The Parenting Myth

Listen To Your Mother.

2012-01-30T13:53:00.000-08:00

My favorite event at BlogHer this year was the LTYM lounge. People reading their stories - giving their blog posts life.
I'm assuming, since you show up here, you like that too. Listening to my stories, hearing my words.
Well now it's your turn. Everyone has a mother story - whether you have one, are one, miss one, want to be one - there's a story to be told. It can be funny, sad revealing, surprising - anything.

LTYM is happening across the United States this year. If auditioning is something you think you will never do - read this.
I did read at BlogHer and it was exhilarating. I know that I am no shrinking violet but I think there is something about sharing your thoughts, stories, words with an eager audience that is magical.

If auditioning is something you KNOW you will never do - plan to be in the audience. It's the perfect Mother's Day outing.
Bring your mothers, sisters, girlfriends. Open the eyes of your husbands and brothers.

I am going to audition for the San Francisco show - I'd love to see you there.
Audition applications are due soon. Go on - surprise yourself - do it!

If You're Happy And You Know It.....

2012-01-24T10:51:00.000-08:00

My friend and I were discussing parenthood. She had read an article where the writer had dared to say that becoming a parent doesn't make you happier. In fact, statistically, it makes you less happy. I think that author must now live in a metal reinforced castle and only go out under armed guard. Them's is fighting words.

Of course it's true, my friend and I agreed. I am not happier overall. If I am to compare my life before kids to now - there's no competition. I am more tired, less fit, less healthy. I have considerably less disposable income. I spend a fraction of any spare money I do have on me. My hair, eyebrows, waistline and wardrobe are a shadow of their former selves. My marriage is weaker (but not weak.) I read less, know less, travel less (big sigh.) I am grumpy, frustrated and hurt more often - as in, all three most days. I am much older. While I know that I can't pin the chronological advancement on my girls. I am just older than I think I would be sans children. Note the lack of wiser in that sentence.

"What were we thinking?!" we commiserated.

This friend and I met in our twenties. We lived the high life (at least in our minds.) We had so much fun. We stayed out - past 10pm - gasp! We were, for the most part, carefree. We hung out for lazy hours and hours. We laughed until tears ran down our face on a regular basis. Tears are almost certainly caused by a different emotion these days. So, do I wish I had never done it? If I could would I choose a different path? Am I full of regret?

No, I'm not. Of course - I have my grass is greener moments. I daydream. I miss my old life. I miss old me but as my friend pointed out this isn't about general happiness. Becoming a parent is about moments. Golden moments is one of my favorite phrases. I just hadn't stopped to focus on the deep truth behind those words. I had noticed the fleeting nature of golden moments. How they are often ended by tears (mine embarrassingly more often than the kids.) I just hadn't fully appreciated how pivotal they are.

Parenting is about the exquisite highs. Like the first bite of a delicious meal, or the tantalizing sip of a perfect cocktail. The rest of the food is never as good as that first bite but we eat it anyway. The first mouthful of a cold beer cannot be replicated anywhere within that bottle but we will likely drink it all the way down. Parenting is a steamy hot shower on your sticky, sweaty skin. A swim in a warm ocean. A cosy blanket, a roaring fire, a kiss.

Choosing parenthood may not make us happier overall, there are definitely some desperate lows involved, but we walk the path because the highs are intoxicating. They leave us begging for more. They are incomparable. They are our children.

Buttoned Up.

2012-01-17T09:50:00.000-08:00

Are we taking ourselves too seriously? Is our desire to parent well taking over our entire lives? I'm using 'we' because I'm really hoping it's not just me. I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about what I say and do in front of the kids. I think it's important. I want to model for them what I want to see from them. For example, they don't need to know that I got so frustrated with the phone company today that I swore and threw things. I don't want them to swear or throw things. I don't want them to get in trouble at school for repeating something they heard at home that was not school friendly.

It's such a challenge - I have hormones, Oh dear god do I have hormones. It's hard to be a perfect parent when the estrogen fairy is dancing in your system and making you crazy. I want them to have childhood innocence for as long as is possible and let me tell you in our current culture holding on to that past age 3 requires significant effort- so I feel I have to work even harder.

My problem is it's not really me. I am irreverent and sarcastic. I like a well used swear word. The Husband and I come from the land of quick wit, self deprecation and fart jokes. We don't really care too much about etiquette and rules. At the same time I believe in respecting the law, your elders and the system (for the most part.) I also think sarcasm out of the mouth of an eight year old sounds ugly. Where's the balance?

How do I stay me but give my kids a solid moral/social grounding? I think I'm supposed to be both - me in my adult time, Mom when I'm with the girls. But I'm home with the girls. I'm Mom a very large part of the day - about 14 hours. Naughty Joy gets antsy. Sarcasm sits on the tip of my tongue 24/7. I have things to say about pop culture (in all of it's car crash like awfulness.) That side of me is getting very bored of being held in. Do I need to go back to work just so I can let me loose a few hours every day? Maybe I should do stand up. I bet lots of people would pay good money to go and listen to a potty mouthed mom telling hilarious stories involving fish sticks, farts and Kim Kardashian.

Seriously though, it's a quandary. I'm a little afraid that when they reach 18 and I feel free to let loose around them, my kids won't recognize me. Who is this woman with the razor sharp tongue that can burp the alphabet? Will they be looking for their sweet, buttoned up mommy? (For those of you who know me IRL I know that you are now rolling on the floor at the thought of me as sweet and buttoned up but let me believe my kids see me that way - at least some of the time.)
As always the answer lies in the middle ground, my good friend Mosey would say "everything in moderation."

How do you swear and fart in moderation?

When Art Attacks.

2012-01-12T09:27:00.000-08:00

So here's a thing. The children's art. It's an instant source of delight and pride. An easy way to monitor their developing skills.
It's cute, funny, intriguing - occasionally worrying. I can still remember my delight at the 8 year old's first turkey hand print picture at Thanksgiving. Who can forget when they first draw something that actually looks like something. A face with eyes and a nose in close to the right places. A rainbow.

So what's the thing? What the hell do you do with it all? Let me be clear - that is somewhat of a rhetorical question. If you are the kind of parent who has your kid's art filed into a folder or made into books - feel free to step away from the comment box. We are happy for you, really we are but I'm looking for advise here in the real world.

I keep it all - in a big pile. In my mind I plan that I will reduce the pile in the future. I have tried. I tried with the 8 year old helping me (begin pointing and laughing now.) I thought she would be able to help me choose her favorites but as was likely predictable, we reduced the pile by one scrawny piece of paper.

Next, I undertook the project when she was at school. I made a reasonable throwaway pile. I filled an envelope to send to the Grandparents. Progress. Then I tried to throw out the throwaway pile. Between the table and the trash can I rescued several drawings. Sigh. We have used some for wrapping paper and made cards out of some pieces - I can recycle.
How can I throw it out?? It's her art. Her first gnome or squirrel. It's priceless.
Time helps. I can now throw out 'some' of her first art - eight years down the road. As you may imagine though, eight years of art is a pretty big pile - I may soon be eligible for an episode of Hoarders.

You may remember that I have two children. What about the three year old's art? Well that's easy - she's the second kid.
Don't judge me - it's just easier to be pragmatic and discerning with kid number two. It's the 'firsts' of everything that are the hang up.
Maybe I'll just get a storage unit?

Them Other Parents Don't Know How To Act.

2012-01-10T10:10:00.001-08:00

I have come to the conclusion that becoming parents makes otherwise normal, intelligent and nice people - completely crazy.
While taking my little holiday sabbatical I did a lot of parent watching. Really, we are a bunch of loons.
On a casual look it seems we are either ignoring our children in the name of needing some 'me' time or flying our over- opinionated helicopters so close over their heads we could give buzz cuts. I think we might be raising a very confused generation.

We were at the ice rink and one little boy was skating the wrong way round. The attendant kept asking his parents (and him) to go with the flow, they said:
"He's a free spirit - we want to honor that."
Well you go right ahead and put your 'free spirits' needs in front of the safety of 75 other people - completely reasonable. IF YOU"RE A LOON.

I watched one little girl kick her sister in the shins with her ice skate because 'it was funny' and her Dad solved it by giving her a $20 to go and buy candy. Mister, are you mad? Now I know sleep deprivation and the 24/7 nature of parenting can make the most rational parent do crazy things but what I wondered was this, would you respond this way in any other part of your life? Imagine you're a manager and two co-workers can't get along. I find it hard to believe you'd offer one of them a cash bonus. If you pulled out of your driveway and found someone driving in the wrong direction - you'd probably call 911. You certainly wouldn't applaud their individuality.

What happens to us with children? Sure - they're cute and we love them fiercely but what snaps in our otherwise sensible and rational brains that leads us into saying things that we can't, even for a minute, believe are tripping out out of very own mouths? Why do we let them say and do things to us that were it an adult would lead us to tip our drinks on their obnoxious heads? I know they're learning. I know we need to encourage them to be independently minded but did we confuse that with letting them do whatever they want?
So obviously I am making sweeping generalizations. I am basing my comments on snapshot views of parenting but I do feel we need to bring sensible back. (When it's a hit Justin - I'll be happy with 20%.)

That's my goal for 2012. Let's reactionary, more sensible. I'll let you know how I do.

New Years Resolution

2012-01-09T08:30:00.000-08:00

Mine was to blog less.
Just KIDDING!
I will be back here soon. Maybe tomorrow even.
Thanks for your patience.
xo

2011-12-22T15:37:00.000-08:00

On the first day of Christmas my children gave to me a wish list of worrying length.

On the second day of Christmas my children gave to me two loads of laundry and a wish list of worrying length.

On the third day of Christmas my children gave to me three stinky lunch packs, two loads of laundry and a wish list of worrying length.

On the fourth day of Christmas my children gave to me four meals half eaten, three stinky lunch packs, two loads of laundry and a wish list of worrying length.

On the fifth day of Christmas my children gave to me five golden moments, four meals half eaten, three stinky lunch packs, two loads of laundry and a wish list of worrying length.

On the sixth day of Christmas my children gave to me six requests for candy, five golden moments, four meals half eaten, three stinky lunch packs, two loads of laundry and a wish list of worrying length.

On the seventh day of Christmas my children gave to me seven hugs and kisses, six requests for candy, five golden moments, four meals half eaten, three stinky lunch packs, two loads of laundry and a wish list of worrying length.

On the eighth day of Christmas my children gave to me eight total meltdowns, seven hugs and kisses, six requests for candy, five golden moments, four meals half eaten, three stinky lunch packs, two loads of laundry and a wish list of worrying length.

On the ninth day of Christmas my children gave to me nine different headaches, eight total meltdowns, seven hugs and kisses, six requests for candy, five golden moments, four meals half eaten, three stinky lunch packs, two loads of laundry and a wish list of worrying length.

On the tenth day of Christmas my children gave to me ten sugar cookies, nine different headaches, eight total meltdowns, seven hugs and kisses, six requests for candy, five golden moments, four meals half eaten, three stinky lunch packs, two loads of laundry and a wish list of worrying length.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my children gave to me, eleven reasons to sell them, ten sugar cookies, nine different headaches, eight total meltdowns, seven hugs and kisses, six requests for candy, five golden moments, four meals half eaten, three stinky lunch packs, two loads of laundry and a wish list of worrying length.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my children gave to me, twelve homemade presents, eleven reasons to sell them, ten sugar cookies, nine different headaches, eight total meltdowns, seven hugs and kisses, six requests for candy, five - golden -moments (bah rum pum pum!) four meals half eaten, three stinky lunch packs, two loads of laundry and a wish list of worrying length.

Happy Holidays!

Unpaid Leave.

2011-12-14T11:34:00.000-08:00

I have been sick. Really sick. Head splitting, coughing, sneezing, achy, weak - the full compliment. Of course as a parent I don't get to be sick. Little children can't look after themselves. Spouses still have to go to work. So I have been dragging myself through life. Taking the girls to school, making meals- operating at a minimum.

Inevitably my body protests. I get sicker. So we go to Plan B. The husband juggles work to take the girls to school. We ask our already over committed friends to help - and they do. We eat from the freezer. I get a full precious day to stay in bed and get well.

I should feel grateful. (I do.) I also feel pressured (to get well) and guilty (so many people are helping.) What if I don't get better in one day? We can't keep asking overstretched people to stretch further.

Dutifully I take to my bed with a box of tissues, a flask of tea, and a book. I sleep, sneeze and cough in peace. Then I get bored. I get up - load some laundry and tidy up the kitchen. This makes me breathless and I feel a bit fevered. I take a shower and sheepishly crawl back into bed for a nap. An hour later I am awake and antsy.

That's when it hits me. I can't switch off. I no longer know how to do down time. Even although I have been dreaming, nay fantasizing, of a day in bed - I can't do it. I am too aware of what needs to be done. I am worried that my kids will be wondering where I am. I can't shut down the mommy brain. It seems mommy guilt is stronger than bodily weakness. Sigh.
I compromise by doing a few things and returning to bed for a nap in between.
It's the best this mommy can do.

Elf On The Shelf.

2011-12-06T11:43:00.000-08:00

If you've been reading for a while you'll know that I am a little obsessed (is that like being a little bit pregnant?) with making sweet childhood memories with my kids. I like tradition. The difficulty is that my children are growing up in a different country than I did. Traditions are different. Their childhoods and mine are, in many ways, chasms apart so I am always looking out for new traditions we can start together.
Enter Elf on The Shelf. I had never heard of this pesky sprite until last year. This year he seems to be everywhere I go - Pinterest, at my favorite book store, Facebook. People seem to be having a lot of fun with their elf - so I decided we would too.

I ordered him - he's a little pricey so I was anxious for his arrival. He came in time for the December count down and I was not disappointed. The book is great. Funny, well written, age appropriate. The perfect way to issue the Santa Ultimatum (Santa will not come if you're bad) without actually having to be the bad guy. Genius!
While I fully appreciate that a momma (especially when hormonally compromised) has to do what a momma has to do, I really do think playing the 'Santa won't come' card - is evil. Having a cute little elf do it for you - fully acceptable.

Here's my problem. Why does there have to always be a problem I hear you ask? Well let's face it - if there wasn't a problem, this would just be an advertisement. The Elf - we call ours Fisbee - is very cute. My kids love him. He comes with clear (and strict) instructions which they are willing to adhere too. They run giddy round the house looking for him each morning BUT it's right there in the title - Elf on The Shelf. This Elf can no better sit on a shelf than he can sing and dance. He is not able to sit upright unaided. Elf on The Floor, Elf Slumped Over, Elf Who's Been at the Brandy would be much more accurate.

Elf Who Needs to Be Wedged Up Against Something is what he really is. As a busy overworked, underpaid mom who tends to remember approximately 20 mins after she gets into bed that the Elf needs a new location - I really need this Elf to be happy to sit anywhere. My wedging options are limited. I have seen some very clever mommies posting their very clever Elf On The Shelf lying down making a snow angel in sugar pictures on Pinterest. Good for them. In my house there is about a 30 second window for Elf placement. Elf Fallen Off and Crumpled on the Floor does not have quite the same child delighting effect.
Elf On The Shelf may have too poor a shelf life for this parent.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2011-11-24T09:19:00.000-08:00

I am thankful for the amazing, inspiring and generous women I have met through blogging.

What are you thankful for?

Ebay Anonymous

2011-11-23T14:53:00.000-08:00

So we all know that parenting is one long experiment in trying to fix the 'wrongs' in our own childhoods. We vow never to do certain things or say certain things. If we didn't have wealth we strive to have abundance for our children. If our parents were strict - we are less so. If they were not - we are. If we never got that one special toy we yearned for - our kids will have the ones they want. If we never had Jordache jeans - our daughters will have several pairs. (Not that I'm bitter.)

It's often subconscious. We don't even know we're doing it. Well I do know I'm doing it. I am actively doing it. The biggest example of which might be that I now live in a sunny place where playing outside does not involve 13 layers of clothing and a permanent runny nose. I'm also sentimental. I want my kids to have some connection to my childhood. I bake things with them that I baked. I tell them stories and sing them Scottish folk songs. I make them wear tartan.

To that end - the last time I was home I raided my Dad's attic. I was in search of some remnants from my long lost childhood.
I found them. My Fisher Price A-Frame Cabin and my Fisher Price Camper Van. Oh the memories. I played with those things daily for years. It's possible my RV obsession is rooted here. I was so excited to see my trusty old play pals after all those years. Not all the accessories and people had survived but there was enough. My kids and I were delighted.

We boxed them up and shipped them off to California. It cost a small fortune but what price childhood memories and happy children - it was worth it. Or it would have been if I could have stopped there. I couldn't. I became obsessed with making the sets whole again. Damn you Ebay. I found everything that was missing - yes! At a hugely inflated price - nooooo!

I stepped away. I would end up spending hundreds and I could actually buy complete sets for less that I had already spent.
If only my mind would switch off there. That's not me. It wound itself back to justification. These toys feel like a part of me. They have history, sentiment. I bid. I won. Is there an Ebay anonymous because I need it. I spent $17 on a plastic toilet. My set was complete! My memories restored. Now the girls and I could spend hours together lost in the imaginative play of my youth. Except we don't. They like my old toys - they don't love my old toys. They love their toys - the ones they chose. The sheen has worn off these old treasures already. They clearly did not get my sentimental gene.

Still, not all is lost - if you happened to be in my neighborhood and you happened to peek in my window, it's possible you might see a grown women, with a happy heart and big grin, playing camping.

Hanging By a Thread.

2011-11-15T11:01:00.000-08:00

*****************************Christmas Spoiler Alert******************************

I shot myself in the foot. Again. It seems to happen around this time of year.
The subject of Santa has been raised. The three year old is just beginning to feel the magic. The eight year old is skeptical.
She has been told by 'friends' that Santa is a myth. She has been told that Santa is the husband and I. She has doubts.
When asked, I rely on my old staple - that I think a world where we believe in Santa is more fun, so I believe.

I see in her face that she wants to believe and the fact that we have a three year old with full conviction in the house means that's what I'm going to encourage. We talk about why some people don't get a visit from Santa because of religious preferences. We talk about different cultural, traditional and personal choices. We talk about why some people don't believe and it doesn't mean we have to think like them. She skips away seemingly satisfied. Phew, bullet dodged (again.)

Until - you knew it was coming - we go to tidy her room. This too is an annual tradition. We fill a box with toys for others. We clear out months worth of 'treasures', art and broken bits of who knows what. In the back of a drawer full of knick knacks - is a note from Santa - in my hand writing. I wrote it when she was 2 or 3. It was a little note for her stocking. I can see myself writing it - I thought it was such a cute idea. The eight year old looks delighted and deflated all at once.

"This is your writing mom - I know it is."

Well crap. There's no point in denying it. This is one of those moments. I feel like I am holding her childhood in my hand.
You hear people still talking about when they uncloaked Santa thirty years after the fact. Running through my head is the phrase - 'don't blow it.' I put on my best poker face and confidently state;

"Well sure, that's my writing. Santa brings you his one present but I think it's fun to write gift tags from Santa. I always write 'from Santa' on Daddy's gift. It's just my tradition." My tone is light. Inside my guts are churning and my heart is banging in my chest. Her face relaxes. She smiles.

"This year let's keep the tag that's actually from Santa OK?"

"Great idea," I say casually.

Parenting - not for the faint of heart.

Sunday Ride.

2011-11-08T09:28:00.000-08:00

Bike rides. A perfect wholesome family activity. It's fun, it's exercise, it's outdoors - it is childhood perfection.
Unless you have a three year old. Actually our three year old is particularly tenacious. She hopped on her big girl bike and never looked back. As long as we dangle a chocolate milk as part of the proceedings she is good for an hour or more.

