And then the DNC. My doctor gave me the choice between waiting for the pregnancy that didn't happen to miscarry itself, or to have a DNC. Rather than wait around until some potentially inconvenient time, I decided to go ahead and have the DNC.
And can I tell you, it is nasty. Not fun at all. It really made me feel badly for the people who really, really want a child and then not only do they find out that they aren't having it, but they also have to go through this thing. And also for the people who get an abortion but maybe aren't a hundred percent sure of their decision (who ever is in life?) and then have this very unpleasant and kind of painful procedure to help them feel even worse. I was probably as ambivalent as anyone who lost a pregnancy ever is and still it was a bummer.
But then the silver lining. They gave me several valiums! Mike had taken the day off from work, so he and the kids picked me up at the doctor's office in the morning, dropped me off at home and went off to the science museum. I had about four Diet Cokes (a VERY nice combination with valium) and actually got to be alone in my house for four hours, for the first time in years. And in a weird way, cleaning and rearranging the house, it was one of the best mornings I'd had in a long time.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Friday, December 16, 2005
Our Brush With Three
Right before Thanksgiving we found out that we were pregnant with our third child. This was an accident in the first degree. In fact, it was so much of an accident that we couldn't even pinpoint how far along I was. That would mean that we were actually paying attention to when I'd gotten my last period, and as silly as this sounds, we've been a little too busy with school and stuff for me to be thinking about that....
We didn't find out under the best circumstances. It was the day after we found out that Miles' persistent fever and smoker's cough - that had prevented any of us from sleeping all week - was caused by pnemonia. Nevertheless, my first reaction was to laugh. With the number of people we know who've had accidental thirds (including our next door neighbors) you would think we would have learned. So I had to laugh at how incredibly stupid we could be.
And then my next reaction (which lasted for a week) was to cry. Miles had only recently turned three. And Mia was 18 months. If we had a baby next summer, we would have THREE under the age of FOUR. And Miles wouldn't even be going to kindergarten for another TWO YEARS!
It isn't that I wouldn't love another baby. But the timing would never be right for us. If we waited until Miles and Mia were old enough that they actually listen to us (if indeed that would ever happen) we'd be too old. I'll be forty in a few months and I just don't want to be doing diapers when I'm forty five. (I don't even want to be doing them now!). And I don't want to be retired before my kids graduate from high school. Not to mention the fact that I'm not sure our marriage could handle it. After all, Mike didn't take both kids to the playground by himself until Mia was over a year old.
So I went to bed and cried for a week. I tried very, very hard to talk myself into doing something about it. The stress was getting to us Mike and I were arguing a lot and I tried to convince myself that this would be a bad environment to bring a baby into. If he'd only hit me, maybe I could have convinced myself but in the end I just couldn't bring myself to do anything.
And then we started to get used to the idea. We realized we'd need a new car (that would be big enough to hold an infant car seat between the other kids), we'd have to sell our house and leave the city. We'd have to figure out how to politely ask to have back some of the baby things that we'd given away. We'd have to get used to the idea that we wouldn't be able to go on vacation for YEARS ( or at least not one that requires a plane ride).
So I had my initial doctor's appointment and all of the blood tests and then yesterday I went in for the CVS test. I sat through an hour of genetic counseling (is this really necessary for a third time?) and then went in for the ultrasound and procedure.
And there was nothing there. The technician (the same one that I had for both Miles and Mia) showed me where there had been something, but somewhere along the line it had just stopped developing. She said this happens frequently in women of "my age". And then waited for my reaction.
It was weird. I wasn't surprised. We have so many friends who've had trouble having kids that it just seemed fair that it was our turn to have something happen. And I was very relieved, I'll admit. Ninety percent of the way. But I was also sort of sad. But when I drove home I found myself looking back repeatedly at the space where the infant car seat would have been.
We didn't find out under the best circumstances. It was the day after we found out that Miles' persistent fever and smoker's cough - that had prevented any of us from sleeping all week - was caused by pnemonia. Nevertheless, my first reaction was to laugh. With the number of people we know who've had accidental thirds (including our next door neighbors) you would think we would have learned. So I had to laugh at how incredibly stupid we could be.
And then my next reaction (which lasted for a week) was to cry. Miles had only recently turned three. And Mia was 18 months. If we had a baby next summer, we would have THREE under the age of FOUR. And Miles wouldn't even be going to kindergarten for another TWO YEARS!
It isn't that I wouldn't love another baby. But the timing would never be right for us. If we waited until Miles and Mia were old enough that they actually listen to us (if indeed that would ever happen) we'd be too old. I'll be forty in a few months and I just don't want to be doing diapers when I'm forty five. (I don't even want to be doing them now!). And I don't want to be retired before my kids graduate from high school. Not to mention the fact that I'm not sure our marriage could handle it. After all, Mike didn't take both kids to the playground by himself until Mia was over a year old.
So I went to bed and cried for a week. I tried very, very hard to talk myself into doing something about it. The stress was getting to us Mike and I were arguing a lot and I tried to convince myself that this would be a bad environment to bring a baby into. If he'd only hit me, maybe I could have convinced myself but in the end I just couldn't bring myself to do anything.
And then we started to get used to the idea. We realized we'd need a new car (that would be big enough to hold an infant car seat between the other kids), we'd have to sell our house and leave the city. We'd have to figure out how to politely ask to have back some of the baby things that we'd given away. We'd have to get used to the idea that we wouldn't be able to go on vacation for YEARS ( or at least not one that requires a plane ride).
So I had my initial doctor's appointment and all of the blood tests and then yesterday I went in for the CVS test. I sat through an hour of genetic counseling (is this really necessary for a third time?) and then went in for the ultrasound and procedure.
And there was nothing there. The technician (the same one that I had for both Miles and Mia) showed me where there had been something, but somewhere along the line it had just stopped developing. She said this happens frequently in women of "my age". And then waited for my reaction.
It was weird. I wasn't surprised. We have so many friends who've had trouble having kids that it just seemed fair that it was our turn to have something happen. And I was very relieved, I'll admit. Ninety percent of the way. But I was also sort of sad. But when I drove home I found myself looking back repeatedly at the space where the infant car seat would have been.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Monday, November 07, 2005
Sweet Potatoes
This post isn't about the food sweet potatoes, although I'm proud to report that my kids are faithful to their southern heritage and love their sweet potatoes and fried chicken. It is about being a good mom.
Most of the time I think I am, and then I have moments when I slip much too easily into mommy rage. You know those days, when you didn't get quite enough sleep the night before, when your three year old keeps doing something even after you've told him, say, fifty times to stop. When you allow it to bother you that he never, ever listens to you. And you just want to shake him and scream "goddamit, you listen to me!"
