And I mean literally....
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Already Giving Parenting Advice
Last night, I desperately needed to get two extremely overtired kids to bed and did everything in my power to speed the process. Like telling them they could only have one book. Mia, of course, had a fit and picked two. I told her several times she could only have one. And then she started to cry. And Miles said, "Some day, when I have kids, if they want two books I will just give it to them." He's four. I can't wait to hear his commentary on my parenting in a few years....
Friday, March 23, 2007
Advice from a Partier
We have a friend (ok, more than one) who parties a lot. Basically 90% of the time that we see him, this guy is wasted. So basically he is the last person that you could ever imagine yourself taking parenting advice from.
And yet... a month or so ago he was over for dinner and drinks (mostly drinks). During which time I fed the kids. You know, the usual coaxing to eat vegtables, the whole bit. But I left the room for a second and when I came back, Mia had devoured all of her green beans. When I remarked on it, he said, "Well I noticed she was having some trouble with them so I cut them up and she ate them all."
Okay. So the thought of cutting her beans had NEVER occured to her parents. Never. So what does it say about us that the boozer friend understands our child better? Just one more time to get hit over the head with the lesson, you can't pay enough attention to your child.
And yet... a month or so ago he was over for dinner and drinks (mostly drinks). During which time I fed the kids. You know, the usual coaxing to eat vegtables, the whole bit. But I left the room for a second and when I came back, Mia had devoured all of her green beans. When I remarked on it, he said, "Well I noticed she was having some trouble with them so I cut them up and she ate them all."
Okay. So the thought of cutting her beans had NEVER occured to her parents. Never. So what does it say about us that the boozer friend understands our child better? Just one more time to get hit over the head with the lesson, you can't pay enough attention to your child.
The Funny Thing About Money
I've been working off and on for the last few months doing some contract work. And I have to say to all the working mothers out there - my hat is off to you!
In the process of trying to re-enter the workforce, I've discovered something funny about money. Which is this: when you are working you spend less.
It seems conterintuitive. When you have more money, you have the ability to spend it. When you have less (because you aren't working) you should spend less.
But it doesn't work that way. First, when you are working you have less time to spend money. Second, and more importantly, when you are working, money has more value. When I wasn't working, it was easy to separate myself from money and it is this theoretical concept that has no value. But when I can look at a sweater or a pair of pants and say to myself, "that costs two hours." Or three. Or four. I am so much less apt to buy!
In the process of trying to re-enter the workforce, I've discovered something funny about money. Which is this: when you are working you spend less.
It seems conterintuitive. When you have more money, you have the ability to spend it. When you have less (because you aren't working) you should spend less.
But it doesn't work that way. First, when you are working you have less time to spend money. Second, and more importantly, when you are working, money has more value. When I wasn't working, it was easy to separate myself from money and it is this theoretical concept that has no value. But when I can look at a sweater or a pair of pants and say to myself, "that costs two hours." Or three. Or four. I am so much less apt to buy!
Friday, February 02, 2007
Teaching them Well
An exchange between my kids this week:
Mia: Miles, do you want to come in my house?
Miles: I can't. I'm busy.
Mia: Are you on the phone?
So glad I'm training them to neglect each other!
Mia: Miles, do you want to come in my house?
Miles: I can't. I'm busy.
Mia: Are you on the phone?
So glad I'm training them to neglect each other!
Friday, January 26, 2007
There But for The Grace of God Go I
This poor family was removed from a flight because they couldn't calm their toddler down enough to get her in a seat for takeoff. Not that I disagree with the airline's decision - they have a business to run - but I'd hate to be the parent with my name out all over the Associated Press because my kid was naughty. And believe me, I have so been there!
Monday, January 22, 2007
Friday, January 19, 2007
Arugula
Two years ago I was beating my head against a brick wall because Miles wouldn't eat vegtables. I tried and tried. Finally he got over it. And he's never been great, but he'll eat the requisite four broccolis before dessert. And now that I'm working a couple of days a week and really too busy to pay attention, he's started doing the strangest things. I was cooking this week and he tried the arugla and then ended up eating an entire bowl.... Who'd have thought...
