Okay, after all my bitching and complaining about all I have to do, and how can I find time for it all, I get to have the opposite this weekend. I am traveling to Northern California to go to Lake Tahoe with my sister and her husband's family. This is by myself--without my husband and kids. I go to Northern California every fall to visit with my sister.
I don't think there is a person in the world who gets me better. She's like the other half of my brain and soul. We have been each other's best friend and confidant since we were little girls. When she moved away, I knew that it would be so important for us to continue to keep the lazy togetherness of our childhood alive--times when we just sit together in the same room, but don't need to talk, and then we can talk for hours, long into the night about ANYTHING. Our unusual sister-bond is remarkable by most standards, and I long to spend time with her. Now it's here.
I can't think of a better place to rejuvenate than Lake Tahoe. I intend to suck in the mountain air until my lungs are filled with the richness of fall. I'm going to knit (I'm making a scarf for T2's Hermione costume), watch movies, and sleep. Oh, glorious sleep.
And at home, I know everything will be fine. DG is a superdad. He actually is excited to take the kids to all their activities (Oh boy, it's a lot too--a future post that I am definitely itching to get out--lots of opinions). Two soccer games on Saturday, two different classes for both kids today at different locations during the same time. DG'll get a taste of mom taxi for sure.
And when I get back, I'll hug them and I'll be a better mommy because I'll get to remember who I am. Do you ever take time for yourself away from home without the kids?
Friday, October 8, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Toppling Plates Revisited
So the balance theme continues to permeate my posts, and sometimes, I gotta say, I find it so redundant. I mean EVERY mom deals with this, right? Meanwhile, maybe that's why it gets so much attention--because we all deal with it. As an older mom, I had a lifetime of experience before I had kids. When your life changes so dramatically, and you keep trying to have parts of the old life peppered into the new one, there's going to be some roadblocks. I'm getting more creative in navigating roadblocks and finding detours that I didn't even know existed.
I took some actions last week to try to get past my roadblocks and find fulfillment in my varied life. (I know--this is a quality problem--sometimes I feel like I don't even have a right to complain because my life is so blessed, but here goes anyway.)
First, I wanted to try going offline for a while. No reading and commenting on blogs, no Twitter (okay--that one's easy to fit in, so I only stayed away from that for 3 days), no Facebook. I found I was focused and productive in my job and present with my children. I was in mono-tasking mode. Felt very old school, but strangely rewarding--for a time.
I assessed things that are important to me. Is it important that my kids get to every single soccer practice or dance class in the week? Not really. What is important to me is taking care of myself physically, emotionally, and creatively. I have one of those unfortunate, narcissistic personality traits of wanting other people to see me as a vibrant and valuable participant in all I do. In all the roles of my life--wife, mother, professor, blogger, crafter, writer, cook, and volunteer--I want people to see that I'm doing a good job. And while this has always been important to me, I am starting to shift toward seeing what I do as good enough for me regardless of what anyone else thinks.
I made a schedule. In order to fit in everything I want to do in my day, I had to come to the realization that I can't do everything everyday. It's got to be compartmentalized. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday-- work out. Tuesday, Thursday, Friday--writing. Like that. Scheduling is what I hound down my students' throats on a daily basis. It's about time I tried it myself.
I forgave myself. I can't be all things to all people. I'm a perfectionist, and trying to stay the perfect everything is exhausting and demoralizing. I downsizing my big personality.
I don't know how long this new "c'est la vie" attitude will last, but I'm going to keep working on it.
I took some actions last week to try to get past my roadblocks and find fulfillment in my varied life. (I know--this is a quality problem--sometimes I feel like I don't even have a right to complain because my life is so blessed, but here goes anyway.)
First, I wanted to try going offline for a while. No reading and commenting on blogs, no Twitter (okay--that one's easy to fit in, so I only stayed away from that for 3 days), no Facebook. I found I was focused and productive in my job and present with my children. I was in mono-tasking mode. Felt very old school, but strangely rewarding--for a time.
I assessed things that are important to me. Is it important that my kids get to every single soccer practice or dance class in the week? Not really. What is important to me is taking care of myself physically, emotionally, and creatively. I have one of those unfortunate, narcissistic personality traits of wanting other people to see me as a vibrant and valuable participant in all I do. In all the roles of my life--wife, mother, professor, blogger, crafter, writer, cook, and volunteer--I want people to see that I'm doing a good job. And while this has always been important to me, I am starting to shift toward seeing what I do as good enough for me regardless of what anyone else thinks.
I made a schedule. In order to fit in everything I want to do in my day, I had to come to the realization that I can't do everything everyday. It's got to be compartmentalized. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday-- work out. Tuesday, Thursday, Friday--writing. Like that. Scheduling is what I hound down my students' throats on a daily basis. It's about time I tried it myself.