Last Wednesday was "picture day" at our preschool. And wouldn't you know it, but EVERY single kid in our class went happily into the room that was set up as the "studio," posed nicely in front of the backdrop and smiled incredibly sweetly for the photographer. Every single kid. Except mine.
He liked to watch the other kids, but when it was his turn he absolutely refused to sit down on the bench that the photographer had set up. To be fair to Miles, the photographer wasn't too good with young ones- he basically said "Next!" instead of trying to be friendly and coaxing. And of course being the wonderful mother I am, I did everything I could to make Miles feel comfortable and relaxed. If you count grabbing his arm tightly, dragging him across the room and hissing in his ear, "You better sit still for this picture or you'll never have dessert again."
I'm not sure how much the other mothers at the co-op heard but I'm sure they are all busily trying to transfer their kids out of Mondays (when I teach). Of course Miles ended up crying but luckily the Assistant Director stepped in and coerced him into it.
It is times like these when I feel really, really badly about myself and my parenting skills.
If I think about all of the families that I've known and admired, the one that springs to mind is my old boyfriend Michael's Marin county family. It was pretty non-traditional: he has a full sister and then on one side a step sister, half brother and half sister, and on the other side a half brother and two step brothers. Not to mention a number of aunts, uncles and cousins. There would be big holiday dinnerwith eighteen people around a big table, all eating and talking. One of the things that was most amazing about this family was that anything that anyone had to say was important. I remember watching my boyfriend's mother talk to a preschooler and nodding and really listening to his thoughts and opinions.
Once I visited my family in Mississippi and returned with a genuine sweet potatoe pie baked by a family friend. I brought it over to Michael's parents' house and they cut it into tiny slices and shared it out around the table. Michael's stepfather chewed it slowly and deliberately, asking about the recipe, treasuring it on his palate, as if he was sampling a Silver Oak Cabernet.
So this is one thing that I know I can do. I may not always be the most patient person around. But I can promise this to my kids. When they bring me their thoughts and ideas and sweet potatoes, I can listen.
Most of the time I think I am, and then I have moments when I slip much too easily into mommy rage. You know those days, when you didn't get quite enough sleep the night before, when your three year old keeps doing something even after you've told him, say, fifty times to stop. When you allow it to bother you that he never, ever listens to you. And you just want to shake him and scream "goddamit, you listen to me!"
Last Wednesday was "picture day" at our preschool. And wouldn't you know it, but EVERY single kid in our class went happily into the room that was set up as the "studio," posed nicely in front of the backdrop and smiled incredibly sweetly for the photographer. Every single kid. Except mine.
He liked to watch the other kids, but when it was his turn he absolutely refused to sit down on the bench that the photographer had set up. To be fair to Miles, the photographer wasn't too good with young ones- he basically said "Next!" instead of trying to be friendly and coaxing. And of course being the wonderful mother I am, I did everything I could to make Miles feel comfortable and relaxed. If you count grabbing his arm tightly, dragging him across the room and hissing in his ear, "You better sit still for this picture or you'll never have dessert again."
I'm not sure how much the other mothers at the co-op heard but I'm sure they are all busily trying to transfer their kids out of Mondays (when I teach). Of course Miles ended up crying but luckily the Assistant Director stepped in and coerced him into it.
It is times like these when I feel really, really badly about myself and my parenting skills.
If I think about all of the families that I've known and admired, the one that springs to mind is my old boyfriend Michael's Marin county family. It was pretty non-traditional: he has a full sister and then on one side a step sister, half brother and half sister, and on the other side a half brother and two step brothers. Not to mention a number of aunts, uncles and cousins. There would be big holiday dinnerwith eighteen people around a big table, all eating and talking. One of the things that was most amazing about this family was that anything that anyone had to say was important. I remember watching my boyfriend's mother talk to a preschooler and nodding and really listening to his thoughts and opinions.
Once I visited my family in Mississippi and returned with a genuine sweet potatoe pie baked by a family friend. I brought it over to Michael's parents' house and they cut it into tiny slices and shared it out around the table. Michael's stepfather chewed it slowly and deliberately, asking about the recipe, treasuring it on his palate, as if he was sampling a Silver Oak Cabernet.
So this is one thing that I know I can do. I may not always be the most patient person around. But I can promise this to my kids. When they bring me their thoughts and ideas and sweet potatoes, I can listen.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
You Know You're Behind on Shopping When...
The only toothpaste in the house is your 18 month old daughter's "toddler training" toothpaste. Unfortunately I had a tuna sandwich for lunch, so I had no other choice. It wasn't bad, really, just a bit fruity for my taste.
I realize I haven't blogged in a long, long time. Things have been crazy here. I feel like I ran a marathon just to get through Halloween.
But there's lots to tell and I'll be back next week.
Now, off to the pediatrician. For the second time today.....
I realize I haven't blogged in a long, long time. Things have been crazy here. I feel like I ran a marathon just to get through Halloween.
But there's lots to tell and I'll be back next week.
Now, off to the pediatrician. For the second time today.....
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Miles On His Own
Miles has finally settled into preschool.
It has taken longer than I expected -- he's the youngest boy there, many of the other kids are "siblings" so they know other people or are familiar with the school, and let's face it - he has a "listening" problem. Our program has the philosophy that you don't leave the kids crying but wait until they say it is OK for you to leave. So what do you think he's going to say? Of course he wouldn't let me go. I heard of one poor Mom that was there for three months. Lets just say that after spending four full days with him at preschool, I was more than a little anxious.
Then today Mia and I took him to school. And of course we were running late. The weekly yoga class is at 9am, so I kind of rushed him in after we got there. And then I felt a little guilty. We hadn't said goodbye. So we waited for half and hour, and I tried to keep Mia from getting into too many things. I didn't want him to freak out if he came out of class and we hadn't said goodbye.
But when he came out, he looked at us and said "You're still here?"
All through high school, when I was a real terror my Mom said (about a thousand times) "I can't wait until you go to college." And then when she dropped me off, she cried the whole way home.
I felt the same way today. I was sad that he doesn't need me anymore. I was so stressed about
It has taken longer than I expected -- he's the youngest boy there, many of the other kids are "siblings" so they know other people or are familiar with the school, and let's face it - he has a "listening" problem. Our program has the philosophy that you don't leave the kids crying but wait until they say it is OK for you to leave. So what do you think he's going to say? Of course he wouldn't let me go. I heard of one poor Mom that was there for three months. Lets just say that after spending four full days with him at preschool, I was more than a little anxious.
Then today Mia and I took him to school. And of course we were running late. The weekly yoga class is at 9am, so I kind of rushed him in after we got there. And then I felt a little guilty. We hadn't said goodbye. So we waited for half and hour, and I tried to keep Mia from getting into too many things. I didn't want him to freak out if he came out of class and we hadn't said goodbye.