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Scissors
I came home from work on Monday and my sitter handed me a huge hunk of hair - apparently Miles took it upon himself to give his hair a little trim. He went into the bathroom and it was quiet for a moment, and voila!
There's a nice big patch in the middle of his head where he cut it pretty much down to the scalp. So I took him to the "trained professional" and she cut the rest of it off pretty short - not THAT short - so it will grow in a little less awkwardly.
Oh, and did I mention we have a kindergarten interview next weekend? Good to know that he will be looking like someone took a machete to his head.
So he's lost scissor priviledges until high school...
There's a nice big patch in the middle of his head where he cut it pretty much down to the scalp. So I took him to the "trained professional" and she cut the rest of it off pretty short - not THAT short - so it will grow in a little less awkwardly.
Oh, and did I mention we have a kindergarten interview next weekend? Good to know that he will be looking like someone took a machete to his head.
So he's lost scissor priviledges until high school...
Monday, January 08, 2007
Always, Always, Always Check References
I think this must qualify as one of the worst babysitter moments ever. Frankly, I'm still in complete shock.
But this weekend we were up in Tahoe, and we had a babysitter watch our two kids. And our friends' eight month old baby. From 9-3 while we were skiing.
This is someone who has probably watched my kids about ten times in the past year and a half. She was recommended to us by a former sitter, who was very reliable and had come highly recommended, although we didn't check actually check the newer sitter's references. She's always been a bit of a character, but it all seemed very harmless. Although now I remember things that I should have thought more about. Like that she'd given up partying for a year so that she could get her act together.
So we got home from skiing (we'd called and told her we would be an hour late). And after we got home she said "Miles is a angry at me. I raised my voice at him because he spilled my beer."
BEER?
The heads of all four adults snapped around to look at her. But I think we were all too stunned to say anything.
BEER?
And here's what's worse. Not only was my sitter boozing on the job, but yelling at my kid because of it.
So there's a lesson here... I'm just glad it was only my couch that got seriously hurt.
But this weekend we were up in Tahoe, and we had a babysitter watch our two kids. And our friends' eight month old baby. From 9-3 while we were skiing.
This is someone who has probably watched my kids about ten times in the past year and a half. She was recommended to us by a former sitter, who was very reliable and had come highly recommended, although we didn't check actually check the newer sitter's references. She's always been a bit of a character, but it all seemed very harmless. Although now I remember things that I should have thought more about. Like that she'd given up partying for a year so that she could get her act together.
So we got home from skiing (we'd called and told her we would be an hour late). And after we got home she said "Miles is a angry at me. I raised my voice at him because he spilled my beer."
BEER?
The heads of all four adults snapped around to look at her. But I think we were all too stunned to say anything.
BEER?
And here's what's worse. Not only was my sitter boozing on the job, but yelling at my kid because of it.
So there's a lesson here... I'm just glad it was only my couch that got seriously hurt.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
A Little Perspective
WARNING... Bragging post about to happen.... But I thought this was pretty cool. Miles drew this picture of our family yesterday. (The horizontal lines are stripes, by the way because for some reason we're all wearing stripes). I'm the one on the left with the really big head. Not because my noggin is really so oversized, but because he's trying to show the barrette on my ponytail. (The little square part on the bottom of the back of my head is the barrette.) Okay, so I may look a little weird, but I was quite impressed that my barely-four-year-old-son is already experimenting with perspective!
Friday, October 13, 2006
Post Partydom Syndrome
Okay, I'm never having a party again. Miles turned four last weekend and we had a big bash. Fifteen kids (counting the siblings) with parents. We went to the local firehouse to ride in the truck and try out the hose. Cake. Pinata. By the time everyone left my house looked like a bomb went off. And I was so tired that all I could do was sit on the couch and watch two episodes of Rescue Me back to back.
It was fun though, and it was all worth it.
But not the after-math. We're all so tired. Miles has been asking for treats at BREAKFAST time all week. And cranky. And not sleeping. And they've been fighting, fighting, fighting over the toys.
