I don't remember doing a whole lot when I was little. I mean, growing up, we four siblings hung out with each other, we hung out with kids in our neighborhood, we went to school. In the summer we had our house in New Hampshire and a whole different world of fun and activity, but that wasn't until I was well into elementary school.
What did we do? I can't remember, but I know it was mostly fun and I don't remember feeling deprived.
Have times changed that much? Do kids today need more than we did in the 70s?
Having four kids of my own, I already feel stressed and somewhat pressured to not only find fun stuff for them to be involved in, but also to make sure that activity time is equal per kid. All four take swimming lessons (equality, check!). One does soccer; another will start tee ball this spring. I feel guilty, and hunt for a dance class for number three. (Number four is still young enough that I don't feel bad for her lack of involvement. But I feel guilty for confessing that.) A dance class will right the scales.
Seriously. I'm that crazy. I'd really like to see Ellie do something by herself for once. But I can't bear to add another have-to to our schedule.
I'm already exhausted shuttling to and fro, scheduling and paying, outfitting and encouraging. And, compared to a lot of families, we hardly do anything. Mostly we just hang out at home or in the backyard (playground in nice weather), and enjoy each other, possibly a neighbor or two. A lot like my childhood, I remind myself, and that was just perfect for me.
So, I breathe. Maybe Ellie will have to wait for that ballet class, at least until summer (as Auntie Shelley suggested), when things are less hectic. Then I can focus on her, let her shine a little. It's not easy being number three of four (as I can attest, but that's a therapy session for another day). Giving her a chance to shine, having some alone time with her, that's what's important, why I'd like her to take ballet. Plus, she loves to dance. I can't imagine a few months will change that.
Parenting is never equal. Someone is up, another is down, one is getting more, while others are not. The sooner I accept that, the less crazy I will be. Breathe.
Today, following a heavy snowfall, the kids and I reworked the snow fort they built with Daddy over the weekend. We slid down our tiny hill on inflatable swim rings and plastic place mats. We repaired the snowman, and even had a snowball fight. We did it together, and it was all free, unscheduled, and unlimited.
And I'll bet that it's what will stay with them until they, like me, are parents, pushing forty. Not soccer or dance, but an impossibly bright blue-skied snow day with their siblings and their mom.
It's what I will remember.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Enlightenment
We seem to be living in a greener, more enlightened world. Or at least, in a world that wants to be greener and more enlightened.
I used to be earthy, crunchy. I did yoga daily, hiked, and took long walks. I held memberships in the Sierra Club and the World Wildlife Federation. Sadly, as my life unfolded, these passions got lost in a small-city shuffle after I moved to Boston. Getting married and having kids somehow overshadowed my guitar-strumming, mantra-muttering self. I guess I wasn't someone who could readily reconcile those identities, though plenty of fine women do. All right, I was also a little bit lazy.
But this past year taught me a little bit about staying true to who you are, as well as spending some time on enlightenment. Well, if not enlightenment, then spending some time on clearing a little mind clutter, stepping outside of yourself to the bigger world. Doing this may mitigate some of the daily stresses we all feel, or so I'm told.
Lately I've revisited yoga and meditation and some old, familiar writers like Natalie Goldberg, who in her search for her writing self stumbled across her true self -- through writing practice and Zen Buddhism, Natalie embarked on a lifelong journey we all must face at one time or another. Or something like that. "Be here now," wrote Ram Dass in his book of the same title. (My cousin Marcello gave me this book about 15 years ago, when we were both exploring the same world. Alas, it was lost in a basement flood a few years ago.) The message is, of course, to be mindful of the moment, do what you're doing. Make a peanut butter sandwich without focusing on the bills to be paid or what you need at the pharmacy.
I've been trying. It flies against every modern thought of multi-tasking, the fuel on which we contemporary moms thrive. Once upon a time, moms were applauded for their ability to talk on the phone, help with math homework, cook dinner, fold laundry, and look beautiful, all at once. These days, while multi-tasking is a necessary evil of parenting, I have been striving for a more peaceful, Zen approach to my daily duties.
For instance, today, while changing Joanna's diaper, I think only of the tush, the rash, the cream. I actively ignore the sound from the living room, the smack of hand slapping on arm, as Ellie defends her toy from her brother's grasp.