But when he came out, he looked at us and said "You're still here?"
All through high school, when I was a real terror my Mom said (about a thousand times) "I can't wait until you go to college." And then when she dropped me off, she cried the whole way home.
I felt the same way today. I was sad that he doesn't need me anymore. I was so stressed about
him not gaining his independence. And now that he has it, I see that it is just the start of a lifetime of leaving me.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Imelda...
Last week I got some new Stride Rite Mary Janes for Mia. And now she SCREAMS every time we try to take them off.
Here is a picture of my little fashionista playing with a shell necklace in Hawaii last month. Already she understands the importance of accessories.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Chip off the old block...
I was holding Miles today, putting his shoes on and he let out one of the biggest, loudest farts I've ever heard. And then he laughed and yelled, "Mia!!" So I guess his Dad would say he raised him well....
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Lookin' Good!
When I was getting ready to go out tonight, Miles gave me the once over and then said "You look cute!" What can I say? I raised him well.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
First Day of School
Today was Miles' first day of school. Any delusions that I might have had about my son's maturity were dashed - he didn't let me leave, and he got sent out of circle time TWICE for making a disturbance. But the good news is that he had fun. And maybe he'll make some friends and learn something too....
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Vacation or Trip?
My neighbor Kendall says that a vacation with kids is not a vacation, it is a trip. And for a long time I thought she was right. I spent so much time packing, the airport was stressful, watching kids was a nightmare....
But then something amazing happened this month. We were at Ke'e beach in Kaui, playing with the kids in the surf. And I realized I was having fun. I was actually having fun. Not only that, ALL FOUR of us were having fun at the SAME TIME.
I'm not sure what it was. Our condo was big and baby proof, with a kitchen and washer and dryer. My Mom and step father were right down the street, and actually willing to go to the beach with us. Even to watch the kids one day so we could go for a day hike on the Nepali Coast. Or maybe it is just that the kids are getting older. (My friend Stephanie has boys in kindergarten and second grade and swears that she had fun on a ski trip last spring).
But whatever it was, the kids felt it too. Two days after our return, as we drove down foggy San Francisco streets, Miles said, "I want to go back to Hawaii." Join the club, buddy. Join the club.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Big Easy
Nothing to say this week. Everything that is going on in New Orleans is making my little problems seem, well, very, very little.
Monday, August 22, 2005
Roller
So of course we went back to the roller yesterday and it was BROKEN! Miles was a good sport about it, though, and he climbed around on it.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Threats
My friend Jean was visiting this week and offered (in the nicest possible way) some parenting advice. She is a former kindergarten teacher and long time educator so I figured I should probably take it. And anyone who's read more than a sentence of this blog probably understands that I need all of the help I can get.
I tend to give my son a lot of threats. I try not to give him crazy off target ones (like "wash your hands or you'll never see Elmo again") but things that are fairly relevant and related (such as "if you don't hold still and get your pajamas on now, we won't have time to read books").
Last night I threatened to take my son's popsicle away if he stepped off of the rug in our doorway (he's a pretty messy eater sometimes). Each time he started to step off, I'd remind him and he'd get back on. Jean's point was that if he stepped off at all, I should have taken it away. So he'd learn to listen to what I say, to stop constantly pushing the envelope.
So today I decided to try her advice. We went to the grocery store. Outside, there was a little coin operated construction paver that kids could ride in. Miles realllllllllly wanted to go in it. So I told him that if he was good in the store and didn't touch anything, he could do it.
He was pretty good to start. A few times as we went up and down the aisles I'd have to remind him - as his little fingers brushed the cookies or cereal - that he couldn't go on the paver if he touched things. And finally, when we were at our last stop - produce - he touched the tomatos. So I told him no paver today.
The lines were long and it was almost naptime and he cried for half an hour straight. Everyone was looking and I found myself explaining myself to the other people in line. But here's the worst part. I felt TERRIBLE. It was all I could do to stop myself from crying too. And first thing tomorrow, I'm sure we'll be back at the store, going for a ride on the paver.
So I think Jean is probably right. You need to draw a hard line on your threats. But here's my other learning today. Don't give a threat that will hurt you more than it hurts him.
I tend to give my son a lot of threats. I try not to give him crazy off target ones (like "wash your hands or you'll never see Elmo again") but things that are fairly relevant and related (such as "if you don't hold still and get your pajamas on now, we won't have time to read books").
Last night I threatened to take my son's popsicle away if he stepped off of the rug in our doorway (he's a pretty messy eater sometimes). Each time he started to step off, I'd remind him and he'd get back on. Jean's point was that if he stepped off at all, I should have taken it away. So he'd learn to listen to what I say, to stop constantly pushing the envelope.
So today I decided to try her advice. We went to the grocery store. Outside, there was a little coin operated construction paver that kids could ride in. Miles realllllllllly wanted to go in it. So I told him that if he was good in the store and didn't touch anything, he could do it.
He was pretty good to start. A few times as we went up and down the aisles I'd have to remind him - as his little fingers brushed the cookies or cereal - that he couldn't go on the paver if he touched things. And finally, when we were at our last stop - produce - he touched the tomatos. So I told him no paver today.
The lines were long and it was almost naptime and he cried for half an hour straight. Everyone was looking and I found myself explaining myself to the other people in line. But here's the worst part. I felt TERRIBLE. It was all I could do to stop myself from crying too. And first thing tomorrow, I'm sure we'll be back at the store, going for a ride on the paver.
So I think Jean is probably right. You need to draw a hard line on your threats. But here's my other learning today. Don't give a threat that will hurt you more than it hurts him.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Let Them Eat Cake
Miles has started another vegtable strike. Over the past week he's had one carrot and three slices of cucumber.... So I'm back to threatening, cajoling, and trying to sneak them in. I've always taken the philosphy that "every bite counts" but I sometimes wonder whether that's true. Or if two green beans or a few shreds of zucchini tucked under the cheese on his pizza are nothing more than a rounding error in his total nutritional intake.
There's an article in today's New York Times about the efforts of food scientists to add more nutritional value to otherwise unhealthy foods -- eg, potato chips may someday be a good source of dietary fiber. Part of me applauds this concept. It would certainly be easier for all of us if my kids could meet all of their nutritional needs with mac & cheese and veggie booty. But another part of me finds this very scary. Kind of like mini malls. Just one more effort to take all of the character, individuality and taste out of American life.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Ups
I was talking to my friend Robert yesterday and he said (in a nicer way than this) that after reading my blog he was glad that he didn't have kids. I guess I've been writing too much about the downs and not enough about the ups. So I started thinking about why I'm so glad I have my kids.