I forgave myself. I can't be all things to all people. I'm a perfectionist, and trying to stay the perfect everything is exhausting and demoralizing. I downsizing my big personality.
I don't know how long this new "c'est la vie" attitude will last, but I'm going to keep working on it.
Friday, September 17, 2010
When the Spinning Plates Begin to Topple
I work at a job that I love. After a disappointing undergraduate experience that I barely passed, I finally found my passion in my late 20s and decided to go for it. This meant another 3 years of graduate school, teaching part-time at 3 or 4 different community colleges for a few more years as a "freeway flyer," and finally landing a tenured position teaching (as opposed to "publishing") at an institution of higher learning a full 11 years after I finished my undergraduate degree.
I remember sitting in my office in my first semester and the president of the college, a good 'ol boys' good 'ol boy, came in to see me, and, in the course of our conversation, he said, "You know, this is the best job in the world. And even more so for a woman (as an aside, what you need to know about this guy is that he later was removed from a Chancellorship for sexual harassment and indiscretions. Not really the most tactful with the ladies). There's a lot of flexibility when you have your children." Well, of course I was offended. "What?" I thought. "Do you have any idea what I went through to land this job? There were 120 applicants for my job. If you think for one minute I'm going to throw it away for a life of wiping snotty noses, you've got another thing coming, buddy." Besides, I was single--no sign of a husband or children on the horizon, so I was good, I thought.
But I did get married, and I did have children. And he was right. I took off for 6 months after the babies were born. I taught at night so I could be home with them during the day. I taught online, logging in at night and on weekends and in snippets of time between feedings and diaper changes. I do work outside the home now, so I use the after-school program a few days a week. I can mold my schedule so that I can stay at work late a couple of days and still be available to drive the kids around to their throngs of extra curricular activities.
This is dreamy, is it not? It's the ideal situation that so many working moms crave--a chance to be fulfilled and stimulated intellectually while still being able to be the nurturing, available caregiver. I presumably have the best of both worlds. If that's the case, then why do I feel like I'm floundering in both of these areas for which I have a huge responsibility? The balance I'm so craving seems far outside my reach right now.
I recently read a report on the myth of multitasking. The report states that people don't technically use their brains doing more than one thing at a time, but rather, their brains are actually shifting in rapid-fire succession between things. I feel like this is what I'm doing all the time. I mean, even in the course of writing this post, I've had to get up to let the dog out and pause to give my son some homeopathic drops for the cough that is keeping him up and in my face. Not only am I physically torn away from the moment, but my brain is rapidly moving back and forth like a schizophrenic metronome. I am, therefore, failing a little bit at everything I do. I don't want to be perfect, but I would like to feel a little more peace.
Recently I found myself wanting to retire from my job--not quit, not get another job--retire. Obviously a momentary lapse in reasoning and logic, right? I was longing for more time to read and write for my own personal fulfillment, and retirement seemed the only reasonable way that this could happen? Clearly I've got to make some changes. What those need to be, I don't know.
But I do know this. I have an obligation to both my job and my family. I have to keep the job (without it, the family would not have health insurance) and I have to raise the kids. I have a responsibility to be present and wholly focused on each one when I'm engaged with it. I need to make space in my life for those little moments that absolutely make time race.
How can I do this? Am I just chasing the mythological life of the Supermom? Will my brain explode as I try to tweet about my kids' morning routine while preparing for my class while driving in the car? Something's gotta give.
How do you balance personal fulfillment with parenting?
I remember sitting in my office in my first semester and the president of the college, a good 'ol boys' good 'ol boy, came in to see me, and, in the course of our conversation, he said, "You know, this is the best job in the world. And even more so for a woman (as an aside, what you need to know about this guy is that he later was removed from a Chancellorship for sexual harassment and indiscretions. Not really the most tactful with the ladies). There's a lot of flexibility when you have your children." Well, of course I was offended. "What?" I thought. "Do you have any idea what I went through to land this job? There were 120 applicants for my job. If you think for one minute I'm going to throw it away for a life of wiping snotty noses, you've got another thing coming, buddy." Besides, I was single--no sign of a husband or children on the horizon, so I was good, I thought.
But I did get married, and I did have children. And he was right. I took off for 6 months after the babies were born. I taught at night so I could be home with them during the day. I taught online, logging in at night and on weekends and in snippets of time between feedings and diaper changes. I do work outside the home now, so I use the after-school program a few days a week. I can mold my schedule so that I can stay at work late a couple of days and still be available to drive the kids around to their throngs of extra curricular activities.
This is dreamy, is it not? It's the ideal situation that so many working moms crave--a chance to be fulfilled and stimulated intellectually while still being able to be the nurturing, available caregiver. I presumably have the best of both worlds. If that's the case, then why do I feel like I'm floundering in both of these areas for which I have a huge responsibility? The balance I'm so craving seems far outside my reach right now.