I sigh, apply cream. The cream is white on red rash, I think. Yelling erupts from adjacent room. Be here now, I whisper, aligning diaper with rear end. Something heavy lands with a thump nearby; lack of cries indicate object is inanimate, not human. I fasten diaper, put legs in pants. The sound of sobs, soft and sniffly, waft to my ears, hallmark of a fight ebbing. I stand Joanna up and give her a kiss, send her on her way.
Natalie Goldberg's teacher Katagiri Roshi, in response to her description of an overwhelming emotion she was having, told her, "Pay no attention to that. Continue to feel your breath, bow, drink tea."
Having finished the task before me, I pay no attention to the noise from the other room, which has resolved itself quite well without me. With an almost undetectable bow, I head to the kitchen and turn on the stove to boil water for a cup of tea.
Of course, as students we often fail. Not all days am I able to watch my breath, meditate, and allow the chaos of parenting to flow around me. On many days, I sit on the couch after tucking the children in their beds, a glass of red wine by my side. Recently, I stood by the counter and mindfully swallow bite after delicious bite of the chocolate birthday cake we had for Cooper last Saturday.
I haven't decided which way is better. But whatever way, I hope that I can be present in my life, the moments that flow too quickly. Breathe, drink tea. Be grateful and bow.
I used to be earthy, crunchy. I did yoga daily, hiked, and took long walks. I held memberships in the Sierra Club and the World Wildlife Federation. Sadly, as my life unfolded, these passions got lost in a small-city shuffle after I moved to Boston. Getting married and having kids somehow overshadowed my guitar-strumming, mantra-muttering self. I guess I wasn't someone who could readily reconcile those identities, though plenty of fine women do. All right, I was also a little bit lazy.
But this past year taught me a little bit about staying true to who you are, as well as spending some time on enlightenment. Well, if not enlightenment, then spending some time on clearing a little mind clutter, stepping outside of yourself to the bigger world. Doing this may mitigate some of the daily stresses we all feel, or so I'm told.
Lately I've revisited yoga and meditation and some old, familiar writers like Natalie Goldberg, who in her search for her writing self stumbled across her true self -- through writing practice and Zen Buddhism, Natalie embarked on a lifelong journey we all must face at one time or another. Or something like that. "Be here now," wrote Ram Dass in his book of the same title. (My cousin Marcello gave me this book about 15 years ago, when we were both exploring the same world. Alas, it was lost in a basement flood a few years ago.) The message is, of course, to be mindful of the moment, do what you're doing. Make a peanut butter sandwich without focusing on the bills to be paid or what you need at the pharmacy.
I've been trying. It flies against every modern thought of multi-tasking, the fuel on which we contemporary moms thrive. Once upon a time, moms were applauded for their ability to talk on the phone, help with math homework, cook dinner, fold laundry, and look beautiful, all at once. These days, while multi-tasking is a necessary evil of parenting, I have been striving for a more peaceful, Zen approach to my daily duties.
For instance, today, while changing Joanna's diaper, I think only of the tush, the rash, the cream. I actively ignore the sound from the living room, the smack of hand slapping on arm, as Ellie defends her toy from her brother's grasp.
I sigh, apply cream. The cream is white on red rash, I think. Yelling erupts from adjacent room. Be here now, I whisper, aligning diaper with rear end. Something heavy lands with a thump nearby; lack of cries indicate object is inanimate, not human. I fasten diaper, put legs in pants. The sound of sobs, soft and sniffly, waft to my ears, hallmark of a fight ebbing. I stand Joanna up and give her a kiss, send her on her way.
Natalie Goldberg's teacher Katagiri Roshi, in response to her description of an overwhelming emotion she was having, told her, "Pay no attention to that. Continue to feel your breath, bow, drink tea."
Having finished the task before me, I pay no attention to the noise from the other room, which has resolved itself quite well without me. With an almost undetectable bow, I head to the kitchen and turn on the stove to boil water for a cup of tea.
Of course, as students we often fail. Not all days am I able to watch my breath, meditate, and allow the chaos of parenting to flow around me. On many days, I sit on the couch after tucking the children in their beds, a glass of red wine by my side. Recently, I stood by the counter and mindfully swallow bite after delicious bite of the chocolate birthday cake we had for Cooper last Saturday.
I haven't decided which way is better. But whatever way, I hope that I can be present in my life, the moments that flow too quickly. Breathe, drink tea. Be grateful and bow.