First is watching them develop as people. Miles will ask the same question say, maybe, fifty times while you are driving in the car (Daddy's in the airplane? Daddy flying to Connecticut? Daddy's in the plane? Where's Daddy?) as he tries to process the world. And Mia is learning to take care of people -- even the one who just hipchecked her away from the train table. She follows Miles around the house, constantly brininging him his lovey or binkie or sippy cup.
I also love seeing the world through their eyes. For most of my life I actually walked right by construction equipment or tow trucks and didn't spend twenty minutes marveling at the mysteries of heavy machinery. The kids also introduce a lot of laughter into my life, although I don't always understand the things that they find funny. They can crack each other up simply by passing a book or a binkie under a door. They were hysterical when he covered her in band aids. Or when he plays diaper man.
There's also the physical closeness of these two small bodies. If Mia isn't being held her favorite game is to walk toward me and then suddenly (and sometimes painfully!) dive on top of me. Miles needs to cuddle in my lap for half an hour every time he wakes up. So as much as they were driving me crazy when we were on vacation a couple of weeks ago because they were touching me constantly, I wouldn't know what to do with my personal space if I had it back.
And of course there's what children teach you about yourself. Admittedly I'm still working very, very hard on learning patience (more on this later!). But before I had Miles my friend Sam told me that one of the best things about motherhood is that you find that your capacity to love is more than you ever thought possible. And she's right.
Now back to picking tonight's mac and cheese off the floor....
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Murphy's Law of Carwashes
We finally went to the carwash today. The nice one, where they vacuum and windex the inside of your car. And not thirty seconds after we pulled out, Miles accidentally dumped a bag of cheerios....
Monday, August 08, 2005
Free Time
Right now I have about five hours a week of free time to myself. It sounds like a lot, but it isn't really. It's the equivalent of the lunch breaks that a regular working person takes during their week. But the problem is that I don't usually spend it relaxing and taking a rest from my job.
Partially it is guilt. Although I don't know why I should feel guilty about taking a break. I used to work at a high-paced, high-stress software company (that shall remain nameless) and I can tell you that even the most high pressure job in Silicon Valley doesn't hold a candle to motherhood. I deserve a break, I really do.
Partially it is that sometimes it is a pain in the ass to take my kids on errands. Unless I can get the parking spot right out in front of the dry cleaner's, I have to take both kids out, carry Mia and drag Miles by the hand and somehow schlep Mike's mountain of dirty clothes in through the door. Even going to the grocery store can be a pain when your two year old insists on unloading the cart and paying.
I spent most of my time in high school obsessing about my weight and I don't want to go there again. However, I do have a milestone birthday coming up next year and I was thinking that it might be good be fit when I greet my new decade. Somehow I'm going have to find a way to work in working out.
Today I decided to free up my free time. Instead of going to the grocery store, I went for a run. I paid in the afternoon when I had to take both kids shopping so we'd have something for dinner. We almost got thrown out whenMiles opened the change machine and started pulling out quarters. But maybe, just maybe, I was a little more relaxed. And someday I might be a little more fit too.
Partially it is guilt. Although I don't know why I should feel guilty about taking a break. I used to work at a high-paced, high-stress software company (that shall remain nameless) and I can tell you that even the most high pressure job in Silicon Valley doesn't hold a candle to motherhood. I deserve a break, I really do.
Partially it is that sometimes it is a pain in the ass to take my kids on errands. Unless I can get the parking spot right out in front of the dry cleaner's, I have to take both kids out, carry Mia and drag Miles by the hand and somehow schlep Mike's mountain of dirty clothes in through the door. Even going to the grocery store can be a pain when your two year old insists on unloading the cart and paying.
I spent most of my time in high school obsessing about my weight and I don't want to go there again. However, I do have a milestone birthday coming up next year and I was thinking that it might be good be fit when I greet my new decade. Somehow I'm going have to find a way to work in working out.
Today I decided to free up my free time. Instead of going to the grocery store, I went for a run. I paid in the afternoon when I had to take both kids shopping so we'd have something for dinner. We almost got thrown out whenMiles opened the change machine and started pulling out quarters. But maybe, just maybe, I was a little more relaxed. And someday I might be a little more fit too.
Mooch
For breakfast this morning my daughter ate a bowl of cheerios, a cheese stick and 1/3 of a pear. Then I dropped the kids off at daycare for a few hours. Before I left, I took my son into the bathroom to pee. When I came out, Mia was in the high chair having yogurt and strawberries.
It doesn't matter where we are -- swim class, playground, daycare, zoo - if my kids see someone else with food, they stand there with mouths open, whining. You would think that I never fed them. I'm sure the other mothers slip them apple slices and goldfish on the sly because they think I'm starving them.
It doesn't matter where we are -- swim class, playground, daycare, zoo - if my kids see someone else with food, they stand there with mouths open, whining. You would think that I never fed them. I'm sure the other mothers slip them apple slices and goldfish on the sly because they think I'm starving them.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Kangaroo
We were travelling last week (without Dad) and even though we were staying with an extremely hospitable friend who had a house full of toys, the kids felt a little insecure and I basically spent every waking moment holding one or the other.
I'm not unmoved by my daughter holding up her arms and bleating "Mama, mama," but after awhile my back was hurting and I was really wishing for just five seconds when someone wasn't touching me. And although I think I am a pretty good mother most of the time I haven't yet figured out how to take a shower or get dressed while holding Mia. I started thinking how nice it would be to have a pocket you could just stuff your kids into when they whine.
I'm not unmoved by my daughter holding up her arms and bleating "Mama, mama," but after awhile my back was hurting and I was really wishing for just five seconds when someone wasn't touching me. And although I think I am a pretty good mother most of the time I haven't yet figured out how to take a shower or get dressed while holding Mia. I started thinking how nice it would be to have a pocket you could just stuff your kids into when they whine.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Mullet
My daughter has been hair challenged for most of her short life. She was born with hair, but most of it fell out before she was two months old. Now, at fifteen months she's only just starting to get some in on the top of her head. But the little fringe that hung on around the back of her neck has prospered. Today I was looking at her and realized she's looking a lot like certain baseball players....
This is probably not the last time we will have our fashion differences. My Mom bit her tongue - at least most of the time - when I was in high school and college and sporting baggy sweaters, black eyeliner and white pumps (hey, it was the '80s, what can I say). I tell myself that as long as Mia isn't into self mutilation, I'll keep my mouth shut too.
Still, I'm wondering if a little trim might be in order.
This is probably not the last time we will have our fashion differences. My Mom bit her tongue - at least most of the time - when I was in high school and college and sporting baggy sweaters, black eyeliner and white pumps (hey, it was the '80s, what can I say). I tell myself that as long as Mia isn't into self mutilation, I'll keep my mouth shut too.
Still, I'm wondering if a little trim might be in order.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
My Baby Einstein
We're constantly looking for clues as to what our children will be like when they grow up. Will they be intellectual? Athletic? Musical? Stoners?