I recently read a report on the myth of multitasking. The report states that people don't technically use their brains doing more than one thing at a time, but rather, their brains are actually shifting in rapid-fire succession between things. I feel like this is what I'm doing all the time. I mean, even in the course of writing this post, I've had to get up to let the dog out and pause to give my son some homeopathic drops for the cough that is keeping him up and in my face. Not only am I physically torn away from the moment, but my brain is rapidly moving back and forth like a schizophrenic metronome. I am, therefore, failing a little bit at everything I do. I don't want to be perfect, but I would like to feel a little more peace.
Recently I found myself wanting to retire from my job--not quit, not get another job--retire. Obviously a momentary lapse in reasoning and logic, right? I was longing for more time to read and write for my own personal fulfillment, and retirement seemed the only reasonable way that this could happen? Clearly I've got to make some changes. What those need to be, I don't know.
But I do know this. I have an obligation to both my job and my family. I have to keep the job (without it, the family would not have health insurance) and I have to raise the kids. I have a responsibility to be present and wholly focused on each one when I'm engaged with it. I need to make space in my life for those little moments that absolutely make time race.
How can I do this? Am I just chasing the mythological life of the Supermom? Will my brain explode as I try to tweet about my kids' morning routine while preparing for my class while driving in the car? Something's gotta give.
How do you balance personal fulfillment with parenting?
Sunday, September 5, 2010
"Mr. D, your house is on fire!"
"Hang up and call 911! I'm on my way" were the words I heard my husband scream as I was on the other line with his assistant last Tuesday. "The housekeeper called," the assistant said. "Your house is on fire."
Shock. Stumble. No. It can't be. There must be some mistake. This can't be happening. I hung up the phone and went back in my office. "I think I need to go home," I quietly said as my co-workers started to rally me out the door.
These are not the words that you're ever supposed to hear. Disaster is something that befalls other people, and you sympathize, you send aid, you help them recover, but it doesn't happen to you. In my mind's eye, as I tried coolly to drive, I could see the flames melting my children's toys, my computer, all the memories of my life in photo albums and irreplaceable heirlooms. I imagined being homeless, trying to explain to my children when they came home from school that we'd rebuild our life, that this was a way for a fresh start. We'd be okay. Then I thought it can't be that bad. Stop going to the darkest, bleakest possibility. After all, the fire department was already on its way. The fire would be out by the time I got home.
I called DG. He sighed, "It's okay, the fire's out. Just get home and we'll deal with what we have to deal with."
I pulled up to my house as the fire engine was pulling away. I've seen this in the movies before; the main character drives down her street like she's done a million times before and sees the fire truck in front of her house. The same pit in my stomach rose into my throat. I tried to keep from crying.
DG and my housekeeper were in the garage. Burned debris was all over the driveway. Water pooled in places and trickled down into the gutter. "Thank God you're okay," I whimpered as I threw down my things and embraced my long-time housekeeper, the woman who brings gifts for my children every new year on 3 Kings day as is the custom in her country, Mexico, the woman who has been a part of our family for 15 years. "I tried to put it out, but when I put water on it, it got bigger."
"Thank you for saving our house," I said.
We were amazingly lucky. The fire burned a pile of things we were storing by the side of our house. An old dog crate, some toddler high chairs that attach to the table, boxes, potting soil, planting pots and mulch. As the flames rose up the wall and over the roof, they only burned external items. The electric meter was burned, the tankless water heater was fried, and a ceiling spot light in the eaves was melted, but nothing structural was damaged. The fire was against the wall and never entered the house.
The fire department did a thorough investigation. They went into the attic and took temperature measurements. Our electrician came out and checked our circuit breakers that turned off during the fire, saving the house from an electrical fire. The house was fine. We were fine. In a matter of 20 minutes from the time the fire started to the time it was out, we were fine.
How could this have happened? I wondered about all the junk I piled into that space, never once thinking that it could be dangerous. The fire department thinks a spark might have charged from a battery we had stored there for an electric scooter (you know, the kind that's like a wheelchair we used when my mom visited when she could still walk a little). Maybe it was from the potting soil or fertilizer. Just a hot patch with a piece of glass that caught the sun just right on the pile of what I now know was kindling? We'll never know. They put the cause as "indeterminate."
Our lives could have been irreversibly changed by an "indeterminate" cause. The possibility of what could have happened was infinitely worse than what did. DG and I followed nearer each other for the rest of the day. I hugged the children a little tighter when I picked them up from school. I thanked our housekeeper again and again for her quick thinking. If she hadn't been there...if this had happened on a Monday or Wednesday when we were at work....
But it didn't. The forces in the universe that make things happen when they do must have been looking out for us. Call it God or whatever you want, something went right that day, and I am so grateful.
Shock. Stumble. No. It can't be. There must be some mistake. This can't be happening. I hung up the phone and went back in my office. "I think I need to go home," I quietly said as my co-workers started to rally me out the door.