Monday, February 04, 2008
The Scariest Milestone
For most of her young six years, Mitzi has hit almost all of her milestones early. Talking, walking, SAT vocabulary. long division. She was always a little on the precocious side. But I'm not sure if age six is early or on time for her latest milestone. I just know that, for me, it was the most scary.
I don't remember all the details (although I suppose I should, shame on me). Maybe I've blocked them out. I think she and Cooper and I (and maybe Joanna and Ellie too?) were scrolling through the digital photos, and in one I was (shockingly enough) pregnant. I said to someone (who can keep track of them all?), "There you are in Mommy's tummy!".
To which Mitzi inquires, "But how does the baby get in the mommy's tummy in the first place?"
I almost burst into laughter. Here it was! What I'd been dreading ever since she started elementary school! (Well, that and her discovery about Santa Claus.) THE QUESTION! Of course, I had never thought of what my answer would be.
Luckily, Cooper interrupted us. "Mommy, can you print me a Star Wars picture to color?" I did, quickly, and Mitzi asked for one too, and we never got back to her query.
Whew. I've thought about it, and have practiced my answer. I have practiced not talking too much (which I usually do)and using exact terms to define and identify if necessary (which is sort of icky and embarrassing for me).
But Lord do I hope it doesn't come up again any time soon. I may break, and lie. Far easier. And that will be a lot of years of therapy, for her.
"Mommy, how does the baby get there?"
"Well, when a man and a woman really love, or like a whole lot, each other, in a special way. I mean, they are usually married, but sometimes they're not, but they really should be, although it could be okay if they're not. Well, they kiss and stuff, and don't you want to go work on a project? Let's get out the paint! And glue! And glitter! No, wait! Let's go to Build-A-Bear!"
On second thought, maybe it's me who needs the therapy.
I don't remember all the details (although I suppose I should, shame on me). Maybe I've blocked them out. I think she and Cooper and I (and maybe Joanna and Ellie too?) were scrolling through the digital photos, and in one I was (shockingly enough) pregnant. I said to someone (who can keep track of them all?), "There you are in Mommy's tummy!".
To which Mitzi inquires, "But how does the baby get in the mommy's tummy in the first place?"
I almost burst into laughter. Here it was! What I'd been dreading ever since she started elementary school! (Well, that and her discovery about Santa Claus.) THE QUESTION! Of course, I had never thought of what my answer would be.
Luckily, Cooper interrupted us. "Mommy, can you print me a Star Wars picture to color?" I did, quickly, and Mitzi asked for one too, and we never got back to her query.
Whew. I've thought about it, and have practiced my answer. I have practiced not talking too much (which I usually do)and using exact terms to define and identify if necessary (which is sort of icky and embarrassing for me).
But Lord do I hope it doesn't come up again any time soon. I may break, and lie. Far easier. And that will be a lot of years of therapy, for her.
"Mommy, how does the baby get there?"
"Well, when a man and a woman really love, or like a whole lot, each other, in a special way. I mean, they are usually married, but sometimes they're not, but they really should be, although it could be okay if they're not. Well, they kiss and stuff, and don't you want to go work on a project? Let's get out the paint! And glue! And glitter! No, wait! Let's go to Build-A-Bear!"
On second thought, maybe it's me who needs the therapy.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Ladybug, ladybug
We knew about the ladybugs before we moved into this house just over 2 years ago. While some work was being done, Ray would see them (alive or not) in the attic or the upstairs bathroom, and chalked it up to the doors being open so much. After we moved in we still saw them frequently, but, hey. They were ladybugs, not cockroaches. No big deal. We saw a lot of them last summer when our linden tree was infested with aphids. Ladybugs love to dine on aphids and other plant-eating insects. Great for your garden. We had a regular feast going on out back for the ladies (though not much in the way of a garden). In the still-warm days of October, these spotted insects would swarm around the house, like something out of a horror movie. I don't really know why. It was a little creepy and I refused to let the kids outside to play on those days. In all, of all creatures to visit your house, a cuddly ladybug isn't so bad.
Of course, you'd rather not keep them.
Ray has an endearing habit of releasing certain bugs back into the wild when he finds them in the house (moths and ladybugs, yes; bees and flies, no). He does this gently, faithfully. I am of the cynical opinion that he's simply releasing them to become a meal for a bird, spider or bat, and they'd be better off in my bathroom. But he is an eternal optimist. The average ladybug only lives about six weeks, not so long. It's enough for Ray though, who always wants everyone to have a fighting chance.