So next year, we're heading to Chuckee Cheese.
It was fun though, and it was all worth it.
But not the after-math. We're all so tired. Miles has been asking for treats at BREAKFAST time all week. And cranky. And not sleeping. And they've been fighting, fighting, fighting over the toys.
So next year, we're heading to Chuckee Cheese.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Everybody Remain Calm
I like mantras.
I like the simplicity of having a saying that can help you stay focused while getting through life.
When I was employed in Silicon Valley I had two. For years after reading the Dalai Lama’s “Art of Happiness” I chanted “affection and compassion, affection and compassion” to myself as people cut me off on highway 101 at rush hour, or jumped in front of me in line at the grocery store, or were rude at restaurants.
The other was “you can’t get what you want if you don’t know what it is.” The friend that shared it with me meant this in terms of men, but I found that it applied well to other situations including shopping for furniture, ordering dinner, and directing projects in the workplace. Give good direction, and you’ll get good results.
But I’ve been a little bit lost in the post professional world. The very qualities that helped me be successful at work –energy, impatience, perfectionism, goal-orientation – are often liabilities in the toddler department.
I was at our preschool one morning last month when a minor disagreement over a toy ignited a screaming match between two three year olds. Our director, in an unassuming voice said “okay, okay, people. Everybody remain calm.” And I thought, okay, here is the mantra for my post work life.
My son is one of those people who constantly pushes the limits. I’ll have to ask him, oh, ten or twelve times to brush his teeth. Only when he’s threatened with a loss of privileges (Dora the Explorer is the ultimate leverage) will he actually step into the bathroom. He’ll continually put toys into his mouth. He’s also a born negotiator: if you offer him two books at bedtime, he’s bound to ask for three. If you sing three songs, he’ll ask for four. (He got this from his dad, of course.) And I, of course, am completely unequipped to deal with him.
My energy level is way, way, way too high. While I think it is important to set limits with your children, I find that too often at our house, a relatively minor incident can escalate into a full-fledged conflagration. I’ll assign a timeout too rashly, and when Miles won’t take it, a full fledged battle will ensue. It is like I threw gasoline on the fire. When he starts the endless bedtime negotiation, I’ll get angry and ultimately find myself yelling – which is not exactly the best way to help him relax and fall asleep.
For a couple of weeks after I first found this new mantra, I was great. I calmly doled out discipline. I separated my kids during battles without adding a level of hysteria to the situation. Things were calm in our house.
Then summer happened! And I’ve been spending way, way, way too much time with my kids. There’s nothing like traveling alone with your children – to different time zones! - to increase your stress level. Needless to say, I’m failing miserably at staying calm.
The best that I can hope for is that if I keep working at it, I’ll better learn to manage my emotions.
Or that my kids will just wear me out to the point where I don’t have enough energy to fight back!
I like the simplicity of having a saying that can help you stay focused while getting through life.
When I was employed in Silicon Valley I had two. For years after reading the Dalai Lama’s “Art of Happiness” I chanted “affection and compassion, affection and compassion” to myself as people cut me off on highway 101 at rush hour, or jumped in front of me in line at the grocery store, or were rude at restaurants.
The other was “you can’t get what you want if you don’t know what it is.” The friend that shared it with me meant this in terms of men, but I found that it applied well to other situations including shopping for furniture, ordering dinner, and directing projects in the workplace. Give good direction, and you’ll get good results.
But I’ve been a little bit lost in the post professional world. The very qualities that helped me be successful at work –energy, impatience, perfectionism, goal-orientation – are often liabilities in the toddler department.
I was at our preschool one morning last month when a minor disagreement over a toy ignited a screaming match between two three year olds. Our director, in an unassuming voice said “okay, okay, people. Everybody remain calm.” And I thought, okay, here is the mantra for my post work life.
My son is one of those people who constantly pushes the limits. I’ll have to ask him, oh, ten or twelve times to brush his teeth. Only when he’s threatened with a loss of privileges (Dora the Explorer is the ultimate leverage) will he actually step into the bathroom. He’ll continually put toys into his mouth. He’s also a born negotiator: if you offer him two books at bedtime, he’s bound to ask for three. If you sing three songs, he’ll ask for four. (He got this from his dad, of course.) And I, of course, am completely unequipped to deal with him.
