Small Town Halloween

Wow, I just went on Facebook this morning, and everyone is posting about their Halloween.  There's my niece, who made a killer Dia de los Muertos mask with make up on her face, a bunch of cute 5th grade nerds, and lots and lots of parents getting in the spirit with their kids.

We live in a small town.  It's got a population of about 25,000 and a small city limit.  This all adds up to running into neighbors and friends everywhere we go.  Our weekends are filled with this: soccer games, grocery store, and the local yogurt shop.  Last night, we joined the throngs of trick or treaters who cruised along one of the major residential streets.  Houses decorated.  Kids running like crazy.  Streets actually blocked off because foot traffic is more prevalent than street traffic.

My kids got more candy than they can eat in a lifetime, and the visited the scariest house in town.  Freddy Krueger even jumped out of a corn field they erected in their front yard to scare innocent trick or treaters.  T2 braved the front door for a handout, but T1 stayed quietly on the sidewalk until a chain saw maniac ran wild in the street.  Terrified, they said they were ready to go home.

Voldemort and Hermione aim wands

It was cold.  Good thing I finished that scarf.

Dang, could he look any more un-dead?

Ummmm, yeah

It's not Halloween unless you're stuffing your face with candy

I am so proud of the homemade costumes which fit right in with the tons of Harry Potters we saw around town.  Hope you had a great Halloween too.  What traditions make your town special?

The Joys of October

Just to recap--my trip to Lake Tahoe earlier this month with my sister was wonderful.  I always get so much out of being with her.  I'm reminded of when we were kids and had nothing but time to play together.  The scenery in Lake Tahoe was beautiful.  And my sister's dog, Little Hawk took in every part of it.

The view outside the cabin

Crazy how we have the twins-y hair cuts, no?

Ok, show of hands, how many think this is the cutest dog EVER?

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This has been a relatively cool October in Southern California.  I am perpetually confounded by the weather lately, as October, in the recent past, has been extraordinarily hot.  But this year, I’ve been breaking out the Crockpot, wearing sweaters, and driving in the rain—an extreme sport in Southern California.  The weather definitely is getting me in the mood for Halloween.  

Usually, beginning in early September, when the costume catalogs start showing up in the mailbox, we trek on down to the party store, peruse the wall of adorable looking children in cute looking costumes, and the kids point ecstatically, “that one, that one!” 

Down comes the industrial plastic bag with a handle fused to the top, and the kids extract the crappy acetate, shoddily constructed, ill-fitting costume with many ooohs and aahhhs.  From me, it’s more like ewwwws and ooohhhs.  How could this possibly be the same as that picture on the wall?  I don’t know why I’m surprised, but the quality of the packaged costume is never as good as I think it’s going to be.  

That’s why, this year, I worked on persuading my kids to go with the homemade Halloween costume.  Oh, I know this means work for me, and as a mom who has a job that I have to go to everyday, this presents the age old dilemma of how do I find enough time to do this.  Well, here’s my mindset on time lately…..

You can find the time to do anything if you really want to do it.  So I set out to make Halloween costumes in my spare time.  I had to start in September, but I think it's finally come together.

T1 wants to be Voldemort (you know, the most villainous of all villains--He Who Must Not Be Named).  So I figured, easy; some robes, some scary make-up and we're done.  We were going for this:

I made this:

Not to be out-Harry-Potter-ed, T2 decided to be Hermione.  I found this cute photo of the "smartest witch of her age" and decided to copy this:

 

We had the robe and Gryffindor tie from last year when T1 was the ubiquitous boy wizard.  So it was fairly easy to put together this:

The scarf is tucked behind the shoulder on account of the fact that it is still not done.  Super cute knitted scarf takes a loooong time!

I was having so much fun making costumes, that I decided to keep on going.  What's a few more, when you're already on a roll?  

We had tickets to Mickey's Halloween Party at Disneyland.  It's a costume party, trick-or-treating extravaganza inside Disneyland Park that runs through October.  So really, it's like Halloween night every night.  Our kids literally came home with SIX pounds of candy.  I kid you not.  DG said, with the same tone as the proverbial "walked-to-school-in-the-snow" speech, "When I was a kid, we went trick-or-treating once--on Halloween."  

Well, if you're trick-or-treating twice, you need two costumes, right?  I made us into a pirate family.

DG got the pirate vest and pirate bustiers at the 99 cent store.  I coupled them with striped tights and made raggedy pants and skirts.  T1 didn't want to wear the paper 99 cent store vest, and I can't say that I blame him, so I cut that skull and crossbones from an old, white T-shirt and sewed it on the red one.  He loved it!

I'm still so shocked that I had the gumption to make all these costumes, but now that it's all done, and we're really for Halloween, I am pleased with myself.  Not only did I accomplish something I set out to do, rather than scrapping the projects with a defeatist "Oh well, I didn't have time to do this anyway," but also I rekindled that DIY, homemade part of myself that so rarely gets let out these days.  Being creative feeds my soul, and while there is an element of creativity in my job everyday, it's nice to make something with my hands and soak in the gratitude when the kids say, "Thank you, Mommy! I love this costume!" (No really, I'm not lying--they both said that. *shock*)

Kinda makes me want to get ready for the next project.  Do you think maybe they'll need costumes for the school Holiday show? 

The Getaway

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? 

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.

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? 

"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.

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....