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....
Thursday, August 26, 2010
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.
Monday, July 26, 2010
My very own Jem and Scout
For my family, being away from home brings out the worst and the best of us. Tempers are short when sleep gets compromised on progressively longer days as we cram in more and more. Kids tend to bicker more in close quarters. Like a car. For 4 hours.
But the worst of it is brief, forgivable, compared to the best of it. I love being together without the pressure of the laundry pile (oh, believe me, it lurks in the back of my mind waiting to multiply and pounce on me when we arrive home), never-ending tasks at work, and projects for which procrastination is part of the title--like "that bathroom painting project I keep putting off..." I love only needing to be responsible for a couple of meals and documenting my children's joy of being outdoors away from home.
We're staying in Northern Michigan on a lake in a beautiful cabin that my father-in-law built from a tear down. The view is spectacular.
Last night, I watched T1 and T2 gathering acorns, skimming stones, and jumping off the dock. I had a vision of the two of them making up games and stories--summertime yarns that are the only things that occupy their minds. I keep seeing these dirty-faced ruffians like Jem and Scout from To Kill a Mockingbird (my current summer read). My characters, like the fictional ones, are devoted to each other. They're outside from sun up to sun down. They create imaginary worlds in the forest that provide a dappled backdrop for the most memorable of play.
Like Scout, when they're older, I hope they reflect fondly on this coming of age time in their lives and while they learn about the world around them, they keep some of the innocence that is captivating in a seven-year-old's summer.
But the worst of it is brief, forgivable, compared to the best of it. I love being together without the pressure of the laundry pile (oh, believe me, it lurks in the back of my mind waiting to multiply and pounce on me when we arrive home), never-ending tasks at work, and projects for which procrastination is part of the title--like "that bathroom painting project I keep putting off..." I love only needing to be responsible for a couple of meals and documenting my children's joy of being outdoors away from home.
We're staying in Northern Michigan on a lake in a beautiful cabin that my father-in-law built from a tear down. The view is spectacular.
Last night, I watched T1 and T2 gathering acorns, skimming stones, and jumping off the dock. I had a vision of the two of them making up games and stories--summertime yarns that are the only things that occupy their minds. I keep seeing these dirty-faced ruffians like Jem and Scout from To Kill a Mockingbird (my current summer read). My characters, like the fictional ones, are devoted to each other. They're outside from sun up to sun down. They create imaginary worlds in the forest that provide a dappled backdrop for the most memorable of play.
Like Scout, when they're older, I hope they reflect fondly on this coming of age time in their lives and while they learn about the world around them, they keep some of the innocence that is captivating in a seven-year-old's summer.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
My mother, myself?
I recently returned from taking my family to the Pacific Northwest where my mother and brother both live, having moved from CA in the '80s. I visit as much as I can, either by myself or with the family, but I always am left wanting more of them, as we are so very close, in my regular day-to-day life.
My mother has Multiple Sclerosis and is now in a nursing home, confined to a wheelchair, and needs help with all of her personal and daily tasks. It's hard for me to see my mother this way. She's 76 but seems 86. I feel that she's only getting small bits of my children's childhood. Still, I want her to know how important she is in how I'm raising my own kids. My mom has always been someone I've turned to for advice, to share about my day, and to hear about how her stoic, confident, and resilient individualism has seen her through the death of her own parents (her mother at age 3 and her father at 17), a divorce from my father, a death of her second husband, and this debilitating disease while remaining positive and enthusiastic for life.
I remember my mom as a vibrant, loving homemaker. She was there making the kitchen the hub of our existence. I remember the black ceramic tea cups that held the vinegar mixture that my brother, sister and I used to dye Easter eggs. They would splash water colored webs on the newspaper covered table. I remember the same table at Christmas when we would bake cookies and the table would be filled with sugar-sparkled newspaper. She was providing these environments and then she was gone, like a ghost. I think now that she was probably off doing laundry or making beds or somehow doing the mom things that needed to be done. She'd check back in and see where we were in our activity, but I don't remember her judging or commenting, although she must have.
She would take meat out of the freezer, leave it sweating on the counter, quiz us on what she might serve for dessert with initials, like "tonight we're having 'CH'" (stood for cream horns, pastry filled with cream.) She looked happy all the time--but I know she wasn't. That was the gift she gave us. She allowed us to be kids by keeping her emotions to herself allowing us the freedom of whatever stresses may have been bothering her. She let our lives evolve while we grew into the people that she was hoping we'd be.