So, with the sun finally shining after a few days of rain and housebound boredom, we began the half hour process that is setting up a family of four for a bike ride. Once all helmet straps are fiddled with, favorite stuffies are tucked into baskets (with a blanket) snacks and water are packed, tires inflated, seat heights adjusted and spare warm clothes rejected - we head out.

It is a perfect day, sunny but crisp. The roads are quiet. The fall colors are stunning. As we peddle along I feel the wind in my hair - this is a golden moment - until the three year old stops dead causing me to ram into the back of her and fall off my bike.

"What happened sweetie?" I say through gritted teeth.

"There's a leaf."

A leaf. A leaf is the cause of my sore elbow and bruised pride. Not a particularly special or different leaf. In fact, a leaf much like the 25,000 others lying in the road all around us.

"Did you want that leaf for something?"

"Nope - it's just a leaf."

We have a short discussion about stopping. When you should - when you shouldn't. We proceed. She stops again. I have learned by lesson and have kept a safe distance.

"Why are you stopping sweetie?"

"The road is bendy."

"What do you mean?"

"It bends down here and I'm going to fall off."

She means the camber towards the curb. I patiently explain that her bike has stabilizers and will prevent her from tipping. She's safe. We carry on. When I say we carry on - you might imagine that means we cycle for some way. It doesn't - it means we cycle maybe ten feet then stop to re-arrange bunnies' blanket in the basket. Then we might make it thirty feet when a stick catches her eye. A car passing in the other direction needs careful observation - it's blue! Eight feet - her helmet needs re-adjustment. Fifteen feet, she's hungry. Forty feet (a marathon) she's cold (extra sweater applied.) Then tired, then too hot (extra sweater removed.) I have had to stop suddenly so many times my brakes are squealing.

The husband and the eight year old cycle back to us occasionally. They are flushed with exertion and have that happy ruddy glow. I want to scream. I am placated by some soothing words from The Husband;

"I'll ride with her on the way back" and a very welcome decaf cappuccino.

I want to see the joy in the Three year old's meandering ways. Her delight at the simple things. Her love of discovery. I do.
I also want to complete one full rotation of my tyre before applying the brakes.
I know that you more tenured parents will tell me that all too soon I will be lamenting the fact that bike rides don't include me at all. When is the happy medium?

Post Halloween.

2011-11-03T10:18:00.000-07:00

The five day candy marathon that was Halloween has finally ended. Was it just me or was there a shift from Jnr. hooker to Jnr. horror this year? I did not see many young girls in sexy outfits - for which I am grateful. Is it possible that the tide has turned on that disturbing trend? Let's hope so but I fear it has just been replaced by the fascination with all things terrifying and gory.
The whole horror thing is bizarre to me. Spooky - fine. Ghosts, ghouls and witches - perfect. Scream masks and body suits with blood dripping down them - not so much. We all know that I am a great big girl's blouse and I would prefer it if everyone just choose fairy or bunny outfits but I just don't get a five year old in an outfit from a horror movie.

Then there's the whole issue of manners. Is it really too much for you to say Trick or Treat or Happy Halloween?
I know, I know, these statements mean I have officially entered the realm of old lady. So be it. Say please, say thank you - it's important.

This year I saw a lot more homemade costumes this year and some fabulous creativity. The eight year old went to parties where she bobbed for apples and made mummies out of toilet paper. Good old fashioned family fun. Predictably, I love it.
Children squealing with laughter, playing together, working in teams - it makes my little heart gleeful. I can't help but feel it's what we need. Sweet, simple fun.

The three year old chose full Oscar style. For the few days leading up to Halloween she changed her outfit every, oh, five minutes.
"Mom, I'm not going to be a bee anymore, I'm going to be a fairy."
Hmmm - let's see - I spent four hours sewing yellow ribbon stripes onto black clothes - so, no, I don't think so.
Mysteriously all other dress up disappeared from our home over night. Don't judge me - she had a great costume and got a huge bag of goodies - she was fine.

My parenting job was done, traditions kept, memories made. I just wished I planned a week in Hawaii to recover from it all.

The Straw.

2011-10-20T10:49:00.000-07:00

"One little wrench in the works and the whole day goes to hell."
I over heard this little gem at the park the other day. The wrench was the fact that the pool guy drove into their hedge which meant the gardener had to come and fix the hedge. I remember being scornful. Really, that's what you've got to complain about - poor over privileged you. I am often on a soapbox ranting about how we should all have more peace, love and understanding, so of course that soapbox decided to teach me a thing or two.

Standing in a chilly parking lot at 7.30am has never been my favorite pastime. Standing there listening to someone tell me on my cell phone that the school bus will not be coming - less so. Our lovely bus driver overslept. Happens to us all, so I want to be gracious and understanding. Hard to pull off at 7.30am.

It quickly becomes evident that it will be easiest for me to drive the kids. Everyone else is employed - in a go to an office, get paid and get in trouble when you're late kind of way. I scramble to think what I need to do to make this work for me.
First - I need a cup of tea and a bra.
Second - I need to deliver the three year old to a before school play date - who can then deliver her to pre-school.
Third - I need to take four kids with me while I do this then get them to school on time.
Shouldn't be too hard.

I pull it off and we head for school. I am almost there when I remember the meal I was bringing for a family in need is still in my fridge. I narrowly avoid teaching a second, third, fourth and seventh grader a very bad word. Once all children are safely delivered, expletive free, to their classrooms, I remember that today is the day I volunteer to serve lunch. Which means that I don't have time to return home. Which means I don't have time to work, blog, pay bills, do dishes/laundry and/or any of the multitude (fun) things I do when both kids are at school.

I call the family waiting for their food and work out an alternative. I sit at a vacant desk in the school office and achieve as much as I can with my iPhone until it's time to serve lunch. I serve lunch and jump in the car to go get the three year old. Serving lunch makes me about 15 minutes late for pick up but a school friend plays with her until I get there. It's as I'm driving that I realize that since I wasn't at drop off I didn't arrange the after school play date. So, now I'm simply late. I am greeted by a very upset and angry three year old and a less than impressed teacher. I spend twenty minutes smoothing feathers. It is 1.40pm - I have not eaten or cleaned my teeth.

It's at this point that I question life, the universe and the general state of my world. My planned day was filled with good deeds and good parenting. I was going to be productive and hard working. Why pick on me? I can think of several twenty something celebrities who need a life lesson more than me right now. I still have nap, school pick up, food shopping and a thousand other things to juggle.

"One little wrench in the works and the whole day goes to hell."
Amen sister.

You Never Know.

2011-10-11T09:25:00.000-07:00

My path to parenthood was long, at times heartbreaking and one of my biggest life lessons. The husband and I blithely announced that for my thirtieth birthday he was going to 'knock me up' (I didn't say the path was tasteful.) I didn't announce this quietly and hopefully to my closest friends - I boldly asserted it at a large gathering. I had no reason to think that discretion was needed. Women in my family had been pushing out babies for generations - usually in high numbers.

When I still wasn't pregnant by July we were surprised but not concerned. We were finally greeted with the double blue lines in early October. My cultural tradition is to say nothing until 12 weeks and I wanted to stick to it but it was incredibly hard. We were just so excited. I wanted to yell from mountain tops. I wanted it on a t-shirt. I wanted to start painting the baby's room and shopping for teeny tiny things. I didn't. I chewed my tongue.

I disguised my nausea and pretended to drink wine at social gatherings. I stayed away from the mall and tried to talk about anything else but babies. At 10 weeks we had a scan and saw the magical flutter of the tiny butterfly heart. Statistically, miscarriage after seeing a heartbeat is low so although we were shy of the magical 12 weeks - we celebrated and made plans to announce our big news. Christmas was a few weeks away and we decided to roll out our coming baby as a present.
On Christmas morning we told the Grandparents (all in another country) and they were delighted. We had been married ten years by this point and they had been waiting. For The Husbands parents this was to be their first grandchild. It was big news.
After the phone calls I couldn't help nut feel sad. It just wasn't the same to announce by phone. We couldn't show off our little grainy, black and white bean scan picture. I wanted hugs and to sit with family trying to see something resembling a child on that little 4x4 square of photo paper.

We distracted ourself by getting on with our day. We were invited to friends for Christmas dinner. They too are transplants from our homeland and their extended family would be there. I cheered myself up thinking of the reaction they would give me. Not quite my own family but a family and Scottish, it would be close enough. I felt gleeful excitement as we waited for our chosen moment to announce. The Husband and I giving each other knowing glances.
We had Christmas crackers to pull, in the British tradition, inside is a paper hat, a trinket and a joke or proverb. When it came time to read mine I said,

"Someone at this table is pregnant!"

My grin was bigger than the room. I waited. There was an awkward silence.

"It's me! I'm pregnant!" I was positively yelling by now.

A pause was followed by very low key congratulations. Nobody jumped up to hug me. No toast was raised. No one asked to see my scan picture. I could have cried. The subject was changed and I sat at the table feeling confused and hurt. Why weren't they happy for me?

Three weeks later I miscarried that pregnancy at 15 weeks. I had told everyone. I had to 'untell' everyone - without question the cruelest part of the whole experience. I began to see the wisdom of not telling. When I called our Christmas Day hosts before I could tell - she announced her pregnancy to me.

"I knew at Christmas but we weren't telling because I was only nine weeks."

She explained that we had shocked them when we said what we did at the Christmas table because, she further explained, she had a miscarriage before, so they really didn't want to say anything until they were sure this time and of course they thought I meant them and was blowing their secret. It should have been a relieving explanation but in yet another blow to the gut moment, I then had to tell my news. She felt awful. I felt heartbroken at all the lost possibilities of being pregnant together.

When all the dust had settled and I had time to reflect on the whole experience I was reminded of something I knew but had forgotten. You never know what's in the room. When you say something and it lands in a way you didn't expect. When someone doesn't react the way you hoped. When your joy is unshared or your complaint rebuffed - it's most likely because of something you didn't know. A story untold or even hiding. The truth will eventually emerge and your understanding will come.
Patience and trust - now that's something I should have on a t-shirt.

In Memoriam.

2011-10-05T17:47:00.000-07:00

In the nearly three years that I have been writing this blog - many people have died. Some were my friends and family, some I knew of because of their fame and some were of world significance. I haven't often written about those losses. Today, however, I feel moved to honor Steve Jobs.
In my home, I am surrounded by Apple genius. I write this blog with one of his products. His innovation has improved and eased my life and I know his vision has changed the world - in many ways for the better.
So, thank you Steve Jobs.
Gone far too soon.

Ready Or Not.

2011-10-03T13:51:00.000-07:00

The husband and I went to a great party. Fabulous food, flowing wine, great company. At dinner we were seated next to a couple we didn't know. We got chatting. We talked about our hosts and how we knew them. We touched on our various home countries, travel, weather, current events - the usual. Eventually we got around to occupations.

"So, what is it you do?" asked my new friend.

I don't like this question because I don't know how to answer it. I was an occupational therapist for over 20 years - maybe I will be again, but not currently. I write and people read it - does that make me a writer? I am a SAHM which I know to be a full time job but I find it comes with pre-conceived notions. Declaring all three seems excessive (paranoid? desperate?) If I say one - which one? I decide to own my SAHMotherhood.

"Oooh! You don't strike me a that."

Is that a compliment? I'm not sure. It's true that I am dressed up and fully made up - not a sweat pant or pony tail in sight. It's also true that we have been talking for an hour and my children have not been mentioned.

"Let me ask you this," says the woman "how do you know when you're ready?"

I've been asked this before. It makes me laugh that I look like I can answer this question with any kind of authority.

"You can't - you just have to do it." I say

"But you seem like you have it down." she states.

Why? Because I am out of my house? Because there is no obvious sign of kid emission on my clothes? That's the trick of parenting - you have to appear to have it together.

Take last night as an example. As I made dinner the eight year old asked if she could write a thank you card to a helpful friend. She sat at the desk and drew for a while.

"How do you spell 'help' Mama?"

"h-e-l-p"

"Too fast Mama! Slower."

"H - got it?"

"Got it"

"E - got it?"

"Yup"

"L"

"P"

"H-e-l-p - help - OK?"

"What comes after the h?"

"E"

"OK - H-e-f-p, right?

(Am I being punk'd?)

"No - there's no f. Sound it out - hellllllp."

"MOM!!! you're confusing me!"

"H-e-l-p, H-E-L-P. HELP. (Now a actual request not a spelling lesson.) Do you have it now?"

"Never mind I just wrote thanks."

Dinner is now a bowl full of frustration and high blood pressure, which I will serve with an encouraging smile. Dessert will be 'don't worry - you're just learning' pie.

There's no getting ready for it. You love them so fiercely it hurts and yet often you want to be very far away from them.
They make you mad, sad and a little crazy on a daily basis. Their behavior makes you want to pull your hair out and tantrum in public places. You would kill for them, die for them and give the last of anything you have for them but you might also want to sell them on Ebay for $5 somedays.

You will go out again but they will always be on your mind even if not on the tip of your tongue. You will have a life unrecognizable from the one you had before but, for the most part, you will be really, really happy about that. You can't get ready you just have to take the leap.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished.

2011-09-29T10:54:00.001-07:00

I like to volunteer at school. It's an opportunity to be a fly on the wall and sneak a hug with the eight year old during her school day. I signed up to serve lunch. It's a pretty easy gig. You get a basket for each grade, load the baskets with food and then eighth grade kids come to deliver the baskets to each class room - easy. Usually.

Yesterday I got all set up and waited. Waiting is fun for a mom with an over loaded schedule. I daydreamed, played with my hair and hummed a little song to myself. After a while I realized something was wrong - no eighth graders. I checked in with the office and found out that he eighth grade are away on a field trip. No problem - I will just run the baskets around myself.

The eight year old was delighted to see me in her class room. She helped me pass out the lunches and got first pick at the fruit choices. Then it was time for me to go. I've served lunch before. I volunteer at school regularly but for some reason yesterday was different. She started to cry. She clung onto me and begged me not to leave. Oh dear.
Her teacher suggested we go outside. I hugged her in the corridor and explained I'd be back soon for pick up.

"Nooooooooo, don't go, stay with me. Take me with you." Ugh.

I explained that I couldn't and that I really had to go. Looking at my watch I saw that it was pre-school pick up time in 5 minutes and I was at least 20 minutes away. The three year old will be watching the door for my arrival. Despair comes to mind. Not real despair but parental despair. I am going to get this wrong for one of them. Likely both of them. It's so unfair - I was trying to do something helpful.

Although she is still crying I walked the eight year old back to her class door and tell her I really must go and she must go in.
"I won't be able to help at school if it makes you sad," I say.
We open the door and she goes in. I give her a last kiss and close the door. She has a last minute panic and grabs for the door.
The door closes on three of her fingers.

I can still hear that wail. It's at moments like this that I feel the urge to run away and let someone else deal with the mess.
I swear I can hear my watch ticking as I am more and more late for the three year old. The eight year old is screaming in pain now. People come out of other class rooms to see see what is happening. We go to the office for ice. EVERYBODY asks what happened. I get to say over and over that I, her mother, shut her fingers in a door. One child asks me if I did it as a punishment?! In all the chaos the lunch company come for their supplies and take some lunches away with them that I hadn't had time to deliver.

In the end, of course, all was well. The lunches were retrieved. The eight year old, with no permanent injury, went back to her class. The three year old, although a little upset at my late appearance, got to play with a friend and was fine. I have many more gray hairs and spent some considerable time cursing Murphy and his damn law but no real harm was done. I may opt to sit on my couch with a good book next time.

Toddler Tweets.

2011-09-27T10:27:00.000-07:00

@playgroup I'm next on the swing y'all.

@pullupprincess Does my bum look big in this?

@grabbyhands Can I have a turn with that?

@delipackinmom Woohoo I have strawberries!

@momoffour Where are you?

@upsincesix If you're quiet you can play all the way through nap time people.

@preK Now I know my ABC's - won't you sing along with me?

@playgroup Seriously, it was my turn.

@workingmom The nanny's on the phone again.

@ERfourtimes Who says two year olds can't climb trees.

@laundrylovingmom Who knew? Blueberries turn your clothes blue - try it!

@grabbyhands Now can I have a turn with it?

@playgroup Quick Caitlyn has Cheesits.

@momoffour The baby is eating sand again.

@playgroup There were no cheesits but in other news - I'm on a swing!

@pullupprincess time for a fresh one friend.

@playgroup Tom has a green booger. It's huge.

@laundrylovingmom last in the puddle is a silly goose.

@upsincesix I don't like coffee but my mom likes coffee. She really likes coffee.

@grabbyhands it's nice to share dude.

@ERfourtimes head first on the slide - weeeeeeeeeee!

@pullupprincess seriously, go ask your mom for a clean pair.

@playgroup Awwww. I have to go. No fair.

@playgroup Same time next week?

Thanks to Alisa for this cute idea.

The Right Write.

2011-09-21T09:34:00.000-07:00

Blogging is endlessly interesting to me. The debate over whether it is real writing may never find a conclusion but to me it doesn't matter. It's all in the interpretation and I am constantly surprised and intrigued by how many different interpretations there can be.

My post on Amy Winehouse brought in more comments than I often get. I don't usually get a lot of comments here on blogger, more of you comment on FB or email me directly. Even more of you are silent, (she says fishing.) The comments I did get were overwhelmingly complementary and positive. It prompted me to ask The Husband if he had read it yet. He hadn't. I presented him with my laptop feeling a little, OK a lot, pleased with myself.
He read it and then announced he found my writing to be "difficult to follow and all over the place."
"Great sentiment but not your best writing" he said supportively. A spirit crushing proverb from my childhood came to mind - pride comes before a fall. The sound of my balloon popping hung in the air.

We 'discussed' his comments for a while. "I guess I just don't always get blogging." he said. I know lots of people feel the same way. They want polish and solid editing. They want well written and grammatically correct. Well you can find that in the blogosphere but you can also find thoughts and words just poured in a pile.

When I read a beautifully written post like this LISTEN. I feel like a fake. That's writing. That deserves to be published. Then I receive an email that tells me that my words moved someone to tears or encouraged them or comforted them and I think well that's worthwhile too.

Often your comments, to me, bear no relation to my post. Those are my favorite. In my mind I was so clearly writing about one thing. Stating one point of view. It was obvious. Unmissable. A one line comment then shows me that it was read and interpreted in a completely different way. I can't help but feel there's a little bit of magic there. For me, it means I don't have to worry about how my thoughts will be received because I can't control it. My words will fall on your ears however your inner voice plants them there. They may bear very little of my original intent. it doesn't matter.

That's the joy of blogging. I write to exorcise something that is rattling around my head or my heart. I write to share something funny or ironic. I write to get support and feel community. It don't have to be Shakespeare or Tolstoy because you will like it or not. Be inspired or bored. Comment or be silent. Come back or not.

Please do come back though, I'd miss you if you were gone.

Lessons From Survivor.

2011-09-16T12:39:00.000-07:00

Watching mom of six Dawn have her first day meltdown on Survivor was like a slap in the face.
I knew exactly what she was going through.
Well, not exactly exactly. I have never been marooned on a South Pacific Island with a bunch of loons and a camera crew but in every other way, exactly.

As she tried, in vain, to convince everyone that shelter and food should be the first priorities, I saw her begin to unravel.
She spent the next day in tears, overwhelmed. She was clumsy and made mistakes. As a mom of six, she is usually very organized, busy 24/7, her life revolves around structure, routine and schedule. Faced with very little to do - she was lost.

I watched her confusion. Why didn't the group see the need for shelter? The need to have roles and assign tasks. Why was no-one listening to her? If I were watching this as a twenty something I probably would have just thought she was an inflexible, control freak who needed to return home asap. As a parent I saw how ingrained her believe in structure is. I could see myself in her. I could see many of the parents I know. The need to prepare for every eventuality. The need to be organized so that the kids have what they need, when they need it.

