Noah is annoyed with me
Feb 25, 2005 Parenting, Writing
He’s the only one of his friends who still has to sit in a booster when they carpool. He’s close to the limits but not quite there yet. I’m a stickler for car seat safety issues ‘cuz I’ve been in two (minor) car accidents. Likely we won’t flip Madison until she hits the weight limit on her car seat either (33 pounds) since she doesn’t mind riding backwards. I’d be thinking differently if she were still screaming, I’m sure. Anyway, Noah says that it embarrasses him to have to be in a booster and I’m awfully sorry for that but until he grows another couple of inches, the mandate will remain. I’ll admit — I was tempted. I thought, heck, the other boys are rolling around back there and even my most conscientious friends occasionally let their kids go without their boosters. But then I decided that it’s a safety issue and thus not open for debate. It won’t kill him to ride in it, especially in front of friends who have their own weird rules, which they are forever trying to explain to each other. (Says A to Noah and their friend L yesterday, “See, my mother won’t let me have a toy gun at our house, which I don’t understand because it’s not like there’s gonna be a war breaking out if she does.”)
It’s actually funny to listen to them sometimes comparing notes and trying to figure their home rules out for each other. Like we have a no video console games rule in our house but Noah can get computer games. Or Noah’s friend is allowed to watch Power Rangers but not Pokemon.
Oh these poor children. Then again, it’s important to give kids something to rebel against when they’re teens.
Brett is home today because I’m sick with a sore throat and want to rest so I can meet up with Amber and Eve. (Sadly Becca won’t be there, which totally sucks because Becca time is at a premium these days.) Also this way I can keep on working. Work work work. So last night I turned off the computer because I was feeling (as Noah would say) “doozy” (this is a combination of “dizzy” and “woozy”) besides which it was nearly time for ER but just as the computer screen winked off, I went, “Hey! I know what to say next!” I scrawled a bunch of barely legible notes here in my Cambridge Premium Recycled Writing Surface Wirebound Notebook but now I’m a little afraid to look at them in case they make no sense. That’s why I’m stalling by writing this blog entry.
Yesterday I spent every bit of Madison’s nap time and every bit of Brett created work time putting in stats and quotes and then at the last minute, I realized I have to take them all out. They just don’t work. All of that interviewing I did — oh well. It informed the piece even if I don’t end up using them. Now Brett keeps trying to send me to bed with a hot cup of tea but 1) I don’t want to go lie in bed; 2) I don’t care for hot tea; 3) It’s not restful for me to not do anything when I could be doing something; 4) How can I waste this daddy home time and not work on my article???
Have I mentioned lately how much I like my husband? No? Well, then as a further stalling technique, I will ramble on about him. He’s silly so we tease him a lot (for example, he doesn’t say, “Madison, do you need a diaper change?” he says, “Hey, Sony, how about a fresh dipinski?”) but I was telling Noah that Brett is one of those high moral people. You know, he’s a Good Man. He gives me something to aim for in niceness. Noah finds all this lecturing on his father’s inherent goodness about as boring as the explanation for why he has to continue to ride in his booster.
Oh shoot, I’m running out of excuses. I guess I’ll go crack that notebook and see if it makes sense. I hope it makes sense. Please please please please, make it make sense!
Now playing on iTunes: “Defying Gravity” from the album Wicked by Original Broadway Cast
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I’m back with tips
Feb 23, 2005 Feminism/Politics, Parenting
Madison just went down for her nap and for you, my dear readers, I will sacrifice this precious time for some tips on how to be a happy mother despite that daunting 70% statistic saying that really we’re all just incredibly stressed out and miserable.
Ready? Here we go!
1. Turn off the television. No more pseudo-news shows like 20/20 and Good Morning America that have a Must See story on the deadly truth about poison ivy — it’ll just ruin that camping trip you had planned this summer. Also, no more talk shows where Oprah tells a tearful guest what she’s doing wrong or Dr. Phil shakes his head incredulously while a befuddled woman watches a video of herself yelling at her son.