These are not the words that you're ever supposed to hear. Disaster is something that befalls other people, and you sympathize, you send aid, you help them recover, but it doesn't happen to you. In my mind's eye, as I tried coolly to drive, I could see the flames melting my children's toys, my computer, all the memories of my life in photo albums and irreplaceable heirlooms. I imagined being homeless, trying to explain to my children when they came home from school that we'd rebuild our life, that this was a way for a fresh start. We'd be okay. Then I thought it can't be that bad. Stop going to the darkest, bleakest possibility. After all, the fire department was already on its way. The fire would be out by the time I got home.
I called DG. He sighed, "It's okay, the fire's out. Just get home and we'll deal with what we have to deal with."
I pulled up to my house as the fire engine was pulling away. I've seen this in the movies before; the main character drives down her street like she's done a million times before and sees the fire truck in front of her house. The same pit in my stomach rose into my throat. I tried to keep from crying.
DG and my housekeeper were in the garage. Burned debris was all over the driveway. Water pooled in places and trickled down into the gutter. "Thank God you're okay," I whimpered as I threw down my things and embraced my long-time housekeeper, the woman who brings gifts for my children every new year on 3 Kings day as is the custom in her country, Mexico, the woman who has been a part of our family for 15 years. "I tried to put it out, but when I put water on it, it got bigger."
"Thank you for saving our house," I said.
We were amazingly lucky. The fire burned a pile of things we were storing by the side of our house. An old dog crate, some toddler high chairs that attach to the table, boxes, potting soil, planting pots and mulch. As the flames rose up the wall and over the roof, they only burned external items. The electric meter was burned, the tankless water heater was fried, and a ceiling spot light in the eaves was melted, but nothing structural was damaged. The fire was against the wall and never entered the house.
The fire department did a thorough investigation. They went into the attic and took temperature measurements. Our electrician came out and checked our circuit breakers that turned off during the fire, saving the house from an electrical fire. The house was fine. We were fine. In a matter of 20 minutes from the time the fire started to the time it was out, we were fine.
How could this have happened? I wondered about all the junk I piled into that space, never once thinking that it could be dangerous. The fire department thinks a spark might have charged from a battery we had stored there for an electric scooter (you know, the kind that's like a wheelchair we used when my mom visited when she could still walk a little). Maybe it was from the potting soil or fertilizer. Just a hot patch with a piece of glass that caught the sun just right on the pile of what I now know was kindling? We'll never know. They put the cause as "indeterminate."
Our lives could have been irreversibly changed by an "indeterminate" cause. The possibility of what could have happened was infinitely worse than what did. DG and I followed nearer each other for the rest of the day. I hugged the children a little tighter when I picked them up from school. I thanked our housekeeper again and again for her quick thinking. If she hadn't been there...if this had happened on a Monday or Wednesday when we were at work....
But it didn't. The forces in the universe that make things happen when they do must have been looking out for us. Call it God or whatever you want, something went right that day, and I am so grateful.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
I Want What I Want When I Want It -- the 7-year-old version
Conversation between me and T1 at our niece's Bat Mitzvah this past weekend:
Me: Oh look, honey, you get to sit at a table with all kids; you don't have to sit with your parents. Won't that be fun?
T1: Okay. I want to sit with G (cousin) and all the other boys.
Me: Let's see. Oh, you're at the (Broadway-themed) "Hairspray" table and G is at the "Fiddler on the Roof" table.
T1: No! I don't want to sit at the "Hairspray" table. It's a bunch of girls!! I want to sit with G!
Me: But his table is full. There are already nine 10-year-old boys at that table. Your at the table with the littler kids.
T1: I WANT TO SIT AT G'S TABLE!! I DON'T WANT TO SIT WITH ALL GIRLS!!
(Tantrum escalating--speeches ensuing from the stage--7-year-old voice carrying with amazing range in the auditorium acoustics--me beginning to feel heads turning and eyes glaring)
Me: Calm down, honey. There's nothing I can do about it. (My voice starting to raise too as I pull him by the hand into the bathroom).
T1: WHHHHWAAAAAAAAA
Me: (virtual steam rising from my ears.....voice in my head saying, "oh suck it up, little guy. It's just a dinner. My God! but actually saying:) How about you sit with Daddy and me? There are other cousins at our table.
T1: I want to sit with G!
Me: There are no seats there. You CAN'T sit there. Want Daddy and me to sit with you at the "Hairspray" table?
T1: Nooooooo. I won't do it!!!!!
Me: (exasperated) I'm guessing this situation is making you feel left out. Like you don't belong where you've been put. How would you like this situation to be? How can you solve this problem?
T1: I want you to ask Aunt B to put another chair at G's table. Just go ask her.