It's something I find trips me up. I stress about it. If you could see me agonizing over vacation choices you would see how unattractive this habit can be. What if the kids won't like the food? What if the bed arrangement won't work? Will we take our stroller/car seats/travel crib? What if the rental ones are no good/not comfy/not clean?
Should we take diapers or buy them there? What if they don't have our regular brand - will our kid wear them? Should I take 10 days worth of their favorite snacks (to make sure they eat something), their bedding (to make sure they sleep), their favorite toy (to make sure they are comforted) the lists, and thoughts, are endless.
I have watched the husband look at me wondering who kidnapped his wife and put this crazy women, who cannot shut off her brain, in his home.

I was not always this way. I was, once a throw some clothes in a bag and drive to the airport with not so much as a ticket, kind of girl. What happened? Well parenthood, obviously and sleep deprivation. That's where is starts.
Sleep deprivation will lead you to do anything that might buy you another 30 minutes prone. If bringing a blanket, a binkie, a stuffy, that book, the sippie cup, those pajamas *might* mean your child will sleep in a strange room, in a foreign place - you will gladly pay excess baggage.

Here's the thing, Dawn (remember her from the first paragraph) didn't have her kids with her. So what was her problem?
I'll tell you - conditioning. As parents we must run a very tight ship. It's not just the judgment of our peers - which can be vicious. It's society, it's the law. We need to plan out each day with military precision. You can't be late for school or it goes on your kids record. You can't be late for pick up because you get fined. You can't miss the doctor or dentist because you have to re-schedule and pay for it anyway. You can't be late for classes or you may not be admitted. You can't leave you kids alone for a second because if something happens, you can be arrested or even jailed. Someone notices if they are missing their lunch, the right gear, their safety helmet. Notes are made. It's no wonder we feel the need to be in absolute control of our kids at all times - big brother is watching and waiting to judge or worse.

What happened to autonomy? What happened to training in your regular clothes because your soccer strip is still in the wash?
What happened to understanding that traffic sometimes gets in the way of punctuality? Why can't our kids still ride their bikes at a friends, just this one time, because the helmet was forgotten. It's a bigger conversation but one that needs to happen. Letting parents make informed, good decisions for their family without fear of repercussions.

And you thought watching evening TV was to relax you......

Too School for Cool.

2011-09-13T11:10:00.000-07:00

The first day of school has been the subject of so many blog posts, facebook updates and tweets this week. The pictures are so cute. All the excited, expectant and nervous faces of kids aged three and up. The carefully selected first day outfits, shiny new shoes and backpacks.

We all know the truth behind this veneer. Xanax sales are probably through the roof. The stress and anxiety is palpable. We are no exception - although currently Xanax free. The three year old started pre-school. The eight year old started third grade.

Here's what I've noticed, the kids for the most part are fine, it's the parents who are struggling. Sure, leaving your child in tears with relative strangers is bound to tug on the heartstrings but that doesn't seem to be the issue. It's the comparisons. Who's lost/gained weight. Who bought the cutest stuff for their kids. Who is wearing Missoni for Target and who is just wearing Target. Who looks tan, tired or sick. Who has a new car. Who travelled where over the holidays. Who is getting divorced or re-married. Who is pregnant. Who has signed up to help - who hasn't.

Then it struck me - it's just like being back in high school. The parents are all trying to find their place. Hoping to be friends with the cool kids. We want the same for our kids but we really want it for us too. The tension is high.

Does this madness never end? Will we be feeling this every year until our kids are finally out of college?
Please Note: If the answer to this is yes, I would like you to lie to me.

Of course, I am not one of those anxious, need to fit in types. I was just observing this phenomenon. My insomnia this week has not been related to this in any way.
Not to worry, the holidays are right around the corner to distract us.

Mind The Gap.

2011-09-09T00:01:00.000-07:00

I knew going to BlogHer was going to expand my horizons. I expected to learn about new things and hear different perspectives. I didn't expect one of these things to be The Military. At one of the parties I got talking to Laura. I asked the standard BlogHer introductory question - "What's your blog?" and when she told me, I exclaimed the words that every blogger wants to hear, "Oh! I read you!"
I don't know how I came across this blog - I just did. I liked the writing and came back.

I am not overtly political. I have my views. I think I am more of a one world kinda gal - peace, love, bunnies and flowers.
I tend to see both sides of a story and therefore hedge somewhere in the middle ground with a 'can't we all just be friends' look on my face. My views on the current world conflicts are varied but if asked I would say that my view on the military is bring them all home - safe.

I understand that people join the military for a myriad of reasons. Some I can't comprehend and others that make perfect sense to me. Truthfully, it's not a topic I have given a lot of thought too. I am always sad to hear casualties announced. I do take the time to send a prayer to those affected. It's just not something that is a large part of my life. I do not know any one in the armed forces. I know of people in a , my friend's brother is in Iraq right now, kind of way. I have no connection. When I read Laura's blog it was more about family and juggling schedules to me. Then I met her.

We talked over cocktails for no more than 20 minutes and in the time I learned more about the chasm between civilian and military families than I even could have considered existed. As I listened to one families' experience, I realized this woman was just like me. She is a wife, a mother, educated, creative - the difference is she lives whole years of her life without her spouse.
She raises her children as a single mom whilst investing enormous energy into making sure they feel connected to their absent father.

I realized I am connected.

As I sat at the airport gate waiting my flight home a family arrived - a mom, two cute little girls in stars and stripes dresses with red, white and blue hair ties and her brother and sister in law. You could feel the excitement. They had a huge sign that said,
'Welcome Home Sgt. David Jones. Husband, Father, Hero!'

Sgt. David Jones was arriving in on the plane I would leave on. I watched (and cried) as they peered down the jetway for the first glimpse. In what can only be described as irony (or poor airline management) he was almost last off the plane. Even I felt agonized by the wait. When he finally appeared,the entire gate area cheered for this husband, father and hero as he swept up his girls into a long hug.

It made me realize that regardless of my politics there are families that need support. There are mommas that walk a very difficult path so I don't have to. I owe them my support.

Stop by Semper Fi Momma and see what inspiration to support you may find there.

Gavin.

2011-09-06T11:42:00.000-07:00

We decided to go camping for the holiday weekend. The thing I find with camping is that a whole trip can be made or broken by your campsite neighbors. I always have a little trepidation as we arrive. Will there be a group of twenty somethings with their music pounding all hours? Will it be a sweet old couple who I feel we might disturb with our two energy filled children?

We pulled up to find another family. I relax at the site of two adults and two kids. The eight year old is not quite so happy to note they are yucky boys but I, for now, am happy. We exchange hello's and all seems well. The children begin the meeting new kids ritual of shy smiles, staring and drawing circles on the ground with their feet.

We start to set up camp. My uh-oh antenna raises within five minutes.

"GAVIN NO!" "GAVIN STOP!" "GAVINNNNNNNN!"

There is a small bush and about three feet separating our sites. They must know we are hearing everything.

Gavin appears to be about six or seven. He also appears to be in trouble permanently. I begin to feel sad for him almost instantly. Over the course of the weekend Gavin is in trouble for getting dirty and touching things - any thing. He is shouted at for trying to help, for not helping, for being in the way, for wandering off. From my view he is crying out to be included. He just wants some attention. His rock collection which he brings with such enthusiasm to show his Dad is disregarded with,
"They are rocks Gavin."
I watch him hang his head when his Dad speaks to him and my heart aches when he starts singing to himself 'Jesus Loves Me This I know' while standing, lonely, under a tree.

He seems to irritate his parents simply by his presence and to my absolute horror is slapped several times by his father for minor things. My children are confused to see this and my husband and I struggle to explain. I want so badly to go over there and talk with them.
Do they not see how they don't include him and how much he wants to help and be a part of things?
Do they not see that he is too young to wait quietly in a chair for 30 minutes while his meal cooks? Could they not give him some jobs to do?
Do they not know that questions like: Why did you do that - mean nothing to a six year old?
Do they not hear how they never use a kind or loving tone when they speak to him?
Do they not see how sad he is?
Do they not see that they treat his older brother very differently?

I know that the answer to my questions is no. If they did - they wouldn't do it.
I know that there is more to this story, that I will never know. I know that I saw a snapshot of this family and shouldn't judge them on it.
I also know that they held a mirror up to me. I can also be out of patience for my children. I have told them off for ridiculous things like getting dirty when staying clean is impossible. I have also refused to let my child help because I don't want to deal with the mess that is inevitable.

My children enjoyed sweeter, more patient parents this weekend because of Gavin - who we said a little prayer for.

Be Prepared.

2011-09-01T09:53:00.000-07:00

I plan. I plan meticulously. I make lists. I check them off.I try to think of every eventuality.If a band aid is needed - I'll have it. The same can be said for many items from the practical to the unlikely.I never used to be this way. Parenthood has brought this upon me. I blame society. We are no longer allowed to make mistakes in parenting. A little parenting mistake is now punishable by a fine, jail, child removal and worse - peer judgement. It feels like big brother is watching, just waiting for us to trip up.

I am undaunted because I am a planner. I think things through. When I am planning I do extensive research to make sure my children's needs will be met.I know the real secret to parenting success - Yelp. Nothing can be better than reading current, peer reviews. I am now all knowing and powerful.No surprises for me, I know exactly what to expect everywhere I go.

Planning a recent camping trip I found the following reviews:

"My mom's trail sized shampoo was accidently left in the shower, when we went back the next day - it was gone!"
Clearly this campground is full of thieves - we will not be going there.

"I only gave this campground one star because it was a lot chillier than we expected."
This lazy camp host doesn't even provide decent weather.

"This campground is supposed to be family friendly - the only activity was bingo."
Playing bingo leads to drug use - everyone knows that.

"Beware! The only swimming is in the river."
I assume she forget to add that the river was infested with piranha.

"I will never go there again - the shop was out of marshmallows."
Classic case of parent passing the buck. Note to self: Buy marshmallows.

"The dryers in the laundry didn't work - we had to hang out our towels to dry!"
This place is clearly forcing people to 'camp' - not the reason we pitch a tent in nature.

How can I go wrong with all of this priceless information? I have already crossed thirty two camp grounds off my list based on these thoughtful and informative reviews.
Then I found this,

"The ranger enforced quiet time which was great - all the kids were asleep by 9pm and all was quiet until 8am."
This place is clearly filled with magical child whispering powers - we are going there tomorrow.

Enjoy your Labor Day Weekend!

A Spoonful Of Sugar.

2011-08-27T17:17:00.000-07:00

I live in Northern California where we like to hug trees and eat granola.
But I'm a transplant - I come from a country where unless your leg is hanging off you should not expect sympathy.
It's living between these two sweeping generalizations that gives me a balanced point of view.

When I was pitching my book, I was told repeatedly that I need either a PhD in parenting or a hook.
It was suggested (repeatedly) that the hook should be my 'story.' More specifically my sad story because sad sells.
I resisted. Dug my heels in. I don't want to tell my sad story. Why not? I don't want to be defined by my sad story.

What is the obsession with sad? Why isn't it entertaining to read about someone's happy, successful life?
I understand that sharing your story can help people to find community. I most certainly have used blogs, books and the internet for just that very purpose. I also have worked really hard to move on from my story. To break the cycle.
I want to believe that we don't need to be pulled in by the promise of sad and distressing. We can simply enjoy to read something that is lighthearted and amusing. For me different is interesting and if it's not then it's just poorly written.

I went to a session at BlogHer that reinforced this belief. Several very intelligent women were proposing that we use our blogs to turn the tide. To move away from the fear culture and encourage people to celebrate happy. It seems such a simple philosophy. Somehow we have gotten to a place where celebrating success is seen as boastful and conceited. I think maybe it's just the sharing of joy and excitement. When given the choice I'l take laughter over fear every time. Except perhaps for these 3 minutes but otherwise - every time.

I think that's why I love BlogHer so much (not because it agrees with me) but because it celebrates. It sees the success in a story not just the struggle. It listens to the sad but focuses on the redemption.

I love that.

At my gym they have TV's. I believe the purpose is too distract you from the hell of the treadmill.
A few weeks ago as I slogged way on the machines, the program I was watching (OK I admit I watch Regis and Kelly) was interrupted to go live to the White House where President Obama was going to make a speech.
The headline across the top of the screen was 'COUNTDOWN TO MELTDOWN!"
Countdown to complete and utter over hyped political shenanigans more like. Even knowing this I noticed my adrenalin was up (and it was certainly not from my 'running') I watched feeling a little anxious as to what I was about to hear. What I heard was in no way related to meltdown and let me tell you as a mother of two young girls I know quite a bit about meltdown.
It's unnecessary. 'Countdown To The Budget' would have told me all I needed to know.
For me, had they put a picture of a really cute bunny up there with the headline, I would have taken the news a little easier.

I know that there's a lot of sad in the world and I think we should be compassionate and caring but it doesn't have to involve fear. I think we could focus on the upside, share a laugh, celebrate a success - simple or epic.

I think we could learn to be less addicted to the drama. I know I could.

The Great Outdoors.

2011-08-22T12:49:00.000-07:00

Camping:

Communing with nature.
Fresh outdoor air.
Children running carefree in the great outdoors.
Food al fresco.
Roaring campfires.
Toasted marshmallows.
Starlit skies.
Relaxing round the campfire with friends.
Cozy sleeps bundled against the cool nigh time air.

Hmmmmm.

Camping:

Communing with nature - 75 other families, their RV's, dogs, cigarette smoke and their partying until 3am.

Fresh outdoor air - see above re: cigarettes.

Children running carefree in the great outdoors - falling over, getting stung, falling out, needing a snack, a drink, sunblock, the bathroom, losing their beloved toy, fighting over who's turn it is, needing more food, more drink, more bathroom (repeat ad nauseum.)

Food al fresco - hot dogs and corn on the cob rolling off plates onto the ground, followed by wailing of now foodless child and the hysteria inducing swarm of yellow jackets who come, uninvited, to eat ground picnic.

Roaring campfires - smokey piles of flame resistant wood and the constant call of adults of "Don't play near the fire - it's dangerous."

Toasted marshmallows - ok, this one is mostly just yummy. Until the sugar hits and the kids are completely nutty for 30-40 minutes.

Starlit skies - which I will never see because I never get to sit down and look up for more than three seconds before a kid needs/wants something.

Relaxing round the campfire with friends - collapsing into a camp chair with a glass of wine at 10.30pm for a half hour of adult time before we all fall asleep.

Cozy sleeps bundled against the cool night time air - 4-5 hours of sleep punctuated by partying neighbors, the need for the bathroom and the dawn awakening of over excited kids.

Let the laundry begin.......

No Fun Allowed.

2011-08-16T10:20:00.000-07:00

The three year old has a play group. We met at the park yesterday. It's a large park with two play structures a large grassy area, a basket ball court and trees to climb. It was busy with lots of kids and their caretakers.

I have always found park politics tricky. Different rules, hurt feelings, the uncontrollable momma bear - it's a recipe for difficulty. It's enough to negotiate who's turn it is on the swing/slide/whatever. Then there's the snack comparisons - curse you Oreo packing moms! Who can forget the joy of hitting, bitting, excluding - uuugh.

As school is still out a couple of us had our 'bigs' with us. Our bigs are eight. Last I checked eight still qualifies as a child.
I've noticed before that there are not many kids older than six at the park - where are they all?
My eight year old still finds swings and slides entertaining. She's definitely into trying gymnastic maneuvers on the play structure but she's considerate and shares. I was aware that our bigs were getting dirty looks. How dare they bring their long limbs and loud voices to the outdoor play area! Where is their place?

I kept a close eye to keep the peace. Then she arrived. You could tell immediately from her body language and facial expression she was not happy to be at a park. She was likely around fifty and seemed to be out of breath walking up the park incline. With her was a little boy about five. She walked to the very back of the park and sat in the shade at a picnic bench. Immediately unpacking some food and her phone. The little boy ran off to play. Next thing I know she's grumpily telling off the bigs.

"If he gets hurt I'll get in trouble because I'm responsible for him."

Good to know she isn't actually concerned about him being hurt - only that she'll be in trouble. She walks back to her spot thirty feet away. She came back over a couple of times to grump at the bigs. I watched. I rehearsed my speech in my head:
That I didn't think the kids were being rough or doing anything to endanger any child. That perhaps she should stay closer to him or (gasp) play with him if she was concerned. That perhaps she shouldn't look after children as she obviously doesn't want to and taking it out on my kid is completely UNACCEPTABLE.

I said none of these things. I watched and got angry in my head. I explained to my kid that I was completely happy with her behaviour and she could walk away from the lady if she approached. I got the sense that if I spoke to this woman I would get the full force of her frustrations and I'm not a big fan of being unloaded on. I tried to be compassionate and see that she was clearly unhappy and feeling put upon and that I should try and see her point of view. Being mature is such a drag.

It's about now that I wish for a guitar and a verse or two of Kum Ba Yah. Can't we just all get along?
Then I remember that I am Scottish and picture my inner sweary mary surfacing.
I'm pretty sure that somewhere in the middle of these two images is the perfect parent.

BlogHer Inspired

2011-08-10T18:35:00.000-07:00

Three years ago I had not heard of BlogHer. Now it is my annual retreat.
The place I go to be me. Not mom, not wife, me.
At BlogHer I feel like a writer. I'm not sure I can adequately convey how meaningful that is.

Then there are the basic joys of not being responsible for the health, nutrition and entertainment of two children.
No laundry, no housework, no cooking.
If I want I can eat breakfast, lunch and dinner that someone else prepared.
At every break someone has thoughtfully set out drinks and snacks. I can help myself without listening to thirty ever changing requests. It's just so effortless. Instead of focusing on a packed schedule of school, camps, food shopping, play dates etc. I can sit with a cappuccino and peruse the session schedule.

The first few hours are disorienting. I don't quite know what to do with my unscheduled self. Then the magic starts.
In sessions, in the hallways, getting coffee - I start talking to other bloggers.
Actually talking, uninterrupted. Soon I am lost to so many compelling, interesting, funny, thought provoking stories.
Even blogs I read and love don't compare to meeting the author and hearing their words in person. Going a little deeper. Sharing, laughing, supporting, empathizing.

The parties are havens. There are women (and yes a few men) of every size, shape and skin tone. They dance with abandon.
No trying to impress. You don't need to care if your outfit is fashionable enough. You can be fully made up or wearing your skin au naturel. At 40 these are things I don't take for granted anymore.

At the Voices of The Year keynote and Listen To Your Mother Open Mic, I listened to blogger after blogger transform their words from the page to the stage. It was so joyful - even when the stories were heartbreaking. I will fully admit to the ugly cry several times. I also laughed from my belly.

In those all too fast days at BlogHer I feel at home. This is a place to find inspiration. The atmosphere is so friendly, fun and encouraging. These people want each other to succeed. They want to listen and celebrate. It's something I don't always find in my 'other' life. It's like coming home - if home was full of people who were endlessly nice and supportive.

I want this feeling to last. The hope in endless possibilities. The reminder of the strength in women to make changes in the world with their words. The honesty and bravery in telling your story regardless of the pain involved. Laughing, carelessly with friends.

I miss my tribe already. Roll on BlogHer 2012.

Swagtastic.

2011-08-08T21:20:00.001-07:00

The swag. It's big part of the BlogHer experience for many. I am one of those many.
It's not why I go. Actually I didn't even know it was part of the conference until I arrived at my first BlogHer. Once I discovered it - I went whole hog.

I have an excuse. I grew up in want. Not the real kind of want. We had a home and food. We just didn't have room in the budget for much more than the basics. I was the kid in the generic brand clothes - oh the longing for Jordache jeans.
My lunch had no frills and I was envious of kids with candy or Coke.
I didn't have the 'right' bike or shoes and I didn't have the money for luxury items until my mid twenties.