My energy level is way, way, way too high. While I think it is important to set limits with your children, I find that too often at our house, a relatively minor incident can escalate into a full-fledged conflagration. I’ll assign a timeout too rashly, and when Miles won’t take it, a full fledged battle will ensue. It is like I threw gasoline on the fire. When he starts the endless bedtime negotiation, I’ll get angry and ultimately find myself yelling – which is not exactly the best way to help him relax and fall asleep.
For a couple of weeks after I first found this new mantra, I was great. I calmly doled out discipline. I separated my kids during battles without adding a level of hysteria to the situation. Things were calm in our house.
Then summer happened! And I’ve been spending way, way, way too much time with my kids. There’s nothing like traveling alone with your children – to different time zones! - to increase your stress level. Needless to say, I’m failing miserably at staying calm.
The best that I can hope for is that if I keep working at it, I’ll better learn to manage my emotions.
Or that my kids will just wear me out to the point where I don’t have enough energy to fight back!
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Some Days
One of the other Moms at school said to me recently, "Some days you get a lot done. Other days you survive."
How true. Except that I'd say "some months." We're having a great summer, but between packing for trips and unpacking when we get home and planning for the next thing, and buying the occassional birthday present, that's about all we do!
How true. Except that I'd say "some months." We're having a great summer, but between packing for trips and unpacking when we get home and planning for the next thing, and buying the occassional birthday present, that's about all we do!
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Stockholm Syndrome
My kids were sick last week. Which wouldn't be such a big deal (I should be used to it by now, right?) except that it has followed on lots of weekends when Mike has been either away or unavailable. Oh yeah, and it coincided with Miles giving up his nap. Anyway, Mia had an ear infection and high fever for several days, and Miles had a fever for a couple. Which meant no school, no playdates and LOTS of time around the house. A little too much time around the house. Oh yeah, and did I mention the weather was wet and foggy so we couldn't even go into our (tiny) backyard?
About midweek I realized that I really, really, really needed a break. So I got Sunday "off" and talked my friend Lisa into spending the day with me. We tossed around a bunch of different options - hikes, manicures, wine tasting, spa treatments, movies, lunch. For several days we talked about what to do but for some reason I just couldn't identify what I really wanted. And Lisa, who is the best and most understanding friend that you could ask for, sounded a little testy when she finally said, "well, what do you WANT to do?"
Technically Stockholm Syndrome is when hostages start to identify with their captors. Remember when Patty Hearst changed her name to Tanya and tried to rob a bank? Obviously I identify with my little captors - I love them more than anything else in this world. But in my case Stockholm Syndrome is about identifying too much with their world. Spending so much time with them and thinking about them that I have trouble of conceiving of spending my free time anywhere but at Target or Costco or the grocery store.
But the happy ending is that we went for a long walk at Chrissy Field and then drove up to Napa for a day of drinking wine in the sunshine...
About midweek I realized that I really, really, really needed a break. So I got Sunday "off" and talked my friend Lisa into spending the day with me. We tossed around a bunch of different options - hikes, manicures, wine tasting, spa treatments, movies, lunch. For several days we talked about what to do but for some reason I just couldn't identify what I really wanted. And Lisa, who is the best and most understanding friend that you could ask for, sounded a little testy when she finally said, "well, what do you WANT to do?"
Technically Stockholm Syndrome is when hostages start to identify with their captors. Remember when Patty Hearst changed her name to Tanya and tried to rob a bank? Obviously I identify with my little captors - I love them more than anything else in this world. But in my case Stockholm Syndrome is about identifying too much with their world. Spending so much time with them and thinking about them that I have trouble of conceiving of spending my free time anywhere but at Target or Costco or the grocery store.
But the happy ending is that we went for a long walk at Chrissy Field and then drove up to Napa for a day of drinking wine in the sunshine...
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Job?