Me: (wanting so badly to rectify this "gross injustice" as I figure this MUST feel to my son. Wanting to swoop in and stop the tantrum, the disappointment, the frustration, but knowing that doing so will cripple my son in the future when he must manage any and all situations when he doesn't get what he wants when he wants it)
Me: No. . . . I can't do that.
T1: Pleeeeeessssee, Mommy? (gasp, sob)
Me: What can YOU do?
T1: Can I ask G to put another chair at his table?
Me: That may be a good plan. Why don't you try it.
(T1 runs off to consult with G about all things boy that, I was beginning to quickly learn, include being sat at the right table. I hold my breath, watching over the ballroom as the exchange goes on. I try not to look. I don't want to see the tear-stained face return, crest fallen because I know what's going to happen next. He's gone. He doesn't come back. I reluctantly sit down to my own dinner, anxious. Where is he? What happened? Should I go look for him? Is he okay? Is he crying somewhere in a corner? Is he at G's table? I spy him. He's got a plate of food; he's headed for G's table. A chair is waiting for him. Wow, he did it, I say to myself.)
We are so much alike, T1 and I. Every milestone he makes over his sensitivity and social awkwardness is a triumph for me. It's something I struggled with so much in my childhood and want so badly for him not to have to feel. But I know it's going to happen. Can I sit on my hands and let him have his moments? Even the disappointing ones? I'm going to have to. That's my job.
Remind me to call my mom and tell her I appreciate all the anguish she must have endured raising us. Think I'm going to go get her a medal....
Me: Oh look, honey, you get to sit at a table with all kids; you don't have to sit with your parents. Won't that be fun?
T1: Okay. I want to sit with G (cousin) and all the other boys.
Me: Let's see. Oh, you're at the (Broadway-themed) "Hairspray" table and G is at the "Fiddler on the Roof" table.
T1: No! I don't want to sit at the "Hairspray" table. It's a bunch of girls!! I want to sit with G!
Me: But his table is full. There are already nine 10-year-old boys at that table. Your at the table with the littler kids.
T1: I WANT TO SIT AT G'S TABLE!! I DON'T WANT TO SIT WITH ALL GIRLS!!
(Tantrum escalating--speeches ensuing from the stage--7-year-old voice carrying with amazing range in the auditorium acoustics--me beginning to feel heads turning and eyes glaring)
Me: Calm down, honey. There's nothing I can do about it. (My voice starting to raise too as I pull him by the hand into the bathroom).
T1: WHHHHWAAAAAAAAA
Me: (virtual steam rising from my ears.....voice in my head saying, "oh suck it up, little guy. It's just a dinner. My God! but actually saying:) How about you sit with Daddy and me? There are other cousins at our table.
T1: I want to sit with G!
Me: There are no seats there. You CAN'T sit there. Want Daddy and me to sit with you at the "Hairspray" table?
T1: Nooooooo. I won't do it!!!!!
Me: (exasperated) I'm guessing this situation is making you feel left out. Like you don't belong where you've been put. How would you like this situation to be? How can you solve this problem?
T1: I want you to ask Aunt B to put another chair at G's table. Just go ask her.
Me: (wanting so badly to rectify this "gross injustice" as I figure this MUST feel to my son. Wanting to swoop in and stop the tantrum, the disappointment, the frustration, but knowing that doing so will cripple my son in the future when he must manage any and all situations when he doesn't get what he wants when he wants it)
Me: No. . . . I can't do that.
T1: Pleeeeeessssee, Mommy? (gasp, sob)
Me: What can YOU do?
T1: Can I ask G to put another chair at his table?
Me: That may be a good plan. Why don't you try it.
(T1 runs off to consult with G about all things boy that, I was beginning to quickly learn, include being sat at the right table. I hold my breath, watching over the ballroom as the exchange goes on. I try not to look. I don't want to see the tear-stained face return, crest fallen because I know what's going to happen next. He's gone. He doesn't come back. I reluctantly sit down to my own dinner, anxious. Where is he? What happened? Should I go look for him? Is he okay? Is he crying somewhere in a corner? Is he at G's table? I spy him. He's got a plate of food; he's headed for G's table. A chair is waiting for him. Wow, he did it, I say to myself.)
We are so much alike, T1 and I. Every milestone he makes over his sensitivity and social awkwardness is a triumph for me. It's something I struggled with so much in my childhood and want so badly for him not to have to feel. But I know it's going to happen. Can I sit on my hands and let him have his moments? Even the disappointing ones? I'm going to have to. That's my job.
Remind me to call my mom and tell her I appreciate all the anguish she must have endured raising us. Think I'm going to go get her a medal....
Thursday, August 19, 2010
And the Camp Mom Award for Engaged Kids goes to Team Twins!
One of the best benefits of my job as a professor is having summers off (mostly--I usually have to work for 6 weeks of it) with my kids. It means that I don't have to scramble to find some stimulating activity for them from the 3rd week in June until September 1st. Here's where it gets complicated though. Since I do have to work a little in the summer AND my semester begins at the wildly inconvenient time of the 3rd week in August, I do have to put the kids in some kind of part-time summer activity day camp. This year, they did summer school and camp through the local school district and seemed to have a really good time.