The longing stays with me. Usually I control it very easily, until I walk into an expo hall with five aisles of FREE stuff.
Twelve year old me rushes to the surface. It doesn't help that the vendors WANT me to take their stuff, they are pushing it upon me. It would be rude to say no.

What's the problem? I'll tell you. I cannot get it in my case. You may now picture me sitting, no bouncing on the lid of my case - in vain. Here's the rub, I don't even want (never mind need) half of this stuff. I will never use it. I know this because last years conference bag is in a closet in my home half full of swag.
If you know The Husband, you can imagine how well this goes over.

I came with such good intentions this year. My roomie was enlisted to help me with my impulses (I, of course, did this so I could put the blame on her if my bag(s) overflowed.) I was better this year. I said "no thank you" many times.
In the calm of my room I re-evaluated carefully then visited the swag exchange filled with pride and two bags of unwanted goods. The swag exchange needs to have a swag-aholics table. I left there with many more things than I took in. I went back three times always leaving with something. Sigh.

I could rationalize that I have saved our family a fortune in toothpaste, stocking stuffers, stationary and Glad products. I also alleviated the guilt of leaving my kids for four days by bringing them cute, free stuff. (Thereby guaranteeing they will be future swag lovers.) The checked bag fee and chiropractic care I now need may put a dent in that equation but I *think* I am still ahead.
So here it is - my confession. My name is Joy and I'm a swagaholic.

Solo.

2011-08-05T14:01:00.000-07:00

Flying alone to BlogHer is one of the main attractions of the conference for hundreds of mom bloggers.

Packing for one. That deserves an ovation of it's own

Not having to explain security and the fact that teddy will be fine in the big scary machine.
Allowing a stranger to pat down your child in the name of safety while you stand tolerantly by and smile (less they haul you away for 'additional screening.')
Watching, uninterrupted, an in-flight movie.
Listening to your music not toddler tunes.
A handbag filled with a book and make up not snacks and crayons.
All the things you long for when you fly with children.

So why is this journey not meeting my expectations?
You can't reach me to slap me so I'm just going to say it.
I am irritated by the ease.

At check in I was offered a complimentary upgrade. The flight is just over an hour. I can sit anywhere for an hour. I don't need an upgrade.
Crammed into economy with my two children for 10 hours THAT'S when I need an upgrade.

I strolled through security. No pat down, no questions about liquids. Someone offered to lift my case onto the belt. I have wrangled two kids, three bags and a stroller through security and have never been offered anything but the impatient stares of fellow passengers.

On our last international flight I was selected for additional everything in security and customs. Was it the harassed look on my face and two travel weary kids clinging to me that made me eligible?

At the gate I was given priority boarding ahead of several families. Just little ole me and my carry on. I need exactly 30 seconds to fold into my seat and put my book in the seat back pocket.

Why am I breezing through this journey when a few inconveniences would be so easy to deal with?
Can't I use up some of my quota of travel hiccups now?

True, I am a little more put together than usual - hair washed, make up on.
Can it really be aesthetics?
Is it just that travel with children is so complicated that even the easiest of journeys doesn't seem so?
Maybe a bit of both.
Either way the smooth, uncomplicated nature of this journey is irritating me.
And yes, I am aware how ludicrous the last sentence is.
Parenting, never what you expect.

Deadlines.

2011-08-03T21:37:00.000-07:00

BlogHer. Over 3,000 bloggers - mostly women, from all over the world.
Blogs on every subject you can think of.
Brilliant, heartfelt, honest, witty, intelligent, thoughtful, inspiring.

This year I have been honored as a Voice Of The Year for Humor.
It is exciting and daunting.
Every time I look at my Google Analytics report and see how many people stop by here - I am amazed.
When I see that you visit from 43 countries worldwide I am surprised and delighted.
When I think that after BlogHer it is likely more people will stop on by - I am overwhelmed.

I feel the need to write an incredibly witty post. I assume you expect humor.
I want it to be my best post ever. I want to impress.

Here's the rub - I have writers's block, writer's panic even.
How can I possibly deliver?

I find my mind empty. My muses have not given me any good material in days.
Actually, I can't remember anything funny happening - ever.

This is the nature of blogging. You can't force it.
Blog posts pour out. They are the contents of our heads and our hearts spewed onto the screen.

So, if you came by for the promise of humor. Scroll down - I think you'll find it.
Just not in this post. I hope you understand.

S*#@&ing For Scotland.

2011-07-28T21:01:00.000-07:00

So I promised you a swearing parrot and I like to keep my promises.

Scotland - land of ancient castles and deep, inky black lochs (with monsters).
A land steeped in history and tradition (and bagpipes.)
Scotland where the men wear skirts and dance the Gay Gordons with pride and a manliness that rivals Russell Crowe in Gladiator.

I am very proud of my homeland. It is stunningly beautiful. The people are incomparable. Funny, kind and generous.
We do however tend to swear like sailors.
Now obviously that's a generalization.
There probably is some sweet old lady in the Outer Hebrides that has never uttered a swear word.
The rest of us - Sweary Marys.

So, it should come as no surprise that when we visited the zoo - a parrot swore at us.
In keeping with the stereotype he even added comic timing.
As I was reading a little placard on the cage that said:

"Our parrots are rescued, we apologize if their language is offensive to some."

The parrot screeched "BOLLOCKS!"

If you need to Google that - go right ahead and come back.

The eight year old was all over it.

"What is bollocks mummy?"

"What ARE bollocks darling."

"OK - what ARE bollocks?"

"Well, it's just a word we don't use."

"I won't use it - what does it mean?"

As I have mentioned my childhood involved modesty, I am still discovering the real names for some of my own body parts.
So in true parenting style - I have gone the other way. I am determined that all body parts will be accurately named and located by my children before they turn ten.

As I begin my explanation to the eight year old we wander over to the pigpen. There lying on the ground is an enormous boar pig. Perfect. There sticking out between his legs are the perfect explanation.

"Those are bollocks but is a slang word, not a polite word, we don't use it."

"OK mom."

She skips on.
I am filled with pride. I handled that so well.
Then I come around the fence and see the teats.

"What are those mom?"

"Oh bollocks."

My eight year old now knows what the word hermaphrodite means and she also believes that there is a hermaphrodite pig in a zoo in Scotland.

What Amy's Death Means To Me.

2011-07-25T18:05:00.001-07:00

The world news is overwhelming. So much grief and sadness.
I am confused about something - what motivates people to turn to social media with so much vitriol?

I was bombarded with FB posts and Tweets saying very ugly things about Amy Winehouse.
There was a common theme in the stuff I read - she was rich so she didn't deserve sympathy for her problems.
Or, that there was real tragedy in the world so why was the media focusing on one person.

I think Norway and The Sudan are unfathomable which is why we can more easily relate to one person's death.
We are more likely to know an addict than a mass murder or famine victim.
Maybe.

I think the human heart has room to grieve for more than one thing at a time.
We don't have to choose. I also think music deeply touches people so they felt a connection.
Maybe.

If I tweet about The Sudan is it implied that I don't care about the people of Norway?
For the record I have lost sleep over famine when I have food abundance that can only be described as hedonistic.
The weight of sadness I feel for the parents of those Norweigian teens is not something I am able to be eloquent about.
It is a horror I need to shut my mind to.
So I pray and hope for the people of Norway privately.

As for Amy Winehouse her death does feel personal to me. Why?
Because I have children who are living in a time when fame, wealth and celebrity are lauded, encouraged, exalted.
We live in a culture that lists rock star as a profession. What happened to singer or musician?
Why movie star and not actor?

We are watching famous young people self destruct on a regular basis. We are buying magazines to follow their every misstep.
We are dressing our children like them, buying their movies, CD's or merchandise then we are first on the bandwagon to critisize them when they overuse alcohol or drugs to cope with their often sudden and overwhelming fame.
Is the heavy media attention towards this one woman an act of guilt? Do we feel a little complicity?
Maybe.

The death of Amy Winehouse is not simply the self imposed death of a rich girl. It is a wake up call.

I can't control extremists or the weather in Africa.
I can teach my children that singing is a wonderful thing but that fame might not be.
I can teach that drugs will not resolve anything you may try to cover with them.
I can watch the news and MTV when my children are asleep.
I can support media outlets that report news, not glamorize it.
I can teach tolerance.
I can also remember that death at 27 is too early and that a family are grieving.

Knickerbocker Glory

2011-07-19T11:32:00.000-07:00

They say you can never go home. Well obviously that's a metaphor because I did just physically go home. The sentiment, however, was hammered into me many times on our trip.

When I was about eight I got croup. It's unusual to get it at that age and so in my usual style I did it bigger and better than the average child.
The first attack happened in the middle of the night and after the Doctor made an emergency house call (socialized medicine people - it's not just a pipe dream) an ambulance was called.
I remember thinking, not that it was hard to breath but that I wished my friends could see me whisked away in an ambulance with the lights flashing.
(More evidence that drama queens are born and not made.)

At the hospital a very jolly nurse gave me the breathing treatment and soothed me through the whole thing by telling me how brave I was. She told my Dad that I was so brave, I deserved a treat. She suggested a Knickerbocker Glory.
Just the word still brings a smile to my face.
When I told her I had never had one, she gave my Dad strict instructions to take me to a certain ice cream parlour as soon as I was well enough.

He did. A Knickerbocker Glory is an ice cream sundae. I can still picture the tall thick glass filled with fruit, ice cream and chocolate and strawberry sauces. It was heaven.
I had had banana splits but this was my dream dessert.

I had told the eight year old this story many times, usually when she's had croup. Perhaps because she turned eight this year and we were heading 'home' she asked if I would take her for the famous treat when we got to Scotland. I was thrilled.
It's the kind of thing parents live for. Repeating a happy childhood memory with your own child - it's magical.

The first thorn was the fact the original ice cream parlour had closed. Undaunted I found another old fashioned one.
We headed there the day after we landed. We had big grins on our faces as we ordered. We told the waitress an abbreviated version of the story and she seemed tickled for us.
The three year old declined the giant sundae and opted for a single scoop of "pink" (strawberry) with the parlour's trade mark bear wafer. It came first, It was very cute, Bear shaped cookies in ice cream - you can't go wrong.

Then with some fanfare came the long anticipated Knickerbocker Glory. The eight year old was grinning from ear to ear.
We all tucked into to our chosen treats. We took photos. It was a golden moment.
Then I saw the eight year old's face. She was trying desperately not too cry. My girl is not normally reticent with her emotions.
The struggle on her face was completely heartbreaking.

"What's wrong sweetie?"

I could cry as I type, she said:

"I'm ruining your special moment."

"It's OK lovey, what's wrong?"

"I don't, sob, like it, sob."

A memory, thirty something years in the making, shattered.

I laughed with the absurdity of it. How could I not have seen how much expectation I put on this poor kid?
Of course she didn't like it. It's not the kind of thing she likes. She never chooses sauces and I'm not sure she's ever eaten canned fruit.

The problem was quickly solved by a single scoop with a bear wafer.

So, what did I learn? What's important to you probably won't be important to your kids, sure OK I get it, but really what I learned is that when you're eight - a cute bear wafer triumphs every time.

BlogHer Voices of the Year.

2011-07-15T09:03:00.000-07:00

Christy at A Lil' Welsh Rarebit nominated me for this and yesterday I found out I was chosen.

I am a 2011 BlogHer Voice of the Year for humor!

I feel like the little engine that could.
If you're a parent you know that it is a highly underpaid and often thankless job.
Prior to parenthood and blogging I worked in healthcare. I'm not used to industry kudos.
I get to go to a award reception at BlogHer next month in San Diego.

The chosen post was Modest Mom - it seems a little bit of humiliation goes a long way!

Thanks so much to Christy and to all of you who read my little blog!

Sky High.

2011-07-14T21:00:00.000-07:00

Travel. It was never meant for three year olds.
Either I didn't get that memo or I am hopelessly optimistic (some might say stubborn.)

We just flew back from England. It is ten and a half hours in what can only be described as a tin can.
First of all, three year olds don't like to sit still for more than say thirty seconds at a time.
One particular three year old that happened to be sitting next to me, doesn't like to wear a seat belt.
Nor does she care to sit calmly in a seat, not kick the back of the seat in front, not play endlessly with the tray catch or rock back into the seat causing the seat back to bounce.
There are not enough apologies in the world for this scenario.

Then came nap time.
I have been flying with children for eight years. I feel like I know what I'm doing.
I brought jammies. We changed. I brought her blankie. We snuggled.
She was just dozing off when the flight attendant came by...

"OH LOVELY - SHE'S GOING TO SLEEP FOR YOU." she YELLED.

Well not now......

Fifteen minutes later, we are back to sleepy.
Guess who swings by to check in and see if a tub of ice cream will help the three year old go to sleep?
So now we have established that this flight attendant doesn't have children.

Just in case anyone is in any doubt.
NO. ICE CREAM WILL NOT HELP A THREE YEAR GO TO SLEEP.
Thanks for asking.
Next time try asking quietly to my ear and don't bring the tub with you and show it to the three year old.

So, we have ice cream.
Don't judge me for my lack of ability to call the shots. There was a seven month old asleep in the bassinet approximately 10 inches from our seats.
It had taken the parents of the seven month old about an hour to get her to sleep.
I need to keep tantruming to a minimum.

Finally, sugar high over, I get the three year old to sleep.
Enter a previously unnoticed passenger from across the aisle.

"THEY ARE SO LOVELY WHEN THEY ARE ASLEEP, AREN'T THEY?!"

"Yes, yes they are. Now, move along lady."

"HOW OLD IS SHE?"

"Three - go away."

"Awww IT'S A GREAT AGE ISN'T IT?"

"Yes it is - go away."

"IS SHE A GOOD SLEEPER?"

"Yes - except for when complete strangers come and yell right next to her ear - go away."

So we all know that I smiled sweetly and answered politely while hoping I was conveying my hope that she would shut up and go away - through my eyes. I don't think there's an Oscar in my future.
For the three hours that she slept, I was on a hair trigger.
I gave stink eye to anyone who came within two paces.
I shushed the crew as they passed out drinks, snacks and duty free.
I should have watched a movie or read my book but with a plane full of baby wakers I had to stay vigilant.

Travel. So relaxing.

It's All About ME

2011-07-10T13:40:00.000-07:00

So, although I haven't posted in weeks which is terribly lazy - I have a request.
A VERY sweet reader nominated me for a Best of SF Blog Award.
Here's the thing - it's my home turf and now that I have been nominated (unsolicited) I WANT TO WIN.

If you have a spare 5 secs go here:

www.circleofmoms.com

It's really easy to vote - no registration.

The current winner only has 35 votes - we can do that can't we?

Your humble ego maniac mommy blogger.
xo

AWOL

2011-07-03T12:39:00.000-07:00

I am in Scotland, where my soul resides so it's good to be in full connection with it.
I haven't had internet access so sorry to be so awol.
The upside is I have many fabulous stories to share, including swearing parrots -
which I will share when I can.

Hope to be here soon....

Grown Ups Wanted.

2011-06-21T17:13:00.000-07:00

I wanted to have children. I planned for them. I longed for them.
I thought it was an informed decision.

I was married for ten years before we even started to try. I traveled. I had a career.
I got to the point where I looked at babies and felt a clutch in my heart.
I baby sat for friends. I changed diapers and gave bottles.
I waited until weekends seemed a bit endless and even boring.
I was ready.

It was everything I expected and a whole lot I didn't.
I have never been so in love, as I was cradling my infant daughters and gazing into their eyes.
Watching them learn to walk, bathing their sweet, silky bodies - these were all things I imagined and planned for.

Cut to today with me explaining to the eight year old that her words might be offensive.

"What does offensive mean?"

I had a shocking realization.
I am responsible for the morals, ethics and behaviors of another human being. Two in fact.

I understand that when they are older they are on their own with that but for now it's my job to guide them.
It's my job to navigate them through decision making, friendships, manners, socializing.

!

I do not feel prepared.
I thought about snuggling with a sweet baby.
I failed to realize that sweet baby would grow and be joined by a sister, who would also join her in the ongoing pursuit of aging.

I was comfortable with the snuggling, bottles and diapers.
I am not sure how I feel about this part.

Somedays as I seem to do nothing but re-direct, guide (ok shout) and teach - I wonder who am I now?
Who is this woman cutting up grapes and trying to find a graceful way to explain how we deal with the need to fart in a friends car?
Later, when I am looking into a crumpled face as I hand down a consequence - I wonder what happened to my life?

It feels ludicrous that just because I wanted a cute pink baby, I am now responsible for her emotional well being.
In my head I am still 25 and thinking mostly about shoes, parties and music.

When I see the trusting eyes of the eight year old as she comes to me for advice or help, I can't help feeling that I didn't think this through completely.
This is the point when I really have to find something better than "because I said so."

I'm willing to accept responsibility but shouldn't someone have mentioned this to me?
Shouldn't I have had some inclination that this was in the long range forecast?
Did I skip that class?

It's not that I am unwilling in this task. It's just that the task seems more age appropriate for a grown up.
That can't possibly be me?

Missing.

2011-06-08T14:30:00.000-07:00

I miss my bladder.
Don't get me wrong - nobody took it out of my body. It's just my bladder was the bladder I had before kids. This current bladder - not mine.
It belongs to an knat or some other teeny, tiny creature.

Let me explain. This past weekend was my annual trip into movieland. I get to go to a premiere and post party that (in my mind) rivals the Oscars. It's luxurious, fancy and fun.
Getting dressed up is such a rare treat for me. Admittedly my marker is low - washed hair and brushed teeth low.
So this really is a treat.

I jetisoned the kids to my sweet blogger friend Mosey and began the long journey that is transforming myself from woman in sweats and a pony to red carpet glam.

One of my favorite parts of the whole event is dress spotting. So many gorgeous women in so many different dresses.
I followed (not in a stalkerish way) one particularly pretty, slinky, silver dress into the bathroom.

I will guess that the occupant of the dress was younger than me but not by decades.
We settled into neighboring stalls.

I wasn't intending to listen but you know, a half inch of formica with an eight inch gap at the bottom doesn't hide much.
She peed like a horse.
I imagined several gallons exiting in under 5 seconds. Impressive.
I on the other hand, with my post partum body, felt like I had several gallons to expel - but only managed to squeeze out about a half cup full in around one minute.
After resting my poor, tired, overworked bladder - I was able to add a tablespoon or so.

Exiting the stall I found that slinky silver was long gone. She was probably gulping champagne straight from the bottle. No problem for her to 'hold it' during the movie screening.

So, there I am, a guest at a wonderful event. In a pretty dress of my own. As much food and drink as I care to consume all around me. Dancing, gambling, schmoozing - more fun than any one person has the right too.
What am I doing?
Lamenting the loss of my bladder.

I *may* be missing the point.

Where Are Me?

2011-06-02T11:51:00.000-07:00

Playing hide and seek with a three year old is in turns hilarious and exasperating.

Firstly, the concept of closing your eyes and not peeking while you count is lost on the three year old.
She wants to see where I go - so she can find me - perfectly logical if you're three.
Her only goal is to find me within 2 maybe 3 seconds so we can play it again!

When it's her turn to hide she shouts "Where are me?!" at the top of her lungs before I finish counting.
It's delicious.
I could listen to 'where are me?' a thousand times.

Unless... I have listened to it a thousand times.

I've got ten rounds of hide and seek in me -tops.

So when I run out of enthusiasm, I start to feel that I'm a lame mom.
Who wouldn't want to run around looking for a sweet three year old while she loudly shouts her location?

Parenthood is so tricky. I wanted to stay home but some days I would pay out every last dollar I have to put her in daycare.
I wanted to be there to see her firsts. Know her intimately. Share her experiences.
But some days I would rather clean toilets than spend another moment playing Candyland.

Am I missing a gene?

Winning!

2011-05-25T13:21:00.000-07:00

Congratulations to Sassy - winner of a signed copy of First Crush!