Now that it's winter, I am very sad for the ladybugs I find in the house. I don't think we have much for them to feed on inside, but whenever I spy a little lady on my bathroom curtain or bedroom wall, I leave her alone. It's too cold to cast her outside, though I know my house condemns her to an end a lot sooner than a few weeks. Alas, if one of the kids sees her, the poor creature is likely to be pinched to death by an over-eager preschooler. But I like to think many of them live to see another day.
Spring is just around the corner, and this year I may just have a garden for my little ladybugs. If they survive, they surely deserve it. Maybe I am a romantic, after all.
Remember that Sesame Street song "Ladybug Picnic"? Check it out on YouTube (where else?)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xr8vUTm64h0
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
On Another Note
While I'm drafting a post, I'm also cooking some of my mother's Christmas manicotti and her holiday meat gravy. If you have never eaten this, you are missing out on something otherworldly. The manicotti, light, perfection; the meat gravy, bursting with sausage, pepperoni, spare ribs, plain meat (whatever that is), sublime. I think if I can learn to make this (after years of assisting, you'd think I could by now), my family would be complete.
Judgment
Ray said he read my blog and was happy to see that he'd be getting kissed more. I guess the last year was sort of rough on him too. For everything, honey, thanks.
A mom friend from Connecticut with whom I had not spoken for a little while also read this blog recently and contacted me. (Okay, the link from my Facebook profile definitely increased traffic.) We enjoyed reconnecting, catching up on family lives, kids' growth, and that sort of thing.
One thing struck me, though. She confessed that she too had been a smoker -- for all the time we'd known one another. "I tried to hide it from you!" she said. She was sure I'd judge her as a mom. After all, other than feeding your kid cocaine, what crime could be worse than SMOKING?? She was happy to say she'd also quit and that it was still hard. (You said it!)
It's an awful fear we moms live in, the judgment we expect from other moms. Whether the issue is breastfeeding, potty training, or TV watching, you can be sure that most of us wonder how our choices are viewed by the rest of the ladies on the playground.
Or maybe it's just me. I will be the first to admit I have issues in this department. I have too many times made decisions based on what I thought others would think or do. These days, I gussy up the house for moms dropping of playdate pals; I temper opinions on sensitive issues expressed to new mom friends -- see breastfeeding mentioned above; I want to be liked.
I guess there's nothing wrong with that. At the same time, I know I'd do better to follow the advice I give to Mitzi and Cooper almost every day, the same words my mom uttered to me: Just be yourself.
It's hard for us insecure moms. I committed a lot of heinous Mommy Crimes...I tried to breastfeed but frankly didn't care for it and when some of the kids gave it up long, long before one year (hey, most barely made it past four months), I was glad. Glad! La Leche members cringe in unison! I smoked for a long time, even after I became a Mom. DSS get over here! Sometimes I yell at my kids. Sometimes I let them watch a lot of television. Sometimes we eat chicken nuggets and go to bed without having baths.
Sometimes everyone stays in pajamas until dinnertime. If we get dressed at all.
I am not perfect. You know that. And one day, I'll embrace that imperfection. Until then, don't judge me too harshly. We are all doing the best we can.
And to my mom friend, if you fall off the nonsmokers' wagon, don't worry. I'll be the first to help you back up, if you need me to -- but I will never judge you.
A mom friend from Connecticut with whom I had not spoken for a little while also read this blog recently and contacted me. (Okay, the link from my Facebook profile definitely increased traffic.) We enjoyed reconnecting, catching up on family lives, kids' growth, and that sort of thing.
One thing struck me, though. She confessed that she too had been a smoker -- for all the time we'd known one another. "I tried to hide it from you!" she said. She was sure I'd judge her as a mom. After all, other than feeding your kid cocaine, what crime could be worse than SMOKING?? She was happy to say she'd also quit and that it was still hard. (You said it!)
It's an awful fear we moms live in, the judgment we expect from other moms. Whether the issue is breastfeeding, potty training, or TV watching, you can be sure that most of us wonder how our choices are viewed by the rest of the ladies on the playground.
Or maybe it's just me. I will be the first to admit I have issues in this department. I have too many times made decisions based on what I thought others would think or do. These days, I gussy up the house for moms dropping of playdate pals; I temper opinions on sensitive issues expressed to new mom friends -- see breastfeeding mentioned above; I want to be liked.