Summer is almost over and the kids will be heading back to school with what I hope are sweet memories of our travels, fun days at summer day camp, and time at home with each other and me. As a working mom, I always look forward to the time I get at home with them. I get to be a stay-at-home mom for a sweet month. And I always dream that this time will be filled with crafts and art projects, baking and swimming and card-playing. Instead, I'm distracted by my own desire to read or sew or edit photos--write a blog, maybe. It's mind boggling how I can want to be with them so badly, and when we are together for a day, I struggle with giving them my undivided attention.
Cut to 7-year-old twins being silly, ramping each other up, getting critical about who is getting what turn, and then, ultimately, trying to kill each other from the togetherness. Quick, Mom, do something!!!! It's time to engage (like Elastigirl says to Mr. Incredible).
Enter Camp Mom. I thought if I could replicate all the fun of camp at home and give the kiddies some purpose for the time together, we'd all have a better summer. I came up with a schedule of activities for the whole day. Campers had to tidy up their "cabins" (rooms), pick a team mascot (stuffed animal), and create a team song to perform during the night time "campfire." We had a scooter race, obstacle course, scavenger hunt (otherwise know as shopping at Trader Joe's). They created cards for their grandfather, something I had begged them to do for days, that they were finally willing to do under the guise of the "Bon Voyage Boat Craft" at Camp Mom.
At the end of Camp Mom, teams were awarded "Trophies" that they had helped design.
There were a few teachable moments during the day. The team competitions really had them in a frenzy over fairness. Having points awarded based on being the fastest or jumping the farthest taught them about sportsmanship (after a considerable amount of crying). Creativity points were awarded to the most thoughtful mascot decoration or "cabin" arrangement, presenting them with a stronger sense of perseverance and attention to detail. T1 said at one point, "I was having so much fun that I forgot that I hadn't played my DS!" Really? You mean I can get your face out of that machine by providing you with a creative endeavor that speaks to your sense of competition? Why had I never tried this before?
More than the success of Camp Mom as far as the kids were concerned, (trophies! field trips! treats!) was the complete sense of engagement with each other. I got what I had been looking for all summer. While I know that this wasn't rocket science, and that creative moms do stuff like this everyday, for me, it was a triumph over the anxiety that sometimes takes over when I try to figure out how I'm going to be with my kids and accomplish all the things that fulfill me at the same time. I gave myself over completely to the nurturing of these children, without the distraction of the work that I wanted to get done, for this one day, and it felt right.
While we were at the park, me orchestrating an obstacle course race, another parent commented on what we were doing. "That's quite a system you've got going there. Have you been doing this all summer?" I laughed. "Are you kidding?" I said, "we've only been doing this for today!" But for that one day, we were a unit--like a real camp. We had a common goal--to have fun together--and that we did.
Think I should put together Camp Mom for this fall? Hmmmm.
Summer is almost over and the kids will be heading back to school with what I hope are sweet memories of our travels, fun days at summer day camp, and time at home with each other and me. As a working mom, I always look forward to the time I get at home with them. I get to be a stay-at-home mom for a sweet month. And I always dream that this time will be filled with crafts and art projects, baking and swimming and card-playing. Instead, I'm distracted by my own desire to read or sew or edit photos--write a blog, maybe. It's mind boggling how I can want to be with them so badly, and when we are together for a day, I struggle with giving them my undivided attention.
Cut to 7-year-old twins being silly, ramping each other up, getting critical about who is getting what turn, and then, ultimately, trying to kill each other from the togetherness. Quick, Mom, do something!!!! It's time to engage (like Elastigirl says to Mr. Incredible).
Enter Camp Mom. I thought if I could replicate all the fun of camp at home and give the kiddies some purpose for the time together, we'd all have a better summer. I came up with a schedule of activities for the whole day. Campers had to tidy up their "cabins" (rooms), pick a team mascot (stuffed animal), and create a team song to perform during the night time "campfire." We had a scooter race, obstacle course, scavenger hunt (otherwise know as shopping at Trader Joe's). They created cards for their grandfather, something I had begged them to do for days, that they were finally willing to do under the guise of the "Bon Voyage Boat Craft" at Camp Mom.
At the end of Camp Mom, teams were awarded "Trophies" that they had helped design.
There were a few teachable moments during the day. The team competitions really had them in a frenzy over fairness. Having points awarded based on being the fastest or jumping the farthest taught them about sportsmanship (after a considerable amount of crying). Creativity points were awarded to the most thoughtful mascot decoration or "cabin" arrangement, presenting them with a stronger sense of perseverance and attention to detail. T1 said at one point, "I was having so much fun that I forgot that I hadn't played my DS!" Really? You mean I can get your face out of that machine by providing you with a creative endeavor that speaks to your sense of competition? Why had I never tried this before?