I don't know about you but I'd love to hear more about that snowstorm and those warm mulatto hands.....

Guest post Sassy?

Thanks for playing.

Who Was Your First Crush?

2011-05-21T13:09:00.000-07:00

Our first crush. Do we ever fully recover from it?
Isn't there always a little scar, from the breakup, on our otherwise resilient hearts?

Who can forget the all consuming elation of knowing someone likes you?
The thrill of a first kiss. The tingle when your hand is clutched by another.
Sigh.

Parenting requires an oasis every once in a while so,
The Parenting Myth is delighted to give you the chance to relive your first crush.

I am giving away a copy of CRUSH Edited by Andrea N. Richesin.

This delicious collection of 26 stories of the heady fall into first love is bound to bring a smile and maybe a tear to your face.

Leave me a comment encapsulating your first crush into five words or less.
Winner will be by random draw on Tuesday, May 24th and the giveaway is worldwide.

Too intrigued to wait?
Just click below and order your very own copy.

In Defense of Blogger

2011-05-17T10:05:00.000-07:00

I have a beef.
So, I'm hoping up on my soapbox.

Blogger is FREE.
They host our blogs, store our millions of words and pictures for free.

They had a major problem last week and were only able to show blogs for a few days.
No comments. No new posts.
We might have lost comments.

I have read on twitter, facebook and a major blog community site that we should all dump blogger and move to Wordpress.

This sense of entitlement confounds me.
Things break. Mistakes happen.

I think we shoot ourselves in the foot with such fickleness.

If you prefer Wordpress - go for it.
But don't go as a punitive measure.

I have been blogging for over two years. This was the first time I couldn't access the full features of blogger aside from scheduled maintenance. Sure, sometimes I have trouble getting the site to do exactly what I wanted - but isn't that life?

In those two years, sometimes the market didn't have what I went in for.
Sometimes my credit card didn't work.
Sometimes my phone dropped calls.
My oven died. My fridge needed repaired.
My gutters blocked. The waste disposal jammed.
My car needed repair.
I might even venture to say that my parenting wasn't 100% all of the time.

Why the huge backlash?

You may say I'm a dreamer but I think we need to be a little more forgiving.
A tad bit more tolerant.
A wee bit more patient.
A whole lot less entitled.

Modest Mom.

2011-05-11T13:16:00.000-07:00

Did I ever tell you about the time I peed myself at the spa?
Let me restate that - I allegedly peed myself at the spa.

You need a little background.
I was raised in a religious household. Modesty was a big part of that. How big?
Well, I shared a room with my sister for 17 years and watched her give birth to her son at home. I have yet to see her naked.

Then there's the issue of a post-partum body. Stretch marks, a weakened bladder, boobs that are setting out for the South Pole.

The whole thing started when I was asked to be a bridesmaid. Big deal. I was VERY excited.
I decided to get a spray tan so I would be less blue in the pictures standing next to a group of Cali girls.

You should know that the whole spa thing is challenging for me. I keep my underwear on for massages. I wear a swimsuit in the sauna.
I'm just more comfortable that way.

Determined, I called up a local spa offering spray tans and booked up.
I imagined one of those booths where you go in get sprayed and come out. Alone. Private.
I show up for my appointment and the girl shows me to a tiled room. Empty except for a stool.

???

"Take everything off and just call out when you're ready" the girl says blithely.

Erm??

I decide not to panic. I am a mature woman who has given birth.
I can handle this.
I strip.
In my head I am chanting over and over.
"No big deal, no big deal."

The girl comes back and we begin. It's not so bad actually - she's very nice.
She doesn't seem to be too appalled at the sight of me in the buff.

Then.

"Pop your leg up on the stool and we'll do the inside of your leg."

NO, NO, NO.
There will be no popping.
I CANNOT DO THIS.

It feels like twenty minutes go by as my brain scrambles trying to think of how to handle this.
Before I know it I have popped my leg on the stool.

WHO AM I? Where is prudish Joy?

I begin to relax. This is really OK.
I CAN do this. It's fine. We're all girls. It's fine.

Then.

She stops, her face red she looks at me and says,

"Would you like a tissue for that?'

I look down and there running down my inner thigh is a drip.

Oh dear God.

I am sure it is an over application of spray tan. She is sure it's pee.
There's no graceful exit.
We finish, I get dressed and run out of there cheeks still burning.

Driving home I feel more and more sure it was a spray tan drip and not a bladder malfunction.
I begin to relax. Who cares? I'll never see that girl again.

That evening I have a girls night to go to. We're going for dinner.
I get there early so go up to the bar to get a glass of wine. It's very busy.
As I wait for the bartender to notice me I hear a girl telling a story of her horrible day at work.

"......then she pees down her leg."

Yup, the girl from the spa. Her friends roar with laughter or scream "ewwww."
The drip is Niagara Falls in this version of the story.

Should I have asked for the tip back?

Keeping The Love Alive.

2011-05-05T20:09:00.000-07:00

Seventeen years is a long time to be married in our current culture.
Add two kids to that mix and we might be breaking records.

I think even The Husband would agree keeping the romance alive is a challenge.
We have to make an effort to spend time together. A big effort.
Babysitters are like gold dust and often as expensive.

Assuming we secure a babysitter that the kids like - staying awake to go out is the next hurdle.
Not talking about the kids when we are out, finding something we both want to do, not falling asleep.....

My motivation to spend $100 to see a movie is low. If we just wait a few weeks we can watch it at home for $5.
Some date nights one or both of us hears the couch calling and going out is the last thing we want to do.

Vacation is no different. if your full time job is your children and they are with you - calling it vacation is a stretch.
It's one of the reasons we have embraced All-Inclusive Hotels. Truthfully, I have spent considerable time mocking Club Med for being generic. Not now.
Now, the idea that someone wants to look after my kids while I lie by the pool is just about the most appealing thing in my year.

This past trip, we waited a couple of days before taking the kids down to the kids club. We wanted to make sure they knew their way around and maybe had met some of the other children at the pool first.
They skipped in happily. The husband and I took a great hike down the endless beach and swam in the ocean. It was fabulous.
When we went to pick up the girls, it fast became clear it would be our last free time.

The two year old had been hit by another child. The staff were horrified. The offending child was banned but the damage was done. The two year old was not going back to kids club happily.
So we are a team of four again.

The husband and I had planned a sunset stroll, no big deal, the kids love sunsets too.
As we sat on the beautiful, white sand beach watching the sky turn pink, I must admit that I was a little sad we weren't alone.
The husband perhaps sensing this strolled off.
He came back with a beautiful flower. A tiny pink bud sticking out of a cactus pod. Beautiful.

I was really touched at the simple, romantic gesture.
I showed it to my girls. We were all wondering what it was, what it might be called until it became painfully obvious.

It was a prickly pear. Emphasis on the word PRICKLY.
Ever touched one? Don't.
It is covered in teeny, tiny razor sharp hairs which lodge into your skin and cannot be removed by any method.
I still have two of them lodged under my skin. They are still quite painful.
I may have them forever.

Who said romance is dead?

Love and Other Distractions.

2011-05-02T12:16:00.001-07:00

I have had lots of conversations about The Royal Wedding.

I have applauded and critiqued fascinators and hats in great detail.
(Really Beatrice?)
Reveled in the pomp and circumstance which is so truly British.
Marveled at the angelic choir.

Swooned over the dresses - Kate's and Pippa's.
Teared up at the intimate, stolen glances between two people in love while two billion people watched.

It has made me homesick, proud and hopeful.
Hopeful that love really does make the world go round.
Hopeful that the new Royals will return the sense of dignity and service that The Queen has but that seems to have skipped a generation or two.

I have also felt defensive of the derision. The "who cares?" attitude.
The criticism of the vast expense while people are homeless and hungry.
While I can't disagree with this sentiment - wholly, here's why I care.

Becoming a parent changes your view of the world.
You yearn for safety and peace.
You hope for ease and abundance.
You pray for good health.

The current world news is grim.
Seemingly endless natural disasters.
War.
Hunger, famine and illness.

If I can't focus on hope and joy sometimes what kind of parent will I become?
Even if children don't know exactly what is going on the world they can tell if we are happy or sad, stressed or light hearted.

I realized that what made me so happy about the wedding was shared experience.
Shared joy - with people I don't know and will never meet.

Isn't this what we yearn for in parenting?
Why we read blogs about sleep deprivation, diaper blow outs and tantrums.
We want the connection - the shared experience.

We want to feel we have community with like minds.
We want relief in the form of distraction or humour.
We want balance.

So there's my justification. Watching the Royal wedding and having a wedding party where me and my girls pranced around in white dresses and veils and ate cake - makes me a better parent.

You can't argue with that.

Will & Kate.

2011-04-29T13:22:00.000-07:00

I should write a post about parenting today.

Instead I am absorbed with the story of a little wedding across the pond.

Here's to love!

Who's The Boss?

2011-04-26T09:31:00.000-07:00

What happens to us when we have kids?

Prior to having children we were intelligent, productive, assertive individuals.
Children it seems have the ability to reduce us to babbling, ineffective, push overs.

On our trip (did I mention we went to Mexico?) I watched what appeared to be competent adults allow their children to control the whole trip. Not me you understand. Other people.

I watched Mom's settle in by the pool with their book. Having sun blocked their kids and set them up with pool toys they were ready for a few minutes to themselves, only to give up the whole plan because the kids instantly decided they would rather be at the beach.
What happened to "Not right now?"

At the (fabulous) entertainment one night I overheard this conversation.

Women to son: "Honey can we take a seat my feet are killing me."

Son: "No."

Women: "Please honey, I sunburned my feet and my shoes really hurt?"

Son: "No I want to stand."

Women: "oh."

WHAT?!

You know me a little by now. If you don't - I am not a bystander.
I turned around.

"Take a seat," I said "Can't have a mom with sore feet."

She gratefully (and a little sheepishly) took the seat.

I watched parents let their children dictate the restaurant, the seating plan, the day's schedule.
Sure include them, decide together but should they be running the whole show?
I don't think we'd let adults treat us this way.

I know it can seem easier to keep them happy. Let them have what they want and it will be an easier time for all.
Except maybe the parents.

C'mon parents - we need to reclaim our lives!
Let's stand up for ourselves.

I think we need to get our priorities straight.

My quiet pool side time to enjoy a Margarita is more important than your alleged hunger.

Who's with me?

Adios Amigas

2011-04-15T23:40:00.001-07:00

I have needed to confess this to you all for a while. I have an addiction.
I need professional help.

So, I am off to get the help I need - in "Rehab."

The addiction is to All Inclusive Mexican Resorts.
The rehab process involves the beach, the pool and a Margarita or three.

I anticipate I will be cured in about one week from now.

Hasta Luego.

Community.

2011-04-11T13:24:00.000-07:00

Everyone has bad days. Having a bad day with two children in tow brings it to a whole new level.

In organizing the shoe drive for Japan I realized how much I am craving community.
I have an excellent social life, plenty of friends and am active with our school community.
What I feel I am missing is a greater sense of community. A sense of support with and for each other.
I had hoped that when we packed up the shoes we would all come together, all ages and work together for one purpose.
I emailed the entire school with this request.

One other mom turned up to help.
One. Out of a school of over 100 families.
One additional mom stayed to help when asked. Our kids found the task boring and took off to play.

We got the job done and ended up being a great team but I left feeling disappointed.
I had been hoping for something else.
I know people are busy with their lives and we certainly got lots of shoes donated. I thought the work party of packing would be the fun, community part. I guess I was hoping for a barn raising.

I left the school feeling sad. We headed to the post office with our boxes.
Hauling heavy shoe boxes from the car into a post office while making sure two children are safe is stressful.
By the time we got into the post office I was harried.

We waited in line - never a fun activity with a two year old.
We finally take our turn at the counter to find that the wine boxes I had picked up for packing were not allowed.
Apparently the fact they no longer contained wine was irrelevant.

Trying not to swear. I considered my options.
I could reload all the boxes into my car reversing the four step process I had just completed or I could find some way to cover the boxes. I decided to wrap the boxes in brown tape covering all references to wine. No small job.

About three boxes in, I hear the phrase that adds stress to every parents day.

"I need to go potty!"

"Can you hold it?"

"No! I need to go poo.'

Turns out the bathroom in a post office is off limits for security reasons.
Are you kidding me? Now what?
I actually considered just sitting down and crying.

An older women stepped forward and offered to watch my boxes while we go to find a bathroom.
I am flooded with gratitude and we take off.

Finally settled into a bathroom the two year old utters the phrase that causes me to laugh out loud and scream all at once.

"Oopsie - I only fartydid."

The shoes were eventually sent. The Two year old remained dry and the Eight year old redeemed herself by helping with the post office marathon..
Later that evening, I got a hug from The Husband and had a nice glass of wine to soothe my frayed nerves.

I will keep seeking the community I crave but I will also try to accept that community can be found in different ways.

Also,
Stop by www.thesleepytimegal.com to find out about a great project that is kid friendly and easy to do for some orphaned or homeless children in Japan.

Madge and Me.

2011-04-06T12:56:00.000-07:00

I remember reading about Madonna turning up at Music Together classes with Lourdes.
The Queen of Pop - best known for prancing around in her underwear and talking about sex - was sitting in a circle singing,
"Hello, to Grandma - so good to see you!"

I didn't have children then - the image was hilarious to me.
Sigh.
I am now that circle sitter.

I am now willing to make a complete fool of myself in public and private for the entertainment of my children.
I will skip down the high street.
I will sing the potty song whenever it's requested.
I will be a dog, cat, bear or crocodile at a moments notice.
I too, will sing nursery rhymes and the ABC song with gusto, in a room full of strangers.

What happens to us? Some of the situations I find myself in seem so far away from me that I hardly recognize myself.

I am not a shy person but I still would not choose to draw attention to myself in public.
Especially when I am sporting what some people call the mom uniform - sweats or yoga pants, hair in a pony tail, teeth unclean.

Before I had the girls I would watch my friends with their children. It amazed me that they would make such fools of
themselves for their kids. I made the (inevitably abandoned) vow that I would never do that.
Fast forward to me doing exactly the same thing.
Here's the thing - I don't care. I don't feel embarrassed. I only see the joy on my children's faces. It's all I need. No-one else matters.

Children - the perfect excuse to loosen up and leave your inhibitions at the door.

It's A Mad, Mad World.

2011-03-30T13:11:00.000-07:00

Is it just me or is all that's going on in the world overwhelming right now?
Between earthquakes, nuclear disaster, war and civil unrest - there is just a lot to take in.

As a parent, I am conflicted. I could just ignore it all and cocoon my children.
It's not happening on my door step - so it wouldn't be hard to do.
They are still young so it seems really appropriate to keep all of this from them.
We do not watch TV so they have not seen any of the shocking images but still they hear adults talk - so will cocooning really work?

If I do choose to cocoon, we miss out on the opportunity to see the people of the world as neighbors.
We miss a chance to learn about helping those in need.
It's never too early to learn that right?

Then there's the thought that they are affected anyway.
They feel the uncertainty and the fear and are anxious about it.

I can't say for sure the cause but I do know that the eight year old is experiencing some anxiety right now. She isn't able to settle down to sleep easily. She is clingy and needy.
The two year old is also perhaps picking up on the unrest and wants to only be with me.

I remember as a child that some people came to our school and taught us survival techniques.
They told us there could be a nuclear war and we would have to learn how to survive post apocalypse.
They tried to make it fun but I remember how scary and confusing it was.

The class was not offered to our parents so I remember thinking that nuclear bombs must only kill adults and that there were only going to be children left. Is it just my imagination that we were also reading 'Lord Of The Flies' at the time?!

I think what I have decided (well, at least for today) is that it's hard to get this stuff right for children.
A little bit of information goes a long way in a child's mind.

So, I am going to shield them from as much as I possibly can.
We are involved in a project to help the people of Japan. I gave a very simple and very played down explanation of the earthquake. That will be enough for now.

We will avoid TV screens, newspapers and adult conversation as much as we possibly can.
I will let them have their childhood, knowing that the full weight of adulthood will press down on them soon enough.

Tinkle Tinkle Little Star.

2011-03-23T13:20:00.000-07:00

I forgot.
I forgot that ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING you do as a parent comes back to bite you.
Even the good stuff.

The two year old is doing a fabulous job of potty training herself. It's great - I really have had very little to do with it.
She tells me when she needs to go. Often she just takes herself off and goes independently.
She has had ZERO accidents. Bliss.

She only has one requirement. I must visit the potty post use, inspect and then make a fuss of her.
We are talking Mardi Gras level of entertainment.
She wants song, dance and general hoopla. If she knew what fireworks were, I'm sure she'd demand those too.

No problem. I am good at hoopla.
If the kid is willing to toilet train herself I am willing to sing, tap dance and cheer with poms poms.

Here's where the forgetting come in.
Yesterday we were at the store.

"Mama - I need to go."

"Let's go," I say "actually, I need to go too."

So there I am in a very busy and public bathroom and guess who whoops and starts singing the potty song as I, you know, tinkle.

At least two people laugh out loud.
We stayed in that cubicle for ten minutes to ensure a complete turn over of bathroom occupants.

I'm pretty sure my 'tinkle' was the topic of conversation around many dinner tables last night.

Viewpoint.

2011-03-16T12:43:00.000-07:00

The earthquake and tsunami in Japan are a tragedy of overwhelming proportions.
The images are heartbreaking to watch.
The human suffering is unthinkable.

As a fellow human I feel overwhelmed.
How can I possibly help?
I can write a check but I also want to DO something.

As a mother I am undone.
I keep thinking about what if it where happening to my children?
I live in an area prone to earthquakes, it is impossible not to imagine that it might happen here.
My fear is based in no science whatsoever but the earth seems to be moving a lot with the recent earthquakes in Haiti, Mexico, New Zealand and now Japan. To my mind it seems possible that there may be some knock on effect to the tectonic plates under the ground that I live on.

Then there's the nuclear plant instability and the potential of radiation contamination.
Trying to get reliable information feels next to impossible.
You can read multiple different opinions online.
What I consider to be reputable news sources are changing their view daily.

So I'm going with my gut. To my mind there is a possibility that radiation has entered the atmosphere. There is also the possibility that it will reach California.
In the same way that I wear a life jacket on a yacht - I am going to take precautions.

I found iodine in a well known brand of multi-vitamin for kids.
I found iodine in a once a day mineral supplement for adults.
We're taking them.
I am also going to add some kelp into our food.

In discussion with other parents I have encountered many reactions.
Some people are dismissive. Some have mocked me for my panic.
Some are unaware of the issue.
Some have been argumentative.
Some head to the shops to join me in feeding iodine to their family.

For me it feels good to do something.
So we'll take our iodine and we're organizing a benefit.
There's no panic, judgement or implied knowledge involved.

The Littlest Room.

2011-03-08T12:47:00.000-08:00

The two year old has entered the joy filled world of toilet training.
As with the eight year old (yes eight - she had a birthday) I had been taking the wait and see approach.

I didn't want to do it before she was really ready. I think the accidents are just frustrating for everyone.
We have ignored the social pressure - you know the questioning comment, "Oh she's still in diapers?"
She's two not sixteen.

So yesterday she decided she didn't want to wear her diaper she wanted to wear panties.
Great!
Except we have four, thirty minutes car trips to take today.
Two hours strapped in the car seat without a diaper hmmmm.

I know from experience that I should take her lead. Making her wear a diaper today is not a smart move.
This is not my first time at the potty rodeo so I take the challenge.

I put a potty in the back of the car for emergency pit stops. I also add plastic bags and a pack of wipes.
Then I throw changes of clothes into the car and my bag. I mean business.

We make a potty stop just before we leave the house.
You can now picture me clapping and cheering whilst singing the potty song at the sight of 4 mls of pee.
Then we get in the car.