Sometimes I feel like I fall short in that part about letting my children grow into the people they're going to be. My mother didn't deconstruct every parenting book on the market trying to find a philosophy that would be the panacea for all her fears. She took us to church, sent us to a good school, put us on "restriction, missy" when discipline was needed, and then got out of the way. I wish I could build upon her wisdom as I go through this journey, assured that I'm doing the right thing.
But she's aging rapidly now. This is one of the drawbacks of having children older--everyone in their lives is older. The MS has affected my mom in ways beyond her physical limitations. A recent MRI and CAT scan reveal advancement of the disease. My mom's mind is softening, not nearly as sharp as it used to be. She repeats her small bits of conversation over and over, for she has little stimulating to say because her life is so routine. "Did I tell you that your niece left for London today," she'll say, 3 times in a conversation. It's the biggest news to reach her room in days. I just say, "Yes, you did. Do you think she'll have a good time?" trying not to draw attention to her repetitiveness. I still see that woman with the apron and the jokes in the kitchen, raising a brood of silly squirmers, the woman who still listens intently to my every word and makes me feel loved.
Someday, I'll be like her, and my kids will be like me--only much younger than me. Will they be frustrated with me and ache to have me back the way I was in their childhood? I know that the times I share with them now are their memories in the making. When we go hiking, they're seeing me active, athletic. When I go on every ride at Disneyland (some they won't even go on), I'm to them what my mom was to me. Even when I'm too old to do these things anymore, they'll remember fondly, the way I do when I reminisce with my mom.
My mother has Multiple Sclerosis and is now in a nursing home, confined to a wheelchair, and needs help with all of her personal and daily tasks. It's hard for me to see my mother this way. She's 76 but seems 86. I feel that she's only getting small bits of my children's childhood. Still, I want her to know how important she is in how I'm raising my own kids. My mom has always been someone I've turned to for advice, to share about my day, and to hear about how her stoic, confident, and resilient individualism has seen her through the death of her own parents (her mother at age 3 and her father at 17), a divorce from my father, a death of her second husband, and this debilitating disease while remaining positive and enthusiastic for life.
I remember my mom as a vibrant, loving homemaker. She was there making the kitchen the hub of our existence. I remember the black ceramic tea cups that held the vinegar mixture that my brother, sister and I used to dye Easter eggs. They would splash water colored webs on the newspaper covered table. I remember the same table at Christmas when we would bake cookies and the table would be filled with sugar-sparkled newspaper. She was providing these environments and then she was gone, like a ghost. I think now that she was probably off doing laundry or making beds or somehow doing the mom things that needed to be done. She'd check back in and see where we were in our activity, but I don't remember her judging or commenting, although she must have.
 |
| My brother, sister and me--see the black cups? |
 |
| My older brother, me, my younger sister |
She would take meat out of the freezer, leave it sweating on the counter, quiz us on what she might serve for dessert with initials, like "tonight we're having 'CH'" (stood for cream horns, pastry filled with cream.) She looked happy all the time--but I know she wasn't. That was the gift she gave us. She allowed us to be kids by keeping her emotions to herself allowing us the freedom of whatever stresses may have been bothering her. She let our lives evolve while we grew into the people that she was hoping we'd be.
 | |
| That swollen eye isn't from my brother--I had a sty--she made me pose anyway |
Sometimes I feel like I fall short in that part about letting my children grow into the people they're going to be. My mother didn't deconstruct every parenting book on the market trying to find a philosophy that would be the panacea for all her fears. She took us to church, sent us to a good school, put us on "restriction, missy" when discipline was needed, and then got out of the way. I wish I could build upon her wisdom as I go through this journey, assured that I'm doing the right thing.
But she's aging rapidly now. This is one of the drawbacks of having children older--everyone in their lives is older. The MS has affected my mom in ways beyond her physical limitations. A recent MRI and CAT scan reveal advancement of the disease. My mom's mind is softening, not nearly as sharp as it used to be. She repeats her small bits of conversation over and over, for she has little stimulating to say because her life is so routine. "Did I tell you that your niece left for London today," she'll say, 3 times in a conversation. It's the biggest news to reach her room in days. I just say, "Yes, you did. Do you think she'll have a good time?" trying not to draw attention to her repetitiveness. I still see that woman with the apron and the jokes in the kitchen, raising a brood of silly squirmers, the woman who still listens intently to my every word and makes me feel loved.