More than the success of Camp Mom as far as the kids were concerned, (trophies! field trips! treats!) was the complete sense of engagement with each other. I got what I had been looking for all summer. While I know that this wasn't rocket science, and that creative moms do stuff like this everyday, for me, it was a triumph over the anxiety that sometimes takes over when I try to figure out how I'm going to be with my kids and accomplish all the things that fulfill me at the same time. I gave myself over completely to the nurturing of these children, without the distraction of the work that I wanted to get done, for this one day, and it felt right.
While we were at the park, me orchestrating an obstacle course race, another parent commented on what we were doing. "That's quite a system you've got going there. Have you been doing this all summer?" I laughed. "Are you kidding?" I said, "we've only been doing this for today!" But for that one day, we were a unit--like a real camp. We had a common goal--to have fun together--and that we did.
Think I should put together Camp Mom for this fall? Hmmmm.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Romance Revisited -- With Kids!
Ten years ago, I went on a trip to Michigan with my then boyfriend to visit his family and see where he grew up. We traveled to Mackinac Island and stayed at the Grand Hotel where he proposed in the Rosalind Carter suite.
My life changed so much in that moment. I was already pushing middle age, and thought that marriage and kids were just not going to be for me. I had begun to wrap my head around the fact that I'd "mother" all my students and that would be enough. But in that moment when that ring went on my finger, I felt a sense of serenity, hope, and home that comes from knowing that you are truly loved, unconditionally, and that someone wants YOU to be the one to share life's biggest moments. We held hands at dinner that night and contemplated our future.
DG said that night, "Someday, we'll bring our kids here." Swoon. This was exactly what I wanted--to have a family to make memories with. When we left the island, we swore that we'd return and show our kids the enchanting, horse-drawn, "somewhere in time" place that was the setting of one of the most memorable times in our lives.
So fast forward 10 years. With twins. It's like this: Romantic Island + kids - 10 married-life years = a decidedly different experience.
BEFORE -- Romantic Dinner in the Grand Hotel Dining Room when we could dream about our future and gaze lovingly at each other in the beautiful surroundings.
AFTER -- Okay, we still got to do this one. They have a Kid's Club at the Grand Hotel where they have a children's activity from 6 to 9 in the evening, allowing Mom and Dad to go to the dining room sans ones who will make them sticky.
BEFORE -- We took a leisurely bike ride the 8.2 miles around the island and took in the sites. The island is home to several spectacular, Victorian mansions, known as summer "cottages" that were used by wealthy families in the late 1800s as summer homes away from the midwest. The shore of the lake and the view of the Mackinac Bridge to the west are beautiful. I looked out and saw Arch Rock and horse-drawn carriages, and other romantic couples gazing at each other from atop bikes that slowly meandered around the road.
AFTER -- Our kids have been practicing riding 2-wheelers since last summer in preparation for this bike ride. And they were ready. We set out at 9 am. By 9:05, the whining had ensued. "I'm hot, pedaling's hard, let's take a break." When we got rolling again, there was no stopping them. Gone was the scenery. My eyes were glued to the kid in front of me who weaved back and forth across the road, barely missing on-coming traffic, which was sometimes a carriage pulled by a Clydesdale. DG and I were constantly harping ahead of us, "Slow down! Stay to the right! Watch out for people! Let your sister be in front for a while!"
BEFORE --We visited the quaint downtown area of Mackinac Island and admired the work of local artisans. Mostly paintings of the Grand Hotel or the bridge. We carefully touched whatever we wanted and engaged gallery owners in conversations about the island's charms.
AFTER -- I saw every visit to an art gallery as an exercise in hovering--hovering to make sure the blown glass didn't get knocked over when T2 started practicing her dance moves; hovering to keep T1's grubby little hands from man-handling and smudging; hovering and herding them through the stores, like an Australian Shepherd. I had to decide which tacky piece of Mackinac swag I was willing to pay $18 for--the hard, plastic horse with carmelly velvet glued to its body that T2 promptly christened "Goldie" or the caricature t-shirt that says, "Mackinac Island--Powered by Horse Poop!" "But Mom," T1 says, "It's funny, get it?"
BEFORE -- Mackinac Island is known for its sweet shops, particularly fudge. The fudge from the island is famous, and it's in a million shops all along the main boulevard. We wandered in and out of each one, sampling "exotic" flavors like toffee peanut butter and raspberry dream. We bought a pound, carefully wrapped it up and had a tiny taste each day of the trip.