The two year old is a pro - she makes it through all four car trips and stays dry.
The problem is when we get near a toilet.
It seems she is attracted to spending as much time in as many bathrooms as possible.

We went to the bathroom at the eight year old's school four times.
We went to the bathroom at the store two times.
We went to the bathroom at the yogurt shop five times.

That's eleven toilet stops with no actual peeing or pooping.

Now I remember how this goes - this is the catch in toilet training.
They will ask to go constantly, especially at bed time, nap time, meal time and bath time.
You will take them each time 'just in case' they actually have to go.
They will never go. If you don't take them - they will pee their pants.

Ahh good times.

IQ Implied.

2011-03-02T20:31:00.000-08:00

I am type A. Very organized. Precise. Punctual.
I pay attention to detail.
I am the family's central point. I manage the bills, organize our social lives and vacations.

If you are like me - then you know how extra hard losing your brain to parenthood is.
I keep expecting my brain to return from it's (now lengthy) sojourn.
It's not in sight.

I find it frustrating, embarrassing , disabling.
I was recently challenged on this self believe by a friend.
Her assertion was that I manage just fine. There is no obvious decline in my acuity.

Well that's great, re-assuring even but let me give you an example.

We went on a vacation. It involved flights, rental cars, hotels.
As we are driving to the airport the Husband asks me which lot we are parking in.
The question didn't actually make sense to me.

"Erm, the long term lot?"

Then I realize, I usually have researched the lots, found the best location, price and even printed a coupon.
Not this time.
I do have the passports - does that count?

We land at our destination.
"Which rental car agency honey?"

"Erm."
I have no idea.
I booked a package deal - I don't have the first idea who we get our car from.

Several phone calls later - we work it out and are on our way.
But where?
Usually I would print out maps, directions, hotel phone numbers and have it all in a handy location.
I know the name of the hotel and that's it.

I feel silly. How can I not have remembered to do any of this?
I have done it for every vacation for years.
I have every SPF of sunblock, snacks, medications and clothing for every eventuality - for the kids at least.
I am now praying that my swimsuit is actually in the case somewhere.

The Husband is re-assuring. We make it to our hotel and have a happy vacation.
The day we're leaving I check our flight info, we check out and head to the airport.
At the desk we are cheerfully informed that our flight left hours ago and has in fact landed back home.
Turns out I had read the landing time as our departure time.

The staff take pity on us, re-book us without fees and we wait for the red-eye which I had carefully planned to avoid.

This is parenthood.
This is focusing on the children and their needs.
This is my life. Brainless or not.

Wedding Fever.

2011-02-27T09:27:00.000-08:00

We were invited to a wedding. It was the girls' first.
The excitement level was off the meter - especially for the seven year old.

I did something I have never done before and bought them matching dresses.
It was a cuteness fiesta.
We were staying overnight in the hotel where the wedding was so we went in our civilian clothes.
The dresses were packed reverently.

The seven year old needed the day's schedule repeated every twenty minutes or so just to make sure we hadn't forgotten to go to the wedding.
The two year old just simply said "Dress?" at regular intervals.

As I laid out the dresses, tights and matching cardigans they stood wide eyed and reverent.
When it was, eventually, time to get dressed the reverence continued.
The husband and I tried not to cry with the sweetness of it all.

I have never paid less attention to getting myself ready in my life. I could have just gone in jeans and a t-shirt and not noticed - such was my focus on my girls.

The walked off down the hotel corridor holding hands and feeling so pleased with themselves it was a heart bursting moment.
On seeing the bride and groom, the cake, the stunning venue with panoramic views of San Francisco they simply stood in awe.

Admittedly, I have somewhat shielded them from the whole 'I've been dreaming of my wedding since I was two' scenario.
We do not play brides and I had in the run up to this wedding talked about the couple and their friendship and adventures together - rather than focus on the fantasy of the dress and flowers etc.

We had a fantastic hour of father daughter dances, many photographs and general loveliness. Then the seven year old sidled up to the bride's nieces and they took off for the dance floor, where they stayed stealing the spotlight, for the rest of the evening.
The two year old seemed overwhelmed. Then hot. Then floopy.

We had a parent dilemma.

It's a wedding - a once in a lifetime event.
The seven year old is having the time of her life - especially since the dessert is a candy bar.
(I am also a fan of this new trend in dessert especially since there is an enormous bowl of peanut m&m's.)
The husband and I are having a great time - weddings don't come up for us so much anymore.
The two year old is sick.
Sigh.

So we did what any over worked, under assisted parents would do.
We retrieved her stroller from the room and set it in a corner of the venue - where she curled up and slept.

Don't judge me.

My Life in a Nutshell.

2011-02-23T18:14:00.000-08:00

Kid: Me do it! I'm gonna do it. I do it by myself!

Me: OK

Kid: I want to do it.

Me: OK you do it.

Kid: I WANT TO DO IT!

Me: OK

Kid: I do it mama. I do it by myself.

Me: OK you can do it.

Kid: I WANT TO DO IT BY MYSELF!

Me; Ok you do it by yourself.

Kid: NO! NO! NO! I DO IT!

Me: Yes, you do it.

Kid: I WANT TO DO IT!

Me: Yes, you want to do it. Go ahead.

Kid: NO! I DO IT!!

Me: OK!

Kid: Will you help me?

Another moment of insanity brought to you by The Parenting Myth.

(Sh) It Happened Again.

2011-02-16T13:15:00.000-08:00

Remember this?

Well it happened again.

I am delighted to say that is is not a personal attack on the Principal.
How do I know?

We have a new Principal.
Everything else was the same.
We are deep in conversation when I see the two year old go behind a chair.
It can only mean one thing.

I have noticed that certain places move the two year old.
One is our local toy shop. Guaranteed 'processing' within five minutes of entering.
Another is my friend's home. Doesn't matter what time of day we visit - she will 'go' while we are there.

I like to think that means that these are comfortable relaxing places for her to be.
It's a compliment really.

I'm wondering if it's a forecast of the future that she is so at home in the Principal's office...?

No Wonder....

2011-02-13T00:01:00.000-08:00

Overheard at a play date in my house:

Kid one: "Remember that time that you were sitting on the stool and Jane came in."

Kid two: "Yeah."

Kid one: "No wait - you weren't sitting on the stool, you were sitting on the chair."

Kid two: "Oh that's right. It was the chair not the stool."

Kid one: "Why were you sitting on the stool?"

Kid two: "I wasn't sitting on the stool, I was sitting on the chair."

Kid one: "Oh that's right. (Pause) Why were you sitting on the chair?"

Kid two: "I dunno."

Kid one: "Remember that Jane came in?"

Kid two: "Yeah."

Kid one: "That was sooooo funny."

Kid two: "Yeah. That was soooo funny." (Lots of laughter.)

Kid one: "Remember that you had a ponytail and so did I."

Kid two: "Yeah, you had a ponytail with a purple hair tie and mine was pink."

Kid one "Yeah. Wait! Yours wasn't pink. Remember you had a blue one."

Kid two: "Oh yeah."

Kid one: "And Jane came in."

Kid two: "Yeah."

Kid one: "When was that?"

Kid two: "I dunno."

Is it any wonder, we moms sometimes find it hard to retain our sanity?

Room To Grow.

2011-02-10T12:24:00.000-08:00

I remember when the seven year old was brand new. I would walk around just brimming with delight.
I felt so lucky to have a baby. The fact that she was clearly the worlds most beautiful baby was just the icing on the cake.
I would swell with pride as I walked around and people would comment on her beauty or cuteness.

I also remember my smugness.
I would look at Moms with toddlers, big kids and teens and I felt sorry for them.
No nuzzling into the silkiest skin for them.
No breathing in baby shampoo from the fuzziest of heads.

From my view - all those moms had was tantrums, gangliness and attitude.
They had nothing but gap toothed complainers.

It's amazing how in those moments I forgot the desperation of sleep deprivation.
I imagined that they looked at me with regret that they no longer had the bliss of a newborn.
I imagined that they wished for the baby years.

Ah naivety!

Now I look at Moms with newborns and I feel a little bit sorry for them.
I know how hard the first year is.
Sure - I no longer have a delicious newborn but I also no longer walk around in a haze of fatigue.
I no longer spend hours fretting because I don't know what that particular cry means.

What I know now is that each year gets better.
I now have a seven year old that loves to learn about the world and I get to share it's wonders with her.
I now have a two year old who loves to smother me with kisses and snuggle up to read a book.

They can both tell me what they need. Why they are sad. How they feel.
They don't need me to do every single thing.
When they are sick, it's not terrifying.

I am able to finish a cup of tea while it is still hot. I have resumed having an adult life - separate from being mom.
Simple things that are huge.

Now I think that those moms were not looking at me with envy.
Sure we all love a newborn but now I can be satisfied with looking or holding and returning!

I live and learn.

Night Fever.

2011-02-01T10:56:00.000-08:00

The two year old has been dressing herself. Not particularly significant for a two year old.
It's a change for me as a parent. The seven year old has no volition about clothes.
I can still pick and lay out her clothes for the next day.
She would be quite happy if I put her in them too.

Not so, with the two year old. She is very clear about her outfit choice and very assertive of her desire to do it herself.
It's great, I like it (mostly.)

Here's the catch - you knew I had a catch.
She's been doing it at night.
Much more impressive.

She selects her PJ's and puts them on. She selects which of her three blankets will get the honor of being on her and not on the crib rail.
We 'discuss' the sleep sack - which I say is "not a choice" and she says it should be.
She wears the sleep sack.

Lately, when I check on her the sack has been discarded.
I am willing to allow this little defiance. However, I know she'll get cold later so I pop her back in it and she usually doesn't wake up to protest.

A few nights ago when I checked on her I noticed something.
I thought I had put her in her snowman pj's and there she was, sleeping angelically, in her monkey pj's.
At the time, I remember thinking I must have been mistaken.

A few nights later I found her in a purple sleep suit. I know for sure I didn't put that on her.
I open the drawer and sure enough my neatly folded piles are now a carnage of clothes.
Hmmmmm.

To get to the drawer she has to reach through the crib bars and get to a handle about 3 feet away. Her arms are not three feet long. Devious.
She also, I thought cleverly, had closed the drawer having inserted the discarded jammies inside.
Covering her tracks. Not usual two year old behavior. Two year olds usually leave a blazing trail of their actions.

I am secretly delighted by her genius. She does all of this without me hearing a thing. I say nothing - allowing her the glee of feeling she is succeeding in her subterfuge.

Last night she took it to a whole new level.
I found her in a completely different sleep outfit but back in her sleep sack.
There was no sign of disturbance in her drawers.

When she got up this morning and the sleep suit was removed she had a whole outfit on underneath.
A gold sparkly top, red velvet skirt (with sequin detail), jeans AND socks.

Her delight was delicious.
'I am ready for the day!" she exclaims.
I'm thinking she's ready for an 80's nightclub but hey - pick your battles.

Making It Fun.

2011-01-27T13:03:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling better. I'm out of pain. It's like a fog lifted.
I have more energy. I'm not sad.

Suddenly my two year old is delicious again.
She is making me laugh with her crazy antics, I love her sweetness and kisses.
I miss her when I'm not with her.

The seven year old is delightful, silly and loving.
She and I have long chats about everything from evolution to Barbie.

It is such a relief to want to be a full time mom again.
To be enjoying it.

Then someone sent me these:

So beautiful. So funny and creative. So cute.

I had one of those lightbulb moments.
Being a mom is about joy. It's about having fun.
It's about making it fun.

I had forgotten.

We Interrupt This Presentation.....

2011-01-21T11:56:00.000-08:00

It has been my intention to store a few posts for the times when I am too tired, too busy, or as is currently the case, unwell.

There have been times when my head is so full of posts I could have written three or four at one time.
Like I say it was my intention.

I have been in a lot of pain. I have been putting every ounce of energy into being a nice mom.

My preference would have been to check into a facility where I could have daily chiropractic and acupuncture treatments.
Maybe a massage after my nap. Someone serving me delicious meals.

Instead, I have been trying to find original ways to avoid picking up or carrying the two year old without hurting her feelings.
"Uppie. uppie, uppie" is her favorite phrase. Sitting on my hip is her favorite place.

I have been exerting an enormous amount of effort into not being cranky. (Mostly unsuccessfully.)

I am trying to retain a sense of humor about it but really it's exhausting.
Motherhood has never challenged me more.

I am stuck in a trap. I need to put huge effort into looking after myself.
I need to look after the children regardless.
It feels like it's all on me.
I want someone to look after me for a change.
Parenting is all about giving and because you'd do anything for your children it feels OK, even good to do it.
Most of the time.

When you are sick or (temporarily) disabled it is just an endless chore and I do mean endless.

I am just clinging to my mantra -
This too shall pass.

Funny posts are in my future - hang in with me and thanks for all the supportive comments.

Pain In The Neck.

2011-01-12T13:09:00.000-08:00

I have a sore neck. A very sore neck.
It's an old injury from head trauma which was exacerbated by breast feeding.

On Christmas Eve my neck went into spasm. I needed to see a Chiropractor.
It was Christmas Eve - no one was available.

I made it through the holidays in an alarming amount of pain and immobility.
Me and my little pal - ibuprofen.
I told the girls I was debilitated. I *might* be a tad bit cranky.
I asked them to understand and be gentle with me.
They looked at me blankly.

On return I crawled to the chiropractor.
The news was grim. Various tests showed my neck is in very bad shape.

Some of my pain and loss of movement is likely permanent now and the treatment plan adds up to over $2,000.
I also need to go several times a week for six months.

I don't know about you but I find parenting in pain is not easy.
Two years olds in general see the neck as something to swing on.
In addition, I feel downright fed up about it all.

However, I am a glass half full kind of gal so I pulled myself up by the bootstraps, pulled out my credit card and signed up.
I need to be pro-active.
I can't let this get any worse.
I don't want to be only able to look at my feet when I'm sixty.

Trying to fit in three sessions a week is tricky.
It's quite the juggling act.
But we're doing it.
The husband and I have re-organized several things to make it work.
It's a full team effort - just to get me there, three times a week for 30 minutes.

Today the Dr. asked me how my body was feeling after all the adjusting we'd done so far.
I explained that I've been feeing very tired.
"Normal!" she proclaims.
"You'll likely feel very tired - especially after todays adjustment, go home and get lots of rest."

I am still laughing.

This Is The Place Part Two.

2011-01-07T12:47:00.000-08:00

Did I give the impression I did not enjoy the holidays?

I did.
There were many golden moments.
Lots of super cuteness.
Cuddles, gratitude and love.

The holidays just seem to heighten everything.
At a time when most people get vacation. I don't.
In fact I get two weeks of overtime as there's no school.

I made my bed - I'll lie in it.
I just might whine a little while there.

This is the place.
The place where I get to say that I have been a full time mom for nearly eight years now.
I have had a grand total of six days away from my children in that time.
Otherwise I have worked 7 days a week.
My days are usually about 14 hours.
I am always on call.

I think this is when I'm supposed to assert that I love my kids.
I don't feel the need to.
No matter how much you love your job - you have bad days. Days when you want to quit.
Days when you call in sick just because you can't face going in.
Vacation.

Motherhood doesn't come with those perks.
Burn out is inevitable.

That's where I am. I will make the changes that I can to get past this.
I know that this too shall pass.
I know that toddlers only stay two for one year. Three is easier than two.
Four is plain sailing.

I know that some people juggle a job and their children.

I will enjoy this more when I'm not so tired, when I look after myself better.
I also know that out there, thousands of moms are in the same place I am.
I know that being honest and saying that right now - it's not so great - is what I need.

Thanks for listening.

Hardly Festive.

2011-01-03T20:45:00.000-08:00

The holidays are hard.
I'v heard it said time and time again these past few weeks.
My voice included.
Why is that?

First of all - there is absolutely nothing holidayish about the holidays.
They are a gargantuan amount of work, with teeny tiny bits of relaxation in between.
I did very little hosting or cooking this year and I was still completely overwhelmed.

I found myself wishing it was over by about December 23rd.
Then I fell into a deep guilt pit as I remembered that this is my children's childhood and it is REALLY important that I try my best not to muck it up.

We visited Santa on the 23rd so that I could ask him to lecture the girls about getting up at 5am every day in anticipation of his visit.
I actually had the nerve to spoon feed Santa my words so he could indoctrinate my children on my behalf.
Is that as bad as it sounds or just really clever use of the big guy in red?

I remember being so excited I couldn't sleep. I remember watching the clock crawl at a snail's pace as I willed it to be time to get up and see if Santa came.
I remember - but it doesn't make me any more sympathetic now that it's my kid's turn to be frantic with excitement.
I just want them to sleep until it's daylight outside.

My head feels full. So many things to remember, plan out, do.
Every day the list seems insurmountable.

Then in a flash the presents are open and the food is eaten.

I have a deep dislike of anti-climax.
It makes the weeks of preparation and work seem futile.
It's depressing.

This year I had a grand idea.
(There should be an uh-oh in your head about now.)

"Let's take a vacation!" I say.

"Great." says the husband.

Now the smart thing to do would have been to go to Hawaii with the rest of the Western United States.
Nothing kills post Christmas stress disorder faster than some Aloha! spirit.

Here's where the uh-oh comes in.
I elected to take us to Yosemite Valley in an RV.

A 22ft long, eight foot wide, tin can with an engine.
Two adults, two children, four feet of snow and -17 degree temperatures.

I put the vast majority of the contents of our house in it.
I cooked all week.
I emptied it and cleaned it when we got back.
Then I had to do the laundry - two full days worth of snow gear, warm clothes, linens and towels.
Yes, the husband helped but this is my story.

I have a special talent for jumping from the frying pan into the fire.
For choosing nature and adventure over spa and pampering.
When my body, mind and soul are screaming out for rest - I choose sledding.
All in the name of getting it right for the kids.

The holidays are hard and one day I will stop making them harder.

The Grinch in Disguise.

2010-12-23T14:24:00.000-08:00

This Santa thing is tricky.
The seven year old is beginning to ask questions but for the most part is still a dreamer and believer.

Still, we put a bit more effort in this year.
Separate paper for Santa.
Different gift tags for Santa written in a foreign hand.

Presents well hidden.
Three so well hidden that I can't actually find them!
I have 48 hours so keep your fingers crossed.

Today we did our last trip to the shops.
The girls wanted to pop in and see Santa before he heads out and I had a few last minute things to get.

In one store they had a rack of stocking stuffers. As I looked for a gift for the husband the girls busied themselves there.
I heard a lady say,
"Here you go Sweetie - this is for you."
Mommy radar up - I turn around to see a woman hand the two year old a toy from the rack.
It's cute, it lights up and flashes.
The two year old now believes it's hers.

I decide to wait it out - she'll put it down.
Nope. She is still clinging to it delightedly ten minutes later.

"Time to go" I say "Let's go put that back."

"No it's mine - the lady gave it to me."
I try to explain that the lady was just showing it to her and that it wasn't bought for her.

The tears flow.
The lady in question is still in the store and comes back over.
"I'm sorry, I think I may have caused that." She laments.

To the two year old she says,
"Honey, I need that to put in my son's stocking - can you give it back to me?"
Erm - not helping.

The two year old is now indignant. Why is the lady taking back a gift to give to someone else?
Enter sister of the lady, who states loudly,

"Why did you say that?"
(My question exactly.)
"Now you've told her that parents fill the stocking not Santa!"

The seven year old looks at me.

Are these ladies The Grinch in disguise?
I look around for a spade to hand them so they can dig themselves a bigger hole.
It could be funny - as each thing they say only continues to make the situation worse - but this is serious stuff when you are seven and two.

"Oh Santa leaves our presents under our tree, not in our stockings!"
I say emphatically or perhaps pleadingly.
The seven year nods with what I fear is a look of relief on her face.
There will be questions later.