Ok, I realize I complain alot, but deep down inside (sometimes very, very deep) I've been happy and grateful for being able to have the opportunity to stay home with my children.
Well, up until last week anyway. Miles finally gave up his nap. Now he's supposed to have an hour of (mostly) quiet time in his room - which gives me just enough time to make dinner, take out the trash and occasionally shower. And then I'm back on duty. Art projects, books, pretend trips to the doctor, bike riding, cooking dinner together.
All this quality time is, frankly, a bit too much for me. I've decided its time to start looking for a job!
Well, up until last week anyway. Miles finally gave up his nap. Now he's supposed to have an hour of (mostly) quiet time in his room - which gives me just enough time to make dinner, take out the trash and occasionally shower. And then I'm back on duty. Art projects, books, pretend trips to the doctor, bike riding, cooking dinner together.
All this quality time is, frankly, a bit too much for me. I've decided its time to start looking for a job!
Monday, June 05, 2006
Carnivore?
A couple of weeks ago I became cautiously optimistic that Miles was becoming less of a picky eater. After all of the agonizing that I had had in the last few years about what my kids eat, he has suddenly (with no urging from me) started eating three things that he always rejected-- hard boiled eggs, dried fruit and turkey cold cuts.
But at the same time, he's also asking more questions about food.
We have a board book called "A Train Ride with Monet," which is basically ten stunning paintings very loosely woven into a story about a train ride. It isn't a very compelling text, but as someone who learned most of what she knows about art from the '70s board game "Masterpiece," I like to delude myself that I am exposing my kids to great art.
One of the pages shows an oil paiting of turkeys, and reads "pass a flock of turkeys, feathery white." Last week, when we were reading it, Miles suddenly said, "hey Mom, does turkey come from turkeys?" I was surprised. It had never occured to me that he didn't connect the chicken on his plate with the chicken on Old MacDonald's farm.
And ever since he's realized that we eat the pretty, fluffy white birds that he's seen a million times in the picture book, he's had a lot of questions about what we eat.
"Does chicken come from chickens?" (Yep, you can't pull the wool over my son's eyes.)
"Ham comes from pig, right?"
And here was the kicker - "What are horses for?" Basically meaning, do we eat those beautiful creatures that we were feeding watermelon rinds to last weekend in Tahoe.
Let me get something straight. I'm not a vegetarian. I don't eat liver or scrapple or even dark meat turkey, but we have meatloaf from time to time and every now and then I really, really, really want a hamburger. But still, I found it strangely difficult to explain to my child why we eat some animals and we don't eat others.
And then yesterday, when he was playing with his little plastic animals, he asked, "Mom, what comes from giraffes?"
"Poop!" I answered brightly, since it was that time of day.
"No, Mom, what comes from giraffes?"
And I realized that he was wondering whether we ate giraffes. Which seemed kind of horrifying to me. So I started to explain again what the difference is, and realized that in his mind there probably isn't much difference between the soulful big eyes of the giraffe he sees at our zoo's African Savannah, and the big brown eyes of the cow he sees at the children's section. Or - for that matter - the big brown eyes that sees when he looks in the mirror.
If I really thought about it, I might rethink some of my own food choices. But I'm probably too old for that at this point. But my neice - who is now fourteen - has been a vegetarian for political reasons for a decade now. (Yes, she made that decision when she was the same age that Miles is now.) And it will be interesting to see where Miles goes with this.
But at the same time, he's also asking more questions about food.
We have a board book called "A Train Ride with Monet," which is basically ten stunning paintings very loosely woven into a story about a train ride. It isn't a very compelling text, but as someone who learned most of what she knows about art from the '70s board game "Masterpiece," I like to delude myself that I am exposing my kids to great art.
One of the pages shows an oil paiting of turkeys, and reads "pass a flock of turkeys, feathery white." Last week, when we were reading it, Miles suddenly said, "hey Mom, does turkey come from turkeys?" I was surprised. It had never occured to me that he didn't connect the chicken on his plate with the chicken on Old MacDonald's farm.
And ever since he's realized that we eat the pretty, fluffy white birds that he's seen a million times in the picture book, he's had a lot of questions about what we eat.