2. In that same vein, quit reading women’s magazines. If you want to learn how to do something — say, ice a cake or unclog a sink — get a book from the library about it. That way, while flipping through to find answers you won’t accidentally stumble on an article that tells you how to sexually satisfy your husband, thereby implying that he’s not perfectly satisfied already.
3. Parenting magazines? No. Stop reading them now. You don’t need them. They need you but you don’t need them. Instead find a mothering mentor, someone you admire and (this part is really important) someone whose values resonate with yours. Better yet, find a whole bunch of them. If you’ve got questions, take it to your mentors. If you need practical advice about developmental issues, buy a nice, bland book that doesn’t give advice. Then, armed with encouragement and support, do whatever works for your family.
4. Stop periodically and say, “Is this going to make me happy? Is the trade-off worth it?” If waiting in line to sign up for the chi-chi music class is going to ruin your day, skip it. If you so love the music class that you’ll weep every Thursday if you fail to get in, go ahead, wait in line. But don’t do it unless you want to.
5. Embrace benign neglect. If you don’t want to play another game of Candyland, don’t play it. If you would rather play Monopoly Jr., play Monopoly Jr. If you would rather read your book, tell your little ones they’re going to have to suck it up. (Sadly, this doesn’t work for toddlers but it will one day — I promise.)
6. Remember that your kids aren’t a reflection of who you are — they’re only reflecting themselves. Let it go. Take a deep breath and let it go. Who cares if he just spilled orange juice down the front of his new shirt or she’s tone-deaf. We’re all doing the best that we can and that includes our kids. Keep your eyes on your own plate and don’t let them drift to the kid next door who just won the spelling bee, brought home a swimming medal and has been tagged for a full scholarship to Yale even though he’s only nine. It’s got nothing to do with the rest of us.
I think about my mom who really was hemmed in by cultural expectations that made her miserable and I think about us nowadays middle-class mothers who really have it pretty damn good. Nobody can make us feel better about ourselves and there are plenty of people lined up to make us feel lousy so they can sell us another tube of lipstick or light-up musical baby mobile or insta-nutritious microwavable snacks. We’re doing a disservice to the women who fought against the feminine mystique. We really do have choices. We really do have options. Let’s exercise them!
Ok, now I seriously have to get to the laundry.
Now playing on iTunes: “Old Fashion Morphine” from the album Escondida by Jolie Holland
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Madison is a chatterbox
Feb 23, 2005 Feminism/Politics, Parenting
She said her name yesterday and I swear that she says both “what’s that” and “thank you.” She doesn’t use any words consistently (”what’s that” crops up a lot); it’s like once she’s mastered it, she drops it right out of her head.
Her sleep schedule has gone all to hell in part, I’m sure, because of all of this talking. Yesterday her two naps totaled about an hour and she’s up a lot at night. Not just up to fuss or feed; she wakes, sits up and starts to babble full-throttle. I’m exhausted and trying not to let my frustration run away with me. If I think about it too hard, I start to panic about getting this antiadoption article done or I start thinking that when I get it done the editor will say, “We talked about that months ago! You’ve got to be kidding!” Well, I’m writing it anyway because I have to write it but I sure wish I had more time for it.
Brett has been terrifically understanding about giving me time in the evening but you know, kids, what a timesuck. We eat dinner pretty much as soon as Brett walks in the door (unless Madison is particularly in-arms that day, in which I can’t start it ’til he shows) and then there’s the rest of life to take care of. Last night Noah had a bit of a melt down over an argument he and Brett were having. I had to coach him through figuring out his part in it and how to apologize. Then it was time to get Madison down and she wanted me for that. She woke up howling just as I answered my last pressing email and again, wanted just me to rock her back down. (All this and no “mommy” yet!) I ended up having a half-hour to work on it so I didn’t get too far — just inserted some quotes, really.
