have yet to win a game, but who’s counting? Last week, we borrowed a player from the other team, who scored the only goals we got) and encouraging them to “turn the ball around! take it, it’s yours!”

So, by default, being the wife of the coach…doesn’t that make me a soccer mom? Oh damn. But if it means I can wear cute shirts like the soccer chick shirt (above) that I bought, at least i don’t have to wear them with mom pants!

My yoga instructor talked about guilt the other day. Interestingly, she attributed it to the Western world. I don’t know if they don’t have guilt in other countries, but she was right; we put ourselves through a lot of guilt for no reason.

I thought it would be fun to share our Guilt Lists and then (virtually) tear them up. Here’s mine.

• Guilt about not writing enough on all my blogs
• Guilt about not going to yoga as often as I like
• Guilt about gaining a few pounds
• Guilt about being impatient with Max
• Guilt about drinking too much
• Guilt about not being the kind of parent who volunteers at school
• Guilt about not dusting
• Guilt about not scrubbing the tub
• Guilt about not taking Max to play outside often enough

Looking at this list I see that none of it is earth-shattering. I think we as women experience more guilt than men. What do you think? And for what? It’s just another stressor in our lives.

So here and now I’m making a proclamation that we will deliberately work harder to NOT feel so guilty. The dishes can wait. We won’t blow up if we don’t exercise all week (or month). That hamburger will not go straight to our thighs.

Life is meant to be enjoyed. Let’s start doing that.

So this time, we were able to do all the fun stuff in town. In fact, I don’t know what we didn’t do! We visited Old Town, which is a great historic area for shopping. We took a harbor tour (I got bored after the first hour). We visited the Farmer’s Market in Little Italy (see photos below). While I was in Round Rock, Mom took a trolley around town and shopped at Seaport Village.

A good time was had by all. Max was sad when she left (didn’t help that Papa had to leave the day before for work travel), and the house is quiet now. The coffee doesn’t mysteriously get made on its own, nor do the towels get folded (not the way we fold, but hey, it beats leaving them in the dryer for 3 days).

Mom, thank you for coming and putting up with your temperamental virtually teenage daughter. I love you.

We were talking about the people we’ve met who will say “We’ll have to get together, ” and then make no effort to do so. Who always say things are perfect even when they’re not.

She says it’s an American thing. I say it’s a woman thing. But I’m not like that, and neither is she. We’re both very direct, and quick to say that things suck (parenting, perhaps) and quick to invite you to our homes. On a specific day. Not in general.

So what gives? She says American women are afraid of showing that underneath the facade of a clean house, things aren’t as perfect as they appear. I say women are afraid of getting close to others for fear of rejection.

Is it an American thing? A female thing? What do you say?

I’ve been sick. NOt dying or anything, just a whiny baby cold, but enough to put me in bed for 3 days.

I was deliberating about what to do if I keeled over going to pick up Max from school when I realized my mom could get him. YES!

Since then she’s hung out with Max so I could rest and brought me get-well-soon foods (read: McDonald’s Angus burgers and nachos. Feed a cold, people. Feed. a. Cold.). I’m so grateful to have her nearby.

For you folks that have always lived near your parents, consider yourself lucky. I moved away at the tender age of 18 and haven’t lived in the same city since. I’ve gotten used to fending for myself, sucking up my illness to take care of my child and withering away if there’s nothing to eat in the house. But with Mom just 5 minutes away, it’s made my life as a pseudo-single mom a lot easier.

So thanks for that Mom. And by the way, could you come over with sushi? I’m getting hungry…

She asked me how I’d feel if Max were in ICU. Naturally, I’d be a wreck. I would feel his pain and want nothing more than for him to get better–wait a minute! This is an analogy for how she feels about me! OHHHH!

And then I didn’t feel so resentful for her suffering right along with me. I realized it shows how much she cares about me. I guess you think when you become a grown up your parents can’t worry about you in the same way they did when your biggest crisis was a scraped knee. But they can, and they do. Most of us don’t need them in the way I’ve needed her these last few months, but it’s so nice to know that she’s my #1 supporter as I figure out what’s next in my life.

I am so guilty of this being the #1 thing I say to Max on a regular basis.

• When he’s walking like a turtle: Hurry!
• When he’s trying to pick a book to read: Hurry!
• When he’s eating: Hurry!
• When he’s getting in the car: Hurry!

There’s really no need for my impatience. A few more seconds won’t hurt me. Why then is it so hard to bite my tongue and let him take his sweet time??

Do you have any good book pics to share with us?

Stand up straight! Quit wiggling! Be quiet!

Sometimes I see myself from a distance and think, “Why am I sucking all the fun out of this room?”

I think it’s because I’m a control freak (ya think??). I know it’s not logical that I expect him to act like a grown up, but when I’m at my worst, I can’t handle him bouncing off the walls.

Do you ever feel like this? Advice??