Someday, I'll be like her, and my kids will be like me--only much younger than me. Will they be frustrated with me and ache to have me back the way I was in their childhood? I know that the times I share with them now are their memories in the making. When we go hiking, they're seeing me active, athletic. When I go on every ride at Disneyland (some they won't even go on), I'm to them what my mom was to me. Even when I'm too old to do these things anymore, they'll remember fondly, the way I do when I reminisce with my mom.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Wonder of Wonders --Miracles of Miracles
Last Sunday, I met an old friend for brunch. She recently had a baby (her second after a 19-year gap--long but good story for another day). He's so cuddly, sticky, drooly, chunky, gotta squeeze his cheeks! I was enthralled with this baby, and so is she. I love how she appreciates the time she has with him, and she's over the moon about his every move. It was like I was transported back to the days when the twins were little babies and I could not get enough of their cooing, emerging personalites. T2 used to bounce in that vibrating bouncy seat for hours--long after she was too big for it; T1 had a perpetual third eye in the middle of his forehead when he turned 1 from crashing into the couch edge in an overzealous effort to run. I was nostalgic for my babies and the time when discoveries were happening in every hour of the day. I loved watching them change and grow daily.
As they've grown, I've learned that changes happen at differently at every developmental stage. Sometimes these changes are monumental -- wiping their own bottoms! --buckling their own seat belts! Sometimes they are colossal challenges. And each time I think I've got this mommy thing figured out, it changes again.
And sometimes, they surprise me with a wonderful change that I could not have seen coming even if it was a freight train heading right toward me. Remember this I posted about 2 weeks ago?
Here's how it looked when I got home from brunch on Sunday afternoon.
All on his own, unprompted, T1 CLEANED his own room! He organized the items on the desk. (notice the ordered bowling pins? My dad's league bowling trophies in chronological order) Yes, people, he even threw some things away. My little man is growing up, and oh, how I hope this desire for neatness sticks, even if it's just every once in a while.
Not to be outdone, and because she cannot ever resist any competition, T2 cleaned her own room too. Witness the before and after:
As they've grown, I've learned that changes happen at differently at every developmental stage. Sometimes these changes are monumental -- wiping their own bottoms! --buckling their own seat belts! Sometimes they are colossal challenges. And each time I think I've got this mommy thing figured out, it changes again.
And sometimes, they surprise me with a wonderful change that I could not have seen coming even if it was a freight train heading right toward me. Remember this I posted about 2 weeks ago?
Here's how it looked when I got home from brunch on Sunday afternoon.
All on his own, unprompted, T1 CLEANED his own room! He organized the items on the desk. (notice the ordered bowling pins? My dad's league bowling trophies in chronological order) Yes, people, he even threw some things away. My little man is growing up, and oh, how I hope this desire for neatness sticks, even if it's just every once in a while.
Not to be outdone, and because she cannot ever resist any competition, T2 cleaned her own room too. Witness the before and after:
Before
After
I entered their rooms with my eyes closed when they wanted to show me what they'd done. Proud smiles emblazoned across their faces. This was something they did without me or my husband asking or nagging. It was something they did not wait for us to take care of for them. And wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, they found buried new things to play with. And the world opened up anew, magically, just as when they, as babies, discovered they could crawl to the brightly colored toy across the room.
I'll take this magic any time they want to cast a spell my way.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
"She said what?!?!" -- Confessions of a Mom-Gossip
Many of my friends and I became mothers around the same time. Most of my closest friends these days are those who I met when my kids were babies. It's funny because I seem to be looking, constantly searching for camaraderie, from people who share my experience or who have been through the same experience so that I can learn from them. But I'm learning a valuable lesson from this searching. No one shares your exact same experience, and while other mothers will have struggles with the same issues I struggle with, I can't base my actions or opinions on what others' actions are. I must make my own way.
I say this because I've been thinking a lot about how moms tend to be in competition with each other over the best way to nurture, feed, educate, and even diaper their children (see the discussion over at Mommywords.) One mom feeds her children only nutritious food with nary a sugary snack in sight and only organic fruits and vegetables; another mom attachment-parents her baby while another is Ferber-ing and night weaning; in the last 2 decades, the classic SAHM vs. working mom debate has reached mammoth proportions; public school, private school, home school; television or not. It's constant--everywhere--especially in the blogosphere.
I have found myself caught up in this gossip mill sometimes. I've said, "I would NEVER...." and "I can't believe she...." I've searched like-minded individuals who have shared my opinions and unknowingly, under the guise of making more sense and resolve out of my own decisions, have bashed unsuspecting mothers whose choices are different from mine. I've made comments based on my beliefs without thinking about how others might feel criticized. This behavior has weighed very heavy on my mind lately. I feel so badly about my past gossipy tendencies, and I am making a change.