My son Miles has a real hair-of-the-dog-that-bit-me personality. We can't tell whether he is extremely brave, or just stupid. Even when he started to walk, at ten months, if he fell he would cry for the briefest second and then wriggle out of your arms and try again. Now, at two, if he stands and falls off a chair, I can't even finish admonishing him before he is right back up there. Leaving me to think that he must be swimming in the shallow end of the gene pool.
But there are other times when I'm left speechless by his brilliance. He remembers every restaurant we've been to, and points out the ice cream shop each time we drive by. Today we drove past the airport and I told him that we'd be taking a plane in a few weeks to go back east and see some friends and cousins. He immediately said "and the lady comes and brings us pretzels." He has not been on a plane in seven months (or twenty percent of his little life) and he still remembers the flight attendant who brought him a snack.
Which confirms in my mind. If it has to do with food, Miles is Einstein.
You Know Your Car is REALLY Dirty When
your visiting 9 year old nephew proclaims from the backseat "It's a pigsty back here." Okay, I guess it really is time to clean it...
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Police State?
Lest it seems like all I worry about are clothes, showers and grey hair, I'm also worried about what kind of country my children will grow up in.
Two things are worrying me in particular these days.
First, I'm worried about the fact that journalists are now revealing their confidential sources. What's going to happen to the free press? What's next? Do we lose attorney/client priviledge? Will psychiatrists have to reveal all of their clients' secrets?
Second, I'm worried about the increasing partisanship of American politics. Republicans line up behind republicans, democrats behind demos. It seems to me that people are defending the most indefensible things in the name of their parties. When did everyone lose the ability to think for themselves?
Two things are worrying me in particular these days.
First, I'm worried about the fact that journalists are now revealing their confidential sources. What's going to happen to the free press? What's next? Do we lose attorney/client priviledge? Will psychiatrists have to reveal all of their clients' secrets?
Second, I'm worried about the increasing partisanship of American politics. Republicans line up behind republicans, democrats behind demos. It seems to me that people are defending the most indefensible things in the name of their parties. When did everyone lose the ability to think for themselves?
Clothes
I'm starting to obsess about clothes. I was OK with looking lousy through my pregnancy and in the months beyond. But my daughter is now 15 months old and I really feel that it is time to move on.
I want a new wardrobe. I want things that are funky and unique (not too unique, but not "motherly" either). Also machine washable. With pockets. And inexpensive. Since I'm unemployed, free would be nice. Oh yes, and I want them to be available over the Internet or within walking distance.
As far as I can tell these things don't exist. I realize I'm pathetic for thinking about this, but I can't help it.
I want a new wardrobe. I want things that are funky and unique (not too unique, but not "motherly" either). Also machine washable. With pockets. And inexpensive. Since I'm unemployed, free would be nice. Oh yes, and I want them to be available over the Internet or within walking distance.
As far as I can tell these things don't exist. I realize I'm pathetic for thinking about this, but I can't help it.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Frustration
I have a million things to do -- the car needs to be fixed, we have a mountain of clothes in our bedroom that needs to be moved to goodwill, a perscription is waiting at Walgreen's, etc, etc, etc -- and I sit here powerless because the kids are napping and I can't leave the house.
My friend told me that she knows someone who used to regularly go out when her kids were sleeping and leave the baby monitor at a neighbor's house. If only....
People always say that parenting is about patience. I just didn't realize that the need for patience extended beyond the kids themselves.
My friend told me that she knows someone who used to regularly go out when her kids were sleeping and leave the baby monitor at a neighbor's house. If only....
People always say that parenting is about patience. I just didn't realize that the need for patience extended beyond the kids themselves.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
More on Hygenie
A couple of weeks ago I met a friend on a Wednesday morning, after I'd taken Mia to swim class and ducked home for a quick shower. She repeatedly admired my "new" haircut and said how much she liked it.
But here's the thing. I hadn't had a haircut in four months.
Now that I'm thinking about hygenie, I'm realizing that she'd just never seen me with clean hair before. It is virtually impossible to take a shower when my kids around around. I used to put Mia in the exersaucer, but now she kicks and screams as if I'm trying to kill her. The only time I can take a shower is when they're napping in the afternoons.
So I realize that I have a whole group of friends that I've met at the playground or playdates or whatever who have never seen me clean. They have no idea what I really look like. I am usually a clean freak, but all of these people would sure never know it to look at me!
But here's the thing. I hadn't had a haircut in four months.
Now that I'm thinking about hygenie, I'm realizing that she'd just never seen me with clean hair before. It is virtually impossible to take a shower when my kids around around. I used to put Mia in the exersaucer, but now she kicks and screams as if I'm trying to kill her. The only time I can take a shower is when they're napping in the afternoons.
So I realize that I have a whole group of friends that I've met at the playground or playdates or whatever who have never seen me clean. They have no idea what I really look like. I am usually a clean freak, but all of these people would sure never know it to look at me!
Dental Floss
I went to the dentist for a teeth cleaning today and as they were flossing my teeth I realized I hadn't flossed since my last visit six months ago. Not one single time. It isn't that I'm philosophically opposed to flossing. I just forgot about the whole concept. My mind is so full with preschools, playdates and potty training that flossing got lost in the shuffle.
My mind can only hold a proscribed amount of information at any one time. That's why I can still remember Jim Woodruff's phone number from junior high (226-4097) but sometimes having trouble recalling my husband's cell. Or my own.
So in addition to interrupting my sleep patterns, social life and everything else, my kids are affecting my personal hygenie too. I guess that's more than anyone really needed to know...
My mind can only hold a proscribed amount of information at any one time. That's why I can still remember Jim Woodruff's phone number from junior high (226-4097) but sometimes having trouble recalling my husband's cell. Or my own.
So in addition to interrupting my sleep patterns, social life and everything else, my kids are affecting my personal hygenie too. I guess that's more than anyone really needed to know...
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Circle?
In less than 24 hours last weekend I found out that an old friend died very suddenly (leaving behind three daughters ages 6, 4 and 2) and another friend's child had a horrible accident (from which he will recover, but it will be a long recovery after a week in intensive care and a terrible ordeal for the entire family). In those same 24 hours, a different friend gave birth to twins and another returned from China with a beautiful baby girl.
Somehow it always seems that things happen in bunches like this. I don't want to say something cheesy about the circle of life, or lie that it makes you feel better about losing a friend to know that there are new babies out there, or babies that now have happy homes. I'm still finding myself crying at the drop of a hat.
But it does remind you that good things do happen. And that helps.
Somehow it always seems that things happen in bunches like this. I don't want to say something cheesy about the circle of life, or lie that it makes you feel better about losing a friend to know that there are new babies out there, or babies that now have happy homes. I'm still finding myself crying at the drop of a hat.