We need to get out of there before the two crazy ladies start on The Tooth Fairy or Easter Bunny.
I remove the toy from the fierce grip of the two year old and we leave the store in a hail of screaming and tears.
Thankfully two year olds are easily distracted and I am staying home from now until Christmas morning.

Wishing those of you who celebrate it, a wonderfully Happy Christmas!

Dwell With Dignity.

2010-12-20T11:46:00.000-08:00

Claudia of Claudia Clobes Interiors is sponsoring a blog mash up to support this inspiring organization - Dwell With Dignity.

The season of over indulgence is upon us and I wanted to find some opportunities to give.
Dwell With Dignity caught my eye.

The challenge was to answer the question,

"My Childhood Bedroom Was...."

Who could resist a trip down memory lane while drawing attention to a good cause?

My Childhood Bedroom was cold.
We had no heating upstairs. In the winter I could snap icicles of the inside of my window.
My sister and I sucked them like popsicles.

It was also pink. And orange. It was the 70's.
I don't have pictures but the wall paper was a lot like this;

Not too bad as a swatch. Now imagine it floor to ceiling on all sides with clashing bedding and curtains.
It was 70's gawdy.

I even had a completely clashing stuffed rhinoceros - not unlike this one - on my bed. Why??

I shared a room with my sister who around age 12 could take it no more.
So we had a room makeover.
All of a sudden we had a pretty room. The headache inducing color clash was gone.
Instead we had contrasting Laura Ashley wallpaper.

It was pretty, sophisticated and girlie.
Then in what could only be described as a Granny Moment, I decided I wanted a rocking chair and china doll for Christmas.
I pictured myself sitting in it - reading.
I think I was old before my years - I should have just got an afghan blanket, some knitting and a membership to AARP and been done with it.

I was nine - I thought it was sophisticated.

If I had to choose between having that rhino or rocking horse now (I have the china doll) I think I'd choose Humphry.
Again, why??
Well, he was very good for a cuddle.

I hope you'll stop by Dwell With Dignity's website.

I also hope you'll stop by my fellow blog mashers.
They all have design websites so you are guaranteed more beauty than you found here.
Still, it was for a good cause.

The Dean Files

The Hidden List

Minted Condition

Kimberly Lewis

Santa's Little Helpers.

2010-12-14T12:55:00.000-08:00

Santa comes to our house. Each year the husband and I are his helpers.
We get a sitter and head out.

This year it was an EPIC FAIL.

First of all the main toy shop we planned to go to was closed.
Closed at 6pm, two weeks before Christmas.
I was surprised.

So, we went to the big box toy shop instead.
They carried everything we wanted but were out of stock of everything. we. wanted.

I found myself a little tearful.
My vision was of two parents having a festive shopping evening - maybe stopping for a class of wine.

We decided to drive ten miles to our last hope shop.
I had checked their website and it said at least one of the things we wanted was in store.
Nope. No. It wasn't.

So now we are down our babysitting dollars, a half tank of gas, have not had any dinner never mind a festive beverage, I am tearful and disappointed and Santa's sack is empty.

We decided to accept defeat and head home.
I am an advocate of shopping locally, supporting small business and living in the town where you live.

But, in the end, I assisted Santa at 11pm, from the comfort of my couch with a glass of wine and the assistance of Amazon.com.
They had everything on the wish list, shipped it for free and it will be here in two days.

Sometimes being a parent means compromise.

Saved!

2010-12-08T12:58:00.000-08:00

My Dad is a Minister. The religious rather than political kind.
Christmas is a big celebration for him.

He was never able to spend Christmas with us until he retired. He had to work!
So it was a momentous year for the seven year old when Grandad decided to fly here for Christmas.
She was four at the time.

Several weeks before the big arrival, we were all out in the car - when someone ran in front of us.
The husband had to brake hard to not hit him.
In his shock he swore. He said the name of a young man, important to all Christians, with an imminent birthday.
He said it loudly.

The four year old said it over and over all the way home.
Sigh.
The next morning she seemed to have forgotten and we didn't hear it from her again. Phew.
I am no fool though. I knew she would be saving it for a public airing.

Weeks went by and Grandad finally arrived. It was very exciting for the four year old. She had many plans for him.
His first morning he was in the living room with the four year old. I was in the half bathroom adjacent.
This is not a private privy - you can hear all the conversation from the living room.

I hear the two words I have been dreading - "Oh Jesus!"
Just in case anybody missed it - she says it again.
"OH JESUS!"

I am dying in the bathroom. My face is scarlet.
I am thinking that my Dad will be horribly offended.
Santa will not come. Christmas will be ruined.

I decide I will just have to go out there and explain and apologize.
I open the door in trepidation.
There is the four year old rocking the baby Jesus from our nativity in her arms...

Water, Water Everywhere.....

2010-12-03T12:26:00.000-08:00

You all know the routine. You lovingly pack a lunch everyday and every day it comes back mangled, messy and often barely eaten. So frustrating.
Prior to packing the lunch, you have planned, shopped, cooked and prepared.
The daily lunch box - the arch nemesis of parents.

You may not be surprised that in our house the big issue is not the lunch box.
It's the water bottle.

The seven year old goes to a school that has one day of class a week - outside.
They go up the mountain, to the beach, to Redwood groves.
They study science, play and ponder.
They go in all weathers.

Whether it is ninety degrees or cold and wet - the water bottle comes back full.
I drink about 30oz of water a day - how can she possibly not drink all day?

We have had many 'discussions' about it.
Culminating in me explaining dehydration. Really.
Still, the bottle comes back full.

This last nature day I issued the water bottle with what could only be described as a threat.
If she didn't drink her water, I would ask the Christmas Pixies to skip a day.
(Christmas Pixies - whole separate post.)
All you need to know today is that this is a big incentive for the seven year old to drink up.

The bottle came back empty.
I took one look at her and asked,
"How much did you pour out?"

If only I could have shown you her face.
A look that encompassed shock, surprise, questioning.
'How did she know?'
Then that sweet, little seven year old face crumpled.

What am I supposed to do.
She was so pleased with herself when she handed me the empty bottle - she thought I'd be happy.
I think in her mind it was the perfect solution.

So here we are - no water is being drunk and now the seven year old is paranoid.

Holiday Dilemma.

2010-11-29T12:30:00.000-08:00

I love my kids, I do.
I just would like a break to enjoy my adult life sometimes.

Sound familiar?

For me, the holidays heighten this.
Thanksgiving found us with three other families with young children.
We've known these people for years.
We used to have Thanksgiving together before the children were born.

In those days we enjoyed hot food with great conversation.
After dinner we played board games and laughed until our sides hurt.
It was really a great time.

This year we had our meal interrupted constantly by kids.
We barely finished a mouthful never mind a sentence before we met a child's need or want.
There were no games and instead of relaxing after the meal we had to get all the littles home to bed.

Our children were all delightful. They were not difficult or naughty. They were not particularly demanding.
They entertained us with song and little performances. They were just children.

This is the juggle of parenthood. I want to spend the holidays with my children. I want to create memories and traditions with them. I want them to remember the holidays as joy filled. I love creating special times with them. I just don't want it to be all I do at the holidays.
If I give them 100% I find it hard to enjoy some time as an adult. I don't get to relax. I don't get to really enjoy the meal. I do not get to have a full adult conversation.

How do I find balance? Is it just not possible while the kids are little?
How do you do it?

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

2010-11-25T09:17:00.000-08:00

I am thankful for safety, shelter and an abundance of love from family and friends.

I am thankful for my blog community.

I am thankful.

Bad Yoga.

2010-11-24T15:38:00.000-08:00

No wonder we moms have a reputation for confusing a ponytail with a hairstyle.
It's hard to get my teeth cleaned somedays - never mind a shower.
A hairstyle or make up - so unlikely.

After my BlogHer experience I had vowed to reclaim myself.
I promised I would shed my mom uniform of comfortable (read un-ironed) trousers and t-shirts.
That I would get my Susan Boyle brows groomed regularly and get a haircut more than twice a year.

I meant it. I really did.
I even signed up with a yoga studio to reclaim my pre-pregnancy body.

It all went well for a few months. Then the two year old noticed my absences.
I am an advocate for parents insisting on me time.
We get babysitters often. I'm really clear that I am a better mom if I get adult company or activity.

The difference is that going out at night seems OK with the two year old.
Daytime - not so.

She has started to wail at the sight of my yoga mat.
"Bad yoga! Bad yoga Mommy!"

"Don't go momma."
"Don't leave me!"
"I love you mommy -stay with me, I'll give you kisses."
Are just a few of the heart crushing pleas she has made.

No wonder we give in. No wonder we stay home.
Meanwhile our brows go ferrel.
Our thighs widen and our hair looses all semblance of a style.

I have kept up the yoga it's just that I do it yeti style.
There's only so much two year old distress I can cause.

Feedback.

2010-11-20T13:59:00.000-08:00

Have you read The Middle Place by Kelly Corrigan?
You should.

She's almost as funny and as good a writer as me - almost.
She has a new book out called Lift. It's on my Christmas wish list.

She came to our local book store the other night so I went along to hear her speak.

She really is funny.
Reading aloud from her book she talked about how bad she thinks she is at mothering.
It was hilarious. We all laughed uproariously - mostly because we feel the same way at least some of the time.
Also because they served wine before we ate and we were all a little tipsy.

Like her, I have had to suck a Riccola because I just shouted so hard at my kids my throat hurts.
I have said NO! before the seven year old has even finished her sentence.
I have been so unpleasant for no good reason (Ok it was hormones) that I haven't wanted to look at myself in the mirror,
for fear of the ugliness I will see on my face.

It got me thinking. The whole circle of life thing - really not well thought out.

You spend large parts of your childhood - or at least your teenhood feeling irritated and bitter at all the rules.
You complain to your friends how much your parents shout at you and ruin your life with their mere presence.
You vow you will never make your kids follow the stupid rules and you will NEVER shout at them.
You make your parents feel guilty and miserable.

You become a parent. You enforce rules and raise your voice almost every day - sometimes all day.
You hate yourself for it.
You now get what it was your parents were going through.
You feel bad for giving them such a hard time.
You are nicer to them.

Wouldn't the whole thing be a lot easier if we could have come to that realization aged seven?
Who's idea was developmental stages?
Why is the whole maturity thing something you have to earn?
Wouldn't it have been smarter to have us come in with emotional maturity when we need it?

I don't mean to criticize but it does seem there is room for improvement.
A celestial ideas box maybe.
Couldn't hurt.

It's Too Early.

2010-11-16T13:01:00.000-08:00

'It's too early' seems to be my war cry.

At 5.50am when the two year old decides to get up for the day.
When the seven year old wants to get her ears pierced or wear crop tops.

When we go to the Mall on the 14th of November and Santa is there.
Really?! Santa in mid-November?

Who do I write too to get this madness stopped?
Santa should NOT be allowed until December 1st at the very earliest.
As I remember, last year the Christmas music, decorations etc. all started the day after Thanksgiving.
Why the two week leap?

I am well aware that these decisions are driven by consumerism but do none of the people who make these decisions have children?
Do they not know that we now have to listen to Santa chatter for a full six weeks until the big day?

What if you don't celebrate Christmas - it really must feel like indoctrination.

As it was even the seven year old agreed. She was speechless when Santa asked her what she was hoping for.
When I asked her if she was shy - she told me that she was simply not ready.
Really - if a seven year old thinks it's too early - that's all we need to know.

The two year old ran up to Santa with great excitement and then put on the brakes about two feet from his boots exclaiming
"No want Santa!"

That makes about 300 million of us sweetpea.

Don't Drink The Water.

2010-11-10T13:46:00.000-08:00

Our deepest fear as parents is that something will be wrong with our children.
It can be a gut wrenching fear.

That fear has been unfounded for me.
I have two healthy, happy girls.

Except.
The seven year old has fluorosis.
It's not a a disabling or life threatening illness or condition but I find myself feeling quite devastated.

It effects her teeth.
They have flecking and are much more vulnerable to cavities.
She is likely to have dental issues for her whole life.
It is untreatable.

In the grand scale of things - not a big deal.
So why am I so upset?

Fluorisis is caused by too much flouride.
I had read about the over use of flouride in our systems when I was pregnant.
I did my research.
I went out of my way to buy flouride free toothpaste.
We spent the extra dollars on organics.

In vain.

Now with this diagnosis I find out that this is becoming a huge issue in American children.
Flourosis has been found in 30% of children in recent studies.
It's an emerging problem and already it is showing up in studies at 30%.

The seven year old's case is very mild.
If you want to really scare yourself Google it. The pictures are horrendous.

I am suspicious of GMO's, pesticide use and heavily processed food.
I am informed.
Yet, my child has been poisoned. By the water supply.
By food that is made with flouride heavy water.
Different states have different regulations - some use much more flouride in their water supplies than others.
I feel cheated, frustrated and guilty.

I am quite sure that at some point in the future the decision to put fluoride in our water will be reversed or at the very least greatly reduced. Too late for my child.

Had to share.

Death By Crayon.

2010-11-05T12:45:00.000-07:00

I don't much like macabre. I'm more the fluffy bunny type.
It's why our Halloween costumes bear no relevance to Halloween.

Our decorations are also jolly. Pumpkins, owls, cute scarecrow etc.
I only ever carve a happy face on my pumpkin.
You might say I'm a softy.

At school pick up the other day, the seven year brought me her Halloween work to take home.
She showed it to me with great pride and enthusiasm.

She loves working with beeswax and creates the most fabulous little scenes.
She had also drawn some pictures which had been on the wall.
A bat, a pumpkin - you get the idea.

Actually, let me show you:

It's so cute! Look at that witches hat - the detail. The bat is also really great - she cut it out herself.
I'm really impressed.
Then look at the gravestone.
Wait, it's a little out of the shot.
Here you go:

What in the HECK????

RIP Mom. I am so not OK with that.

Apparently, all the other kids did one with their own name on it but she wanted to do something 'special' for me.
Hmmmmm.

My only consolation is the date of death 7100.
I have a while.

It's Not Me - It's You.

2010-11-03T13:07:00.000-07:00

"What In The Heck?! " is the two year old's favorite phrase.
Usually stated very LOUDLY

I blame the seven year old.

I may have to take responsibility for "Great, that's just great" - who knew two year olds could pull off sarcasm?

Here's the thing about kids. They are always getting you in trouble.

"What in the heck!" from the mouth of a two year old is apparently unacceptable.
Frankly, considering what she might say I was pretty happy with heck.

I feel the scorn of Joe Public when she lets it fly at the store etc.

She is such a minx.

I think I'm going to take the power back. Next time she lets 'heck' fly in public I'm going to state loudly,

"Oh that's awful - using language like that, shocking!"

If I wear my best angelic smile maybe I can deflect the blame.
She said it after all - why am I taking the heat?

Deflection Parenting - my new approach.

Treat.

2010-11-01T12:47:00.000-07:00

I discovered something. If I don't go into Halloween stores - Halloween is a lot more fun.

I have a lot more money in my pocket.
My head is not full of bizarre images of horror or sexualized kids costumes.
My home is not full of plastic junk that will inevitably end up in the landfill.

Pulling a costume together from the dress up pile or closet is really funny and usually more creative.
The kids might not always be on board with that but ordering online or making it still allows me to skip the madness of the store.
Actually my kids were on board - I just couldn't pull off a realistic dinosaur so I purchased one.

We walked passed a Halloween store and the six foot 'Jason' figure at the door was enough to cause the two year old to burst into tears. I know that some people love that stuff but can't it be in the back so the 'littles' can get by mentally unscarred?

That experience aside - we had a great Halloween. We carved pumpkins and roasted the seeds. We trick and treated without scary incident. We overdosed on candy.
We like to do a family theme so this year we were the Flintstones.
Listening to a sleepy two year old muttering Yabba Dabba Do! in her car seat on the way home was priceless.

I am always aware that this is it - my children's childhood and I feel the weight of responsibility to 'get it right.'
If I do say so myself - job well done.

This Is The Place.

2010-10-29T12:30:00.000-07:00

Over the past few weeks I have been witness to a few 'mom meltdowns.'
Fully justified mom meltdowns, I should add.

The kind where a mom is deeply sleep deprived. The kind where the kids are acting out or sick.
That place we have all been and will get to go to again, all too soon.
Burned out, exhausted, frustrated, depleted.

Not the 'OMG! I asked for a latte and this is a Cappuccino' kind of meltdown that I also see all too often.

Without exception, each of these moms cried - understandable.
Without exception, each of them apologized for crying.
This is not so understandable.

Where did we go wrong in our culture that we feel the need to apologize for crying?
Crying because we are at the end of our rope.
Crying because it is so hard to get through the day we just can't see how we're going to continue.
We seem to be universally embarrassed to cry.

I would like to declare a - This Is The Place Policy.
When you are at mom's group, girl's night out, on the phone with a friend, reading your favorite parenting blog - This Is The Place. This is where you can cry, meltdown and whine with impunity.
NO APOLOGIES necessary.
Scratch that no apologies ALLOWED.

No feeling that you are bringing down the mood.
No thinking you need to put on a front.
No thinking you are the only one who can't cope.

THIS IS THE PLACE.
To reach out.
To get a hug.
To hear supportive words and get advice.
To let it out.

Let's give ourselves and each other permission to be honest, vulnerable and get love and support in return - whenever, wherever we need it. Well maybe not at Weddings or Bat Mitzvahs but everywhere else.
Oooh I feel all warm and fuzzy now.

Killer Seaweed.

2010-10-27T13:15:00.000-07:00

A few years back I noticed that I was changing my parenting depending on the setting.
It was something that was very confusing to my daughter and inevitably left me feeling disappointed in myself.

It seemed I felt social pressure (imagined or real) to respond in a certain way instead of just being consistent with our usual responses. Once I was aware of the chaos it caused - I stopped doing it.
Aaah - much better.

Until yesterday.

If you haven't had the toasted seaweed snack from Trader Joe's - run, don't walk, to get some.
The seven year old LOVES it. I put it in her snack pack most days.

She came to me and asked if she could have a whole packet each day. I said no.

"Pleeeeeze - everyone else gets a whole packet."

I stayed firm.
Until yesterday.

We slept in. Just a little - but we were really rushing for the bus.
Rather than open a packet of the beloved seaweed, remove some and place it in a separate container - I tossed the packet in.
As I was doing it - I thought - 'She'll be so happy that I let her be like everyone else."
She was. Then it happened.

It - was the eating of The Silica Packet.
She thought it was a little bag of crystalized sugar that I'd put in as a treat.

You can imagine the scenario at school when the teacher noticed. The Poison Control center was called. There were some moments of panic which the seven year old took as an indication she was going to die.
She cried for 40 minutes.

I felt horrible. Why have I never pointed out silica packets before? How could I not have warned her or removed it?
(FYI - Silica is non-toxic to humans. The reasons it is labelled so dramatically is because of choking hazard regulations.)
Lesson learned. Stick to my methods.

There are just some moments in parenting that you can never be prepared for. Sigh.

Feeling Bullied.

2010-10-25T12:39:00.000-07:00

I went to a great lecture this past week.
It was on bullying. It's a huge issue in the news right now.
The stories of bullied teens driven to suicide are truly heartbreaking.

I wanted to know what bullying really means and how it may look for my seven year old.
The speaker was Kim John Payne. If you can get to go hear him talk - go.

I found out that the USA is the only country in the western world that does not have a government mandated bullying management program in it's schools. Wow.

I also found out that one of the major reasons children bully is stress. They bully in an attempt to exert control in their over controlled lives.
Studies conducted in the US, the UK and Australia have found that over-scheduling and too much media are the leading causes of stress from sensory bombardment. Then there are the hours of homework.
Children are feeling pressured and just plain tired.
They don't have free time to just be. Eventually, they feel uncomfortable when they are doing nothing.
It's a stressful pace for their young minds and bodies.