My daughter has very strong opinions and never hesitates to voice them as she sees fit. I practice reflecting her feelings back to her, in a very neutral way, so that she knows she's been heard and acknowledged. However, I almost always follow that reflective listening with a "but...." and then spew forth my own opinion and rationalization or belief that is meant to get her to think beyond her feelings and see my point of view. Eliminating the "but..." is part of my new change in relating to other moms. I don't think it's productive to echo a mom's feelings about how she's coping with some new dramatic change in her child's behavior/health/education and then negate it all with a "but....here's what I think...."
I'm not saying that I don't want to hear how others are coping and even get suggestions, like I mentioned above. I want to know what you've done that works for you. Maybe it would work for me too. What I'm making a conscious effort to do now is see everyone's path for what it's worth. We all want the same basic thing--to help our children grow into strong, independent, confident beings who navigate the social waters like experienced sailors using all the tools taught to them by the experienced sailors before them. It's my job to be the example I want them to follow. I can't very well teach my twins how to treat others the way they want to be treated if I'm engaging in clandestine character assassination. I need to be done judging.
In "Bad Mother" Aleyet Waldman discusses how she saw her first "bad mother" on a train--a woman who pulled her daughter's hair as she was putting it into a ponytail. She relays how she was mortified at how this woman could do such a thing, in public, no less. She says we moms are constantly trying to live up to some unrealistic expectation and when we see others who fail to meet that expectation, we judge them. I've judged and been judged, and I really want to let that drama go from my life. Waldman says the definition of a reasonable good mother is, "one who loves her kids and does her level best not to damage them in any permanent way. A good mother doesn't let herself be overcome by guilt when she screws up."
This is my goal for today--I'm gonna try not to screw it up, but if I do, I'm gonna cry to you, who will lift me up, and I won't feel guilty about it.
I say this because I've been thinking a lot about how moms tend to be in competition with each other over the best way to nurture, feed, educate, and even diaper their children (see the discussion over at Mommywords.) One mom feeds her children only nutritious food with nary a sugary snack in sight and only organic fruits and vegetables; another mom attachment-parents her baby while another is Ferber-ing and night weaning; in the last 2 decades, the classic SAHM vs. working mom debate has reached mammoth proportions; public school, private school, home school; television or not. It's constant--everywhere--especially in the blogosphere.
I have found myself caught up in this gossip mill sometimes. I've said, "I would NEVER...." and "I can't believe she...." I've searched like-minded individuals who have shared my opinions and unknowingly, under the guise of making more sense and resolve out of my own decisions, have bashed unsuspecting mothers whose choices are different from mine. I've made comments based on my beliefs without thinking about how others might feel criticized. This behavior has weighed very heavy on my mind lately. I feel so badly about my past gossipy tendencies, and I am making a change.
My daughter has very strong opinions and never hesitates to voice them as she sees fit. I practice reflecting her feelings back to her, in a very neutral way, so that she knows she's been heard and acknowledged. However, I almost always follow that reflective listening with a "but...." and then spew forth my own opinion and rationalization or belief that is meant to get her to think beyond her feelings and see my point of view. Eliminating the "but..." is part of my new change in relating to other moms. I don't think it's productive to echo a mom's feelings about how she's coping with some new dramatic change in her child's behavior/health/education and then negate it all with a "but....here's what I think...."
I'm not saying that I don't want to hear how others are coping and even get suggestions, like I mentioned above. I want to know what you've done that works for you. Maybe it would work for me too. What I'm making a conscious effort to do now is see everyone's path for what it's worth. We all want the same basic thing--to help our children grow into strong, independent, confident beings who navigate the social waters like experienced sailors using all the tools taught to them by the experienced sailors before them. It's my job to be the example I want them to follow. I can't very well teach my twins how to treat others the way they want to be treated if I'm engaging in clandestine character assassination. I need to be done judging.
In "Bad Mother" Aleyet Waldman discusses how she saw her first "bad mother" on a train--a woman who pulled her daughter's hair as she was putting it into a ponytail. She relays how she was mortified at how this woman could do such a thing, in public, no less. She says we moms are constantly trying to live up to some unrealistic expectation and when we see others who fail to meet that expectation, we judge them. I've judged and been judged, and I really want to let that drama go from my life. Waldman says the definition of a reasonable good mother is, "one who loves her kids and does her level best not to damage them in any permanent way. A good mother doesn't let herself be overcome by guilt when she screws up."
This is my goal for today--I'm gonna try not to screw it up, but if I do, I'm gonna cry to you, who will lift me up, and I won't feel guilty about it.
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