But it does remind you that good things do happen. And that helps.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
The Carwash-Nutrition Connection
My friend Jaclyn has the cleanest car you've ever seen. She's had it for over a year and it still has the new car smell. What's amazing is that she also has two kids. And they ride in the car. Her secret? No food...
I'm a bit of a neat freak, so when I rode in her car I was more than a teensy bit jealous. My car is littered with zip lock bags, petrified cheese stick nubs, melted raisins and bits of carrot muffins. And dried up puddles of milk and juice. A week after we drove to San Diego I found a big hunk of rubbery banana in the well around the seat belt buckle.
So I thought about having the no food rule in our car too. A clean car. How adult! Someday I might wear dry clean only clothes again too.
But here's the problem. My son's attention span is the size of an atomic particle. And unfortunately that extends to eating too. He likes food, and - thankfully - he's back on the vegtables. But he has a hard time sitting still long enough to eat a full dinner. So he does his best eating when he's strapped down - in the car or the stroller.
I can hand him a little bag of carrots in the car, and he'll actually eat them. He's so hungry on the way home from swim class that I could probably give him a bag of sand and he'd eat that too. Some of our best eating is in the car.
So as much as I crave a clean car, I'm just going to have to wait until Miles is less squirmy. Besides, he loves going to the carwash.
I'm a bit of a neat freak, so when I rode in her car I was more than a teensy bit jealous. My car is littered with zip lock bags, petrified cheese stick nubs, melted raisins and bits of carrot muffins. And dried up puddles of milk and juice. A week after we drove to San Diego I found a big hunk of rubbery banana in the well around the seat belt buckle.
So I thought about having the no food rule in our car too. A clean car. How adult! Someday I might wear dry clean only clothes again too.
But here's the problem. My son's attention span is the size of an atomic particle. And unfortunately that extends to eating too. He likes food, and - thankfully - he's back on the vegtables. But he has a hard time sitting still long enough to eat a full dinner. So he does his best eating when he's strapped down - in the car or the stroller.
I can hand him a little bag of carrots in the car, and he'll actually eat them. He's so hungry on the way home from swim class that I could probably give him a bag of sand and he'd eat that too. Some of our best eating is in the car.
So as much as I crave a clean car, I'm just going to have to wait until Miles is less squirmy. Besides, he loves going to the carwash.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Birthday Gifts?
I'll just caveat this by saying that at just 2-1/2, Miles hasn't been invited to a whole lot of birthday parties yet... but he received an invitation today that said (in 12 point type) on the back that the birthday boy likes Jojo and company, available at the Disney store and Amazon.com, as well as Elmo and Thomas the Tank Engine. Oh yeah, and that he wears a size 2T. I know you are expected to bring gifts to parties, but it seems a teensy bit wrong to be told what to get. And where to get it.
Is this customary? I can just imagine the stroke my Mom would have if I did that...
Is this customary? I can just imagine the stroke my Mom would have if I did that...
Friday, July 01, 2005
Pulling My Hair Out
In the past week I’ve noticed an explosion of grey hairs on my head. I don’t know whether to blame it on my son’s terrible twos or my impending fortieth birthday, but whatever the cause… there they are.
I used to jazz up my mousy brown hair with blonde highlights, but I’ve been growing them out for the past year under the principle that I want to set an example of good self image to my daughter. I don’t want her to grow up feeling like she has to change herself in some way to improve herself.
And yet I can’t quite accustom myself to the fact that they are there, and taking over. At this rate I can’t keep plucking them or I’ll go bald. I don’t have a lot going for me these days…. exercise is basically a distant memory, manicures are an irregular habit at best. If I can spend two hours in a chair three times a year and give myself a little sparkle, it is probably worth the investment.
So I made an appointment for highlights next week. My daughter, after all, is only fourteen months old. There’s lots of time to set a good example.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Legoland
Two weeks ago we went to Legoland in San Diego. This was the first time that we have been to a touristy family destination outside of the San Francisco area. It was shocking how many really obese people – and even very young children – there were. I’ve read about the obesity epidemic, but the average person in the bay area is pretty fit (at least compared to what we saw at Legoland) and seems to eat fairly well (there’s no fast food in my neighborhood), so I just haven’t seen it up close and personal.
But the folks working at Legoland don’t seem that concerned.
We ordered a kid’s meal which contained a grilled cheese sandwich, potato chips, rice crispy treat and soda! I confess that I drink a lot of soda, but that doesn’t mean I want my kids to! Of course they loved the meal. We hid the treat and the soda, but let them share the sandwich and chips. My fourteen month old screamed as if someone was trying to kill her every time her brother came near the chips. I’m glad my kids were happy but really, couldn’t they have thrown in some carrot sticks or an apple?
They also had an have an apple snack that was heavily promoted around the park -- Granny’s Apple Fries - fried apples, dusted in sugar and served with a vanilla sauce.
I was obsessed with my weight in high school and alternately starved myself and ate whole boxes of Pepperidge Farm cookies. I don’t want to obsess any more than I already am about my kids’ food. And I don’t want to pass any obsessions along. I want my kids to have healthy body images, no matter what body type they have.
My son loves his legos. We have spent many happy hours building fire stations and houses for Bob the Builder. And more importantly, he has spent many happy hours with them WITHOUT ME. But I can't help wondering whether I should support a company that doesn't care....
But the folks working at Legoland don’t seem that concerned.
We ordered a kid’s meal which contained a grilled cheese sandwich, potato chips, rice crispy treat and soda! I confess that I drink a lot of soda, but that doesn’t mean I want my kids to! Of course they loved the meal. We hid the treat and the soda, but let them share the sandwich and chips. My fourteen month old screamed as if someone was trying to kill her every time her brother came near the chips. I’m glad my kids were happy but really, couldn’t they have thrown in some carrot sticks or an apple?
They also had an have an apple snack that was heavily promoted around the park -- Granny’s Apple Fries - fried apples, dusted in sugar and served with a vanilla sauce.
I was obsessed with my weight in high school and alternately starved myself and ate whole boxes of Pepperidge Farm cookies. I don’t want to obsess any more than I already am about my kids’ food. And I don’t want to pass any obsessions along. I want my kids to have healthy body images, no matter what body type they have.
My son loves his legos. We have spent many happy hours building fire stations and houses for Bob the Builder. And more importantly, he has spent many happy hours with them WITHOUT ME. But I can't help wondering whether I should support a company that doesn't care....
Letting Go
I admit it, I’m a control freak. I had a timeline for the week of our wedding that was color coded for different family members. I maintain separate lists in a small notebook for different grocery stores. I create a packing list for each family trip in Microsoft Excel. So it has come as kind of a shock that I can’t have complete control over my children too.