AFTER -- The candy pushers stand in the front of each shop luring in unsuspecting kids with promises of candy beyond their wildest dreams. The whole of downtown has a wafting odor of chocolate, with a little manure cloying for good measure. The kids had fudge, salt-water taffy and ice cream all in the course of an hour. Then we asked them to calm down and get dressed in their "fancy" clothes for dinner in the Grand Hotel, which requires its guests to dress formally in the lobby after 6 pm. Jackets and ties for the gentleman and dresses for the ladies. Trying to get kids to dress when they're hopped up on sugar is a feat like wrestling tigers--I kid you not!
BEFORE -- Ahh, after the 5-course meal, a long stroll through the lazy town at dusk is exactly what the romance doctor ordered with a tailor made sunset to solidify the deal.
AFTER -- S'MORES!!
So was it different coming back to Mackinac with the kids that we'd dreamed of 10 years before? Absolutely. Traveling with kids is hard. Raising kids is hard. Working is hard. And at the end of the day, I get to have the beautiful vacation, and the home, and the career that I love. I sometimes forget in the whirlwind that is my life to remember how lucky I am that I get to have all of this. It's different, but light years better than what I had before. And I wouldn't change a thing.
My life changed so much in that moment. I was already pushing middle age, and thought that marriage and kids were just not going to be for me. I had begun to wrap my head around the fact that I'd "mother" all my students and that would be enough. But in that moment when that ring went on my finger, I felt a sense of serenity, hope, and home that comes from knowing that you are truly loved, unconditionally, and that someone wants YOU to be the one to share life's biggest moments. We held hands at dinner that night and contemplated our future.
 | |
| Ahh new love--just engaged and looking kinda scared. |
So fast forward 10 years. With twins. It's like this: Romantic Island + kids - 10 married-life years = a decidedly different experience.
BEFORE -- Romantic Dinner in the Grand Hotel Dining Room when we could dream about our future and gaze lovingly at each other in the beautiful surroundings.
AFTER -- Okay, we still got to do this one. They have a Kid's Club at the Grand Hotel where they have a children's activity from 6 to 9 in the evening, allowing Mom and Dad to go to the dining room sans ones who will make them sticky.
 | ||||||
| Quite a bit older now, huh? |
AFTER -- Our kids have been practicing riding 2-wheelers since last summer in preparation for this bike ride. And they were ready. We set out at 9 am. By 9:05, the whining had ensued. "I'm hot, pedaling's hard, let's take a break." When we got rolling again, there was no stopping them. Gone was the scenery. My eyes were glued to the kid in front of me who weaved back and forth across the road, barely missing on-coming traffic, which was sometimes a carriage pulled by a Clydesdale. DG and I were constantly harping ahead of us, "Slow down! Stay to the right! Watch out for people! Let your sister be in front for a while!"
BEFORE --We visited the quaint downtown area of Mackinac Island and admired the work of local artisans. Mostly paintings of the Grand Hotel or the bridge. We carefully touched whatever we wanted and engaged gallery owners in conversations about the island's charms.
AFTER -- I saw every visit to an art gallery as an exercise in hovering--hovering to make sure the blown glass didn't get knocked over when T2 started practicing her dance moves; hovering to keep T1's grubby little hands from man-handling and smudging; hovering and herding them through the stores, like an Australian Shepherd. I had to decide which tacky piece of Mackinac swag I was willing to pay $18 for--the hard, plastic horse with carmelly velvet glued to its body that T2 promptly christened "Goldie" or the caricature t-shirt that says, "Mackinac Island--Powered by Horse Poop!" "But Mom," T1 says, "It's funny, get it?"
BEFORE -- Mackinac Island is known for its sweet shops, particularly fudge. The fudge from the island is famous, and it's in a million shops all along the main boulevard. We wandered in and out of each one, sampling "exotic" flavors like toffee peanut butter and raspberry dream. We bought a pound, carefully wrapped it up and had a tiny taste each day of the trip.
AFTER -- The candy pushers stand in the front of each shop luring in unsuspecting kids with promises of candy beyond their wildest dreams. The whole of downtown has a wafting odor of chocolate, with a little manure cloying for good measure. The kids had fudge, salt-water taffy and ice cream all in the course of an hour. Then we asked them to calm down and get dressed in their "fancy" clothes for dinner in the Grand Hotel, which requires its guests to dress formally in the lobby after 6 pm. Jackets and ties for the gentleman and dresses for the ladies. Trying to get kids to dress when they're hopped up on sugar is a feat like wrestling tigers--I kid you not!
BEFORE -- Ahh, after the 5-course meal, a long stroll through the lazy town at dusk is exactly what the romance doctor ordered with a tailor made sunset to solidify the deal.
AFTER -- S'MORES!!
So was it different coming back to Mackinac with the kids that we'd dreamed of 10 years before? Absolutely. Traveling with kids is hard. Raising kids is hard. Working is hard. And at the end of the day, I get to have the beautiful vacation, and the home, and the career that I love. I sometimes forget in the whirlwind that is my life to remember how lucky I am that I get to have all of this. It's different, but light years better than what I had before. And I wouldn't change a thing.
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