It's confusing - there are so many great after school activities. They want to do them.
If they are asking to do them and all their friends are doing them - then we're not stressing them right?
The exponential rise in bullying rates, ADD, ADHD suggest otherwise.

I don't know about you but I have felt guilty about not having my kids in ballet or music or swimming lessons.
I have felt that I am not giving them a 'well rounded' education.
We are supposed to enrich them with sports and arts - if the amount of classes that are available is anything to go by.
I feel social pressure to have my child be very busy. Social pressure is just another phrase for bullying. Ironic no?

What did you do as a kid?
From when I was seven I went to Brownies once a week.
In my teens I did drama and choir. Three things for my entire childhood.
Lots of five year olds I know do three things a week.

It was all fantastic food for thought.
I love it when I get practical information that makes sense.
I love that I now I have tools to deal with the scary issue of bullying.
I love that allowing my children to sit and draw or dig in the garden at home might be the best thing I can do for them.

If you want to know more - this is a great book:
Simplicity Parenting

Fresh Out.

2010-10-22T14:29:00.001-07:00

I am all out of:

- Enthusiasm for making the remaining two of four Halloween costumes for our family.

- Patience for the endless comedy found in pee, poo, peep and wiener talk in our home (or car.)

- The skill to change the use of 'childish' names for body to parts to the actual names of body parts.

- Energy for the marathon weekend of activities ahead.

- Time to get anything, I'd like to get, done.

- Motivation to tidy up the house (for the third time today.)

- Witty, clever blog posts.

- Milk.

Which do you think concerns me most?

Do It Anyway.

2010-10-20T14:02:00.000-07:00

I read a great line on someone's blog - sadly I wasn't able to find it again to credit her,
but it went something like this...

"We need people to volunteer - they feel too busy. It's true, we are busy. Do it anyway."

Love that. I decided to make it my new mantra.
As I emerge from the cocoon of having an infant, nursing, nap schedules - it's time.

I may have gone too far. I almost killed myself this past weekend.
I organized a benefit garage sale and volunteered as a waitress at a benefit event.
It was a 14 hour day of lugging, hauling and being on my feet.
I could hardly move the next day. Tricky when you have a two and seven year old to look after.

It was worth it. Why?

My girls sold their own toys with a smile on their faces, knowing they were buying a new smile for a child with a cleft palate.
They felt really good about themselves especially when I told them we had raised enough money to buy two surgeries - two smiles!

I really enjoyed my evening - we created a beautiful event and the guests had a really good time.
I did something that wasn't being a mom for a few hours.

It feels good to do good.
It's a feeling I've missed. When I was a kid we helped others a lot.
We drove people to medical appointments. We performed our school play at the local nursing home.
We delivered food boxes to the elderly.
We did sponsored walks and charity bake sales.

I see less and less of those things going on. I see the occasional bake sales but they are often to fund uniforms or sports equipment. Not unworthy causes at all but they lack the greater community spirit that seems to be fast dissolving in our culture and times.

If we don't teach our children the joy of giving back, the importance of helping others - what will happen when they might need help?
If we don't teach them a love of community what kind of society will they live in?
If they don't see the problems of the world as partly their problems - what kind of leaders will they become?

I spend so much time thinking about my parenting and what kind of values I want to teach my children.
I had forgotten that teaching by example is most probably the best kind of teaching there is.

Fear Factor.

2010-10-18T11:57:00.000-07:00

When I was about ten, a little girl was abducted from my hometown. It was not a happy ending.
Obviously, I still remember it - so it made an impact.

What it didn't do was change my life. I was still allowed to play outside with my friends without adults present.
I knew about it but I didn't fear that it would happen to me.
I slept peacefully.

I did not see hundreds of pictures of the little girl, her home, her bedroom.
Her face was not plastered on magazines at the supermarket checkout.
I did not hear about every child abducted in the entire country for the past 50 years.
I did not listen to endless speculation on the radio or TV news.

Every parent has to make their own decision about their child's safety but I do wonder how much we are influenced by
the current culture of media saturation.
Is it a helpful reminder or does it fill us with unfounded fears?

Planes can crash but we do ride on them.
Car accidents can be fatal but we get in our cars daily.
Bacon can lead to a heart attack but we still eat it.

Yet, if we let our kids wander more than 20 feet away from us - we are criticized.

As I try to find the balance of building confident young women who can make positive, strong choices for themselves - how much risk do I take to get there?

If I don't let them wander a little, if I don't let them flex their independence how will they ever learn?

If I expose them to the full horrors of the world will they be able to set them aside or will they live with fear as a constant companion?

I want to make my own decisions based on my experiences. On the realities of where and how we live.
I don't want fear to be disproportionate.
The more I venture down the parenting path - the more Amish inclined I become.

Easy Does It.

2010-10-13T13:05:00.000-07:00

Seriously - my parents had it so easy.

School came with lunch - no daily lunch packing for them.

We walked to school - no school bus, carpool or commute.

We played outside with the neighborhood kids every day after school - no constant play date co-ordination.

We wore school uniform - no daily struggle over what to wear, what works with dress code and what is weather appropriate.

Family lived locally - no flights to see Grandma AND free babysitting.

Birthdays parties were always at our homes - they involved playing games and eating cake.
No competition entertainment and goody bags - like bouncy's, magicians and face painting princesses (at $250 an hour.)

We didn't have a computer and TV had only four channels - all of which had a government imposed watershed, so no sex, violence or bad language until after 9pm. No constantly monitoring what the kids are exposed to media wise.

Disneyland was in another country so we didn't even consider we could go there - no weekly pleading for a date with Mickey.

So I know that several of the things I've listed are optional and sit firmly in the privileged camp but let's face it - no daily lunch packs is enough to stir up huge envy.

I think I'll call them now and tell them how lucky they were. That should go well.

10/10/10

2010-10-10T22:10:00.000-07:00

There seems to be a little ripple in the blogging world.
Word is that you should post something special today in honor of the unusual date.

I am clean out of special.

I am slam dunk in ordinary.
I get up earlier than I'd like. Make breakfast that will be mostly uneaten by the two year old.
Make second (hobbit) breakfast a short while later for still hungry children.
Tidy up house, only to watch two children methodically undo all tidying as I go.
Participate in some child centered activity.

Put two year old down for nap.
Deal with half an hour of nap resistance.

Find a quiet activity to occupy the seven year old.
Make lunch for the seven year old.

Pack lunch for the two year old.
Get everyone ready to go out once two year old wakes.
Retrieve, now awake, two year old - change diaper.

Head out.
Drive whilst providing in car food service to two year old.

Participate in some child centered activity.

Drive home. Begin making dinner.
Spend half an hour trying to ensure dinner is actually ingested.
Tidy up dinner.

Begin bedtime routine.

Come downstairs sleepy and hungry.
Make dinner for self and husband.

Collapse on couch. Go to bed.

Not very special at all.

Or is it?

Let's review.

Wake to the sounds of my children laughing and playing.
Take their tiny hands in mine and marvel at their soft skin as we go downstairs to get breakfast.
Have fun with food like making raspberry finger tops or smiley face pancakes.

Make some Halloween decorations and discuss our costume options.

Put two year old down for nap and snigger at her inventive stalling techniques.

Spend some quality time with seven year old.

Make lunches and feel the satisfaction of nurturing my children with food.

Head out to some child centered activity like a Pumpkin Patch where I can sneak onto the bouncy in the guise of needing to help the two year old and do somersaults when no-one is looking.

Bring home sleepy, hungry but happy children and sing songs in the car on the way.

Cook dinner and spend half an hour trying to have it be ingested. OK that one just sucks but you can't have everything.

Snuggle with my girls in their cozy beds while I revisit the fabulous books of my childhood with them.
(Currently - Paddington Bear.)

Head downstairs for some quality time with the husband.

Pretty special after all.

Night Light.

2010-10-07T20:16:00.000-07:00

The two year old keeps waking in the middle of the night and shouting for me.

When I go to her she states very clearly,

"I don't want the light on."

Fair enough. One problem - the light isn't on.

She has been doing this for a few weeks.
Same story, every night.
I've stopped going to her and she now settles down after a few minutes.

I have to admit to being a bit spooked.
What is the light she sees?
Is there a prowler with a flashlight?
Is it a celestial being?
Fireflies?

Who really knows what goes on in the mind of a two year old?

That's it - I'm sleep deprived and spooked - what more do you want from me?

To Each Their Own.

2010-10-04T12:14:00.000-07:00

We chose a Waldorf Inspired school (Steiner for you Europeans) for the seven year old.
I spend a lot of time feeling like I have to defend that choice.

The main sticking point seems to be the media policy.
Our school recommends very limited exposure to media.

I liked that idea. It allows my child to use her imagination.
Once a picture from a film or TV is planted in your brain it is hard to remove.
Show a child from the Western world a clown fish and they will say "Nemo."

It also allows my child her childhood.
I am often told "I watched movies and TV as a kid - it never did me any harm."
If that's true - good for you.
It is not true for me.
I was traumatized by most of the movies I saw - Bambi for one and don't get me started on the child catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
Those images caused me nightmares and fear.

I"m not sure we need to experience fear to that degree when we're little.

I know snuggling up with your kids on movie night is a lovely experience but if the movie scares them - who was it fun for?
The formula for 'kids' movies always seems to involve the death of a parent and a scary character - so that good can triumph over evil.
In my experience kids under eight don't need a moral lesson. A story about a bunny who meets his friends in the woods, has a picnic and plays some games is perfectly entertaining when you are five.

Violent, brutally violent, TV is on or advertised 24/7 nowadays. Once the TV is on the chances of accidental exposure are upped significantly. In my view commercials have no place in a child's mind at all.
We once found the three year old downstairs at four in the morning watching a Jackie Chan movie.
She woke - thinking it was morning, got up and since no-one was around turned the TV on. She didn't know about channel changing so she watched the channel we had left it on.
Since it was 4am and she seemed perfectly happy, don't think I wasn't tempted to get her a bag of popcorn so I could go back to bed.

Don't get my wrong - I don't think there's no place for media.
I have used it as a babysitter so I could get a shower or just simply a break.
We use pre-screen DVD's with simple stories and slow paced editing.
The seven year old has seen our selections many times. It doesn't bother her.
The need for variety is usually parent driven.

In return my child sleeps peacefully, is wonderfully ignorant of scary characters and does not want to wear clothes more appropriate for a teen.
For me it's a trade that is worthwhile.
I have been asked what is wrong with High School Musical - it's right there in the title, there's nothing wrong with it - if you're in High School.
The themes in it are too mature for a seven year olds brain. That doesn't mean she can't understand it - it just means she might understand it in a way that's counter productive.

I want to read classic books to her and let her find her own vision of it. I want her to discover the joy of reading a fabulous book and have it spark a wonderful world in her head. If you've already seen the movie - I believe that opportunity is lost forever.

The fabulous library of movies I want to share with her are all still there - waiting until she's just a little bit older and ready to move out of the cocoon of early childhood.

The defense rests.

Enough About Me.

2010-09-29T12:42:00.000-07:00

Is there anything more heart warming than watching your child in their element?

The seven year old is doing a class play this week.
I went to help at the dress rehearsal.
Several boxes of kleenex later....

She is a villager and a comet (!)

As the villager she is earnest. She does all the actions enthusiastically and sings with gusto.
Very cute.
Then she does a quick change to become a comet.

Suddenly she was so graceful and confident.
She was clearly feeling proud of her costume and swept across the stage with finesse and the biggest possible smile on her face.
When did she become this young lady? Able to pull off a costume change and portray two characters so seamlessly.

There is something so bittersweet about seeing your child this way.
Confident, self assured.
It's what I want for her, of course but it's just another reminder that she no longer needs me as much as she used to.

So there you have it - I went to watch my kid in her play and managed to turn it around to being about me and how I don't want her to grow up so quickly.
Where do I pick up my parenting Oscar?

Tying Myself In Knots.

2010-09-27T12:49:00.000-07:00

Apparently, I am determined to complicate my life.

Last Christmas the seven year old asked Santa for a Pillow Pet after seeing the commercial.
I was uninspired by the choice but we have a rule about the letter to Santa.
The rule is that if we give her the option of writing to Santa then we should honor her wish.

So, that was the goal. Reality had other ideas.
The Pillow Pet she wanted was out of stock.
I found a similar product and it made it's way to Santa's sack.

She loves it. It has been her constant companion.
Until.
A few weeks ago she saw the Pillow Pet commercial again.
We don't watch TV so commercials are rarely seen.

She asked. I said no.
She pleaded. I said no.
She came back with a business proposal.
She would work to earn the money and buy it herself. I agreed.

On Saturday we set off to get the much wanted pillow pet.
Her delight was delicious.
Her smile was body wide.
Pillow Pet in arms we came home.

The two year old greeted us at the door.
"You got me a Pillow Pet!' she squealed.
(My fears about the powers of advertising is another post.)

Oh dear God.
What was I thinking?
How could I bring home one cute, fluffy, cuddly pillow?

I decided that we would handle the situation in line with our morals and ethics.
We don't just get something because we want it or because someone else has it.

We tried distraction. We reacquainted the two year old with some of her existing cute cuddlies.
She sobbed. She was still sobbing at dinner time.

"She'll have forgotten about it by tomorrow" I confidently state.

She created us at 6.35am with..
"I want Pillow Pet" in the saddest voice you have ever heard.

We were outside the store for it opening.

Help A Mother Out.

2010-09-25T19:33:00.000-07:00

I have some serious concerns about the state of our society.
I am fully aware that this ages me and it is true that I find Police officers to be ridiculously young.
I did somewhat recently, on meeting the pilot of the plane I was about to board, ask him when his father would be along to fly the plane.....

That aside. I worry.
I worry that we have moved so far away from the village living mentality that there's no going back.
That our focus is so inward that our sense of community is lost.

Becoming a parent has definitely heightened this for me.
Having strangers that I pay be the primary support for me is very different from how I grew up.
When I was a kid - we went to family or neighbors for help and support.

Yesterday was a tough day. The two year old was testing her boundaries. I know the drill but it's exhausting.
Not to mention infuriating.
When we picked up the seven year old from school we all headed to the fabric store.
The seven year old is in a play next week and I have a costume to make.

Two minutes into the store I saw that it was all going to go horribly wrong.
I was thrown into an all too common dilemma.
The two year old was tearing the store apart - we needed to leave.
If we leave the seven year old feels punished for the two year old's behavior AND we don't have what we need to start making the costume.

I decided to stick it out. I did my best distraction techniques and told the seven year old to make some speedy choices.
She did.
We got in line. The line was 15 or so people long. We needed to wait for everyone to get their fabrics cut to length.
It was going to take a while.
We did OK for ten minutes.
Then, inevitably, the two year old melted down.
Her tantrum was ear splittingly loud.

Two older women muttered about how I should leave. Yet another asked me if I could "quieten her down." (What with - duct tape?)
The counter staff chatted with each customer and showed no sense of urgency to get the long line moving.
I know I was weary and frazzled but what happened to helping each other out?
Not one person in that line offered to let me go ahead.
I had one bolt of fabric - it was clear we would be quick.
Wouldn't it have worked for everyone to get me and the screaming banshee out of there?

I know we all look back with rose tinted glasses but I know that when I was a kid someone in that line would have spoken up.
Maybe they would have simply helped me distract the two year old. More likely they would have said "You get ahead."

It was clear that no-one in that line thought to help me out. What they did find time to do was judge or ignore. Leaving me feeling unskilled and lonely. I know we ALL have busy lives but isn't there time for community? Isn't there time for humanity?
What happened to the warm fuzzy you get from your good deed for the day?

I'm aware it was just a bad day. I'm aware that there are so many people who need so much more help and support but is that where we have got to? We only think about helping when the need is dire.

It's something I've been noticing for a while. I rarely am waved out by another driver. I wasn't offered the available chair when I was pregnant.
I find it sad. Even if that makes me sound old.

Addendum!
A friend sent me this - interesting, eloquent. Worth watching - on this topic.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l7AWnfFRc7g

Shower Me Happy.

2010-09-22T12:35:00.000-07:00

I write my best posts in the shower.

By the time I get out of the shower, get half dried and half dressed (because the kids are already demanding my attention)
the brilliant post that was in my head is already half gone.

If I'm lucky I can write down some notes. Even so a note that says 'diapers' could mean a post idea or a shopping list after I get distracted changing one.

In the shower - my posts are witty, clever, provocative.
They are the perfect length to draw you in but leave you with a witty punch line, wanting more.
They are creative, original and inspiring.

In the shower, I love being a blogger all the time.
I never have writer's block.
I find my children hilarious and adorable.
They are endlessly entertaining and I can't wait to share their stories with you.

Maybe it's the hot, steamy water massaging my tired muscles.
Maybe it's the lack of interruption (most of the time.)
Maybe it's just that everything is better in the shower - my singing, my skin.
Even a cry feels more productive in the shower.
Perhaps I should start cooking there...

It seems ironic, cruel even, that I don't get nearly enough showers.
Yesterday I went to yoga at 9am and got my shower at 9pm.
Can we say ewwww. Honestly, I was just pleased I got one at all.
Maybe it's for the best.
If I showered everyday my writing would be prolific and I would most likely be published and about to set out on a worldwide book tour. Hotel showers are never very good.

I know I'm not alone in my shower genius. I know that I have read about various multi million dollar or life saving ideas that originated in the shower.
Why hasn't anybody invented the waterproof notepad or laptop?

Hang Loose.

2010-09-19T19:50:00.000-07:00

So I've lived in California for 16 years. More than that I've lived in Northern California.
Home of the liberal, tree hugging hippie.

It was an adjustment - I grew up in a a religious, traditional home.
It turns out it came fairly easily to me. I seem to be equal parts Celt and Crunchy.

This week, however, I had two firsts.

I went to see a pre-school for the two year old. I am ready for some time to myself.
You know, so I can go to the gynaecologist, dermatologist, dentist and psychotherapist.
Some high quality 'me' time.

I went to look at a place that is very close to our home and has a good reputation locally.
I took the tour. It was your standard fare - kids, toys, little chairs and tables.
I liked it but didn't love it.
Then they handed me the application.
Here are the first several questions:

What color is your child most of the time?

If your child were a landscape, what would they look like?

If you were to create a landscape of your child, what mediums would you use?

Describe your child with an adjective and an element.

What plant would your child be and where in the garden would they grow?

If you think these questions are beautiful - stop reading now.

First of all - an adjective is a describing word right?

Secondly - these are two year olds. They like to play and eat.
They do not share toys well and will likely cry when their parents leave.
They will never admit to needing to sleep or pee.

I am a Waldorf mom - I like the idea that children are seen as individuals.
I want their teachers to get to know them.
I am still unclear how knowing if they are a Fica or a Daisy helps.
Aren't plants a subjective thing?
Wouldn't it be simpler to just say shy, or social?
Not to mention a little more sane.......

Next, inspired by my friend over at A Lil' Welsh Rarebit I decided to take action on the unwanted baby pounds. I signed up for Yoga classes.

I turned up early and fought the wish to leave. I placed my mat near the middle of the room and then he came in.
He was about fifty and clearly experienced in yoga.
He placed his mat DIRECTLY in front of mine.
That would have all been fine but for his outfit.
He was wearing a white vest and tangerine, velour shorts. More bloomers really. They had elastic around the legs.

I really hope I painted a good visual for you. I had to downward dog with tangerine, velour bloomers in my face.
I can tell you for fact that he was commando under those bloomers.
Is this a California citizenship test?

No, just another day in Parentville.

Envelope Please....

2010-09-18T12:09:00.000-07:00

And the winners of the Eucerin gift bags are:

Andrea D

Jenn @ My Kind Of Strange

and

Eva Gallant

Watch out for UPS!

Thanks for playing.