I guess I should have figured it out during my first pregnancy when my due date arrived but my baby didn’t. My son was 8 days late. Night after night I ate spicy food, went on long walks. But on each visit to my doctor she said “no progress.” And each time I cried.
Now my son is 2-1/2 and once again I’m experiencing a lack of control. This time it is over vegetables. In April he quit eating them full stop.
I tried everything. I threatened, I cajoled, I begged. I never ever gave him leftovers. I introduced new varieties of vegetables – he’d never had red peppers or edamame, had he? I refused him dessert. I pretended broccolis were trees. I offered condiments – ketchup, ranch dressing. I let him eat with chop sticks and made tiny green pea shish kabobs. I hid them vegetables in other foods, like spinach and bacon quiche. I made meatloaf with carrot and zucchini inside. I tucked shredded zucchini under the cheese in his pizza. I sautéed carrots in butter and brown sugar. I poured maple syrup on sweet potatoes. Nothing.
I grew obsessive, and increasingly emotional. One night I fixed chicken, sweet potatoes and avocado. And he didn’t eat one bite. Once again I cried.
So fine. If he wanted to live on macaroni and cheese and booty, that was his business. I would keep offering him vegetables but I wasn’t going to take it personally if he didn’t have them.
It isn’t easy for me to let go, and I wish I could say that after I did, Miles magically started chowing on broccoli, stuffing green beans into his mouth with two hands. It hasn’t been so neat. But if I can sit quietly while he is eating his dinner, chances are better than fifty percent that he’ll eat at least some vegetables. And at this point I’m calling a couple of spoonfuls of peas a victory. But I’m proud to report that last night he ate an entire corn on the cob, and three pieces of broccoli besides.
Three's Company or Three's a Crowd
It seems that lately everyone I know is having a third kid. I thought it was just a San Francisco thing, but a friend told me that it is more widespread. “Three is the new two,” she explained.
“Not me, not ever,” I said. I’ve spent a lot of time over the years with my sister and her three kids. I’ve seen the mountain of luggage that’s required for even the shortest vacation. Mike and I have always felt that we need man-on-man defense. “I’ll have another kid after I grow more arms.”
And, frankly, I’m not sure my marriage could take it. Our son is 2-1/2 and our daughter is 14 months, and my husband has yet to take both kids to the playground alone. Maybe it is because they are so close in age, or because our son is a wild man, or because we’re too old or because we both need a lot of time to ourselves. But we found two to be exponentially more difficult than one. Wouldn’t three put us over the edge?
Then I held my neighbor's little baby. She felt like a little bird in my arms, and her hair was soft and feathery under my chin. She grabbed my finger in her little fist. She smelled divine. How could we not have another one?
My secret, treasured name for a girl was always Eloise. I could picture her blue eyes and blonde bobbed hair. When my daughter was born she was lovely, perfect beyond belief. But she wasn’t Eloise. This girl was dark-skinned, dark haired, Italian (like her father) and the name Mia - a “runner up” on our list -- seemed to suit her perfectly. Still, I felt a lot of regret that after carefully guarding the name Eloise for all those years we didn’t use it. We named Mia’s first doll Eloise, but I can’t help wondering sometimes if the real Eloise is still out there somewhere, waiting. Waiting for us to forget a condom. Waiting for us to change our convictions.
One day soon we might be able to take a family vacation to Hawaii and all be able to go snorkeling. I might be able to tell our children to “go outside and play” without having to watch their every move. Mike and I might actually have some time to ourselves. It is optimistic, but still within the realm of possibility, that we might be completely out of diapers in a year. And yet, I’ll always look at little babies and feel an ache in my chest as I miss baby Eloise ….
PREschool or preSCHOOL
In May the Yale Child Study Center released a study which found that preschool children are three times as likely as primary school children to be expelled from their school programs.
According to the New York Times, the high expulsion rate may be due to a new emphasis on academics at preschools which is coming at the expense of focusing on socialization. Are today’s toddlers learning their ABCs, but failing in sharing?
After I got over my initial panic at the word “expelled” (my 2-1/2 year old is active and willful and I’m sure he will be the first one out the door if his preschool starts handing out pink slips), I found the article reassuring.
When I visited my first preschool, when I asked about the curriculum, the director explained to me that it was play-based. The focus is on children learning to develop self esteem, self confidence and social skills – without which they will find it hard to learn anything else in the future. To the rational side of me this sounded great.
To the other side, the one that I try to keep hidden from the light of day, this is very, very scary. And it isn’t hard for my paranoid self to make it even scarier. What if Miles doesn’t learn his alphabet? What if he is one of those people who says “I should have went”? What if he doesn’t get into the Ivy League?
We’re moving ahead with a play based school. But when a friend recently visited the local Catholic preschool where they have a “play based academic curriculum” and HOMEWORK, I’ll admit a moment of panic. Will Miles be able to read at the same level as Isabella in elementary school?
Ok, I buried the thought. Now, thanks to the New York Times, now I only have to worry about him getting expelled….
According to the New York Times, the high expulsion rate may be due to a new emphasis on academics at preschools which is coming at the expense of focusing on socialization. Are today’s toddlers learning their ABCs, but failing in sharing?
After I got over my initial panic at the word “expelled” (my 2-1/2 year old is active and willful and I’m sure he will be the first one out the door if his preschool starts handing out pink slips), I found the article reassuring.
When I visited my first preschool, when I asked about the curriculum, the director explained to me that it was play-based. The focus is on children learning to develop self esteem, self confidence and social skills – without which they will find it hard to learn anything else in the future. To the rational side of me this sounded great.
To the other side, the one that I try to keep hidden from the light of day, this is very, very scary. And it isn’t hard for my paranoid self to make it even scarier. What if Miles doesn’t learn his alphabet? What if he is one of those people who says “I should have went”? What if he doesn’t get into the Ivy League?
We’re moving ahead with a play based school. But when a friend recently visited the local Catholic preschool where they have a “play based academic curriculum” and HOMEWORK, I’ll admit a moment of panic. Will Miles be able to read at the same level as Isabella in elementary school?
Ok, I buried the thought. Now, thanks to the New York Times, now I only have to worry about him getting expelled….
Love, Honor and Ayelet Waldman
Ayelet Waldman is the wife of Pultizer-Prize winning Michael Chabon and the author of the Mommy Track Mysteries and recently published an article in the New York Times that said, “I love my husband more than I love my children.”
From the discussions I’ve had with other Moms around the sandbox and what I’ve read on other blogs, this seems to be a polarizing issue. (Although people seem united in snickering at her description of Chabon’s face inspiring her with “paroxysms of infatuated devotion.” I must be missing out in life.)
Who am I to judge Ayelet Waldman? Clearly we are living in two separate universes. In hers you can have four children, an active sex life with your husband and still find time to write a few novels, a weekly column on Salon.com and drop in on Oprah. In mine you can only scratch your head in wonder at how the other half lives and then go back to cooking dinner, wiping snotty noses and peeling your son’s foot off of your daughter’s face.