"Does chicken come from chickens?" (Yep, you can't pull the wool over my son's eyes.)
"Ham comes from pig, right?"
And here was the kicker - "What are horses for?" Basically meaning, do we eat those beautiful creatures that we were feeding watermelon rinds to last weekend in Tahoe.
Let me get something straight. I'm not a vegetarian. I don't eat liver or scrapple or even dark meat turkey, but we have meatloaf from time to time and every now and then I really, really, really want a hamburger. But still, I found it strangely difficult to explain to my child why we eat some animals and we don't eat others.
And then yesterday, when he was playing with his little plastic animals, he asked, "Mom, what comes from giraffes?"
"Poop!" I answered brightly, since it was that time of day.
"No, Mom, what comes from giraffes?"
And I realized that he was wondering whether we ate giraffes. Which seemed kind of horrifying to me. So I started to explain again what the difference is, and realized that in his mind there probably isn't much difference between the soulful big eyes of the giraffe he sees at our zoo's African Savannah, and the big brown eyes of the cow he sees at the children's section. Or - for that matter - the big brown eyes that sees when he looks in the mirror.
If I really thought about it, I might rethink some of my own food choices. But I'm probably too old for that at this point. But my neice - who is now fourteen - has been a vegetarian for political reasons for a decade now. (Yes, she made that decision when she was the same age that Miles is now.) And it will be interesting to see where Miles goes with this.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Skinny Jeans And All
Ok, so motherhood isn't the only thing that I'm insecure about. I'm also pretty insecure about fashion. Which is incredibly stupid if you think about it. It isn't as though I'm going to work or anything - just grocery shopping, going to the playground, teaching at my son's preschool.
Nevertheless, I still have fashion anxiety. Or maybe angst is a better word. I'm so very, very tired of the white t-shirts and old Gap jeans that I always wear to the playground. Last summer I wrote about my quest to find clothes that were fashionable, not exactly the same as what everyone else is wearing, machine washable and cheap. I lamented the fact that these things were not readily available in my neighborhood. And that I couldn't find them on the Internet. But now I've realized that the real problem is me.
I'm chronically behind the times. By the time I noticed that everyone was wearing cargo pants - and wanted some for myself - they were no longer in stores. By the time I warmed up to trouser jeans (which reminded me a teeny bit too much of those Dickies we had in junior high) you couldn't find them anywhere.
So I did the unthinkable. A couple of weeks ago, I bought some of those '80s pants (now called skinny jeans) that are in the stores. My friend Lisa said they made me look thin, so of course I had to buy them. And part of me figured that I might as well buy the skinny jeans while they were still selling them because by the time I wanted them its a sure bet you wouldn't be able to find them for love or money.
But when I got them home, I just couldn't believe what I'd done. My husband laughed out loud when he saw them.
After Mike finished laughing I left them on the top of my dresser for a couple of weeks, but finally, I was behind on laundry and needed something to wear so I took off the tags and put them on and took the kids out. And felt ridiculous! Memories flooded back - illicit drugs, Yaz, Limelight, white pumps, Obsession. But here's the thing. Instead of making me feel youthful, it made me feel like one of those old ladies that tries to look young by dressing like a teenager.
But I'm not just insecure, I'm also compulsive. So the good news is that now I have something else to obsess about.
Nevertheless, I still have fashion anxiety. Or maybe angst is a better word. I'm so very, very tired of the white t-shirts and old Gap jeans that I always wear to the playground. Last summer I wrote about my quest to find clothes that were fashionable, not exactly the same as what everyone else is wearing, machine washable and cheap. I lamented the fact that these things were not readily available in my neighborhood. And that I couldn't find them on the Internet. But now I've realized that the real problem is me.
I'm chronically behind the times. By the time I noticed that everyone was wearing cargo pants - and wanted some for myself - they were no longer in stores. By the time I warmed up to trouser jeans (which reminded me a teeny bit too much of those Dickies we had in junior high) you couldn't find them anywhere.
