It's hard to think of stress right this moment, as one of my three boys is with his Dad, the other is sleeping and the baby is happily cooing in the background. And to complete this peaceful picture, I'm drinking a Sangria. At the moment, life ain't to shabby.

So what do I do with this wonderful couple of hours I have to myself? Instead of sitting outside and reading a novel, I'm blogging about the stress that is my everyday existence. Now don't get me wrong, I love being a mother, I would have it no other way. I am also happy that my boys are very close in age. I chose the (three boys in three years) road. The hope is that they will be best friends and live out their childhood as one big adventure. So far so good, despite the occasional smack up side the head from the oldest to the middle one. But Mr. Middle is fighting back now, and he is pretty big, so it's just a matter of time before the biggest brother gets a taste of his own medicine.

Did I tell you about the two most stressful days of my 32 years on earth?
Went like this: day one, picking them up from my friends house, shepherding them out to the van, when the two year old heads for the road. He makes it out a quarter of the way before I come careening from behind and land on top of him. He was fine, and I had scared the living daylights out of him, so I hope that now, he has an understanding about the danger of the road.

My friend had yelled, "Aim there is a car coming". I dropped the baby (he was safely in his car carrier) and ran into the middle of the road to stop him. The way the car was coming, the driver could not have seen my boy running into the road, because there was a parked van blocking the view. I sat in the road and held him and cried a good ten minutes. After calming myself down, we drove home to my husband who helped me work through the residue of emotion that was jumbling around in my body and brain. I managed to joke with the kids and say "That's it kids, we are never leaving the house again."

Day two, the very next day. My oldest son almost cut his penis off. Ok, slight exaggeration, but it felt that scary. It was during the day so I was home alone with the kids. I had just finished giving them all a bath. Ruben came downstairs, got the piano bench, and used it to get to something he wanted on the counter. At the point of the incident, I was standing right beside him, and I still can't tell you what happened. He fell off the piano bench, and he began crying. Falls happen about 50 times a day here, so it was not a big deal until he said, "Momma, my penis is bleeding." I am pretty good in emergencies, so I got him over to the changing table where I see how badly he was hurt. I had already thought ahead and brought the phone with me. When I pulled the skin back it was another layer of flesh. I knew it was a 911 situation. I called. It stopped bleeding as we waited. Ruben was bawling, and very scared, so my main focus was to keep him calm. I did not wish to look at it any more. I just knew that the bleeding had stopped, and the rest would have to wait until the experts came. I called my husband, told him what happened, and to come home.

The EMT's say that it needed to be looked at. I wanted so badly to go with Ruben, but Ramon insisted that he go. In retrospect, of course he should have, I don't have a penis, what do I know? Apply the same logic to my own reasoning behind having a woman gynocologist, (ummm if you don't own one, you don't know, I don't care how many you have seen.)

My husband took Ruben to Mercy First Care, where the doctor there admitted that she had no idea, so she arranged for Ramon and Ruben to go to the urologist. My husband was quite familiar with these friendly folks, as he had just gotten the good ole snippity do da, (we ain't having any more chillins) there a few weeks before.

They had to wash it out. Ruben freaked out, another reason I'm glad I wasn't there. It was as bad a cut as it could have been, without going into the layer beyond the foreskin. It was at the top of his penis, right where the penis meets the body, so thank God it was not worse, or his sex life could have been ruined. He had little steristrips on there for 2 weeks, they fell off, and it had healed nicely. He will have a battle wound. He's not the only one, apparently stress has some pretty sneaky ways of leaving its mark.

My entire life, well since I was seven years old, I have gone to the same dentist. He's a great guy, I have watched his children grow up in photos over the years.
25 years, that's a quarter of a century. Dr. Burke has looked at my teeth after the hygienist has done her cleaning and her congratulations talk. "You have beautiful teeth, so white, wow you never even had braces, you have healthy gums, you're a great patient Amy, we wish we had more like you." For twenty five years, this is how it has gone. After the hygienist makes her speech it's Dr. Burke's turn. He comes in, does his two second check, and reiterates what the hygienist just said.

Well not this last time folks. That's right, you did not think that parenting could affect your teeth. Dr. Burke says, "Amy you've been grinding your teeth at night I see." To which I respond with "mmmm, I don't know". He says, "we have some wear on T2r9." I say "Oh"? He then launches into this whole speech about how I should seriously think about getting this handy dandy 850 dollar mouth piece to wear at night. I say, "ya that 's not going to happen."
He proceeds to tell me just how serious it can become if I keep grinding. I could have trouble with my mandible, and that could cause migraines and then I'll have to have jaw work done. I tuned out right about there. I thought to myself, well I guess if it gets that bad I can always have my head removed.

Since then I have been more conscious about my grinding. Before he mentioned it, I had no idea I was grinding at all. However, I've got to tell him at my next appointment that it doesn't happen at night. I clench my jaw throughout the day; often. I'm trying to avoid ruining my beautiful teeth, but Jesus, I'm gonna need more than a mouthpiece to make it through the next quarter century. With kids running in roads, and half broken penises, maybe I ought to take up alcoholism for the next couple years, cause this here Sangria sure is doing the trick.

Monday night was the first time in my parenting career that I lost control. Correction: I didn't lose control, cause I don't think I had it to begin with. I was out of control, and there were two little boys in charge.

This lasted a good half an hour. It was time for them to be in their beds.
They did not listen, they climbed over the gate, they laughed in my face, they were not taking me seriously at all. I tried yelling, that did not work. Then I reached the end of my rope. I spanked.