Watching my kids can be really, really hard. I’m not saying that it is every day, but some days it is. And on those days when Miles throws his breakfast all over the floor because he wanted blueberries, not honeydew, and then rolls around when I’m changing his diaper so that both of us are covered in poop, when Mia cries for an hour for no apparent reason and shrieks whenever I try to put her down, when I have to strap them howling into the stroller so we can get out of the house before I hurt someone, when I’m pushing them down the street and they are both screaming and grinding their elbows into each other as hard as they can, when people in passing cars are slowing down to look -- I have to love them more than absolutely anything else on the face of this earth, because if I didn’t, I might just leave them there on the corner. I might just leave them there while I sashay down to 24th street where a latte and a yoga class and a mani/pedi and lots of cute boutiques where the clothing has tags that read DRY CLEAN ONLY await me.
From the discussions I’ve had with other Moms around the sandbox and what I’ve read on other blogs, this seems to be a polarizing issue. (Although people seem united in snickering at her description of Chabon’s face inspiring her with “paroxysms of infatuated devotion.” I must be missing out in life.)
Who am I to judge Ayelet Waldman? Clearly we are living in two separate universes. In hers you can have four children, an active sex life with your husband and still find time to write a few novels, a weekly column on Salon.com and drop in on Oprah. In mine you can only scratch your head in wonder at how the other half lives and then go back to cooking dinner, wiping snotty noses and peeling your son’s foot off of your daughter’s face.
Watching my kids can be really, really hard. I’m not saying that it is every day, but some days it is. And on those days when Miles throws his breakfast all over the floor because he wanted blueberries, not honeydew, and then rolls around when I’m changing his diaper so that both of us are covered in poop, when Mia cries for an hour for no apparent reason and shrieks whenever I try to put her down, when I have to strap them howling into the stroller so we can get out of the house before I hurt someone, when I’m pushing them down the street and they are both screaming and grinding their elbows into each other as hard as they can, when people in passing cars are slowing down to look -- I have to love them more than absolutely anything else on the face of this earth, because if I didn’t, I might just leave them there on the corner. I might just leave them there while I sashay down to 24th street where a latte and a yoga class and a mani/pedi and lots of cute boutiques where the clothing has tags that read DRY CLEAN ONLY await me.
You Say Hello, I Say Goodbye
I went back to school when my first baby (Miles, now 2-1/2) was four months old and I always worried that he was somehow deprived of the special experiences that children with stay-at-home-Moms had.
We live in San Francisco, where enrichment classes are abundant. Practically every family I know takes swimming (sometimes private) and music classes. Some take gymnastics too. One friend has her 2-1/2 year old son signed up for soccer. In my neighborhood, there’s a studio which offers art classes for 2 year olds. There’s even a woodshop class.
I might work, but perhaps I could fit a whole week of enrichment into a couple of classes. When Miles was six months old, I signed up for swimming and Music Together. I had to sandwich swimming into lunchtimes on a work-at-home days and knock off early on Friday afternoons for music. After my daughter was born, I had to bring her along too. Even before the book A Perfect Madness, my Mom said we were crazy.
I guess we are. I found our fun filled activities weren't so fun. Miles was incapable of sitting still at music class. He did practically anything except music. While the other kids sat on the mothers’ laps and sang the Hello Song, Miles wanted to pour water from the water cooler, or unpack the supply closet, or climb up the shelves. Sometimes I’d sit with Mia and try to pretend that he wasn’t with me, but when he started throwing tambourines at the other kids I had to start chasing him. I'd leave Mia propped into a sitting position holding (translate: sucking on) an instrument. Sometimes by the time I'd saved Miles she’d toppled over on her maracas.
At the same time, I started noticing that he wanted to spend more and more time at home, building endless Lego houses or going on road trips in the Cozy Coupe. So I said “enough”. No more music class. It was freeing, not to be racing across town, trying to find a parking spot, worrying about being late, threatening Miles or plying him with treats to be good. Sometimes when my friends talk about their latest classes, I’ll have a twinge. I’ll worry that he won’t make it into the right kindergarten, the right private school, Julliard.
Then I’ll think about all of things that we’re doing – riding the bus, talking to the guys in the bagel shop, watching the diggers on Dolores Street -- and I’ll know that he’s experiencing things, learning things about the world.
The irony of the whole thing is that now that we are staying home, the game that we play most often is the one in which Miles gets out his guitar, gives me the maracas, and we sit in a circle (of two) while he sings the Hello Song.
We live in San Francisco, where enrichment classes are abundant. Practically every family I know takes swimming (sometimes private) and music classes. Some take gymnastics too. One friend has her 2-1/2 year old son signed up for soccer. In my neighborhood, there’s a studio which offers art classes for 2 year olds. There’s even a woodshop class.
I might work, but perhaps I could fit a whole week of enrichment into a couple of classes. When Miles was six months old, I signed up for swimming and Music Together. I had to sandwich swimming into lunchtimes on a work-at-home days and knock off early on Friday afternoons for music. After my daughter was born, I had to bring her along too. Even before the book A Perfect Madness, my Mom said we were crazy.
I guess we are. I found our fun filled activities weren't so fun. Miles was incapable of sitting still at music class. He did practically anything except music. While the other kids sat on the mothers’ laps and sang the Hello Song, Miles wanted to pour water from the water cooler, or unpack the supply closet, or climb up the shelves. Sometimes I’d sit with Mia and try to pretend that he wasn’t with me, but when he started throwing tambourines at the other kids I had to start chasing him. I'd leave Mia propped into a sitting position holding (translate: sucking on) an instrument. Sometimes by the time I'd saved Miles she’d toppled over on her maracas.
At the same time, I started noticing that he wanted to spend more and more time at home, building endless Lego houses or going on road trips in the Cozy Coupe. So I said “enough”. No more music class. It was freeing, not to be racing across town, trying to find a parking spot, worrying about being late, threatening Miles or plying him with treats to be good. Sometimes when my friends talk about their latest classes, I’ll have a twinge. I’ll worry that he won’t make it into the right kindergarten, the right private school, Julliard.
Then I’ll think about all of things that we’re doing – riding the bus, talking to the guys in the bagel shop, watching the diggers on Dolores Street -- and I’ll know that he’s experiencing things, learning things about the world.
The irony of the whole thing is that now that we are staying home, the game that we play most often is the one in which Miles gets out his guitar, gives me the maracas, and we sit in a circle (of two) while he sings the Hello Song.
Welcome!
Welcome to Mamamania, where we'll celebrate the craziness of motherhood. I have a 2-1/2 year old son and a 1 year old girl. Come, join the madness!
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