So I did the unthinkable. A couple of weeks ago, I bought some of those '80s pants (now called skinny jeans) that are in the stores. My friend Lisa said they made me look thin, so of course I had to buy them. And part of me figured that I might as well buy the skinny jeans while they were still selling them because by the time I wanted them its a sure bet you wouldn't be able to find them for love or money.
But when I got them home, I just couldn't believe what I'd done. My husband laughed out loud when he saw them.
After Mike finished laughing I left them on the top of my dresser for a couple of weeks, but finally, I was behind on laundry and needed something to wear so I took off the tags and put them on and took the kids out. And felt ridiculous! Memories flooded back - illicit drugs, Yaz, Limelight, white pumps, Obsession. But here's the thing. Instead of making me feel youthful, it made me feel like one of those old ladies that tries to look young by dressing like a teenager.
But I'm not just insecure, I'm also compulsive. So the good news is that now I have something else to obsess about.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
I Don't Like Spiders and Snakes....
I'm more than a teensy bit insecure about my parenting skills. But every now and then I do something that makes me just want to pat myself on the back and say, "girlfriend, you rock." Like when I took the kids - by myself - to Florida. Or last Saturday when I held a tarantula.
It was Bug Day at the Randall Museum, our local nature museum for kids. And Miles was transfixed by the spiders. We couldn't drag him away. Several other kids had held it, and I thought that he might want to also (with a little encouragement). So, in a moment of unaccustomed bravery, I held out my hand and held it.
It's legs were kind of soft as it walked across your skin, but the big soft body that dragged across my palm was creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepy.
But of course, I constantly underestimate Miles. He was wayyyy too smart to want to hold that thing.
But now I will have something to think about in the middle of the night, or next time we go camping.
It was Bug Day at the Randall Museum, our local nature museum for kids. And Miles was transfixed by the spiders. We couldn't drag him away. Several other kids had held it, and I thought that he might want to also (with a little encouragement). So, in a moment of unaccustomed bravery, I held out my hand and held it.
It's legs were kind of soft as it walked across your skin, but the big soft body that dragged across my palm was creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepy.
But of course, I constantly underestimate Miles. He was wayyyy too smart to want to hold that thing.
But now I will have something to think about in the middle of the night, or next time we go camping.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
On Being Mom
One of my friends just sent me a very beautiful essay called "On Being Mom" by Anna Quindlen. There are so many things in the essay that speak to me, even though her children are grown and mine are still (unfortunately) in diapers.
Quindlen writes movingly about the things she learned as a mother -- to listen to herself (and her kids) and not the experts, to learn to be humbled, and most of all to live in the moment. "I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less."
Several years ago my friend Stephanie told me that she tried to spend an hour of uninterrupted time each day with each of her children. Possibly this was before I had any of my own. But I remember thinking what a short time an hour seems like. And now that I have two, I think what an impossibly long time it seems.
It is easy to be busy. As a stay-at-home Mom I can't sneak errands in during lunchtime or on the way home from work-- I have to arrange childcare for every haircut or workout, or bring kids along with me. Even evenings out with my husband require tons of advance planning (by me, not him. he just shows up). I have all of the responsibilities of my son's coop nursery school. And then the many logistics of running our household. And checking email. And watching 24. It is very easy to get caught up in all of it.
Plus it can be hard to keep my kids' attention. I can spend a large portion of their precious naptime preparing afternoon art projects that will keep their attention for say maybe five minutes. Even dying Easter eggs got old after ten. And also - dare I say it - sometimes playing with the kids can be boring. I mean really, how many times can we pack our bags and pretend that we're flying on the couch airplane to Hawaii? Sometimes it is just easier to let them play by themselves, or to try to get them to watch Sesame Street.
But I'm already feeling the pull of nostaglia. Even Miles at 3-1/2 is feeling it. One of his new favorite activities is pouring over the photo albums of when he and his sister were newborns. "Is that Miles? Is that Miles" he asks, unable to recognize his baby self. And in another way, I'm having trouble recognizing him too. As grueling as it can be, it is just going too darn fast.
So thanks Anna Quindlen. My gift to myself for Mother's Day will be to try to be present more often.
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