I feel like I need to type all of this up as a kind of “gosh I’m sorry” because I feel so unaccomplished lately. Which I am — unaccomplished, I mean. But my kids are so darn fun even if they drive me batty. I still can’t commit to a mother’s helper; I have such ambivalence about the idea. I have never used childcare because I don’t want to. Maybe this summer when Madison’s naps are more predictable, maybe then I’ll think about it again and see how I’m feeling about it. But the trade-off is very little querying because it’s too easy to get in over my head. I have got to honor my limits, which is hard for me because I’m greedy about things.
I was thinking about this in light of the Newsweek article that had everyone ticked off last week. I feel like that whole culture of the perfect mother is not something I’ve ever had to visit, which is interesting when you consider that I’ve a tendency to stress about things and that high-intensity mothering is a given among my chosen peers. But it’s a weird mix for us. Sure we nurse the kids for years but none of us stresses about getting into the right preschool. Too, we all (my friends and I) have personal issues that haunt us in the night but we never visit them on each other. Witness my friends who don’t let their kids watch tv but have never so much as pursed their lips when Noah begins raving about the subtle nuance of the last episode Cyberchase.
Mothering is hard — no doubt about it. And mothering a toddler is not only hard, it’s boring. I am bored out of my mind a lot of the time and can’t help but look longingly at the computer on the kitchen table — the word document’s siren song humming from the laptop display — as Madison (again) holds up her stuffed bear and says “ut-dis?” to which I say (again), “Bear!” Still I love it. It’s boring and hard and have I mentioned boring? I so understand the women who don’t want to be there and I don’t think they should have to be. But for myself, it’s no martyrhood; not anymore than a lousy commute is playing martyr for a job you love.
For me — and this doesn’t mean I think it ought to be the same for everybody — but for me, I’d rather be bored sitting on the rug than bored in a staff meeting. Does this make me a better mother? Or a woman too easily fulfilled by mundane things? Or a person who has bought into the far-right Dr. Laura mindset? Nah, it’s just me. I like my small life. There are parts of it I would change but if I thought I’d be happier another way, you can be damn sure that I’d do it differently.
The article says that: “70 percent of American moms say they find motherhood today ‘incredibly stressful.’ Thirty percent of mothers of young children reportedly suffer from depression. Nine hundred and nine women in Texas recently told researchers they find taking care of their kids about as much fun as cleaning their house, slightly less pleasurable than cooking, and a whole lot less enjoyable than watching TV.” My gosh people, if you’re this miserable, it’s time to stop and reassess.
See the problem is that people are buying into a lot of crap about their lives. I understand this. As an unschooler I have daily visits with my twin insecurities — Comparison sits on my left shoulder while Inadequate is hunkered down on my right. However if there’s one thing my good mama taught me it’s that whatever people want to make of me, I’m still my own person.
So part of me has nothing but sympathy for the women struggling to make sense of their lives but another part of me wants to say, “C’mon, smart women, let’s rally!” If you’ve got the privilege to change a life that’s making you unhappy than by god, change it. Quit looking for validation from the rest of the world. Dare to dance to the beat of your own personal drummer.
I don’t have any answers to this; I just feel incredulous. Like I said, this is not a phenomena that I’ve encountered in my world and so I can’t help but look askance at that 70% statistic.
Now if you’ll excuse me, the allure of cheerios on her highchair tray has palled for Madison and now I have to go sit on the floor for a couple of hours while I watch her bang on the coffee table and listen to Noah wax on about lizards.
Now playing on iTunes: “Balança Pema” from the album Rose & Charcoal (Verde Anil Amarelo Cor De Rosa & Carvão) by Marisa Monte
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Tags: anti-adoption, Brett, Erica, Madison, Noah, preschool, unschool
Just so you know
Feb 22, 2005 Uncategorized
Madison totally should not be awake yet but she is. Rats.
Now playing on iTunes: “Do-Re-Mi” from the album Songs I Heard by Harry Connick, Jr.
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Tags: Madison