I have pat them on their bottoms before, but this was more than that, this was more of a real spanking. Not the old fashioned kind, no belts, no formal ceremony out of it. Just a firm spank on the butt.

And I felt terrible. I have come to believe that spanking does not work as they were right back at the same behavior after they stopped crying. I did not like some of the advice I received upon telling this story, ie: spank them again, only do it harder.

So it was time to consult with the big wigs, the authors on such lovely topics as "How to live happily ever after with three boys 3 and under". "The smart parents' guide on how to prevent years of therapy for your children." And my favorite book of all, "How to prevent yourself from putting your head in the oven, and other tricks of the parenting trade." Oh wait, those are the future titles of my books, I just have to wait a bit longer to publish them, until I'm out of the parenting woods, if you will.

Now don't go thinking that I am a crazy liberal who doesn't believe in disciplining. In fact, I am very much of the belief that it must be done. It is how the real world works, one's actions have a consequence.

But I absolutely do not subscribe to this "spare the rod spoil the child" idea. I guess I have a bone to pick with the author of that book. ACTUALLY I HAVE MORE THAN ONE BONE TO PICK, BUT HONEY, THAT'S A WHOLE OTHER BLOG.

Now I do not propose to have all of the answers, but I will not choose the easy path. PS- I also wish to spare myself the horrible feelings that go along with spanking. That does not mean that I won't pat their bottom when they are too young to understand that something is hot for instance.

But as far as spanking goes, it just makes no sense, I'm going to spank in order to show my little boy that it is not ok to hit his brother? That's just idiotic.
It's a much less servere version of hey, let's fry that guy in the electric chair for the murder that he committed.

I don't want the blood on my hands thank you very much. And in the case of spanking, I don't want the guilt and shame on my hands from knowing that I have done wrong. Now that just might be where the big book and I agree.

As I was headed into the ladies room at Panera Bread today to change a poopy diaper, I thought to myself why do they only have these stupid changing table pull out things in the ladies rooms? I got all P.O.ed, opened the bathroom door and saw that there wasn't one in the ladies room either.

DISCLAIMER: I adore my kids, my husband is the most helpful you could ever have, and Mama said they'll be days like this. (She forgot to say they'd be back to back without a break though)

In addition to changing tables in gender neutral public spaces, what I'd like for Mother's Day is for this culture to experience a revolution. Is that too much to ask?

I want a true Mother friendly place to live. I don't even know what the heck it would look like, all I know is that it's Isolation Station from where I'm standing.
I think it was different for Mom's a couple of generations back. They lived nearer one another, and the women raised their kids together. It was just a short time ago that women delivered one another. The kitchen table was the place, the event, another birth.

What would it look like to have a country that supported motherhood as a vital part of the fabric of our national identity? Would we qualify for a stipend for our work? Apparently if you have seen MSN lately, our job earns $138,000/year.

Here's the thing, I don't care about the work or the money, I do it because it's for my family and there is nothing more important. What I care about is the lack of infrastructure if you will, the splintered resources, and the invisibility factor of motherhood. I swear I was a full blown person before this! Now I guess it's supposed to come NATURALLY, that I just dissolve all of my needs and desires into all that is motherhood.

Ok so I'm ranting and raving. My counselor says I'm running on empty. Isn't that what every mom with young kids is running on? Isn't that just the cost of fuel these days?

And if one more person says to me "wow you have your hands full" I think I'm going to freak. They already say, "oh the time goes so fast, enjoy it while they are young." I know that, it is going fast, and hearing that just adds to my stress. One day, it was just one of those days, I said to one of those people, "I think you are just forgetting how difficult it was."

Some of us have found our own ways of coping, I belong to a group called Mom to Mom of Maine. It's indispensible, and many a mom vents her frustrations to the lot of us on our private e-mail loop. We do other things together too, playgroups, mom's night out, etc.

I have ONE friend whom I can share all of these true feelings about being a mom with. And I think it is probably the same for the other women in my group. These discussions are not part of the public sphere. I guess for mother's day I'll skip "the kiss that begins with Kay" in order to spur a national conversation about the trials and tribulations of being a mom in the 21st century.

I happen to stay home, but will be going back to work part-time shortly. The only conversation that I hear going on is in regard to childcare. That is just the tip of the iceberg folks. We need to start asking why postpartum depression is so prevalent? Was it always, or now that it has a name it just seems like it's more common? Or is there more to it?

I don't know, but you go to your practitioner, talk about any of your frustrations, and see how fast you are on an antidepressant. Which by the way, there are a ton of mom's on something or another, (I was too, so I'm not judging.) We need real solutions.

Not just little get you through the day type of things, like let's go to the children's museum to kill some time. What about a mother's center? Ya, I'm laughing too, THAT'S THE FREAKING PROBLEM RIGHT THERE, I know what you are thinking, she's a flake, wow what a pipe dream, this girl need to get back on her meds.

Why is that so crazy I ask? A physical building for each county, where mom's can go with their kids and count on there being an activity going on. The kids could play and moms could have meetings on a variety of topics ranging from potty training, to our hopes and dreams. I can do much of this on-line, but it's just not the same. I haven't read up on any such thing as virtual potty training, but believe you me, I'd be signing up if I thought my boy could plug into this machine and suddenly be going on the pot.

I feel like I can't quite spit out what I am trying to say, it's like I'm pointing at the ray of sun, verses the sun itself. I am still trying to map my way through this maze myself, but if you feel like you know what I'm talking about, then please, point to the sun.