I guess there's nothing wrong with that. At the same time, I know I'd do better to follow the advice I give to Mitzi and Cooper almost every day, the same words my mom uttered to me: Just be yourself.
It's hard for us insecure moms. I committed a lot of heinous Mommy Crimes...I tried to breastfeed but frankly didn't care for it and when some of the kids gave it up long, long before one year (hey, most barely made it past four months), I was glad. Glad! La Leche members cringe in unison! I smoked for a long time, even after I became a Mom. DSS get over here! Sometimes I yell at my kids. Sometimes I let them watch a lot of television. Sometimes we eat chicken nuggets and go to bed without having baths.
Sometimes everyone stays in pajamas until dinnertime. If we get dressed at all.
I am not perfect. You know that. And one day, I'll embrace that imperfection. Until then, don't judge me too harshly. We are all doing the best we can.
And to my mom friend, if you fall off the nonsmokers' wagon, don't worry. I'll be the first to help you back up, if you need me to -- but I will never judge you.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
New Year's Resolutions
Well, I had good intentions with this blog. But some stuff happened in 2007 and I didn't manage to get a single thought written.
I found the lump in my left breast the week before Christmas 2006, and rang in the new year waiting to see the doctor and agonizing over my discovery. In the six months that followed, I had a mammogram and a series of ultrasounds. Eventually in June 2007 a biopsy was performed, and the good news finally came. Benign tissue. One bullet dodged.
A month later I caught a cold. I got a sore throat and thought I felt a lump when I swallowed. Another three months, a trip to a specialist, a CT scan, and two "nodules" were discovered, one on my epiglottis and one on my thyroid. Surgery was scheduled for the beginning of October, and once again, good news followed. Bengin tissue. Bullet number two, dodged. A biopsy on the thyroid nodule had the same result. Number three.
You can't ask for better gifts than that.
So, I figured after getting luckly three times, it was time to shape up my act. During the throat issues, I quit smoking (again) but have managed to stay clean since the end of August 2007. As so many do, I made a few resolutions for 2008, mostly the usual ones.
Eat better -- more vegetables and more fruit. Mostly I save the good stuff for the kids and eat carbs.
Exercise -- More yoga (even bought a DVD for the kids to do with me); Ray and I bought a treadmill.
Get organized -- an uncluttered environment leads to uncluttered mind.
But here's the thing. Every one of the doctors I saw last year told me point-blank that I was too stressed, and most of my health issues (lumps notwithstanding) were directly related to that stress. So, here are my bigger resolutions:
Laugh every day.
Get to bed earlier.
Kiss my husband as much as possible.
Tell people how I feel.
Focus more on the accomplishments and less on the mess the kids make on the journey.
Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat as often as necessary.
Three passes last year, three misses, three gifts. It is a new year and I hope to make it the best yet.
I found the lump in my left breast the week before Christmas 2006, and rang in the new year waiting to see the doctor and agonizing over my discovery. In the six months that followed, I had a mammogram and a series of ultrasounds. Eventually in June 2007 a biopsy was performed, and the good news finally came. Benign tissue. One bullet dodged.
A month later I caught a cold. I got a sore throat and thought I felt a lump when I swallowed. Another three months, a trip to a specialist, a CT scan, and two "nodules" were discovered, one on my epiglottis and one on my thyroid. Surgery was scheduled for the beginning of October, and once again, good news followed. Bengin tissue. Bullet number two, dodged. A biopsy on the thyroid nodule had the same result. Number three.
You can't ask for better gifts than that.
So, I figured after getting luckly three times, it was time to shape up my act. During the throat issues, I quit smoking (again) but have managed to stay clean since the end of August 2007. As so many do, I made a few resolutions for 2008, mostly the usual ones.
Eat better -- more vegetables and more fruit. Mostly I save the good stuff for the kids and eat carbs.
Exercise -- More yoga (even bought a DVD for the kids to do with me); Ray and I bought a treadmill.
Get organized -- an uncluttered environment leads to uncluttered mind.
But here's the thing. Every one of the doctors I saw last year told me point-blank that I was too stressed, and most of my health issues (lumps notwithstanding) were directly related to that stress. So, here are my bigger resolutions:
Laugh every day.
Get to bed earlier.
Kiss my husband as much as possible.
Tell people how I feel.
Focus more on the accomplishments and less on the mess the kids make on the journey.
Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat as often as necessary.
Three passes last year, three misses, three gifts. It is a new year and I hope to make it the best yet.
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